The Moon Also Rises

by Nicroburst

Thirty

Our people have seen suffering enough for millennia. I have been thinking, dwelling on what to do with the last of the power I held. It is with me even now, retained in a single, dusk, orb. The light of the stars themselves glow from within.

I have named it Harmony, after He who spared us.

Thirty

BRAEBURN WALKED INTO APPLELOOSA, weariness and pain in his lamed leg slowing his steps. He still led his ponies. They were all grateful for the sedate pace, though many worried about family left behind. Braeburn could only hope that Bill and Applejack had worked something out. They’d left without making any provisions for the foals, entirely under the sway of their hate, but they all knew a repeat performance of their trek—two days ago, now—would end only in tragedy. They simply hadn’t the strength, even with the water acquired from the lake.

That water, at least some of it, followed the procession. The buffalo had had some barrels survive the storm, barrels Achak had already intended to send to Appleloosa. They couldn’t take all of it, but it was enough to sustain them for a little while, enough for them to survive, until they could fetch more.

More pressing than water, now, was food. Appleloosa had had stores, at first, but those were almost entirely gone, and without water, the orchard had been dying. What food the buffalo had stored had been destroyed in the storm, and the desert had been hard, yielding almost nothing on which they could survive. Which was why they were with Braeburn now, Achak at his side, buffalo mixed in with his ponies. None of them could survive the desert much longer.

It wasn’t hope that brought them back. In the wake of Fluttershy’s meltdown, they had all had time to think, to piece together their options. They had been depressingly limited. Braeburn entertained no false logic that promised salvation in Appleloosa. Instead, it was merely the promise of a few more days of life that lured him, an apathetic rejection of despair that drew him home.

When Fluttershy hit Achak, Braeburn had . . . well, he’d blanked. Still in shock, somewhat, from his abrupt awakening, he had done nothing to stop Fluttershy, instead just watching her crash into Achak in payment for her kindness. Braeburn, dazed, took a moment to move, running to them. His shoulder, numbed from Fluttershy’s impact, didn’t even notice his movements.

Miraculously, Achak had been largely unharmed. Instead, the energy of the strike had fallen on the sands around them, driving a circular crater into the ground, several feet wide. Inside it, obscured by the dust and sand thrown into the air, Fluttershy lay on Achak, both of them out cold.

Achak had woken that night, calling out for her son. Braeburn brought their beds together, brought them water. Only when she’d seen him give Ahanu a drink did she relax, and fall back to sleep. By the morning, she had recovered enough to reassume command of her tribe.

Fluttershy, on the other hoof, well, Braeburn wasn’t sure how she was faring. That cloud thingy she had with her assured him that she was fine—would be fine, with enough rest. She’d been unconscious the whole time, was still unconscious now. They’d placed her in one of a series of makeshift caravans, amongst the injured and infirm.

As for the trip itself, that had been thankfully uneventful. Taking it slowly, they’d inched across the desert, reaching Appleloosa three days after they left. They’d found some small grasses and plants along the way, but they were all scrawny, withered, and everypony—and every buffalo—was weak with hunger, staggering on their hooves.

So it was a pathetic procession that returned to Appleloosa. Braeburn halted, swaying where he stood, on the border of the town. He felt that there should be something to mark the occasion. Whether that was a simple speech, or a thunder strike from the heavens, or an apple, arcing through the air, hitting the ground and rolling to bump against his leg . . .

Wait. Where'n tarnation had that come from?

“Howdy there, neighbours,” Applejack cried, waving a hoof. “Ah’ll wager y’all have had a mighty rough time of it out there. Here we’ve got foodstuffs an’ good solid beds to rest ya weary hooves.”

Braeburn stared. The image made no sense. He’d left Appleloosa an empty town. The streets had been unswept, the tavern closed. Nopony had the energy or the supplies to create this . . . mirage.

