The Moon Also Rises

by Nicroburst

Twenty-Seven

They label me a saviour; goddess, messiah. It is a cerebral love, born out of fear, and the fanatical glee of our triumph. It is not a real love. It does not resonate with them, and in time, it will fade. In time, they will forget me.

They will forget my story.

Twenty-Seven

ACHAK WAITED. No more than a few minutes, the scout said. That had been half an hour ago. She cast her gaze back, towards the lake and the huddle of her people on its far side. The injured were still being moved—despite the numbers of buffalo lending their hooves, the task would take some time yet.

Time they did not have. Achak might have doubted her scout’s word, had she not been able to see the dust-cloud, moving slowly but steadily towards them. The ponies had made ridiculously good time. Assuming that Applejack had instigated this expedition . . . if she’d returned to the town at a gallop, and they’d maintained a similar pace on the way back, they could have done it, just barely. It was a feat, wondrous and terrifying.

As to their haste’s portent, Achak could only guess. She didn’t know how bad things were in town, not really. If the ponies had been on the edge of dying from their thirst, they wouldn’t have been able to make the trip so quickly, if at all. Still, she assumed desperation, a relief at Applejack’s tidings, anger, somehow, at the buffalo. Did they think she’d been withholding water? What else could explain the scout’s report?

Her tribe had no room for error, here. She had one chance to make an impression, just a few short sentences before they simply took what they came for. Here and now, she didn’t dare trust their long history of friendship. That kind of naiveté would get them all killed, dying on the hot sand, parched throats clenching at the dry air, cracked lips spilling blood . . . She was well-used to the kind of extremity that accompanied drought.

She could put up a strong front. Appear to the ponies as a wraith, immersed in sand and wind. A Spirit, unbreakable and unyielding, warding them away. If they were capable of turning back at all, she might’ve considered that. But then, if there was life still in Appleloosa, its residents would not be here. No, they had left as one, they would not turn back. She mustn’t provoke them. They had no choice, now. Drink, or die.

She could surrender, totally, acknowledge their desperate strength, and relinquish control of the waterhole. Akin to throwing her tribe on the ponies' mercy, the idea made Achak grit her teeth. Even if it spared a confrontation for now, they could very well push the buffalo back, deny access to water against the ponies’ own need. Achak studied the waterhole, trying to guess how much was left. The ground continued to suck it away, as it had for the last few weeks. She swallowed. At this rate, the water would not last to the next storm. If Applejack’s rough estimate was correct . . .

She could welcome them, as friends. Invite them to drink, to share in her bounty. Build, without addressing the matter directly, a sense of goodwill. At best, this solution would only delay the inevitable. But then, perhaps that’s what she needed most of all: time to heal, time for Fluttershy to recover, for both groups to work out some other, more permanent, solution.

The dust-cloud was close, now, the ponies still hidden by hillocks and dunes. Achak raised the wind, as easily as drawing a frown over her face, stirring the sand beneath her hooves. These lands were hers, body and soul, blood and thought. She stepped out, took position in the middle of the path. Behind her, the lake stretched out, glittering under the morning sun.

Ah, there they were. The scout had described them as a war party. Achak could see why. Despite the lack of weapons, the ponies were angry, possessed of a rage and a madness that lived in them all, moved through them like an ocean, a single unit. Each step landed in concert, every eye was drawn towards her. They were not thinking, not in control. A mob, whipped to a frenzy that was never sated.

But they were tired. Like a cauldron, kept boiling all night long, until there was no liquid left, they had bled themselves dry on the desert. Each step was a weary thud. Their necks were bowed, faces glazed over, shoulders slumped. Sand lined their bodies, caught in small scrapes and cuts. They resembled a pilgrimage, a group of refugees, more than any war party, even if their intention was to fight.

At the head of the column was Braeburn. Achak had had numerous interactions with him over the years. In all that time—from her memories of him when she was still just a child, really, playing while her father lead the tribe, to their more recent meetings, discussing the relationship between the buffalo and the Appleloosans with others from the town, or just enjoying an apple pie with a friend—she’d never seen him like this.

