The Last Alicorn was, by any means, an unassuming looking book. Its faded yellow cover, like a pale morning sunrise, wore through in places, revealing glimpses at the stiffer, hardcover material underneath. The title flowed over the image of a lone alicorn in bold, almost fae-like cursive only an accomplished calligrapher could hope to replicate, much like every other fantasy novel Spitfire had ever seen.
She turned the book over in her hooves, humming to herself as she looked it over. If it weren’t for Redheart, she might well have skipped over it entirely in the stacks of books left on her nightstand. Any eye-catching gold or glamour to the filigree lining the spine had long since worn away, leaving a plain, unassuming text to be lost among the shelves of the library.
Now, though, that she held it in her hooves, Spitfire saw the years this particular copy endured. The corners were bent inwards and fraying, no doubt scars from a lifetime of bouncing around in saddlebags. She opened the inside cover, tracing her hoof down Redheart’s foalhood scrawl.
The paper creased under her touch, and Spitfire occupied herself with flipping through the pages, beginning to yellow with age, pausing at the odd dog-eared mark. She skimmed each passage, helpless against the grin that tugged at her lips at the image conjured by her mind. She imagined a much younger Redheart fawning over the book, clutching it close to her chest before slipping it back into her saddlebags.
Closing the book, she set it to her side, joining it as they laid back and waited for Redheart’s return. Spitfire closed her eyes, letting herself awash in a burgeoning, blooming, and addictive warmth that spread out from her chest.
There was something undeniably unguarded about the way Redheart turned tail and scampered out of the room. Though it may have been Spitfire’s imagination, the mare’s smile seemed to spread a little bit wider and shine in her eyes a little bit brighter in the fleeting seconds she remained before rushing out. That thought, real or not, nearly brought a giggle from the pegasus’ lips as her feathers spread and fluffed.
Spitfire only just started to drum her hooves on the mattress to the tune of an old Wonderbolt Academy flight song when the latch of her door clicked. Perking her ears, she sat up as the door opened, bringing with it the brighter fluorescent lights from the hallway, the sounds of the hospital, and, most importantly, Redheart.
With a noticeable skip in her step, she cantered into the room. She paused only to nudge the door closed before crossing the room, her smile every bit as bright as Spitfire imagined.
Redheart’s tail swished as she walked, and Spitfire felt an unusual, fluttering feeling nestle in her stomach, as if a dozen butterflies had taken wing. Even in the fading light of twilight, the nurse’s eyes glimmered and sparkled, perhaps even more than usual, captivating whoever they held in their grasp.
Now that they fell on Spitfire, combined with the fond smile meant for her, she couldn’t help but smile in return. Though a far cry from the fiery anger or cold indifference she feared she would grow used to, the warmth she now felt between them was something new. It was something that, while tender and fragile and new, she welcomed as Redheart started to welcome her.
From that warmth, Spitfire forged her smile into a more familiar smirk. “Hey.”
“Hey. Sorry, that took a little longer than I thought, but we shouldn’t be disturbed for an hour or two now.” With care, Redheart stopped at Spitfire’s bedside and slid a tray from her back to the mattress. “I thought I’d also bring up your dinner.”
Spitfire’s stomach rumbled, yearning for the food now in hoof’s reach. “Thanks, Red.” Licking her lips, she looked over the tray. Between Redheart and the food, hospital life in Ponyville was almost bearable. She eyed the daffodil and honey sandwich, quickly becoming a favourite of hers, and started to reach for it before she paused, blinking at what lay between the sandwich and a bowl of apple slices. “Pudding?”
Coy, Spitfire discovered, was a good look on Redheart. The nurse’s smile turned sly, slanting to one side of her muzzle while a delicate titter of a laugh rolled off her lips. “They had an extra one,” she said, trotting over to the other side of the bed. “And maybe I’ve decided that you’ve earned your pudding rights back.”
At her tone, Spitfire couldn’t help but arch her brow as she watched Redheart circle around. “Only maybe?”
“Alright.” Redheart came to a stop on Spitfire’s other side and wiggled her ears. “Maybe definitely.”
“For the mare who reunited you with your long lost beloved foalhood book? I would think she deserves a better reward than just some pudding, wouldn’t you?”
Redheart rolled her eyes. Her sly smile slid away from her face and was replaced by something more amused. “I would ask what you might have in mind, but I think I know you a little better than that.”
Spitfire, for her part, wiggled her ears in return. “So is that a no?”
Reaching out, Redheart flicked the tip of Spitfire’s snout with her hoof. “Behave, Spitfire. You’ve been so good lately. It’d be a shame to have that all come to an end just for a little kiss on the cheek.”
Though her feathers twitched and her wing threatened to unfurl, Spitfire kept herself under control and wrinkled her muzzle. “That’s on the table, then?” Rubbing her nose, she was grateful for her blanket hiding the swish of her tail as she kept her grin in place. “Because if it is, then I don’t know. Tempting.”
