For the first time in weeks, cumulus stumps of clouds dotted the skies in a conspicuous chequered pattern. A slight breeze ruffled the very tops of the trees, and grass whispered of better times to come. The occasional housefly and bumblebee zipped across the scene as though in a hurry not to spoil it. Down in Ponyville, the vague hum of a thousand murmuring mouths was muffled by the rows and rows of cottages. At one point, a tourist cart driver beeped his harsh horn, but for the most part the order of the day was an atmosphere like a stifling but plush idyllic pillow.
Overhead, Rainbow Dash ploughed through a cloud, flipped over, and was a streak of colour zigzagging through more clouds.
Rarity sat and watched her from the edge of the deckchair. Beside her, levitating and turning slowly in midair, the timer ticked on.
“Five…” she muttered, “four… three… t –”
Hooves thudded onto the grass with a crunch before her. The glowing dial stopped.
“Two!” she said brightly. “Two seconds below the record!”
Rainbow Dash was a slick with fur attached. Her chest heaved like an industrial pump, each breath was a saw slicing through her throat, and her splayed wings drooped as though weighed down by a ton of sweat. Patiently, Rarity waited for her to get her breath back, and then idly timed it on the timer.
“Two… seconds…” gasped Rainbow Dash, “is… not… good… enough…”
“Oh, Rainbow Dash,” said Rarity with a smile. “Of course it is! Why, the nearest contender to Captain Crosswinds’ record is still about ten seconds behind him. You have nothing to worry about.”
Sighing, Rarity leaned back and stretched, adjusting the large pink shades on her face and the tilt of her summer hat. She wasn’t sure about the canary yellow smock she’d brought along this time, but perhaps there was a certain “country girl” charm to it once you got used to it…
One fruit punch drink rose and shook in midair, rattling the ice and lemon slice against the bendy straw. “Would you like a break? Drink plenty of liquids in this heat, or your skin is going to bake.”
“No… thanks…” said Rainbow, drawing herself up. “The Wonderbolts… are counting… on me… I never…” Coughs and splutters overwhelmed her lungs for a moment. “Leave… ‘em… hangin’…”
She shot back into the air and was instantly lost to the haze. Rarity shook her head.
“To call her stubborn as a mule would be an unkindness to mules,” she muttered, but soon she lay back and closed her eyes and submerged herself once again into the summer dream. Waves of the sun’s heat faced her over and over. Among the distant washing of oak leaves along the river of wind, she heard the chatter of blackbirds and robins.
From her left came the scratching of pencil on paper. She opened one eye lazily.
“How are you getting on, Scootaloo?” she said, smiling as a strong gust briefly massaged her muzzle.
A voice spoke around an obstruction, and then spat. The pencil thumped on the papers.
“I don’t get this book you gave me,” came the voice of Scootaloo. “I mean, the quest for the Dark Heart, I get that part, it’s awesome. But why’s there all this stuff in the first half about some Baron and some griffon ambassador and their days in Flight Camp and Canterlot? What’s so important about that?”
Ah, thought Rarity. And here I was, thinking that was the closest I had to a Daring Do narrative.
“You see, that establishes character and motivation,” she said to the sky. “That’s what a good story does, Scootaloo. It’s all very well writing a dramatic escape through a diamond mine or a brave battle atop the crumbling ruins of Tenebria, but the effort’s all for nought if you don’t have compelling characters to root for.” On an inspiration, she added: “Like a favourite sports team.”
To her consternation, Scootaloo went silent after that. With Sweetie Belle, there would usually be a “huh” if she wasn’t sure, an “OK” if she’d nailed it, or an “ugh!” if she still didn’t have a clue and hated herself for it. Now, there was just the concentrated silence. She guessed the filly was reading.
After several minutes of watching Rainbow Dash push a new batch of clouds into position, Rarity heard Scootaloo say: “There’s an awful lot of it.”
“But of course,” she said cheerfully. “Ponies are very complicated. There are probably millions of angles from which to approach them: their home upbringing, the manners they were taught in school, how early and how often they had artistic experiences, historical interest, the triumphs and setbacks of their love-lives… Never underestimate the drive of a stallion scorned.”
