The Runaway · 7:22pm Jul 2nd, 2019

Thunder boomed overhead in the dark, cloud-smothered night sky over Swanrun. The purple-maned filly turned her eyes up to the heavens with a small squeak at the deafening sound, her pupils shrinking in alarm. A few of the many ponies around her on the crowded street looked up as well. One or two swore under their breath at the realization that a downpour was imminent.

“You may want to find your way home, little lass,” one pony, a stallion, said to her as he passed. She turned to look at him, only to realize he had already started to trot away from her, soon vanishing amid the ocean of colorful bodies.

The filly just stood there for a few seconds. A breeze washed by, causing her long, tangled and messy mane to drift lazily around her dirt-smeared face. She heaved a quiet sigh, shook her head, and turned to continue her slow trot down the street. “...I don’t have a home,” she whispered to herself. “Not here, at least…”

The filly felt the first drop of rain splatter across her muzzle, making her grimace. She shook her head and glared bitterly up at the heavens. Was it too much to ask for the sky to wait for her to find some cover before it began to dump its contents all over the world?

Another few drops hitting her face answered her question. With a disappointed growl, the filly returned her eyes to the street ahead. Most of the ponies that had been out had already vanished back into their homes, leaving her without a crowd to blend into. She briefly looked up at the sky again, this time keeping an eye out for something other than the rain, and ducked into a nearby alley.

As the force of the rain swelled into a torrential downpour, the filly found herself lucky. At the base of a two-story home, she could see a wooden cellar door just sticking out from the foundation. Moving quickly, the filly made her way to the door. There was an old, rusty padlock on it, but she knew how to deal with that. Taking off her saddlebags, she quickly fished out a small knife, the kind one might use to spread butter.

She briefly paused when she caught sight of the blue crystal lamp at the bottom of the pouch. She stared at it for several long seconds, her ears drooping. She didn’t have time to get lost in her thoughts, though. The sound of somepony moving nearby spurred her into action. With her heart rate increasing, she quickly shoved the knife into the keyhole of the padlock and pushed.

With a metallic crack, the padlock came undone, and the filly swiftly descended into the cellar, closing the doors behind her.

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