The same exhaustion lined him, covered every inch of his body, accentuated by the ever-present sand and dust. In him, the weariness was somehow accentuated, made visceral. But that didn’t capture Achak’s attention. Mirroring the evidence of the trials of their night-long journey, the motivation, the fiery anger that had driven them across the desert, limned every scratch. It was in his eyes, flat and fixated; his stance, unyielding; each step forward, striking the ground solidly, and never mind the slight trembling in his legs.

“Braeburn,” Achak called as they approached, drawing their attention. “Be at peace, and welcome.”

She got no reply. Instead, the crowd slowed, slowly, disorganised, so that those at the back of the column stepped straight into those in front. Braeburn held up a hoof, and sniffed the air, relief spreading over his face. He turned away from Achak, giving her just enough time to feel a sudden spike of trepidation.

“Water!” he screamed, rising to flail at the air with his front hooves.

The word rejuvenated the crowd. Like a dam bursting, the column broke, dissolving into a stampede, each individual uncaring of his neighbours. They rolled forward, unstoppable, nearly unconscious.

Achak bolted to the side. There was nothing she could do.

But even Braeburn’s anger had faded away under the tidal wave. The stampede rushed straight past the medical tent, paid no attention to the few buffalo still moving about the shoreline. Instead, the ponies plunged straight into the lake, heedless of its depth. Soon enough, laughter rose from their throats, pealing through the air. They splashed each other, floated on their backs, plunged their heads beneath the surface. And while many paused long enough to drink, sucking up great mouthfuls of the life-giving liquid, their relief was more than just a salve for dry throats. It was a baptism, a cleansing bath. It was sudden hope, realisation and confirmation, all at once. The end, postponed.

Achak found it hard not to get caught up in their joy. Her fears, ever on edge since the storm, had her imagining the worst. A war party. Her scout could have chosen better words. But then, it had only been a few days, hadn’t it. Just a few days since . . . a hitch caught in her throat, and she forced her mind away. Grief could wait, fear could be reasoned with. She followed the ponies, moved towards the lake, pausing only to poke her head into Fluttershy’s test, still erect a few yards away from the medical pavilion. Fluttershy was stirring, turning and tossing on her makeshift bed. The cloud spirit was with her, hovering close to her face, clearly responding to the noise outside.

Achak stopped at the lake’s edge. “Braeburn,” she called again, infusing her voice with wind so as to carry it out over the water. She could see him, amidst his kin, frolicking like a young colt. “Braeburn, we must talk.”

Slowly, her voice reached him. He met her eyes, nodded, swam to the shore, moving with a relaxed ease that made a lie of earlier hardships. All that anger, that pride, that fierce strength: washed away. Perhaps . . .

“Achak,” Braeburn called back, reaching the shore, the small smile he’d been wearing slipping away. “We heard tell you’d been holding out on us.”

Perhaps not.

“I’ve done nothing of the sort."

“Oh, please. All our water, draining into the ground?” Braeburn shook his head. “Ya can’t put a spin on this one, Spirit.”

“There was a storm,” Achak said, ignoring his tone. “We’re hurting just as much as you are.”

Braeburn laughed, scorn rising to bridge the gap between them. “You? You couldn’t ‘t understand. Do you know how many we left behind? How many were too young, too old, too sink, too weak to make the trip?” He stopped briefly, swallowed. “You have no idea what pain you’ve caused us, you primitive filly.”

Achak frowned. There was something more to this, more than just miscommunication and assumption, brought on by desperation. That, she could understand, she could empathise with. But it did not account for the hate coming over Braeburn. She had expected a bone-deep sorrow, a harshness that spoke to his situation, rather than his heart. With every sentence, that sorrow fed upon itself, turned to anger. With every word, he grew more accusatory, more violently zealous.

“Look around you, Braeburn. Look at the wounded, and the dead.”

