//------------------------------//
// Focus 
// Story: The Stranger Among Friends 
// by PhycoKrusk 
//------------------------------//

	It was no small feat for Driftwood not to imagine that the sound of the door closing behind him sounded exactly like the lid of a coffin, and he had no luck with it in any case: No matter how he tried to dress it up, he was alone in a conference room with one of the most magically and politically powerful ponies in Equestria. His stomach churned, breathing took effort, and there was nothing to be done for any of it.

The conference room was sparsely appointed: It was not very large, after all, measuring only four lengths wide and five or five-and-a-half long. The exterior wall had large windows, although the curtains had been drawn, while the opposite had had two large landscapes — a peculiarity of art that Driftwood had not managed to understand the point of — hanging from it. Light was provided by more gas lamps spread along the walls. The center of the room was dominated by a large table, one-by-three lengths in size, with Twilight Sparkle already sitting at the head of it. Her expression was of careful neutrality, and try though he might, Driftwood could not get a sense of her emotional state. Probably, she had accounted for that to remove any advantage he might have had.

He had expected the table to be covered in all manner of books and sheafs of parchment and paper. Instead of what he’d expected, there were three short, neat stacks of paper arranged in front of Twilight. It made sense, really, that this was likely the sum of knowledge collected about changelings; they had, as a people, worked very hard to remain hidden, after all.

Twilight, not bothering to assess Driftwood’s assessment of the situation, instead gestured to the end of the table across from her, where a single cushion rested. “Please, heave a seat,” she said.

“Yes, Princess,” Driftwood replied, immediately and smartly walking to the cushion at the end of the table not occupied by Twilight Sparkle and sitting down. He was careful to keep his attention focused on a spot on the table, directly in front of her. He was sure that she frowned at him, but it was difficult to know for certain, hard as his imagination was trying to get away from him.

“So, I understand that you go by Driftwood,” Twilight said after a few moments of shuffling some of the papers about.

“Yes, Princess,” Driftwood replied after waiting no time at all. Again, he was certain that she frowned at him.

“If I asked you to call me Twilight, would you?” she asked.

“No, Princess.”

“Is this an aspect of changeling culture?” Twilight asked after a moment. “Extreme deference to royalty?”

Driftwood was not able to stop himself from stiffening, but he tried to hide it all the same. “No, Princess,” he said quickly. A heavy silence fell for a few moments, but Twilight did not press that inquiry further.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?” she asked instead.

“No, Princess,” Driftwood replied plainly.

For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the shuffling of papers, although from his peripheral vision, Driftwood could see that Twilight was shuffling between the same five sheets of paper and not doing a very good job to appear as though she were hunting for a specific piece of information.

“The information we have suggests that a changeling can absorb emotional energy, specifically love, to make their magic stronger,” Twilight finally said, allowing a small silence after to make her intent clear.

“No, Princess,” Driftwood replied.

Silence reigned for several seconds more, but this time, without the shuffling of papers to accompany it.

“Could you explain?” Twilight asked.

“The strength of a spell depends on the amount of magic fed to it, not the amount of magic the caster has,” Driftwood said.

“So then, love doesn’t make a changeling’s magic stronger, but gives them more energy to use their magic?” Twilight asked.

Driftwood remained silent for several moments. “Love is our magic, Princess,” he finally said. “A changeling isn’t like a pony. A unicorn could exhaust themselves magically, but they’d be fine again after some food and rest. A changeling can’t. It’s like….” When he trailed off, Twilight did not interrupt him, and for a change he felt that he had all the time he might need.

“Compare a pony to a lizard. When a pony gets cold, they can warm themselves back up. When a lizard gets cold, it has to find a source of heat, or else it’ll die. A pony, somehow, produces their own magic. A changeling doesn’t, and can’t. Not ever. If we don’t absorb energy from love, we die.”

“If you’ll die without energy to absorb, then why on earth would you want to live on the outskirts of town where there isn’t any energy to absorb?” Twilight asked with a deal more force than she intended. Driftwood shrunk away from her, but quickly returned to his original posture, refusing to look anywhere but the spot directly in front of her the entire time.

“It’s safer to be alone,” he said.

The princess said nothing in response, the silence that settled over the room broken only by the shuffling of papers. “Driftwood?” she finally asked.

“Yes, Princess?” he asked, managing not to flinch when he was addressed.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to decide what to do with you, because I don’t think I actually know very much about changelings. I think I need to speak with Rarity.”

“Of course, Princess,” Driftwood replied, never once breaking his focus on the spot on the table directly in front of Twilight.