Scootaloo sighed. “Really? Do I have to do all that?”
Rarity sat up at last. Scootaloo was sitting on the grass with just too much unhealthy stoop in her little spine. Papers lay scattered around her like rays from a particularly disorganized sun – it was a wonder she ever found any of her pages quickly – and she’d picked up her pencil between her teeth and was writing now with the neck moving instead of jaws and lips.
At once, Rarity ignored these errors and said, “It’s not a chore, Scootaloo. Writing should be a labour of love, as with any artistic assay.”
Scootaloo spat out the pencil again. “Yeah, but I’ve read every Daring Do book and a ton of other ones too. I thought it was going to be simple.”
“But that’s what makes it so satisfying when you succeed! Anyway, I’ve sat on enough chairs, but I wouldn’t dream of trying to build one.”
“URRGH!” Scootaloo hit her forehead repeatedly. “Come on! This shouldn’t be so hard!”
“Uh… perhaps you need a break.” Rarity levitated the fruit punch drink. “Care for a drink?”
“No, thanks. I’ll crack this if it takes all day, I swear it.”
Like Rainbow, like Scoots, Rarity thought grimly. She lowered the drink.
Whooshing sounds dive-bombed them. Scootaloo stared up, her head following Rainbow’s zigzag until she seemed to be nodding furiously.
“You should read Rainbow Dash’s work,” she muttered at the blur above. “She’s awesome. Like a real A. K. Yearling. Bet it’s because she’s actually met A. K. Yearling. She told me! I bet they traded tips, or shook hooves, or something like that. She’s got her secret talent from somewhere.”
I somehow doubt that, thought Rarity. There’s an assumption of talent there that needs verifying, first.
However, she recognized Scootaloo’s tone at once. It was a mainstay in Canterlot gatherings that she’d noticed over the years. There was a slight gritting of teeth every other word, a lowering of the voice as though to charge into a shout, and a stress upon certain syllables as though accusing them of tax fraud.
“Well, she’s had a lot more time to spend on writing stories,” she said as reasonably as she could make her voice while her back demanded she lie down again. “And remember, she didn’t even start caring about books until she was almost thrice your age. In relative terms, you have a considerable head start.”
My, I’m thirsty. It is a splendid sunny day, is it not? And I swear my hooves still ache.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t help me now,” said Scootaloo while Rarity sneaked a sip of her drink. She kept her gaze locked onto Rainbow Dash, who was adjusting the positions of the next set of clouds. “Aren’t you supposed to be timing her?”
Oops. “Er… I’m sure she hasn’t cracked it yet. That last one didn’t seem very fast. Uh… she’ll master it next time.”
Scootaloo’s stray hoof flicked idly at the edge of a piece of paper. “She’s so good at everything…”
Rarity’s lip twitched. The look of despondence on the filly’s face was like seeing some poor soul doused in a bucket of lukewarm water. They always think they can do it so fast.
“Rainbow Dash is good at flying,” she said, forcing herself to stay sitting upright; she was painfully aware of how long she’d spent not sunbathing as she’d pictured it. “And that’s because she worked to get where she is now. Every pony has,” she said, carefully ignoring a list of certain Canterlot names in her memory.
“But I wanna be good now! Rainbow Dash talked me through the first draft, and I could tell she thought it stunk.” Scootaloo kicked at the paper. “What’s the point if you have to strain so much to get it right?”
“No, no, no, Scootaloo. It’s not a strain. It’s a… challenge.”
Scootaloo finally looked away from Rainbow Dash, though since it was only to glare at Rarity, it wasn’t much of an improvement. “That’s much better?”
“Of course,” said Rarity, and even now the dresses of weeks floated unbidden into her imagination. “A challenge is just the right balance between being heart-achingly difficult and being mind-numbingly easy. I won’t lie; it requires a degree of patience and commitment. It’s hard to reach, but when you get there –” She kissed a hoof with a loud “mwah!” – “you are in the realm of perfection!”