“Oh, stop. Tonight’s special.”
For a moment, Spitfire’s wicked grin softened. A quiet, low chuckle shook her shoulders. “Yeah,” she said, setting The Last Alicorn down on the bed, cover facing Redheart. “I guess it is. Did you want to do the honours?”
With naught but a smile, Redheart sidestepped behind one of the bedside chairs and pushed. The chairlegs squeaked on the linoleum floor as it slid closer to the bed, coming to a stop with hardly a hair’s breadth between the arm of the chair and Spitfire’s bedsheets.
Spitfire watched, lowering her hoof as she felt her expression drop into a slight frown. “You’re not coming up on the bed?” The bedsprings creaked as she shuffled over to the far side of the bed, lifting her dinner tray up out of the way while patting the empty spot beside her with a wing. “Plenty of room, and it’d be way easier to share the book from up here.”
“What did I just say?” Her smile bemused, Redheart settled into the chair and arched her brow. Then, corners of her mouth twitching, she plucked The Last Alicorn from where it lay on the bed. “Now, you eat your dinner. I’ll start. You can take over after you’ve finished your food.”
Part of Spitfire wanted to protest, to push for Redheart to join her up on the bed. As they lost themselves in the story, how easy would it have been to slide her wing around her nurse’s barrel?
Spitfire’s wing started to spread, and just as she was about to open her mouth she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Behave. Taking a deep breath, she instead nodded. “Sounds good.” Exhaling, she scooched back over closer to Redheart. She slid her tray over with her and picked an apple slice from the bowl. “Okay,” she said, biting into the slice, “I’m eating, and I’m all ears. Ready whenever you are.”
Redheart watched her for a few seconds longer, until the first apple slice was finished. Then, with a nod of approval, she set the book in front of her. “Good mare.” She dropped her gaze, her smile turning fond as she ran her hoof down the cover. “You haven’t read this before, right?”
“Afraid not.” With a shrug, Spitfire reached for another piece of fruit. “When I was a filly, I tended to read more pegasus fables and stuff. “‘Whirlwind, Maple, and the Dragon of Craggy Peak Mountain’ was a personal favourite.”
Redheart hummed as she opened the cover and flipped past the first few pages of acknowledgements and author’s notes to the first chapter. “I’ve read that one to a few foals before. I should have figured you liked it. You seem like the Whirlwind type.”
“It’s not that big of a surprise, is it?” At her tone, Redheart glanced up. When she did, Spitfire grinned and stretched her wing—almost close enough to give a little brush over the other mare’s foreleg. “Come on, the brave and noble pegasus steps hoof on the ground and almost immediately gets stricken dumb by a beautiful earth pony? Seeing any similarities here?”
Redheart offered a light snort in reply, though the corner of her mouth eked upwards in the smallest of smiles. “You’re impossible, even when you’re ‘behaving.’ Now,” she said, cutting off Spitfire’s reply before it could begin, “let’s get started with the story before we whittle the whole night away.”
Though she could have indulged, Spitfire chose to chuckle instead. Her smile was a fond thing, something warmer and more tender than what she was used to. “You got it, Red.”
“Okay.” Clearing her throat, Redheart began to read aloud, “In a time and world long since passed, in a time before Princess Celestia ruled over Equestria, there were no alicorn princesses leading earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns in harmony. In this, the age of our Founders, the most powerful of unicorns raised the sun and made the night come to life with a thousand thousands of stars. As the ponies of the three tribes settled the land, their bonds of friendship grew. Hearts made as cold as the most frigid winters thawed, letting friendship and love bloom as ponies learned to live together in peace and make our world what it is today. But this is not a tale of our world. This is a story of this long-forgotten time, remembered only in the fables and stories passed down elders.”
Spitfire closed her eyes, concentrating on Redheart’s voice as she chewed on the next apple slice. Ears perking up, she leaned in towards the sound, catching each inflection of her tone, the rhythmic, rolling quality of her voice, and let it wash over her.
In the days of our grandparents’ grandparents, when Equestria was new, alicorns were myths. Like the Mare in the Moon, they were creatures of make-believe.
Yet, deep in the Everfree Forest, a place not even Commander Hurricane’s bravest warriors would dare fly over, there was rumoured to be the impossible. Wayward travelers and those who lost themselves in the woods spoke of a pony unlike any other living there.
These travelers only ever caught glimpses of the Mare of the Woods. Some said she stood tall, powerful, and one with nature that could only come from an earth pony. Others claimed she bore a pair of wings mightier than any pegasus’, and yet others told of how this mare saved them from the perils of the Everfree with unicorn magic.
