“Take it easy, Pure, you don’t want to go overboard,” Dad says as I huff and puff on shaky legs. The wonderment from when I first summoned forth my magic has long since faded, replaced instead with frustration.
“I know, but I can do this,” I answer once I catch my breath, sending a glare at the innocuous quill lying on the ground, or, as I’ve come to know it, the heaviest darn feather on the planet. I swear the thing is mocking me, sitting atop the blades of grass and not bending one, only to increase its weight to that of a boulder when I try to lift it. I bet it’s in cahoots with Buttercup and the two are laughing their heads off...
Of course I know none of this is true, but it helps lessen the sting of shame to shift the blame elsewhere as I struggle with what should be a simple task. Bluey is off to the side at this very moment, drawing with a quill and ink to improve his fine control, and yet I can barely get one end of my own quill off the ground. It’s the first weekend of magic kindergarten, the class having gone over multiple exercises involving a simple quill, and I want to catch up to them by Monday. It’s infuriating then that I’m stuck at step one.
“Just relax, sweetie, you’ll get it, but not while you're upset and exhausted,” Dad tries, motioning towards the house. “Hey, how about we go inside and have a little snack break? I’m sure your mom will be glad to let you have a cookie after all the hard work you’ve put in.”
“Not yet,” I retort, glaring at my target as I once again summon forth my magic. The shallow pool that makes up my mana reserves has little left to give, but my horn still glows dimly and a flickering aura surrounds the feather. I try with all my might, fighting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut as I watch he quill begin to wiggle. My skull throbs and spots swarm in my peripherals, but I refuse to give up now.
I.
Will.
Lift.
This.
Feather!
“Sh- -hou-d -- fin- -he ju-- -eed –est.”
“--- you --ure? Wh-- about -er…”
Ugh, my head is killing me. Did I hit it during a sparring match or something? No, that doesn’t sound right, but what happened then?
Let’s see, I was… practicing magic, I think. Dad was watching me and Bluey was off to the side. And there was a stupid feather that was glued to the ground, and I was trying to pick it up…
“Did I get it!?” I blurt out, eyes snapping open as I try to spring to my hooves, only to be overwhelmed by dizziness and stumble. My heart skips a beat as I step over a ledge and begin to feel weightless for a terrifying second before a hoof catches me across the chest.
“Pure!” Dad exclaims, quickly pushing me back onto my bottom while my head swims. “You’re awake, how do you feel?”
“Like everything is spinning,” I answer truthfully, blinking rapidly as I take in my surroundings. At the sight of white walls and the feel of paper beneath my flank, my throat goes dry. “Why… am I at the hospital?”
“We were worried,” Mom began, coming up beside Dad to fret over me. “After you fainted, nothing we did could wake you up, so we left Blueblood with your grandfather and brought you here.”
“I’ll admit it was a surprise to have you visit again so soon, and even more so to find you suffering from magical exhaustion. It’s not a condition often associated with foals, but I suppose I should have seen this coming,” Dr. Mend comments, putting away his stethoscope. “Still though, it’s good to know you’ve managed to express your magic, even if only just. Silver lining, I suppose.”
Mom frowns. “Yes, well I’d prefer if these revelations didn’t come at the expense of my daughter’s health.”
“Oh, her health is just fine, relatively speaking. As I was saying, a proper meal and some rest will have her right as rain by tomorrow morning.” Dr. Mend explains this with a light smile before taking on a pondering expression. “Though, your mention of revelations has me thinking, this might actually be a good opportunity for another test on mageiasthenia. If you’ll permit it, we can keep Pureblood overnight and measure her rate of mana regeneration to discover if and how her condition affects it.”
“I don’t know,” Mom begins, and I instantly agree with her. “Today’s already been stressful for her, so I’m sure she just wants to rest in peace.”
“But it’s a golden opportunity,” the doctor tries, “I assure you, she’ll be perfectly safe, and you can even stay the night with her. I’m sure I can get standard visitation hours waved for this.”
“Listen, doctor,” Dad says, “I think the pony that should be asked here isn’t my wife or I, but our daughter.” Turning to me, he asks, “So what do you think, Pure, would you be okay with staying the night? We can even go get your brother and bring him up to stay with you if that’d make you feel better, but it’s your choice.”
Gulping, I think it over. I know logically that this could be important, that for as much as doctor’s appointments freak me out, they’re essential for my health, but the thought of actually staying overnight is magnitudes more unsettling. I’ve not spent more than a few hours a visit in a hospital since the start of my new life, and I’d rather keep it that way. Waking up in the dark of a hospital room is an aspect of my old life I don’t want to experience again.
“… I want to go home.”
“Well, there you have it,” Dad states, scooping me into the crook of his foreleg. “Sorry Dr. Mend, but I’m afraid we’ll be taking our leave now.”
I continue to avoid the disappointed gaze of the lab coat clad stallion as he sighs, but yields, and we leave the building. My eyes drift shut by our first step outside.
When the three arrived home, it was to an anxious colt pawing at his father’s leg, trying to see for himself if his sister was okay. “She’s fine, she’s fine. Calm yourself,” the elder Blueblood said, attempting to get his son to settle down. “Don’t make me drop her.”