“Perfection, huh? Is that like ‘the zone’ Rainbow Dash keeps talking about?”
“Eh.” Rarity waved a hoof. “I’m going to say a tentative ‘yes’, pending further details.”
“But don’t you need talent for that?”
“Well, yes, but there’s more to it than that. Talent is but a box of textiles: fine in its own way, but a box of textiles does not a costume make.”
Scootaloo stared at her. “Huh?”
“I meant that the only way you can find a talent for dressmaking is by completing a dress.”
Scootaloo continued to stare at her.
“It’s a metaphor, darling! It means you won’t know how good your writing is until you pen something. You don’t even have to write a novel. The literary world is far more flexible than that. There are poems and novellas and anthologies and so on. Dozens and dozens of forms and styles.”
“Right. So, have you ever written any?” The question slid out like a sword from a scabbard.
“Uh…” Don’t think about the drawer, don’t think about the drawer… “I used to dabble in the halcyon days of my youth. A little. Here and there. Nothing spectacular. Besides, I found my talent in another –”
“Was it any good?” Scootaloo smirked at her.
Darn the mind of foals. “I am not in a position to say. Quite apart from the conflict of interest, I haven’t read the items in question in years. Juvenilia tends not to hold up well, I find. N-Not that I was particularly bad or anything. If I was bad. Which remains unsettled. I hope.”
She leaned back and gazed up at the white and blue checkerboard of the sky, more to avoid the way Scootaloo was smiling at her than anything else.
“Anyway,” she said as calmly as she could, “there’s nothing to be ashamed of if you’re not quite… uh… up there with the likes of… with the likes of… Rainbow Dash, I suppose.”
“Uh huh.” The tone was despondent again.
I’m really missing out on some excellent sunbathing, you know. As gently as she could, she said, “I’ll tell you what. Let me look it over when you’re ready, and then I’ll help you achieve what you want to achieve.”
“You mean point out where I’m going wrong?”
“Yes.” Her brain caught up with her mouth. “No! No, nothing so negative, of course! Just… a few suggestions here for your consideration, a little nudge there, the odd prod in the right direction. Like…” She watched Rainbow Dash fly into position to start. “Like dusting yourself off and flying back into the sky.”
She glanced across. Pride was hardening Scootaloo’s face, but she fancied she detected, for a second, a flicker of relief in each eye.
“One artist to another.” Rarity winked.
“If you say so, I guess.” But Scootaloo did puff up the feathers on her wings, and Rarity fancied someone was going to brag about being called an “artist” later.
Ah, well. If she has the gift, better to share the soil than strangle the bud. Even if she can’t do worse than a certain unicorn in her youth…
Scootaloo looked back up. “She’s starting her next try.”
“Ohyesright!” Rarity scrambled for the timer.
“GO, RAINBOW DASH!” Scootaloo boomed, and even the trees quivered under her enthusiasm.
Rarity counted under her breath until the whooshing and the streaking stopped. She hit the timer.
This time, Rainbow Dash hovered at the finish for over a minute. When she finally came back down to earth, she dropped and circled alternately on her way down, and then stumbled under the momentum before skidding to a halt.
After several pants, she staggered up to them and said, “How… did… I do?”
The timer rose up before Rarity. “Three seconds this time. Above the record.”
A frown flickered across Scootaloo’s face – Rarity almost didn’t believe she’d seen it – but then threw her forelimbs up and splayed her stubs-for-wings. “That was amazing, Rainbow Dash! How are you not Captain of the Wonderbolts already!?”
Even through the panting, Rainbow grinned at her. “I… ask… that… question… all the… allthetime…”
“I bet it’s just a matter of time,” said Scootaloo breezily. “Sooner or later, they’ll get it. You just gotta keep going on being awesome.”
Yes, exercise a degree of patience and commitment, I expect.
Rarity shushed the treasonous thought and said, “And now, Rainbow Dash, I insist you take a break before you collapse. Tis a fine summer’s day, after all. Why not enjoy doing nothing for a while? Dolce far niente, and all that, hm?”