“Look at the life,” he sneered. “Appleloosa is an orchard without fruit. Ah have a responsibility to my family.”

“Calm down. We’re all just trying to do our best. I don’t blame you for your concern, Braeburn.”

“Y’all started this fight, buffalo.”

“We did not!”

“Horseapples.”

“We don’t have to fight at all, you stubborn mule,” Achak spat. “You come to my lands, insult my dead, only to demand my aid? What right do you have here?”

“Ah’m taking back what you stole from us,” Braeburn’s eyes glinted. “Whether you like it or not.”

“You will not find us a helpless victim.”

“Good!”

When had the ponies frolicking in the water stopped playing? Silence descended on the shore, broken only by the wind, rising around them, whipping between ponies and buffalo, and stirring up small waves in the water. Achak tensed, suddenly aware of the attention bestowed on the two of them. Braeburn stood before, a triumphant glint in his eyes. Achak felt defiance rise in her throat, cloud her vision, a fatalistic desire to stand tall. She would not bow down before this! These . . . these swine knew nothing of her lands and her people! She would . . . she would . . .

“Everypony, stop!”

A new voice, cutting across the frozen scene. Fluttershy, moving weakly but upright, her head poked through the flaps of her tent, looked exhausted—but no more so than the townsponies had, in the final stretch of their trek, a far cry from the mindless oblivion that had come over her last night. Achak had no idea how Fluttershy had been able to heal so many of her people, but then, she had no idea how Fluttershy had been able to heal at all. Even if it looked like she was about to collapse again, she had to trust that the pegasus knew her limits.

Her cloud-spirit hung above her head, clinging to her mane. Even if Fluttershy overestimated herself, Nephele had made her needs quite plain. Achak hadn’t forgotten her words.

“Braeburn, I’m disappointed in you,” Fluttershy said, coming forward to stand beside Achak. “The buffalo have suffered just as much as Appleloosa, if not more.”

“Gone over to their side, have ya? Ah should’ve known you couldn’t understand family.” Braeburn paused, glaring at Fluttershy. “You traitor.”

Fluttershy took a small breath. “You aren’t listening to me, Braeburn. The buffalo have been dealing with the same drought you have.”

“Yeah. That’s why they stole our water. Applejack showed it to us.”

“No, they didn’t.” Fluttershy swallowed. ”No, she wouldn’t.”

“What’d they promise you? As much as you could drink? Some way to get back at Apleloosa? Whatever that thing is?” Braeburn took a step forward, pointing a hoof at Nephele.

“Your leg!” Fluttershy said abruptly, cutting him off mid-rant. Achak saw realisation break across her face. “You ran all the way here! I told you to stay off it.”

“Pff. Like Ah’d listen to a lying traitor. Jus’ trying to keep me locked up so Ah can die with the rest of my family.”

“Braeburn . . .” Yes, Fluttershy was crying now. Tears tracked rivers through the dust covering her cheeks, spilled onto the sand beneath her hooves.

Nephele paused, the rippling oh her form in the wind falling still. She floated down to Fluttershy’s ear, which pricked upwards. She glanced back up at Breaburn, then swept her gaze across the Appleloosans in the water, something like comprehension washing over her face. An epiphany. A realistation.

“Now, Ah ain’t waiting any longer,” Braeburn said. “We’re gonna take this water back to town, so as we don’t all die.”

“How?” Fluttershy said.

“Huh?”

“How are you going to move all that water? Applejack was going back to get barrels, to stop it from draining away. Where are they?”

Braeburn paused.

“You really aren’t with her, are you?” Fluttershy said. It wasn’t a question. “What’s gotten into you, Braeburn. This isn’t the stallion I met a few days ago. This isn’t you.”

“What would you know of me, filly?” Braeburn sneered. “Of what it means to have a family.”

Fluttershy shook her head, trotted forward. To Achak’s amusement and confusion, she moved straight past Braeburn, ignoring him completely. The stallion turned, to follow her, or call out after her.