Applejack stood in front of a long table, laded with food, stretching backwards, along the street. Braeburn couldn’t tell how far back it reached, but there was a great deal, more than enough for everyone to stuff themselves. There were apple fritters, apple strudel, apple tarts, baked apples, apple brioche, apple pies, apple cobbler, apple cinnamon crisps . . . the list went on.

“Well, what y’all waiting for?” Applejack cried. She reared up, flailing at the air with her hooves. “Soup’s on, everypony!”

It was like floodgates opened. All the ponies and buffalo that had gathered behind Braeburn, stunned at the sudden turn in their fortunes, rushed forward. Applejack stepped aside, a wide grin splitting her face. She waded through the crowd, letting them stream past her, found Braeburn still standing on the edge of town.

“Cousin,” Applejack said, laying a hoof on his shoulder. Braeburn flinched, pain shooting through him. Applejack noticed, took her hoof away, her grin slipping from her face. She opened her mouth, searching for words, but eventually settled on an evasion. “Where’s Fluttershy?”

Braeburn pointed behind himself, at her caravan, left amongst the others in the crowd’s wake. “She’s hurt,” he said, voice gruff. “Ah . . . Ah don’t know how bad.”

Applejack gave him a look that spoke volumes, then slipped past him, and slipped inside the caravan. Braeburn turned away, and made his way to the feast.

He still felt numb, somehow. Everything that had happened had left him confused, lost in a whirlwind of emotions. The strongest right now was guilt, for all the trouble his weakness had caused everyone. He blamed himself, for Achak’s pain and Fluttershy’s injuries, for all the heartache he’d created.

But when he sank his teeth into a fresh apple, plucked from the midst of the merriment and ecstatic relief coursing through everyone at that table, sank his teeth into its flesh—soft and sweet—tasted its juice, running over his tongue, he felt himself drown in relief. It flushed through him, washing out bitter memory in favour of better times. He found himself thinking about the old days, before his accident, when working the orchard was a joy and a privilege. He found himself thinking about the founding of the town, and the optimism that had brought him here, a pioneer. He ate, and was suffused with love, and in minutes, Braeburn found himself laughing, sharing jokes with those beside him, stuffing his face with produce.

Tomorrow held new challenges. For now, he would rest, and set aside his guilt, should forgiveness prove beyond him.

***

Applejack lifted the thick fabric walling the caravan with her nose. Inside, Fluttershy lay still, nestled under blankets, amongst pillows and barrels. She seemed peaceful, breathing steadily, eyes flickering around underneath closed lids. Her injured wing was outstretched and supported by her bedding, so that she couldn’t roll onto it. Applejack had expected some sign of trauma, after what Braeburn had told her. Instead, the only odd sight was the Cloud Nymph, hovering above Fluttershy protectively.

Warden, Nephele said, twisting to meet her eyes. The Conduit is nearly awake.

“What happened?’

We do not know. The Conduit attacked her allies.

“Fluttershy wouldn’t . . .” Applejack trailed off. She herself had done things she would never have considered herself capable of on this little trip. Pushing herself past her limit, she’d succumbed to the influence of her excess, lashed out at those nearest to her. Knowing the cause of her pain had done nothing to curb its insistence.

Fluttershy could have easily fallen into the same trap. She had seemed hell-bent on providing aid for those injured—Applejack knew there was nothing that would keep Fluttershy from spending herself on them. If she had gone too far . . .

Applejack looked up from Fluttershy’s prone form, caught Nephele’s gaze. “From the beginning.”

Ponies came, intent on war. The Conduit drank, and, connected to their rage, pulled it from them.

“Braeburn’s riot,” Applejack said. “They made it to Achak’s tribe.”

Yes.

“And Fluttershy found what was drivin’ them mad.”

The Conduit touched their rage in the waters of the lake.

“Ah think Ah’m starting to see a pattern here,” Applejack said.

It wasn’t some sort of puzzle, finally resolving into a whole picture in her mind. There was no sudden burst of clarity, or understanding that revealed some grand truth about the nature of their problems. Instead, it was more like a nagging suspicion, hovering in the back of her mind, finally confirmed—like a word hanging from the tip of the tongue, spoken.