Then, there were those very few who caught more than a glimpse. When these ponies talked about her, it was not with their fellow townsfolk or in front of their leaders, but with only their most trusted and most dearest friends and family.
For this mare, they knew, wished to live her quiet life in peace, spending her thousand moons in this world in her forest with her animals, whom she loved. The world of the three tribes was simply that—their world. The few travelers she spoke to only basked in her presence for no longer than a few minutes before she disappeared, but that was all they needed.
To their closest friends and family, they spoke of a pony standing tall above them. Her fur was a downy white, her neck long, and her every movement as graceful as a swan’s. Those that caught fleeting glimpses of her were, in many ways, right. She carried herself with the strength of an earth pony, but at the same time flitted through the trees with all the airiness of a pegasus and tended to the forest with all the care and delicacy of the most refined unicorns.
They spoke of her mane, flowing like a waterfall cascading over a cliff in a constant ethereal blue. Her voice, so they said, chimed like the purest of bells. But, what every mare, stallion, and foal could agree on were her eyes. The light that shined within told of countless years spent walking the forest as they regarded each and every lost soul with a compassion and care that calmed the most frightened ponies. Twin pools of a different shade of blue as bright as the sky on a summer morning twinkled with endless love and joy, captivating any that stood before them.
Some believed these ponies, but many did not. Alicorns, they said, were figments of the imagination. Mythical beings, they were called, and nothing more.
Little did these naysayers realize just how wrong they were. Deep within the Everfree Forest, watching Equestria grow, lived the Alicorn. For a time, she was happy to let the three tribes be. As time passed by, and as more and more ponies wandered through her wood, however, she became curious.
One day, when her curiosity reached its peak, she stood in a glade, watching the rising trails of smoke from the Equestrian village near the border of the forest. She stood motionless, her gaze unwavering as the rolling breeze shook the branches above her and tickled the grass along her hooves. The whispering wind and groaning wood spoke to her, begging her not to go. The forest was her home. The outside world was not for her, but for these little ponies.
This she knew, but still she yearned. She yearned to see a world outside of her beloved forest. She yearned to see how these ponies lived, to see what they made of her and her home.
She took a half-step forward, holding her hoof aloft as she felt her heart torn in two. Before she had a chance to decide, the giggling laughter of foals, as light and bright as morning dew on grass, reached her ears.
Wings flaring out, she leapt to the air and found a perch in the trees above. Almost out of instinct, she felt herself weave a spell, blending her snow-white coat and downy feathers into the scenery. If somepony looked up, they wouldn’t see her, but the bark of the tree trunk behind her. As her magic dissipated, the voices drew nearer until their owners came bursting into the glade.
Curious, she arched her neck, peering between the tree branches to look at the latest visitors to her forest. Three foals, she saw, galloped and bounded and giggled through her glade, chasing each other. Their pealing laughter seemed to fill the forest, and the Alicorn found herself smiling down at the three little ponies.
With not but a soft giggle to herself, she watched them play. Her eyes darted back and forth, her gaze drifting between the three as they ran to and fro, trying to make sense of their game. One would chase after the other two, shouting after their gay laughter until one of them was at last caught. Then, with not but a touch to the head or shoulder, the chaser would run off and the caught foal started the pursuit anew.
There could be no denying her now. Unfurling her wings, the Alicorn unwound the magic camouflaging her against the forest and leapt off of her tree branch. Whether it was the rustling of the branch or her shadow passing overhead, all three foals looked up in time to see her gliding down to them, her magnificent wings spread wide.
They stopped, rooted to the spot as the Alicorn touched down. She fluffed her feathers, smiling serenely down at their gawking faces as she folded her wings to her sides.
One of the foals, a small, brown pegasus, dared to step an inch closer. “Wh-who are you?”
“Greetings, my little ones,” she said, her voice warm like honey and soothing like a calm wind. “I am the mare of these woods. Please, do not be frightened. I mean you no harm.”
The words flowed off of the page, guided by the gentle risings and fallings of Redheart’s voice. As Spitfire listened, she lay her head back, her food forgotten as she listened, lost in the story.
Eyes shut, she didn’t bother to try and stop the warm, affectionate grin from easing over her muzzle. There was a certain fondness that caressed each word Redheart spoke and an energy that gave them life. Spitfire felt, however briefly, that she was in that glade, watching the three foals play from a perch up in the trees she shared with the Alicorn.
She strained her ears, and she could almost hear their giggling, bubbling laughter and the light gusting of wind through the trees. Her wing twitched, spreading just a little as if to catch the same wind the Alicorn did before gliding down to her forest’s visitors.
Slowly, she escaped the spell, cracking an eye open to watch Redheart read. The mare’s focus was on the book between her hooves, though her bright blue eyes were alive and bright. She smiled as she read, every bit as enraptured as Spitfire.