“Hey, Braeburn,” Achak called. “I’m not done with you yet.”

She wanted to give Fluttershy time. She didn’t understand what the Pegasus was doing, but she had more than earned Achak’s trust—and she didn’t have any other cards to play, besides. The crowd of ponies, mostly emerged from the lake now, standing on the shoreline, were hanging on every word that passed between her and their leader. They looked ready to burst.

So she gave her tongue free reign.

“You know, I still have trouble believing the audacity it must have taken for you to waltz in here, on to my lands, and presume ownership. Years ago, when you’re pathetic little town was established, and now, now that the desert has proven you unworthy, it’s the same story. It’s always our fault, isn’t it, pony. Never your own—oh, no, never that!”

She hadn’t realised she was quite so angry.

“You like to pretend you’re all so civilised. You like to paint a nice, romantic picture, everypony living in harmony, supporting each other against the harsh facts of life on the frontier. Did you ever stop to think that maybe it was hard because you were wrong? Ever stop to consider what you were doing to your environment?”

The wind picked up, throwing clouds of sand to billow about her. Braeburn’s hat was knocked from his head, landing on the surface of the lake.

“You have spent the better part of sixteen years raping the land about your town. You have stripped my people of their heritage, mile by mile pushing us away. You have consigned an untold number of your own kin to death, both those dying of thirst in Appleloosa, and those here, fighting a mean, petty war to stave off your own demise.”

“For these crimes, you blame us. For these crimes, you sentence us. For these crimes, the land will see you driven away.”

Achak finished her speech, panting. The words had come in a flood, rushing from her mouth, with no time to think, or slow the barrage. And the desert had responded to her outrage, wreathed her in sand and sun and wind, a cyclone of boiling grit. The ponies, to a one, stood transfixed.

All but Fluttershy. Reaching the water’s edge, the mare bent down, tilted her head. Then, quickly, she dipped her muzzle below the surface, and drew in a short sip of liquid.

Abruptly, the anger left Achak. Her cyclone fell away, dumping its contents in a wide circle around her. Trembling, she put a hoof to her chest, and fell back onto her rump.

What was that. What had happened? Around her, the ponies were acting similarly—many had fainted outright, others looking around in evident confusion. Braeburn, staring at her with that intense gaze, limped forward—the injury that hobbled him so much more apparent, now. Achak flinched away from his outstretched hoof.

“Easy, Achak,” Braeburn said quietly. “Ah’m . . . Ah’m sorry. For what Ah said. For what I was planning to do. Ah . . . Ah can’t quite believe it, myself.” He coughed, and then coughed again, small tears appearing in the corners of his eyes.

Achak stilled herself, then reached up, grasping the outstretched hoof, and pulling Braeburn into a hug. Both of them simultaneously split huge grins, still reeling in shock. The absence of hate—complete and total, it just wasn’t there anymore. And in its wake, joy, simple contentment, relief, all sprang up.

Three things happened all at once. Achak and Braeburn felt a glimmer of hope reignite, sparked by the simple ease of their unspoken apologies and commiserations. The waters in the lake surged to motion, huge waves crashing into each other, whirlpools spontaneously forming and dissolving, underwater currents stirring the lake into a giant, boiling cauldron. And Fluttershy screamed, her voice a whip, cracking the sky apart.

***

Daerev flapped his wings, sending droplets of water flying through the air, feeling the lift reduce his weight slightly, as if he’d put a little spring in his step. They were still tender, twitching at the slightest breeze, but sturdy, sprouting from his back like two webbed claws, snatching at the air.

He’d had scant time to clean himself, and the rawness of his injuries, natural as they were, made it . . . unpleasant. But there was no way he was walking back into Ponyville covered in blood. So he’d watched Agyrt depart, slipping back beneath the surface of the Lethe with his message imparted, and then bathed in his mentor’s wake.

It had been an apotheosis, and not just of his body. Agyrt’s words rang in Daerev’s mind, of secrets and lies, hard truths and desperate measures. Daerev had been gifted purpose—something he’d long existed without. That that purpose conflicted with his intentions towards Boundless was irrelevant, time, if nothing else, would solve his dilemma.