Everything came back to water. The drought was caused by a cycle: water being drawn north, pulled through the ground and gathered together, only to crash back south as a great storm, driving ruin in its wake, soaking into the ground to be drawn back north. Remarkably like waves at a beach, but on a far greater scale.

The drought had created tension, but it wasn’t the only issue. What water there was left had been tainted, both in Appleloosa and across the desert. Applejack had noticed the darkness hanging over the town when she had arrived. She’d been confronted by dissidents at Achak’s camp. Now she knew why.

Everything that happened here had been directed. Applejack could not comprehend a reason dire enough to necessitate all of this, nor a mind that could delude itself into believing this anything but evil. And it, whatever it was, would need contact with the water, in order to infuse it. That meant north. That meant that she could follow the storm’s path back to its source. And that meant that she could put a stop to all this.

But right now, there were more immediate concerns. Applejack nuzzled Fluttershy, stroking her mane back from her face.

Rage, hate, fear, was carried by the water, infecting everyone that drank. When Fluttershy drank, she was touched by those emotions, and touched them in turn. If, in the process of healing—removing the plague, she would put it—Fluttershy drew it all into herself . . . she could have lost her mind.

The Conduit sleeps, Nephele says. But He is coming.

“Ah know,” Applejack said. Two weeks between cycles. The next storm was coming, and something told Applejack that it wouldn’t be late.

They had five days, if she was counting right. Not a lot of time—not when they were struggling just to survive.

Applejack rose from Fluttershy’s side, stepped closer to the barrels that lined her bedding. She knocked one with a hoof, listening to the slosh of its contents. Rearing up, she took the lid off. From within, unmistakeably, rose the scent of fresh water. Applejack lurched forward instinctively, tongue lashing out to lap at it, before she pulled herself back, panting.

Appleloosa hadn’t had the easiest time of it, these last five days. After Applejack discovered the orchard, she’d set about picking and storing the apples before they began to wither. There were a great number, and fresh, providing juice in place of water. That had kept the town alive. But it was a substitute nonetheless, and the promise of water, real water, was a temptation both visceral and unrelenting.

Applejack had planned to send a convoy of sorts, back to the reservoir. Appleloosa had far, far more barrels than the buffalo, and they would need that water, for themselves and the orchard, as well as to lessen the impact of the storm. They still had time, though it would be pushing it. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if they were late, caught out in the open desert when the storm hit.

But that was a provision for the future. The town needed this water, and needed it now. She could not allow fear of any taint remaining to dissuade her. So Applejack gave into that temptation, dipped her muzzle into the clear liquid, and drew in a deep draught.

Cold, cleansing, clean. Water rushed through her, chilling a path down her throat. She relaxed, stepped back from the barrel. There were still traces of the taint in it—a niggling sensation of dread that crept into her mind, whispering doom— but Applejack could shrug it aside, no match for the sheer relief of an honest drink. It was safe enough. She plunged her head into the water, and drank until her throat ached and her stomach felt fit to burst.

Applejack turned away, stepped down from the caravan. She was concerned for Fluttershy, though she knew Nephele would be monitoring her condition. Applejack had her own experiences with burning out—churning through power so quickly, so exhaustively, that there was nothing left to keep her on her hooves—and she knew some of the dangers associated with that kind of state.

It was an extreme depression. Applejack’s memories of that week were not pleasant. An apathy characterised by the absence of life. Perhaps the worst part of the condition, however, was that she hadn’t wanted to recover. She hadn’t believed she would ever feel better again, could no longer even imagine how that might feel.

She trusted that between them, Achak, Braeburn, and Nephele would have seen to Fluttershy’s physical health. But they couldn’t begin to comprehend where her mental state might be at. And Applejack didn’t have the time to nurse her patiently, to talk her into giving life another shot.