Redheart’s coat seemed to shine in the waning light of twilight. Her eyes were two bright flames of blue, and the look on her face was something reminiscent of a natural-born flier taking to the sky. Gone was the visage of the Ponyville nurse. In its place was something deeper below the surface, something younger and more filly-like.
For a second, that image of a younger Redheart returned, and Spitfire could see some of that foalish energy and love bleed through.
It was an image Spitfire committed to memory, and something she would not dare disturb.
That was, however, until Redheart got to the first pieces of dialogue. Without warning, her voice, smooth and warm and captivating, rose to the higher-pitched, squeaking tone of a frightening foal. Then, without skipping a beat, it dropped an octave to something that flowed like silk and echoed the grace and regality common to the Canterlot elite.
Ears perked straight up, Spitfire stared at Redheart, eyes wide open. Without thinking, she asked, “What was that?”
Redheart’s ear twitched. She looked up from the book, her open mouth settling into a puzzled frown. “What was what?”
“That.” Before she could be bothered to stop it, a wry little grin wormed over Spitfire’s muzzle. Her eyes flitted from the book to Redheart, meeting her gaze and fluffing her feathers. “Were you just doing voices for the characters?”
For a second, Redheart stared back. Her lips parted, confusion furrowing her brow, before she blinked. Some of the colour drained from her face, only to be replaced by the faintest of blushes that stained her muzzle a soft, glowing red. An equally soft chuckle rumbled past Spitfire’s lips as the nurse sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and glanced to the side.
Redheart’s hooves retreated from the book in favour of fidgeting with the corner of the bed sheets. Her ears folded back and her muzzle shone a brighter hue at the sound of Spitfire’s quiet laughter. “Oh,” she said. “That.”
“Yeah,” Spitfire said. “That.”
“It’s a force of habit, I suppose.” Tapping the tips of her hooves together, Redheart looked back to Spitfire with the first bashful smile the pegasus had seen on the mare. “I always used to do the voices when I was a foal. I sometimes volunteered to read to the other sick foals in the hospital, and I guess it stuck.”
“Oh, really?” Another chuckle shook Spitfire’s shoulders, this one decidedly more wicked and playful. “I bet the rest of the staff must love hearing you read to your patients.”
The blush fled from Redheart’s muzzle. Eyes narrowing, she sat up straighter as her ear twitched at Spitfire’s tone. “I don’t read to my patients. You’re the exception.”
Though Spitfire’s grin wanted to grow at that, she kept her smirk honed to a keen edge. “Really? Then in that case I bet they’d love to hear all about it. Or, maybe,” she said wiggling her ears as Redheart’s muzzle scrunched up, “I can just hold onto that little tidbit for now.”
“Do not. I have a reputation to maintain, Spitfire.”
“True, but they don’t know what they’re missing out on. You’ve got an awesome voice, Red.” Fleeting as it may have been, Spitfire let her gaze carry with it the warmth she felt worming through her body from the core of her chest to the tips of her wings. Then, cocking her head to the side, she looked at Redheart through lidded eyes and with a lopsided smirk. “Plus, you are just way too adorable when you’re flustered not to let everypony know about it.”
Through reddening cheeks and narrowing eyes, Redheart returned the lidded gaze with a glower. She held it for a few seconds before grinning a grin far too smug for the situation. “Alright,” she said, her voice several tones too confident for Spitfire’s liking. “You can tell all of my coworkers.”
Spitfire blinked as the grin slipped away from her face. “I can?”
“Sure.” A laugh that sounded more like a caressing, velvet purr rumbled from Redheart’s throat. Her own eyes lidded as she sat back, fixing Spitfire with two points of piercing blue. “But if you do, then I’m going to tell everypony—and I mean everypony. Other patients, visitors, the other doctors and nurses, your team—that you insisted on keeping a little teddy bear tucked under your bed to sleep with at night.”
Spitfire’s blood ran cold. “Wh-what?” she sputtered, uninjured wing flaring to life. Already she could hear the cajoling laughter of her team. Already she could feel Blaze, Rapidfire, Soarin, and Fleetfoot at her side, poking and prodding and snickering and teasing.
Already she could picture the giant novelty teddy bear they would all be sure to buy and stuff into her office.
The images alone made her want to hide in her wings. A whine built up in her throat—an actual whine—and she shuddered. “But you can’t! That’s not true!”
“Maybe.” Redheart’s smirk was enough to rival any Wonderbolt’s. “But nopony else knows that. The other nurses certainly don’t. How much would you be willing to bet that your team won’t lap it up, true or not?”
They both knew the answer, and Spitfire could only hang her head in response.
The laughter that stung her ears was both victorious and elated, a combination that drew her to lift her gaze to see Redheart’s eyes sparkle and shine with delight. “What was it you said the other day? Game, set, match?”