He did not know if he would be able to refrain from ending that murderer’s life the instant he saw him, and Agyrt’s assertions about the fate of the world be damned. But Boundless was no more special than he, and the disciples cropping up in his wake. Any of them could reach out, and rip away the Veil, exposing Equestria to the outside world.

All they needed to do was reach the Crystal Heart.

For now, he walked. The sky above, barely visible through the trees, beckoned with maddening insistence. Somehow, being grounded was vastly more infuriating, now that he actually had wings. He flapped again, experimenting, and felt that lift in his step, his body surging upwards. He flapped again, and jumped, hanging in the air for a second before crashing back down.

The skin wrapping over the limbs was leathery and thick, and covered with tiny hairs. Fully outstretched, his wingspan was roughly three metres, tip to tip. In contrast to pegasi wings, which were small, lithe and quick, designed for rapid adjustment and constant beating, his were huge, heavy, more suited to long glides than aerobic stunts. Perhaps if he took a running jump .
. .

He felt it the moment he caught air under him, his forward fall translating smoothly into a slow dive, gradually approaching the ground. He reached forward with his talons, bracing to catch himself. Instead, he came to an abrupt halt, spinning in the air, centimetres off the ground, and fell hard, sprawling to one side.A flash of pain ran through his right wing.

Glancing back, he saw his mistake. The path he walked on, the same path he’d taken countless times, until it was an established trail through the forest, wasn’t nearly wide enough. He’d run his wing straight into a tree.

Still, it seemed fine, if a little bruised. He’d have to be more careful, though he’d seen Rainbow’s treatment of her wings. If they weren’t durable by design, they were durable as a result of years of excessive blunt force trauma.

He might even need lessons. It had taken Scootaloo years to learn to fly, after all. But he doubted Agyrt would have much useful advice—and for some reason, the image of Rainbow instructing him chafed a little.

Leaving the forest behind, he made a beeline for Ponyville. Agyrt’s instructions were simultaneously crystal clear, and maddeningly vague. Somehow, the old dragon knew Boundless was heading north on hoof, trekking towards the Crystal Empire. Daerev was to give chase, accompanied by Pinkie Pie, and, if possible, contain the situation and render the murderer aid.

Setting aside Daerev’s own motivations and qualms, the question of Pinkie Pie hung unanswered over him. Agyrt had dropped the name casually, and refused Daerev’s questions. She seemed an odd choice for a vengeance-fuelled quest across the Equestrian heartland. But then, she was also the only Element in Ponyville at the moment. Applejack and Fluttershy were still in Appleloosa, and Twilight, Rainbow, and Rarity remained in Canterlot.

No. That would be too simple. If there was anything Daerev could be sure of, it was that Pinkie was no last resort. She had been chosen specifically, with some goal in mind. Daerev had spent enough time with his mentor to know that Agyrt liked to style himself a chessmaster, making moves from the sanctity of his abode.

In conclusion, then, he had nothing but speculation. Daerev sighed, making his way through the town centre towards Sugarcube Corner. Ponies around him broke into excited whispers as he passed, though they refrained from approaching him. He was well-used to their attention, by now—after all, it was difficult to ignore the adolescent dragon marching through your town—but the townsponies had always been friendlier before. Listening to them now, they sounded alarmed.

He needed to obey his mentor’s directions, and wait, keeping his own counsel. He had no problems working for Agyrt, so long as he wasn’t required to cross any lines. He smiled, remembering advice given years ago. He’d bring his experience to each situation as it came, and act based on what he would not do.

“Spikey!” Pinkie cried, exploding from the kitchen. She planted against his chest, wrapping her hooves around him and clinging there.

“Heya, Pinks,” Daerev said, grinning. After a moment, the few ponies eating in the store turned back to their meals, murmurs rising to fill in the background with noise.

