The space heater proved to be an imperfect solution. It buzzed loudly after half an hour of use and was too hot to sleep directly in front of. Scootaloo let it run until the cellar was reasonably warm, then turned it off when she wanted to sleep. She still woke up colder then she would have liked, but her night was infinitely more bearable.
A bigger problem was the burns on her left front hoof. Yesterday they’d been ugly and red, but only a little achy; now they were throbbing, swollen, white with pus, and surrounded by deep crimson. She gingerly touched one and searing pain shot up her foreleg.
First aid kits were a luxury, but visiting the hospital was not an option. Scootaloo tied a bandana around her hoof and grunted as she pulled it tight. If the infection didn’t heal on its own, it would at least stay manageable until she could figure out a better solution. With a little balancing she found she could still ride her scooter reasonably well, as long as she avoided any sharp turns.
Sometimes she would meet Applebloom on the way to school and sometimes she wouldn’t. Today, their paths crossed. “Heya Scoots,” Apple Bloom said with a wave. “Applejack said you came by the other day. Sorry I couldn’t come out to play.”
“It’s OK.”
“What happened to your hoof?”
It was a perfectly innocent question, and Scootaloo hated it. She hated it because it meant lying to her friend. She hated it because it reminded her that she didn’t injure herself like other fillies her age. She hated it because if Apple Bloom hurt herself she had a family who would tend to her. “Scooter accident.”
“Figures. You alright?”
“Yeah, its no big deal.” Another lie.
“Well c’mon, we don’t wanna be late.”
Scootaloo was able to make it through the school day and her nightly foraging but the extra effort left her exhausted. On top of everything else, she had to return Sturdy Craft’s soldering iron, and the same lie about her burns wouldn’t work on him. He was kind enough to give her some zinc cream, at least. Still, by the end of the day, she was tired enough that instead of waiting for her new space heater to finish its job, she just turned it on the lowest setting and collapsed on her cardboard bed.
Twilight adjusted her telescope and marked her notebook. “Thanks for staying up with me, Owlowiscious.” She giggled. “Well I guess you’re up anyway, but I really appreciate you keeping me company while I chart these constellations.”
“Hoo.”
“And you’re a great conversationalist too!” Twilight giggled again.
Owlowiscious flapped his wings wildly and jerked his head away from the sky and toward Ponyville. “Hoo!”
Turning her head Twilight heard the flashing sirens of Ponyville’s fire brigade. There wasn’t any smoke, as far as she could see, and no orange glow indicating a fire. Nevertheless, she decided to see if she could be of any help.
Strictly speaking, Twilight didn’t have any authority over Ponyville’s municipal services. She could, if she wanted, petition Mayor Mare to issue an executive order. Failing that, she could create an independent advisory board which would be granted provisional authority in accordance with their charter, pending an approval by the judicial council. But even then she had no actual clearance to be on site at an active fire scene.
But in practice Twilight was a princess and so as soon as she arrived at Quills and Sofas the fire captain galloped over and snapped a sharp salute. If he was confused why a sovereign felt the need to check on what was apparently a routine call he didn’t show it. “Princess Twilight,” he said with a bow. “Thank you for coming, but it appears this is a milk run.”
Twilight awkwardly acknowledged the bow, still not completely comfortable with the trappings of power. “What happened here?”
“No big deal really. Carbon monoxide alarm in the basement went off. Normally not our problem unless we get a call, but it’s the middle of the night in the business district so we’ve got to come check it out.”
“Is anypony hurt?”
“No. Basement’s empty, come look,” the captain said, leading Twilight down the stairs.
At first glance it looked like any other basement she might expect to see, crammed with clutter and bric-a-brac. But there was a pillow and a crumpled up pile of blankets tucked off to the side, and out of the corner of her eye, Twilight spotted the same hat and scarf she’d given Scootaloo. “Did you see anypony on your way here?”
“Well, we weren’t really looking, but no. Streets are usually quiet this late anyway.”
Before Twilight could ask another question, Davenport came rushing down the stairs. “What’s going on here?”
“Looks like your heater malfunctioned, sir. Set off the carbon monoxide alarm,” the captain answered.
“What heater? I haven’t been down here in months.”
“This isn’t yours?” The captain held up the space heater that had inadvertently summoned them all.
“No, and I don't know what the rest of this stuff is doing in my basement either.”
While Davenport and Captain Sunspot settled the particulars, Twilight excused herself to look around. She picked up an the orange feather from near the makeshift bed and examined it.
Twilight was capable of infusing her spells with shocking amounts of energy, but what truly made her a skilled magician was her understanding, bolstered by years of study, of exactly how different spells worked. Presently she was thinking of a repair spell, though healing magic followed similar rules. As long as the break was recent, pieces that once belonged to a single whole could be put back together. At the core of the spell was the principle that the pieces wanted to fit together, that they had a relationship with the other pieces. When she cast a spell she had a relationship with all the pieces as well. So a repair spell was simply a matter of helping the pieces do what they wanted. Like Princess Celestia always said, “friendship is magic.”
Twilight reached out to the orange feather and felt it hum. It wanted to be part of a wing again. Most unicorns would have been incapable of linking a single feather to a wing more that a few feet away, but Twilight wasn’t most unicorns. She set her jaw and began pumping energy into the spell. Go. The feather shot off and Twilight galloped after it.
Scootaloo woke up to a blaring siren and a splitting headache. She didn’t know what the alarm was for, and ultimately didn’t care. It was clearly coming from inside the building, and that meant ponies would be coming soon. She grabbed her scooter, her saddlebag, and her jar-slash-piggy bank and scooted away as fast as she possibly could.
She found herself at the caves outside of town—a place she’d slept before she found her cellar. She forgot how dank they could get. Alone in the dark she slumped against the cave wall, all her hard work erased. The space heater, her scavenged materials, the roof over her head, even Sturdy’s ointment were all gone now. Frustration bubbled over and she started pounding the ground with her one good hoof. Why. Can’t. Anything! Ever! Be! Fair! She wasn't asking for much, just a little piece of mind. Everypony else got some assurance that things would be OK from day to day, why not her? She slammed both hooves into the ground, trying to ignore the fresh jolt of pain. Harsh reality asserted itself. Back to square one.
Scootaloo didn’t even feel the feather slide back among its fellows; she did however notice that all of a sudden she wasn’t alone.
“Hello Scootaloo.”