Dodge City was a small insignificant speck on the map, its population hardly breaking the double digits. Tucked into its own lonely corner of Equestria, most of its relevance was wrapped up in the local cherry farm. If it wasn't for that farm, the town wouldn't have even registered as a tourist destination. Even then, visitors were scarce and newcomers even scarcer.
Lyra didn't bother with a disguise. Dodge City was such an isolated town that she doubted her story had reached there. Even if her exploits had somehow reached this practically unknown little town, Lyra wouldn't have wasted time covering up her Cutie Mark. She was tired of hiding. She was tired of feeling hunted.
Now that she was in Dodge City, what was she meant to do? For the first time in a while, Lyra was completely lost.
The town's only hotel looked friendly enough, but Lyra realized that she'd reached a lot deeper into her wallet than she meant to. Fortunately, Lyra happened to see a Help Wanted poster outside the general store. A pony named Cherry Jubilee was looking for an “able-bodied pony to do some light work on th local cherry farm”. Lyra didn't know what that entailed—she'd never worked on a farm in her life—but the poster mentioned an especially generous salary and a place to stay.
Cherry Jubilee was surprisingly understanding. She waved away Lyra's concerns about having never worked on a farm before.
“Half the ponies I hire can't tell a plow from a cart,” she said with a laugh. “I take what I can get.”
There were three other ponies working on the farm, all of them out-of-towners. Cherry introduced them to Lyra on her first day: a stallion named Hard Luck, another stallion named Trouble Shoes, and a mare named Marble Pie. None of them seemed too enthusiastic about having another pony in their already limited living quarters.
At Cherry Jubilee's insistence, Trouble Shoes took Lyra to the small room the three—now four—of them occupied. It was a practical and scarcely furnished room on the second floor. There were four beds lined up in the middle of the room, a dresser, and a door leading to a tiny bathroom.
“It's not much, is it?” commented Trouble Shoes.
Lyra placed her saddlebag on one of the beds. This all felt oddly familiar: the farm, the hospitable Cherry Jubilee, the sudden rush of homesickness coupled with an intense feeling of comfort. Life in Dodge City must be so simple. It was a place where everything came to a standstill. Lyra could already sense the constant noise in her head fading to a pleasant background murmur.
“It'll be fine,” said Lyra. “It'll all be fine.”
She ran a hoof across the blanket and smiled.
Mornings and afternoons at the cherry farm were hectic, but evenings and nights were pleasant. It was during these evenings and nights that the four of them would sit in front of the fireplace and talk. They told stories, crafted tales of exquisite horror, and recounted cherished memories from their pasts. Even timid Marble occasionally volunteered stories about her fillyhood, her voice so soft and hesitant that everypony practically had to press their ears to her mouth.
Trouble Shoes had been working there for over a year, Hard Luck for two. Marble had been working there for less than a month, but she had already proved herself a hard worker.
After a week of working at the farm, Lyra had already begun to feel like she was part of a family. In a way, they were her family. Having no prior knowledge of who she was or where she came from, they welcomed her with open hooves. Lyra felt as if she'd known these ponies all her life. However, despite how close she felt to them, there remained a sort of barrier. Lyra attempted to ignore it, but the more the others talked about their pasts the thicker the barrier became. Lyra realized that she could never tell any of them about her past, could never reveal her true identity to them. She could be Lyra the Farmhand, but she could never be Lyra Heartstrings.
On her tenth night, Lyra had her first nightmare since coming to Dodge City. She found herself trotting down a dark hallway lined with mirrors. She kept glancing in the mirrors as she passed, expecting to see her reflection. Instead each mirror showed her the twisted face of her beloved Bon-Bon. Bon-Bon was screaming silently, her hooves pawing at her face as if trying to remove her fur. The faster Lyra trotted, the more distorted Bon-Bon's image became. By the time she felt she was nearing the end of the hallway, Bon-Bon's face was merely a warped smudge upon the glass. Bon-Bon's screams were becoming more and more audible as the hallway went on, the volume increasing as Lyra practically galloped past the remaining mirrors and into the darkness beyond.
Lyra awakened with a shout and almost fell out of bed. Bon-Bon's agonized screams had followed her into the waking world, the sound so shrill and tortured that Lyra felt her ears might burst. She pressed her hooves into her ears and silently begged for it to stop, for Bon-Bon to forgive her for her failings and leave her alone. But the screams continued, squeezing their way past Lyra's hooves and into her eardrums. Her hooves still in her ears, Lyra reached out for the lamp with her magic and switched it on.
Marble was thrashing around in the bed next to Lyra's. Her covers lay in a heap on the floor. Marble's features were arranged into an expression of anguish. Her eyes were closed tightly as if attempting to block out some horrifying vision and her fur was standing on end. Marble was screaming, the once incoherent sound slowly arranging itself into words.
“The mold, the mold, the mold!” she was screaming, her tone increasingly frantic.