Spitfire wrinkled her muzzle, but she didn’t have it in her to growl. “Shut up.”
“No, I don’t think I will. This is far too much fun.” A lighter, loftier laugh trickled past her lips. “Now who’s adorable?”
Cornered and beaten, Spitfire did the only thing any Wonderbolt in her place would do. She ignored the building heat warming her cheeks and stuck out her tongue at Redheart, drawing a giggle from the other mare.
“Oh stop, you great, big foal. Now, back to the story.” Redheart dropped her gaze and reached for the book in her lap. “Where were we? She just met the foals from the village ...”
While Redheart’s eyes skimmed down the page, Spitfire sat in silence, content for the moment to watch and wait. Her eyes drifted down to the cover, and to the illustration of the pale alicorn adorning it. A slow smile spread over her eyes as an idea took root, one that was too tempting to ignore.
After all, Redheart couldn’t do all of the reading.
“Oh! Here we go.” Clearing her throat, Redheart placed her hoof on the page and started to read, “‘Though the surprise ebbed away from the foals’ faces, they stood together, rooted to the spot in a small pile of fuzzy pony limbs. They stared up at the Alicorn. Her smile, as serene as—”
“Hang on, Red,” Spitfire said.
Redheart sighed. When she looked up at Spitfire, her brows were drawn flat. “Yes, Spitfire?”
Her smirk was nothing innocent, but Spitfire wore it anyways. “It’s my turn to read. Give it here.”
“What?” Redheart blinked, eyes widened in surprise for half of a moment before they narrowed. Suspicion coloured her features and she drew the book closer to herself. “Why?”
“Because you’ve already read a bunch, and I want to give it a shot. C’mon.” Holding out her hooves, Spitfire stretched her smirk to show teeth. “I’m not going to ruin it or anything. Trust me and sit back.”
Redheart pursed her lips. She held Spitfire’s gaze as the long seconds ticked by before relinquishing the book. “Okay,” she said, drawing the word out. “But only for a couple pages. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“Sure thing.” Spitfire stared into Redheart’s eyes as she took The Last Alicorn in her hooves, winking once before looking down at the book. The script flowed over the page in neat, typewritten text, and it didn’t take long to find where they left off.
Guiding her place with her hoof, Spitfire started to read, “‘Her smile, as serene as the sunrise, faltered at the looks of fear and caution she saw in the foal’s expressions. With great care and slow, cautious motions, she knelt down, bringing herself eye-level with her visitors. The foals trembled, but didn’t move.’
“‘To her eyes, the foals looked quite unusual. They wore bits of cloth, masking their mark-less flanks and hiding their coats from the afternoon sun. One of them—a young, unicorn filly, with a peach-coloured coat and mane like the strawberries that grew on the far end of the forest—wore something else atop her head.’”
As she read, Spitfire chanced the occasional glance up. Her voice, she knew, was a raspy, rough thing, worn down as the years of bellowing commands and reaming out cadets took to her throat like sandpaper. It was a far cry from the smooth, soothing, and dulcet tones Redheart spoke with.
Yet, regardless, Redheart listened with all of the intent and focus Spitfire did just minutes ago. Her eyes were closed, but her ears were swiveled forwards, attent and alert. A small smile decorated the mare’s muzzle as she leaned back, relaxing into her bedside chair.
Spitfire tried to keep the grin out of her voice as she continued to read, “‘The thing stretched over the filly’s head, covering the bouncy curls of her mane and shading her face from the sun. A wide brim stretched out from it, hiding part of the filly’s face as it sat askew on top of her head. Curious, the Alicorn tilted her head to the side.’”
A sharp, sudden clearing of her throat made Redheart open her eyes as Spitfire’s voice climbed higher, reaching for the lighter, sharper pitches of youth. The result was something closer to a scratchy, grating mess. “‘E-excuse me,’ the earth pony colt on the right said. His mane, the shade of grass full of life on the first day of spring, hung down to the shoulders of his pale yellow coat. ‘What are you staring at?’”
Spitfire felt more than saw Redheart’s gaping stare as she stretched her voice for the colt’s dialogue. With not but a wiggle of her ears, she continued, “‘That,’ the Alicorn said. ‘The object on this young filly’s head. What is it?’
“‘The filly in question blinked. Then, in a voice that stumbled and squeaked, she asked, ‘Y-you mean m-my hat?’
“‘Hat,’ the Alicorn said. She ran her tongue over her teeth, as if to taste the word. With a thoughtful frown, she tilted her head to the other side. ‘Is that what that’s called? A hat?’”
“Spitfire.” Mirth and laughter crackled in Redheart’s tone. A few giggles slipped free, their bell-like sounds music to Spitfire’s ears. “What are you doing?”