The remark seemed to have worked as the colt backed away from the door to let his parents through before he asked again, “Are you sure? Should I get her a juice box? Is she sleeping still? Maybe a cookie will wake her up. She always wakes up for cookies.”
“Yes, we’re sure, and yes she’s sleeping,” Ornate explained. “But she woke up while we were at the doctor’s office and he told her sleep is exactly what she needs. So we’re going to put her in her room, and I’m going to start a big meal for when she wakes up.”
“Will lotsa food help?” Bluey asked with a tilt of his head.
“Dr. Mend thinks so.”
“Then I want to help!” At the colt’s declaration, the parents smiled at each other and the mother led him to the kitchen indulgently. It would get messy, but it would also help ease the young one’s mind. When Pure collapsed, little Blueblood quickly went to her side, curious at first and gently trying to wake her up before losing all composure. His cries had most of the adults on the estate in the garden in time to see the master of the house take off, wife and daughter in tow and only a few parting words to his father.
“Little tyke’s fast. Practically disappeared on me as soon as he heard you all were back.” Stalwart Shield commented, looking over his son’s shoulder at the retreating forms of Ornate and her colt. “Training’s paying off.”
“Dad,” Blueblood said in acknowledgment, turning around. “You didn’t have any trouble, did you? I know you were out drinking with your friends last night and were sleeping it off.”
“Bah, I was perfectly fine. Soldiers like me don’t get hangovers,” the older stallion answered. “And the lad was fine. Worried as all Tartarus, but behaved himself… How is she, by the way?”
Blueblood breathed a sigh and looked at the sleeping filly on his back. “Magical exhaustion, but she’ll recover. I’m more worried about her training in the future right now. What am I supposed to do if she wants to continue it? I’m no doctor, but suffering exhaustion like that on a regular basis can’t be good for a growing foal.”
“Well, you’ll just have to start out smaller,” proposed Stalwart. “It’s fundamental in all training, after all. You start out small and work your way up.”
“I don’t know how much smaller we can get here. She knocked herself out trying to levitate a feather,” Blueblood countered.
"Yeah… that does sound like a problem.” The military stallion scratched his short beard before shrugging with one final suggestion. “Smaller feathers?”
The glare shot Shield’s way had very little heat even before Blueblood sighed and sagged a little. “I’ll send one of the servants out to pick up a goose down pillow and see if she has an easier time.” The younger father started walking, his elder following suit. “This certainly won’t help with her other issue though. Her self-esteem’s already been suffering.”
“The bully?” Stalwart inquired.
“In part, yes. That Buttercup filly has made more than a few snide remarks the last few days of school, from what my son has told me, and even if Pure insists she doesn’t care, I can tell it’s getting to her.”
“She should just buck the brat like she did with Bronze Pauldron,” Stalwart contributed, expression becoming defensive at the dry look from his son. “What? It worked, didn’t it? Stopped the bullying and got her a good sparring partner and friend.”
“Yes, because that’s the usual outcome from violence,” Blueblood deadpanned. “Tell me, Dad, how many of the crooks you pummeled and sent to the dungeons are you now friends with?”
“Hey, Iron Bars happens to be one of my best drinking buddies!” At the flat look, he harrumphed. “Okay, fine, I see your point, but it’s not like talking to the teacher’s helped at all.”
“I’m sure he’ll sort things out soon enough. The second week hasn’t even begun yet,” Blueblood answered with confidence he did not have. In truth, he felt Mr. Scatter should have put an end to this Buttercup filly’s harassment as soon as Ornate informed him of such, but no such luck apparently.
“You think the mother’s putting her up to it?” Stalwart asked with a frown. “As much as I’d like to believe the mare wouldn’t have her own daughter act on her grudges, I’ve seen parents do worse.”
“Ornate seems to think it’s a possibility,” Blueblood answered. “It would be petty to say the least if she is.”
“More like despicable. If it is true, I pity the foal. Who knows what else a parent like that would put their child through.” The older stallion frowned deeply. “Borderline abusive.”
“Well, it’s all speculation at this point, and I don’t see the question being answered anytime soon.” The two stopped outside Pureblood’s bedroom and Blueblood began to shift the filly from his back and into his foreleg.
“Here, let me help,” Stalwart said, moving to keep his granddaughter steady. “Oh, hey there, little one, sorry if I woke you.”
The foal did indeed have her eyes half open, expression dull as she settled into her father’s hold. “S’alright,” she mumbled.
“You feeling alright, Pure? We can go see your mom and brother if you want,” Blueblood offered, ready to turn around and go to the kitchen.
Surprisingly, she shook her head. “No, I just want to go to sleep now.”
Though he found it odd, the father didn’t argue and entered the bedroom, tucking his filly in and placing a kiss on her forehead while Shield waited by the door. “Sleep easy, Pure. I’ll come and get you when the food is ready. Your brother is working hard to help Mom just for you.”
She smiled a little, but it faded with exhaustion as her eyes began to shut. “He’s nice like that,” she muttered, getting a nod in agreement and smile from her dad as he got up to leave. Just as he was about to exit she asked in a drowsy voice, barely more than a whisper, “Do you really think the goose down will help?”