Flitter’s oldest memory: her parents, tucking her in.

She’d been a baby. Big sister Cloudchaser hadn’t. Anything else had happened far away, and then she’d been living with Cloudy.

So Flitter pestered her. Their parents had “D-worded”, as Cloudy grimly put it, but how? Falling in battle?

Cloudy, whose mane was so cool, writhed wounded. Flitter, with her prissy bow, grinned with bloodlust.

A battle, Cloudy reluctantly said. Sorta.

Fighting some ancient enemy!? Evil armies!? Rebels against Celestia!?

No.

Yet every time “fighting” was mentioned, Cloudy cringed. Flitter spotted it. Aha! So what had they been fighting?

Eventually, Cloudy muttered, “Each other.”

Monsterizing curses! Despair! Heroic sacrifices! How tragic! Flitter's imagination gasped in awe.

Later, young Flitter figured out why Cloudy shuddered whenever married ponies argued; Cloudchaser fought her own memories.

“D-worded”.

Flitter never mentioned parents again. Suddenly, fighting wasn’t cool anymore.

But Flitter’s warmest memory: Cloudy, tucking her in.