“Reading,” Spitfire said without hesitation. Before Redheart could speak again, she looked back down to the book, keeping her place by tracing her hoof down the page. “‘The foals shared a look. The Alicorn watched, patient, as they slowly gathered the courage to inch closer. ‘Y-yeah,’ the unicorn filly said. Two nudges from her companions made her jump forward. She bit her lip, offering only fleeting glances before dropping her gaze back to the forest floor. ‘Um, would you like to try it on?’
“‘May I?’ With perhaps more excitement than her forest friends would approve of, the Alicorn lifted the hat-thing off of the filly’s head in the glow of her magic. She brought it to her own head and placed it down. Though the fabric stretched and bent, it sat on her head loosely. Another frown followed as she stared up at the rim, bent by the length of her horn.
“‘Then, to her surprise, a giggle sounded from below. Blinking, she looked down at the hat-less filly in front of her. ‘It doesn’t fit,’ she said, smiling a beautiful smile up at the Alicorn. ‘My Dad made it for me. Maybe he can make one for you, too?’”
Giggling laughter like a wind chime tickled Spitfire’s ears as she paused to turn the page. A hoof brushed her foreleg, stilling her tongue before she could continue the story. “Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice quaking with mirth, “what in Equestria are you doing?”
Spitfire smirked, fluffing her feathers and feeling a certain sense of satisfaction swell in her chest. “What’s it look like, Red?” She stretched out her wing, ever-so-lightly tickling a primary down the length of Redheart’s foreleg. “I’m reading.”
Though Redheart batted at the wing, the smile held firm on her muzzle. “No, I meant with your voice! What in the name of the Royal Sisters are you doing to your voice?”
For a second, Spitfire faltered. She looked from the mare at her side to the book in her hooves. “Uh, the voices? Duh?”
A rhapsody of giggles flowed forth from Redheart as she fell back into her chair. She wiped her eyes, then beamed at Spitfire. “Why?”
Spitfire’s heart fluttered at the look, yet the smallest of frowns pulled at her lips. Wrinkling her snout, she tilted her head to the side, only to draw more giggling laughter from Redheart. “Because you said you used to do them all the time.”
“Yes, and it’s a habit. You don’t have to do the voices. It’s just a goofy little thing from when I was a foal.”
“Yeah, and I really dig it.” Smirk softening, Spitfire turned back to the book. “So, tough, if we’re doing this, then I’m doing the voices, too.”
Before she had a chance to read so much as the next sentence, the book was snatched away from her. The mattress shifted, and she felt Redheart crawl up on the bed. Silky, pink strands of her tail tickled Spitfire’s haunches and a warm, velvety shoulder brushed against her own, trembling with the owner’s laughter.
“Okay, hotshot,” Redheart said, laying The Last Alicorn between them. “But maybe you should leave the Alicorn and the foals to me. The last thing we need is other patients to complaining about a screeching cat somewhere in the hospital.”
Any self-respecting pony would have scoffed and rolled their eyes at the remark—maybe even stick out their tongue—but Spitfire couldn’t keep the grin off of her face. She shuffled to the side, giving Redheart more room, room that the mare took up as she scooched closer, bringing their shoulders to brush together again.
Spitfire’s wing twitched, fluttering feathers around Redheart’s back as they got comfortable on the hospital bed. “You’re hilarious, Red. But fine, what voices should I do?”
Redheart looked at her. When she did, Spitfire swore there were stars in her eyes. “Oh, I have an idea or two.”
Spitfire swallowed but held her gaze. “Like what?”
With a delightful smirk on her face, Redheart looked back to The Last Alicorn and flipped ahead several chapters. Her eyes flicked down the page, her hoof tracking her progress as she searched. “How about—aha!” She offered the book to Spitfire, pointing to a spot about halfway down the page, well over a third of the way through the story. “Give me your best evil usurper king.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears perked up. She took the book, skimming down the page with renewed interest. “Evil king? Now that’s more my style.”
“I’m glad you think so!” Redheart leaned in, looking over Spitfire’s shoulder to follow with her down the page. “I’ve got a few other characters in mind for you, too. We could split up the voices.”
The pegasus stiffened at first as stray strands of pink mane tickled her shoulder. All she had to do was lean a little more to the side, and their cheeks would be touching. A comfortable warmth bloomed in her cheeks, no doubt flushing her fur a light red. Grateful for the dim light and book distracting Redheart, Spitfire shifted to bring her wing more fully around the nurse’s back. It lightly caressed her side, a feathering touch that joined them in the faintest of embraces.
“I’m game,” Spitfire said. When Redheart didn’t react or push her wing away, she grinned and looked back to the book. “Who else were you thinking for me?”
“Well, I did have somepony who I think would be perfect for you.”
The tone in Redheart’s voice drew a flick from Spitfire’s ear. She glanced to her side and found the mare regarding her with a look both knowing and coy. “Okay,” the Wonderbolt said slowly, furrowing her brow as the nurse giggled. “Who?”
