Thistleroot looked from the burnt figure on the ground back to Mimic. She had turned to look at Star Shine again, still frowning.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course I am,” she said. “It’s like you said, he deserved it, right? He was trying… trying to…” Mimic moved back a step, and then another. She turned, managed to move several paces out of sight behind a bushy sapling, and then retched.
“Okay,” Thistleroot said softly to himself. “I guess changelings aren’t all killing machines. That’s good, right?”
He allowed a few more seconds before moving a bit closer. The retching had been replaced with the sounds of dry heaves.
“We should get moving,” Thistleroot said. Mimic managed to step away from the sapling and give him a dizzy look. “It’s not safe here. More changelings could be coming, right?”
“Yes. You’re right.” Mimic shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“Good. You think you’ll be able to keep up?”
Mimic seemed to straighten a bit. “Keep up with you? Of course.”
“Then come on,” Thistleroot said, striding purposefully toward the fallen arch of the Canterlot gardens, careful not to meet her eyes. Keep it simple, Thistleroot. No overacting. Keep her moving, keep her engaged.
He heard Mimic stifle a hiss of pain behind him.
“Are you coming, or not?” I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. I’m not good at this.
“Right behind you,” she answered. She took a deep breath and fell into step behind him. “Do you think Scootaloo made it?”
“Yeah. She would have been with the princess. She’s probably fine. At least I’m going to assume so for now, because not all of us can be cynical beardless unicorns.”
As he spoke, Thistleroot went over everything he knew about psychology, which was sadly less than he’d have liked. He’d read all of Twilight Sparkle’s published works, of course, including one study of the pony mind. He’d reread parts of the book recently, after talking to Scootaloo about it during their first Cutie Mark Crusader meeting at Star Shine’s mansion. Unfortunately his interest lately had been in how memory charms affect the subconscious. He hadn’t brushed up on mundane trauma.
“I don’t know what you’re saying. Again,” Mimic said.
“It’s nothing.”
“What about other changelings?” Mimic asked. “You ponies had some captured from previous attacks, right? Were they in the city?” Her voice threatened to break as she asked, and Thistleroot found himself second guessing his decision to keep moving. If she was in that much pain, it couldn’t be good for her. But waiting in Canterlot wouldn’t do her any good either.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“But you’re not sure?”
Thistleroot shook his head. “I wasn’t in charge of anything, I was just sort of around. We found out about some danger from a crazy pony who thought he was Discord, which makes a lot more sense with context. Plans to evacuate in case of trouble were set up a few days in advance, and there’s no way Princess Celestia would leave anypony locked away in danger. Not even enemies.”
“I hope so,” Mimic said, her voice a bit more steady.
“Anyway, we need to decide. North, with the evacuated Canterlot ponies? We can get your shoulder and wing looked at.”
Mimic considered for a moment. “Too many of them may still be changelings in disguise. I’d rather not risk running into any that know about me.”
“South then,” Thistleroot said. “Ponyville’s the closest town in that direction. Scootaloo’s from there, we might even run into her.” He turned at the next intersection of the ruined road. As he did, he noticed a sudden shifting of the shadows around him. He tensed, expecting the shadows to jump out at him, but a hiss from Mimic caught his attention and he turned toward her. He followed her gaze up to the sky.
The sun was gliding across the sky toward the horizon. It set behind the mountains to the far west, plunging the city in an inky dark. No moon came to take its place.
“Oh, that’s not a good sign.”
*****
Mimic was going to kill Thistleroot.
She put one hoof in front of the other, breathing steady, eyes set forward. Shoulder and head throbbed in tandem, but she locked the pain away in the back of her mind. She was not going to be the first to cave.
“Oh, what about shrimp? Have you ever turned into shrimp?”
Mimic fought back a groan. “Why would I do that?”
“Well, some kind of shrimp can see like, a million times more colors than us, right? If you turn into one, can you see that many colors?”
“I told you, it doesn’t work like that.”
“What about owls, can you see in the dark if you turn into one?”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
The mountain path had tapered off into level plains as they walked. Mimic had lost track of how long it had been. The eerie darkness hadn’t changed since the sun set.
It had been long enough to leave the city behind, and to clean and bandage her injury once they’d found a clean source of water. Thistleroot had insisted, much to her annoyance. And the entire time, he hadn't shut up. No wonder ponies wanted to kill him.
Finally, Thistleroot slowed to a stop. “That’s probably far enough for one day, wouldn’t you say?”