At the banquet, she was pleased to note that Bill had brought the foals out. She was less pleased to see that the buffalo had congregated at one end of the long table, ponies at the other. That was a problem, something she’d need to work on. For now, she took some food: a pie, and a few apples, and turned back to the caravan.

She had some basic understanding of how her abilities had produced the fruit, though it was not complete, nor intellectual. It made sense, that pouring her heart out to sustain her trees—her orchard—would bleed the emotions into the orchard’s produce. It made sense that that power, taking the form of lifeblood, both water and nourishment, would produce new life.

It even made sense, somehow, that the fruit could pass those emotions on to those who ate it. Applejack wasn’t about to question the single turn of good luck that Fate had dealt her. She needed Fluttershy. And if she could remind her, quickly and painlessly, of all the good she could do here, and why she should do it . . . Well, Applejack wasn’t fool enough to allow opportunity to pass her by.

Nephele allowed her to gently ease small pieces of food into Fluttershy’s mouth. Applejack had to work Fluttershy’s jaw, had to coax Nephele into trickling water from the barrels down her throat. The Cloud Nymph didn’t need any implements to do so, instead carrying water in her body.

It was a slow process, and without immediate effect. But Applejack sat patiently at Fluttershy’s side even after finishing her meal, and waited. Within a half-hour, Fluttershy was stirring, eyes fluttering, tossing and turning.

“A- Applejack,” she said, with a little cough.

“Easy, Fluttershy,” Applejack said, running a hoof down the side of her face. “You’re okay. You’re going to be alright.”

***

Fluttershy stepped down from the caravan sometime that afternoon. The last five days were a blur, passing unnoticed, and she gazed around Appleloosa with something akin to wonder. Applejack had provided her with a brief summary of her time unconscious, but the transition from her hateful attack by the reservoir to the renewed Appleloosa was disorienting.

Applejack’s fruit had restored her. Where it had seemed such an effort, to feel, such a colossal undertaking simply to care about anything outside of herself, the fruit had flooded her with energy. Where she had failed to see the point in opening her eyes, it had reminded her of greens and reds and yellows, of orchards and desert plains. Where she had tossed and turned, uncomfortable and unwilling to ease her body’s aches, it had scoured her skin and fur with sand and water. Where she had suffered through the stench of a two-day trek, unable to do so much as scrunch her nose, it had wafted fresh dirt, and new growth past her.

She remembered succumbing to the taint in the water. She remembered pulling it into herself, and using it to attack those around her. She had hurt ponies, and buffalo. But it was with a new heart that she remembered that failure, and though she fully expected to lose some sleep over it, it did not break her.

Achak had come to see her—had found her quietly crying under the watchful eye of Nephele. Fluttershy felt entitled to her grief, revelled in it as proof of her ongoing commitment. Earlier, she had allowed grief to drain her, allowed it to push her beyond her limits in an attempt to stave off pain. Applejack’s story, of her frantic run back here, and her confrontation with Braeburn, demonstrated the same trap. They had both felt that their abilities, so far beyond that of any other, gave them responsibility for events. They were both so focused on supporting others that they gave no thought to their own health. And it caused them, slowly but surely, to fail.

Fluttershy looked around. The feast Applejack had prepared had been cleared away, most ponies retreating to their old homes, reuniting with their families. The buffalo had set up their own camp, towards the southern side of the town. Those few wounded who were still bedridden were housed together, in large pavilions, the caravans loaded with barrels and sent back to the lake for more water.

Slowly, everything was coming together. They had a defensible position here, with shelter and provisions. They could weather the next storm, and then set out to stop it, finally, follow it back to its source and halt all this senseless devastation.

Until then, though, all she could do was wait. There had to be something she could do here, something more in line with her temperament. Fluttershy had had enough rest, and she chafed to accomplish something. She had no business organising those sent for water, nor farming the land. Applejack and Bill had that well in hoof.

Ah need you.

Applejack hadn’t spent the last five days asleep. She’d come to Fluttershy with suspicions, deductions, and a plan.