Pinkie’s hooves shifted, touched the base of his wings, and then she jumped backwards, ran around him, and peered closely at the new limbs, chattering all the while. “Oh my gosh, Spikey! You’ve got wings! Oh, this is perfect, I was just thinking about all my friends here in Ponyville, and I realised that most of them are still away, except for me and you and Gummy, so I thought I should have a party for just the three of us, but then I wasn’t sure what to have a party about, so I thought, I know! It’ll be a ‘You’ll Get Those Wings Soon, Spike!’ party, and I got balloons and streamers and cupcakes and danishes and confetti and pies and cakes and gems, just for you, but now you’ve Got your wings, so it’ll be a ‘Congratulations on Your Wings’ party, and I’ll have to change the banner, and can we go flying later, can we can we can we?”

“Whoa.” Daerev began to turn to look at her, but somewhere in the middle of . . . that, she’d come back around in front of him. He chuckled, watching her heave in deep gulps of air, returning his gaze with open curiosity. “Actually, I don’t . . . really . . . know how to fly, yet.”

Pinkie’s eyes grew wide. A hoof that had begun to move forwards from her side abruptly reversed its course, tucking away the end of a stretch of fabric that had ‘Cong-‘ written on it.

“I can learn, Pinkie,” Daerev said. “I only got them today.”

“And then can we fly?”

“Yes, Pinkie,” Daerev said, sighing.

“Pinkie Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”

“Woohoo! Thanks, Spike. This is why you’re my favouritest dragon.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Did you mention gemstones?”

“Mhmm,” Pinkie said, solemnly nodding. “Do you want them now? I was saving them for the party but I could go get more.”

Daerev winced, already anticipating the crazy mare’s reaction to the next sentence. “Actually, we . . . can’t have a party.”
The spectators, who had been studiously ignoring the two of them so far, all collectively flinched in their seats, as Pinkie . . . deflated, somehow, growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.

“We can’t?” Pinkie said in a small voice.

“Not yet,” Daerev said. “There’s a few things we need to do, first. And,” he leaned in, whispering conspiratorially,” I need your help.”

Pinkie sat back, scratching her chin and staring up at a far corner of the ceiling, before grinning widely. Both of them dissolved into laughter—Pinkie an infectious giggle that quickly spread around the room, letting everypony know her antics were in jest, and Daerev a quiet chuckle, acknowledgement and relief.

“Okay, Spike,” Pinkie said, a few moments later. “What do you need?”

“Do you think the twins could manage the shop for a bit?”

The twins, Pumpkin and Pound Cake, materialised from thin air, appearing on either side of Daerev. He jumped a little, before shaking his head.

“Of course-“ Pumpkin said.

“We’d be glad too,” Pound Said.

“There’s a wedding on-”

“Friday, but we’ve-”

“Made a good start on the food and-“

“It’ll be no problem at all!” they finished together.

Pinkie looked at Pumpkin, then at Pound, before turning her gaze back to Daerev, serious and stern. “Yes” she proclaimed. “I think they can.”

“Great,” Daerev said.

“But while we’re here,” Pumpkin said.

“We have to ask-“

“Where, exactly, do you think you’ll be-“

“Going, and when, exactly, do you think you’ll be-“

“Back?”

“Now, now,” Pinkie said. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing, ma’am,” Pumpkin chirped.

“Nothing at all,” Pound said, sweetly.

Pinkie’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?” Her voice held the last word, stretching it out farther than Daerev thought possible.

“Yes, ma’am,” the twins chorused.

Abruptly, Pinkie dropped the interrogation. “Okey-dokey!” she sang. The twins exchanged little grins, speeding back to wherever they’d come from.

“Actually, Pinks,” Daerev began. He didn’t want to incite a panic in the town, but at the same time, she needed to know what she was getting into. “This is probably going to take a while, and . . .”

“But we’ll be helping Twilight, right?”

“Well, yeah. But how did you . . .”