Mimic dropped into a sitting position in answer.
“It’s probably too dangerous for us to both sleep, we’ll need to keep watch. Like in Daring Do and the-“
“Don’t care.”
“Right, sorry. You want me to keep the first watch?” Thistleroot asked.
“Knock yourself out.” Mimic managed to stand again, legs shaking with the effort. She stayed vertical just long enough to move off the main path, tucking down beside a tree and closing her eyes. Her body was exhausted, and she thought she’d be asleep instantly.
Her mind had other ideas.
She’d spoken to Scootaloo about it before. The day they first met. What was it, two and a half weeks ago? It felt more like two and a half years. It had been an idle threat. A small revenge against the pony who had maimed her brother. Then she’d said, “I don’t think I could bring myself to do it. I wonder how I’d feel about it afterwards. I’m almost curious enough to find out.”
In the end, she’d been able to do it.
Her stomach twisted. She swallowed against a sudden acidic taste at the back of her throat. She sat up, breathing slowly.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Thistleroot. He wasn’t looking right at her, but he was clearly paying attention.
Her controlled breathing wasn’t enough. She ducked her head as the nausea took over.
*****
Thistleroot winced.
There wasn’t much he could do at this point. He’d done his best to keep her engaged during the first six hours. By now the day’s events would be long term memories, rather than short term, and hopefully less vivid than if she’d been dwelling on them. If changeling’s brains worked the same. If he even remembered what he’d read correctly.
All he could do now is be available if she wanted to talk, though something told him she wasn’t the kind to open up about her feelings.
*****
The wooden ramp of the old clubhouse creaked underhoof. The front wall was worn. The door hinges had rusted over from disuse.
Scootaloo had considered going to her home in Ponyville, the cloud house that she’d shared for years with Rainbow Dash, but it seemed too risky.
Whatever had come out of that prison was fine with letting her live. At the very least it hadn’t cared enough about her to kill her, but there were still who knows how many changelings out looking for her.
Instead, she decided it would be safest to hide here. She tried the door, but it wouldn’t budge. She slammed a shoulder against it, shaking flakes of rust from the metal fittings.
She could take time to think. There had to be something she could do. Some way to free the princesses. Some way to break the spell on her sister and the other Element Bearers.
She slammed the door again and it gave an inch, the layer of rust cracking.
Her hooves were shaking. She took a second to breathe, to fight down the rising tide of despair threatening to drown her.
There had to be something.
She slammed the door one last time. The hinges squealed in protest as she pushed her way through and again as she closed the door behind her.
The room was dimly lit from the far side. It wasn’t enough, but she was able to make out several large boxes along the walls. She poked at the nearest to find it made of cardboard and closed with packing tape.
She moved toward the source of the illumination, kicking up a thick cloud of dust as she went.
Lying on the floor was a small uncut crystal, about half the size of a baseball. It gave off a faint golden glow, and beneath its surface swam a half dozen colors. Scootaloo cautiously touched it. It was warm to the touch, as though it had been sitting out in the sun.
Scootaloo looked up. The ceiling was too dark to make out any detail. A quick flap of her wings brought her to the top of the room. After a few seconds of feeling about, she found what she was looking for: a hole in the ceiling about the size of the chunk of crystal. Peering through it, she could see the ceiling of the clubhouse attic. Starlight flickered through another hole directly above the first.
Celestia’s magic had splintered into six lights. Scootaloo had watched one of those lights arc high to the South, in the direction of Ponyville, to apparently wait for Scootaloo in one of the only places she could think to go. She’d watched the light bounce between each Element of Harmony.
She dropped back to the floor and gingerly scooped up the crystal. Her hooves had stopped shaking. The golden glow of the sun felt like the warmth of an old friend. Beneath the surface of the crystal, the light of harmony continued to dance and swim.
Would this be enough to free her sister from stone? No. She shook her head. As much as she hated to admit it, if she could free anypony it would have to be Twilight Sparkle. She had the magic of a princess and more knowledge than just about anypony. With her help, the others could be freed as well. And then the elements could be turned against Rose and her queen.
It wasn’t a perfect plan by any means. Scootaloo would have to find where Rose had stashed the Element Bearers, if she’d kept them whole in the first place. And she had no idea how to use the crystal. No, it wasn’t perfect, but it was something to cling to.
She curled up, clutching the warm crystal to her chest. She drifted off quickly as exhaustion caught up with her. As she slept, the comforting presence of Celestia’s magic kept her warm, and kept her nightmares at bay.