Fluttershy trotted, choosing streets at random. Nephele had elected to remain in the caravan, resting in the dark, away from the sun. The Cloud Nymph, perhaps more than anypony else, relied on water for survival, and her time in the desert had been taxing.

Fluttershy wanted to learn the general layout of the town, to become familiar with her surroundings. She remembered her brief stay here, last week, only as some vaguely sinister threat, as a general sense of impending doom, hanging over the town. Darkened streets, empty, homes shuttered closed, arguments between the only two ponies that seemed to live here.

Now, the sun shone freely on Appleloosa. Foals were in the streets, populating the air with sharp cries and laughter. Ponies swept and dusted, chattering about this and that as they cleaned. Doom had been replaced by hope, and it spread just as quickly.

Many waved to Fluttershy, calling out in greeting. She was happy to return pleasantries, smiling, revelling in the warmth surrounding her, but she didn’t stop moving.

The two of us ain’t enough. Not to stop what’s coming.

The streets became quieter, after a time. The housing was less dense here, in the southern sections of the small town, and the ponies had clustered themselves towards the north. For a stretch, there was only silence, a blanket of nothing that caused Fluttershy to shiver. She bit her lip. She’d always loved silence, in the past—had sought it out, rather than seeking company. Now, it only unnerved her.

Quiet was soon replaced with new voices. Buffalo, Achak’s tribe, gathered here. They were resting, content with full stomachs and wet throats, or assisting in the construction of their camp. Already, tents were arrayed, stretching back in long lines, pavilions for group meetings or meals set up. Fluttershy winced. For all that they preferred this transient life to the settled protection of the town; it was an exile all the same.

She found the wounded, asking for directions. Many of those she’d stabilised had recovered already, but there were still some, dealing with crippling disabilities—the loss of a leg, or an eye, or a relative—or slowly healing from massive trauma. Stepping from cot to cot, Fluttershy passed her warmth around, her fears and hopes, and within minutes, they were outside, heading to the centre of camp for food.

As an afterthought, Fluttershy eased her own wing through its injury, restoring it to health. She hadn’t wanted to expend the energy before, but there was no longer any reason to deny herself.

Fluttershy jumped, as a hoof was placed on her shoulder. Spinning, she found Achak, and Ahanu at her side. The young buffalo had improved somewhat, since his ordeal, though he was still reticent, and clung to his mother’s side.

“Fluttershy. Thank you, once again.”

“It was nothing,” Fluttershy said.

“No,” Achak said. “It isn’t. We all appreciate everything you’ve done.”

Fluttershy took a step back, scuffed at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

Achak just laughed, wonderfully, impossibly, and pulled Fluttershy into a rough hug. “Of course you are,” she said. “Please, please don’t worry about it. All is forgiven.”

“Oh,” Fluttershy said, biting back the urge to rest her head on Achak's shoulder and cry. “Well, umm, I'm . . . I'm just . . .”

“I know," Achak said. She pulled back, regarded Fluttershy with warm eyes. "Have you met my son?”

“Only briefly.” Fluttershy leaned down, beaming. He had been one of the many buffalo Fluttershy had treated, after the storm, and Applejack had mentioned him to her earlier today, something about a carving of a snowflake—a tiny detail that didn’t fit in. “And how are you feeling?”

Ahanu glanced up, met her eyes. A nervous smile flickered to life on his face, before slipping away. At a nudge from his mother, he managed a brief acknowledgement, “Better,” before turning away.

Fluttershy didn’t miss the worry that flashed through Achak. And even if he didn’t present a glowing opportunity to make good on her promise to Applejack, she would have wanted to help him. So Fluttershy leaned down, clasped one of Ahanu’s hooves in her own.

Applejack’s produce couldn’t solve everything, and while it might have been tempting—just for a moment—for Fluttershy to sense precisely what he was feeling, she really had no need of her abilities. He was still young, ill-equipped to handle the shock brought on by the storm. And Fluttershy had a life-time of experience empathising with creatures. There was similarity between his situation and a chick left behind during migration, or a little bunny that’d lost his parents to a predator. Fluttershy could handle this.