“I was thinking—” Redheart flipped back page after page, stopping only a few scant pages from where they started. She pointed at the page, one Spitfire noticed was dog-eared. “—that this character would be a natural choice for you.”
Spitfire’s brow arched. She followed Redheart’s hoof to the page. Her other brow rose high up on her forehead as she read, “Nitwit the Magician?”
“Yes!”
With a gaze as flat as her voice, Spitfire stared at Redheart. “You want me to be some dorky unicorn?”
Redheart nodded her head in an eager bob. “Uh-huh. A dorky wizard for a dorky pegasus.”
If she wasn’t dazzled by the smile Redheart aimed her way, Spitfire would have scowled. “Dorky? Come on, isn’t there anypony else?” Her gaze flicked back to the book. Further down the page, another name caught her name. “How about this one? Matron Fortuna?”
“The evil witch?”
“Yeah.” For effect, Spitfire donned a wicked smirk and let out a low, sinister chuckle. “That sounds way more up my alley.”
Redheart hummed, tilting her head from side to side. When she met Spitfire’s gaze, she grinned and shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Matron Fortuna is all mine. Trust me,” she said, trailing off with a shrill and blood curdling cackle. “I’m the evil witch, and you’re the dorky unicorn. End of discussion.”
Spitfire’s pout only drew another bout of laughter from the mare beside her. “Is there at least some brave knight or something for me, then?”
“There is, and quit your bellyaching.” Bumping their shoulders together, Redheart flipped back to where they left off. “Nitwit is my favourite character. He’s brave, kind, and not afraid to live up to his faults.” For a second, Spitfire dared to believe the hoof brushing over her own was an intentional gesture, one she was too slow to capitalize on. “He reminds me of you, actually. Now, shall we?”
Mouth agape and feathers fluttering, Spitfire could only nod in response.
At the rate things were going, The Last Alicorn was going to become her favourite book, too.
What was supposed to be the first couple of chapters quickly became that and several more as Spitfire and Redheart curled up in the former’s hospital bed. With the book nestled between them, they took turns reading, following the journey of the Alicorn as she left her forest home and found herself lost in the fields and mountains of Equestria.
They kept on reading long until the night had forgotten about the warmth of day. Eyelids heavy, Spitfire bobbed her head, struggling against the sweet temptation of sleep that threatened to end the night they shared. Still, though, she listened. Even as the world fogged over and swirled before her closing eyes, she listened.
With her ears perked, she listened to Redheart’s voice. She listened to its rises and falls, focusing less and less on the picture that it painted, but more on the sound.
While Redheart read, it was easy to forget about the hospital gown she wore, the thin bedsheets pulled over her legs, and the cast wrapped around her wing. She felt her head rest on something soft and warm. Her eyes shut, and the faint scent of cinnamon tickled her nose, inviting her in deeper.
She felt a smile wobble over her face and she may have mumbled something. It was difficult to say with the shroud of sleep drawing ever closer. Redheart paused for only a second before she read on. Now, her voice was low and quiet, soothing and calm, lulling Spitfire deeper and deeper until a last, content sigh of defeat expelled from her mouth.
Soon, Redheart stopped reading altogether. Any complaints Spitfire had were muttered nothings as the presence at her side slowly withdrew. She felt herself lower to the mattress and her head rest on the pillows waiting for her. Blankets were pulled over her and a soft hoof brushed over her forehead, pushing a strand of mane out of her face.
It took herculean effort, but Spitfire managed to crack a bleary eye open. She saw Redheart’s smiling face turn away from her to place The Last Alicorn on the bedside table. “Where you going?”
The words were mumbled and quiet, but Redheart heard them all the same. Her ears perked, and she turned back to Spitfire. When she spoke, it was in a hushed, soothing tone. “I’m going home, and you’re going to bed. You’re up way later than you should be.”
Spitfire groaned. Her legs felt like lead, her body desperate to surrender to sleep, but she couldn’t allow it. With fumbling hooves, she managed to push some of the blanket off of her and started to lift her head. “No. ‘m ‘wake.”
A soft laugh came from Redheart. “No,” she said, pulling the blanket back over Spitfire with her teeth, bringing their muzzles close enough for warm puffs of air to wash over the Wonderbolt’s fur. “You’re half-asleep already. Get some sleep, Spitfire, and we’ll read some more tomorrow, okay?”
Though Spitfire wanted to struggle, though she wanted to push off the blanket and pull Redheart back onto the bed, her sluggish forelegs refused to cooperate. A long, low whine sounded from the back of her throat. A defeated sigh took its place and she looked up at her nurse, her head still hovering only inches from her own. “Promise?”
Something like amusement but warmer danced in Redheart’s eyes. “Promise. Now, will you go to sleep like a good patient?”