“Oh, silly. Canterlot was shaking so much we couldn’t miss it! and it couldn’t have been the Princesses because I saw them flying back afterwards, and only Twilight could have done it because she’s a super-duper-mega unicorn, and I thought I should go see what’s going on, and then Rarity disappeared, so I thought maybe Twilight had come and gotten her, and that meant that she didn’t want me to come and cheer her up, so I stayed here. But now you’re here, Spikey, and I know you’d do anything to help Twilight, and I know I’d do anything to help Twilight, too, and you’re asking for my help, which means you want to come help, and I’m just so excited!”

“Right,” Daerev said. “Listen, Pinkie, could I have a word with you,” he cast a glance around the room,” in private.”

“Yepperooni!” Pinkie sang, trotting upstairs. Daerev followed.

Pinkie’s room was unchanged from the small place she’d had all those years ago, except maybe tidier. A small desk, filled to bursting with paper—forms filled out in pink crayon, orders to shipments of food and party supplies, letters to and from ponies all around Equestria. A small bed, mangled pink blankets covering its old frame. The room seemed to sparkle, sunlight through the window catching on years of glitter, reflecting and refracting from cracks in every surface.

Daerev could understand why she stayed here. He hadn’t wanted Twilight to leave the library, either, and now he clung to it with a desperation born of fear, no matter how ill-suited he was to life inside a tree. Change was . . . hard to accept, and he’d be dropping a whole lot of it on Pinkie, all at once.

“Pinkie, what you saw a few nights ago . . . that was Twilight, and Cadence,” he began. As hard as he tried to keep his voice steady, he could feel his tone changing, growing mournful, grating. Pinkie noticed it too, her exuberance fading.

Daerev took a deep breath. “Trixie, and an accomplice, Boundless . . . Pinkie, they murdered Shining Armour.”

“What!” Pinkie froze staring at him, before her eyes unfocused and she slowly sank down onto her haunches. “Murdered! Those . . . those . . .” she glanced back at Daerev. “Ohmigosh, Spikey. I’m . . . I’m so sorry!” Rejecting anger—or being forsaken by it—she burst into tears, sinking completely to the floor, apparently unable to speak.

“Twilight’s . . . okay. As okay as she could be, given the circumstances,“ Daerev continued. He could feel tears coming as well. He hadn’t given himself a chance to grieve yet, but it was there, waiting for him to let it out. It wouldn’t wait forever. “She’s got Rainbow with her, and Rarity. They were able to catch Trixie.”

“That’s . . . that’s why Rarity vanished,” Pinkie managed, before dropping her head back onto her hooves.

“Yeah.” Daerev ran a claw over his head, brushing his spines flat against his neck. “Boundless got away. I want to go after him, and . . . I want you to come with me.”

“What? No! I have to go to Canterlot. I have to . . . I have to plan . . . I have to.” Pinkie had jumped up from her spot on the floor, and was rummaging through her desk and cupboards, pulling out seemingly random objects and throwing them behind her. “There’ll be a funeral, and, and a wake, and everypony will be so sad, and-”

“Pinkie,” Daerev said, hating himself for what he was about to do. “I don’t think they want to be cheered up right now. What did you say before? They didn’t want you in Canterlot?”

Pinkie turned, looking at him with soulful eyes.

“I don’t think a party will help, Pinkie,” Daerev said. “I don’t think you can help with this.”

Pinkie crossed her hooves across her chest. “Spike, you big meanie. Of course I’m going to Canterlot.”

“I need you, Pinkie,” Daerev said. “They don’t. Or they would have come and gotten you.” Somehow, from somewhere, some soulless void in his heart, he drew a rough tone, a tone of finality, that brooked no argument. Pinkie’s eyes filled up, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

In a small voice, she whispered “Okay, Daerev.”

Comments

[RTStephens]

Something's fishy in the water...

So now Pinkie and Spike are on the hunt. This will be one heck of a test on Fluttershy and Pinkie's part, dealing with ponies who suddenly have emotions boiling within them. Will kindness and laughter be enough to stem the tide?

Till next time!