“I know you don’t want to listen to me, and I know everything seems just that bit too much right now. It’s a big, scary world, and it isn’t fair that it’s all been dropped on you at once.”

Ahanu tightened his grip on his mother’s leg. Achak frowned, posing a question to Fluttershy without saying a word. Fluttershy glanced at her, and then turned back to Ahanu.

“You’ve been a big, brave, strong buffalo, Ahanu, more than anyone expects. You don’t want to be a burden on your mother, or your tribe, and you aren’t. Ahanu, look at me.” Fluttershy pulled on his shoulder, slowly coaxing him to face her. “I can’t tell you what to do. But I want you to know that I’m here for you, if you need anything.”

Ahanu stared at her. Eventually, licking his lips, he ventured “Why?”

Fluttershy smiled. “Because I’m your friend.”

Ahanu nodded, smiling back.

“Applejack told me all about a carving you found,” Fluttershy said, watching surprise flit across both buffalo. “I was wondering if, I mean, if it’s okay with you, if I could see it.”

Ahanu considered that for a long moment, and then released Achak’s leg and slipped away, darting between tents.

Achak turned back to Fluttershy, grinning. “Good with children, too, I see.”

“More like experience with trauma,” Fluttershy mumbled. “If you’ve got some time, I’d like to talk,” she said, louder.

“About what?”

“Well, umm, I noticed that you’ve segregated yourselves here. Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off in the town, with everypony else?”

“I don’t think the Appleloosans want us intruding.”

“Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

Achak put a hoof on the back of her head. “We . . . prefer our own company.”

Fluttershy pressed her lips together. “It’s just that Applejack and I feel that we’d all be better off if we could work on building more unity between the two groups. I’d like to be a . . . liaison of sorts, for the buffalo.”

“Well,” Achak said. “I don’t see why not. But we’ve learned our lesson, Fluttershy.”

“Right.”

“And I don't want you to promise anything.”

“Of course.”

Achak nodded. “Done, then. Was there anything else?”

“Actually, yes,” Fluttershy said. ”I wanted to ask—if it isn't too much trouble, I mean—how did you . . .”

“How did I . . . ?”

“Survive.”

“Ah,” Achak said. Grinning mischievously, she winked. “I don’t understand what you and Applejack have been doing, not at all. But I’m not defenceless either.”

Before Fluttershy could enquire further, Ahanu returned. He was carrying in his hoof a small object—an opaque fragment of glassy crystal. He proffered it to Fluttershy, offering it up while biting his lip, eyes turned down.

Applejack had described the one she’d seen as a snowflake, something reminiscent of the Crystal Empire. Fluttershy could only agree. Sunlight sparkled through the crystal, running along and highlighting distinct lines marking out a six-pointed star. Its points were sharp enough to draw a speck of blood when Fluttershy tested them, and the crystal itself felt smooth, glossy, as if it were ice, covered in a sheen of warming water.

How in Equestria could this have ended up here?

“Ahanu,” Achak said, peering down at the crystal. “This isn’t the one you showed me before.”

Ahanu shook his head. “I lost it.”

“Where’d you find this one?” Fluttershy asked, crouching down to pass it back.

Ahanu raised a hoof, pointing further into the buffalo camp.

“Could you find more?”

Ahanu shook his head.

“Why not?” Fluttershy asked, putting the question to him as gently as she could.

“They dug it up,” Ahanu said, “in the trench.”

Fluttershy blanched. There was only one trench he might be referring to, and it wasn’t one Fluttershy liked to think about. The buffalo would need a place for the necessities, were they to stay here for some time. Ahanu must have found the crystal in the loose dirt thrown out.

Still, “Could there be any more?”

“I guess,” Ahanu said.

Fluttershy nodded. “Thank you, Ahanu. If you do find any more, I’d love to see them.”