Any other time with any more semblance of thought, Spitfire would retorted. Instead, she let her eyes drift shut and grunted into her pillow. Redheart’s quiet laughter tickled her ear and she heard the mare’s hooves shuffle on the linoleum floor.
“That’s what I thought.”
Through the treacle of Spitfire’s mind, a thought trickled through that made the pegasus frown. Redheart said she was leaving, yet she still sounded as though she were standing next to her bed.
Ear flicking, Spitfire opened her mouth, ready to voice that thought in whatever way possible. Or, at least, she planned to. Before she could, a warm rush of air blew over her fur and the scent of cinnamon, stronger than any hospital disinfectant, reached her nose. Something warm and soft touched her cheek and lingered. A velvety coat not her own brushed over her, bringing that cinnamon scent closer and closer.
Spitfire didn’t realize her breath was stolen away until the kiss to her cheek ended and she sucked in a quick breath.
“And that,” Redheart said in a tone that was hushed, warm, and Spitfire knew only meant for her in this moment, “was a thank you for tonight. For reading The Last Alicorn with me.”
Spitfire’s eyes shot open, her fur bristling in the most delightful way where Redheart kissed her. She lifted her head as the nurse pulled away. “Red?”
“That’s all it was. A thank you.” Redheart’s tone may have been flat and serious, but the smile she wore and the twinkling of her eyes were anything but. “Don’t think anything else is going anywhere.”
Spitfire, for her part, stared as she propped herself up on her forelegs. Amber eyes met blue, and she felt a delighted, filly-like giggle bubble up from her chest. Oh, how grateful she was Blaze and Rapidfire weren’t there to hear her just then. “Well,” she said, licking her lips and helpless to stop the goofy, smitten smile from spreading over her muzzle, “I’m wide awake now.”
“Oh no you don’t.” With a roll of her eyes, Redheart pushed Spitfire down to her back, smiling all the while. “Go to sleep.”
The smitten grin on Spitfire’s face sharpened to something more familiar. She lay back, craning her neck to better look at Redheart. Through lidded eyes, she drank in the mare before her, from the svelte, rounded curves of her figure to the way her coat seemed to glisten and glow in the pale light of the moon like freshly fallen snow.
Spitfire’s smile softened again as her gaze travelled to Redheart’s muzzle. They hovered around the nurse’s gentle smile before returning to her eyes, as beautiful and as bright as any stars in the sky.
Heh. Maybe if Blaze were here, she’d tell her to say as much.
And maybe she should.
Redheart shuffled her hooves again, glancing to the side under Spitfire’s unwavering gaze. “What are you staring at?” The mare blinked, then shot a glare her way. “No, don’t ruin tonight by saying anything I know you’re thinking.”
A tired chuckle tumbled past Spitfire’s lips and she cocked her head just so to the side. “I don’t want to ruin anything, Red.”
“Good.” A beat of silence followed. In that time, Redheart glanced between Spitfire and the door, but made no move to leave. She chewed on the corner of her lip until she at last asked, “What were you thinking?”
“Nothing,” Spitfire said. “Just about how beautiful you look in the moonlight.”
Muffled hoofsteps clip-clopped by in the hallway outside, magnified by the silence that fell over the room. Redheart held Spitfire’s gaze for a long moment before she at last looked away. The lightest shade of pink coloured her cheeks as she brushed a loose strand of her mane behind her ear.
She opened her mouth and closed it. Spitfire, content to wait, watched her with a fond smile. The shade of pink colouring her cheeks reminded her of a sunrise over Cloudsdale, when the first fingers of daylight would touch the pristine white clouds that made up the city.
Again, something to tell Redheart later. For now, she reminded herself, behave.
A few seconds later, Redheart very softly shook her head. A soft laugh flowed from her lips and she looked back to Spitfire with a smile that sent butterflies aflutter. “Goodnight, Spitfire.”
Spitfire smiled in return. “Goodnight, Red.”
At last, Redheart turned and walked to the door. Light from the hallway outside flooded in when she opened it, framing her figure in a silhouette that spilled a long shadow over the hospital room floor. She lingered there for a moment longer, hoof hovering in the air as looked over her shoulder at Spitfire.
Then, with another soft, light laugh, she left. The door clicked shut behind her, and another nurse’s voice—Sweetheart’s?—followed in its wake. “Redheart? I thought you left hours ago?”
Redheart’s muffled reply was lost to Spitfire as she rolled over, resting her head on her pillow and pulling her blanket up to her chin. Eyes fluttering closed, she held her hoof to her heart, awash and savouring the feeling of warmth that swelled in her chest. Her feathers fluffed under her blanket and a wide, goofy grin dominated her features once more.
As sleep settled over her, a warm and welcome companion, she felt as if she were flying.