Hard Luck and Trouble Shoes stood at either side of Marble's bed. Hard Luck was trying desperately to grab Marble's flailing limbs, whilst Trouble Shoes was brandishing a glass of water.
“What's going on?” Lyra demanded.
Neither of them answered. As Lyra watched in confusion and fear, Trouble Shoes flung the glass of water into Marble's face. The instant the cold water hit Marble's face, her limbs settled. Her body stiffened, her head shaking violently for a moment. Then she lay back against the pillow, panting. Slowly, Marble opened her eyes and turned a distant gaze to Hard Luck.
“Sister?” she said.
Hard Luck patted Marble's head.
“No, little darling,” he said gently. “You were having a nightmare.”
While Hard Luck attempted to soothe a trembling Marble, Trouble Shoes left the room.
Lyra glanced from Hard Luck and Marble to the bedroom door. She contemplated for a moment, then jumped out of bed and departed the bedroom. She wanted to gallop, but she forced herself to walk slowly over the creaky floorboards. Lyra felt like a teenager trying to avoid being caught out of bed by a strict parent.
Trouble Shoes was in the kitchen. He was carefully picking up everything he'd knocked over in the dark, including the table. There were four teacups on the counter and a small pot of boiling water on the stove. Four packets of exotic tea—undoubtedly from Cherry Jubilee's exclusive collection—lay in a row on the counter. Lyra hoped Trouble Shoes wasn't breaking some unspoken rule.
“I reckon you're a bit confused,” said Trouble Shoes.
Lyra sat down at the kitchen table. She was yet again surprised by how familiar this all was to her. The feeling of family, the feeling of belonging, the bemusement and worry as the situation slipped out of her hooves. The first time, there had been some warmth underneath it. This time Lyra felt unusually cold.
Trouble Shoes moved the pot from the stove to the counter as it began to boil.
“Marble has bad dreams on occasion,” said Trouble Shoes. “She left home because they were getting worse and worse. Coming here helped for a while, but they started back up again. They're worse than ever now. Fortunately, she doesn't get them as often.”
Trouble Shoes emptied the packets of tea into their respective cups. He appeared to do this haphazardly, but Lyra sensed deliberateness.
“Her family's got a history of clairvoyance,” Trouble Shoes continued. “Mares in her family usually have what we call “The Sense” or “The Sight”. She says she's been having visions since she was a foal. Her sisters have The Sight or The Sense too, but I reckon theirs is a lot less powerful.”
The Sight was one of many strange and supernatural concepts Lyra considered worthy of study. Beliefs of this nature permeated Earth pony culture, regardless of various levels of academia dismissing them as pure nonsense.
“What are the dreams about?” Lyra asked.
Trouble Shoes placed a cup of tea before Lyra. The tantalizing aroma of berries drifted into her nostrils.
“She won't say,” Trouble Shoes said. “Must be pretty bad if she can't even talk about them.”
Lyra briefly questioned why Marble had chosen to confide in Trouble Shoes. But one look into his eyes gave her the answer. There was sadness in those eyes, but also a sweetness. Trouble Shoes was clearly a kind soul who invited the troubles and histories of others. For a moment, Lyra was tempted to tell him her story. It was with great effort that she did not.
“Drink your tea,” Trouble Shoes urged.
He left the room with a cup presumably intended for Marble.
Lyra sipped her tea and thought. She'd been spending a lot of time inside her own mind as of late. She found that when she wasn't reading important documents and sorting through photographs, Lyra could focus on Lyra. Not Lyra the Conspiracy Theorist or Lyra the Lost, but plain old Lyra Heartstrings from Canterlot. She had somewhat lost track of herself during those chaotic months. Without her satchel or Moondancer, Lyra had been left alone with herself and her mysteries.
I could stay in Dodge City, she thought. I could make a life here. I could forget.
But did she want to forget? Did she want to simply let go? Perhaps that was why Moondancer had sent her there. Maybe Moondancer had sensed that the one thing Lyra needed was to become somepony else. The prospect was looking more and more attractive to Lyra.
Lyra drained her teacup. The tea seemed to have worked as intended, as Lyra now felt drowsy. Leaving the teacup on the table, she hastily left the kitchen. All Lyra wanted was her bed.
The ordeal with Marble was going to follow her into her dreams. Lyra remembered every detail of Marble's face, the way she thrashed around as if having some kind of fit. The sight of Marble in the grip of some terrifying vision was going to haunt Lyra's dreamscape for a while. But most of all, Lyra remembered the shudder that had darted across her body when she realized what Marble was screaming.
“The mold, the mold!”
Marble's voice went off in Lyra's head like the screech of some tortured creature. Lyra stopped in her tracks and shivered. The house felt unusually cold again.
It seemed Marble's streak of mostly peaceful nights had come to an end. For the next three nights, she had to be forcibly awakened from what sounded like a horrifying dream. She would scream and thrash around in her bed until Trouble Shoes, Hard Luck, or Lyra rescued her with a splash of water to the face. Then Trouble Shoes would make them tea and they'd fall back asleep within minutes. It became a strange little routine for them, to the point that they were hesitant to sleep at all.