Crystals of snow and ice, buried in the sand of the Appleloosan desert. Fluttershy couldn’t imagine what they signified. Their existence irked her, a tiny distraction from the rather grand events happening around her, worrying at her from the back of her mind. She saw no connection between them and what was happening here, and nonetheless . . . It was an inconsistency.

How had it gotten here, as well as at the reservoir? Why had it been buried in the sand? What-

“I’ll see you later,” Achak said, pulling Fluttershy forward into a brief farewell hug, and jolting her from her thoughts. “Come on, Ahanu.”

“Yes,” Fluttershy said. “Later.” Abruptly, she shook herself, turning away and trotting back towards town proper.

Focus. She could worry about the crystals later. Achak had given her tacit approval—she could speak for the buffalo, to an extent. The other half was Bill. Applejack had nothing but praise for the sheriff, being perhaps the only pony in the town to really resist the taint. The two of them had created a system of sorts, in Braeburn’s absence, gathering the foals and elders together to help collect fruit, rationing water, and keeping everypony’s spirits up, as best they could. Now, as each family reclaimed their homes, and Applejack found herself largely confined to the orchard, keeping the trees alive and producing fruit—at least until the water convoy returned—Bill would be looked to as their leader. Braeburn had lost the influence he once held, dissipated in the foolhardy expedition to the reservoir.

She found Bill in his office, speaking quietly with three pegasi.

“Sheriff?” Fluttershy asked, clearing her throat.

“Fluttershy,” Bill said, waving her in.

“If this is a bad time . . .”

“No, no,” Bill said. “Come in. Meet Appleloosa's weather patrol: Breeze, Dust Chaser, and Dew Drop.”

The pegasi were looking at her curiously. Fluttershy nodded at each of them in turn, offering a smile, and her name.

“They left a while back, when our water shipments from Cloudsdale were first interrupted.”

“Oh,” Fluttershy said. “I see.”

“It ain’t Cloudsdale, boss,” Breeze said. “We had them send a double shipment, just in case. But everything was in order up there.”

“Yes, of course,” Fluttershy said. She already knew that much—the clouds carrying water for the town were being shredded by the magical field over the desert—the horrific field of death, where she had met Nephele.

“Oh?” Breeze said. “You know something Ah don’t?”

“Yes,” Fluttershy said. “I think the water’s being trapped. I found a magical . . . construct, out in the desert, between here and the city. It was . . . it was shredding animals and clouds alike.” She felt a surge of nausea at the memory of the poor little bird.

“You mean the distortion field,” Dust Chaser cut in. “we thought that might be it as well.”

“That’s why we redirected the shipments. They’ll head to Ponyville first, then follow the train tracks down here.” Dew Drop continued.

“It’ll take longer,” Breeze said. “But there ain’t no way anything’s messing with the clouds now.”

Bill exhaled loudly. “That’s a load off my mind. Good thinking, you three.”

“A distortion field?” Fluttershy asked.

“We saw it soon after setting out,” Dust Chaser said. “Good thing, too, we might have run into the damn thing ourselves if Breeze’s eyes weren’t quite so sharp.”

Breeze snorted, ruffling his wings.

“It’s standard,” Dew Drop said. “Cloudsdale uses them all the time, usually to break up large weather systems that have gotten out of hoof.”

“But it ain’t theirs,” Breeze said. “Ah’m afraid we don’t really know much more than you do, Miss Fluttershy.”

“Can you . . . dismantle it?” Fluttershy asked.

“That’s powerful magic,” Breeze said. “Short answer, no. Not with what we got here. Not without more help. S’why we sent ‘em around.”

Fluttershy nodded. It was a start—more than a start. The return of Appleloosa’s pegasi was a stroke of fortune. Water shipments, untainted and fresh, were on the way.

But a whole town, joined together . . .

. . . Ah believe we can stop anything.

For the first time in days, Fluttershy thought that maybe—just maybe—they might survive.