On the fourth night, Lyra awoke from her own nightmare. She sat up in bed, her hooves hopelessly tangled within her covers. She'd been dreaming about flying, but the dream had taken an unexpected turn for the surreal. A moment before she woke, Lyra had been staring into what seemed to be the gaping maw of a sobbing Moondancer. Lyra had taken one step forward, only to be blasted backwards by a shriek of agony.
Panting, Lyra looked around the dark room. She was surprised to notice that everypony else seemed to be asleep. She was instantly relieved, believing Marble's horrifying nighttime activities to have finally ceased. Lyra looked forward to a normal night of sleep if she ever managed to conquer her own nightmares.
Am I really acting like I'm going to be here forever? she wondered.
Perhaps more worrying than the thought itself was how little it disconcerted her.
Lyra benched that thought as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Her eyes fell upon Marble's bed and she frowned. In the darkness, she had mistaken the lump on the bed for a peacefully dozing Marble underneath her covers. Lyra realized it was simply a pillow. Where in Celestia's name was Marble?
She untangled her limbs from the covers and got out of bed. Lyra glanced at the sleeping forms of Hard Luck and Trouble Shoes. The corners of her mouth rose into a tender smile. Friendship really could be found in the most unlikely places. With this thought firmly in place, Lyra opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the dark hallway.
Lyra descended the stairs. Her hoofsteps sounded almost like hammers on wood in the silent house. She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, expecting Cherry Jubilee's angry shouts to come floating down. When the house remained quiet, Lyra cautiously tiptoed to the kitchen. If Marble wasn't in there, she could at least make herself a hot drink.
Marble was standing in front of the closed refrigerator door, her back to Lyra. Her hooves were pressed against the fridge door. Before Lyra say a word, Marble began to speak. She spoke with the urgency of somepony facing complete ruin.
“Rotting, rotting,” she said. “It's all rotting and I can't, I can't, I can't...”
She lightly beat her hooves against the fridge door.
“I'm trying, I'm trying,” she said. “Just hold on. Hold on. Don't leave without me.”
Marble pressed her face against the fridge door, her body shaking with sobs. She slid her hooves over the smooth surface, her body quivering with emotion.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
A forced and slightly unhinged laugh burst from Marble's throat. Any further laughter lost its fight against her heavy sobs. Marble sank to the floor, her hooves still clutching desperately at the fridge as if begging it to hold her. The sound of her hooves descending the slick surface twisted Lyra's heart strings.
Lyra trotted over to Marble and placed a hoof on her head. The instant Lyra's hoof touched Marble's mane, Marble's eyes flickered open. She tilted her head upward and stared in bemusement at Lyra for a second. Then her gaze darted around the kitchen, her puzzlement clearly growing. A question formed in Marble's throat, but all that came out was a timid squeak.
“You were sleepwalking,” Lyra said.
Marble blushed. She scrambled away from Lyra and got to her hooves. Her gaze immediately dropped.
“Sorry,” she said.
She nervously dug at the floor, refusing to make eye contact.
Lyra wondered why clairvoyance always seemed to manifest itself in the least talkative of ponies. It was as if this ability was predisposed to seek out those who'd be hesitant to share it. Either that or Marble's gift was the reason for her shyness. Lyra had come to believe that histories were inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but now she wanted to know everything about Marble's past.
“What do you dream about?” Lyra asked.
Marble made eye contact for a second, only for her gaze to drop instantly. Perhaps the fact that Lyra wasn't chastising her was what compelled her to speak.
“A town,” said Marble. “I don't know what town exactly, but I always feel as if I should know it.”
Lyra's heart neither sank nor lifted. She simply remained quiet and still as she waited for Marble to continue. A flicker of some distant emotion—perhaps regret—drifted across the lazy river of her mind.
“It used to be so pleasant,” Marble said. “Full of life and friendship. I see cottages, market stalls, a bakery. Ponies were happy here.”
An involuntary shudder skittered across Marble's back. She didn't dare close her eyes. Marble was afraid the images from her nightmare would flush every happy thought from her brain.
“It's deserted,” said Marble. “Businesses are boarded up, cottages abandoned, statues broken. It's so cold and alone. No friendship here, only sadness.”
She reached deeper into her memories, digging out more of the dream's contents.
“They're all gone,” said Marble. "Time Turner, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, Caramel, Mr. and Mrs. Cake....”
She didn't seem to realize at first that she was rattling off names. But after Mrs. Cake's name, Marble immediately stopped talking. She closed her mouth as if abruptly compelled by some otherworldly force. Marble's gaze rose at last, her fearful eyes fastening onto Lyra's.
“My sister's not dead,” she said. “She's not. Then why...? Why?”
Marble shook her head.
“It's not a vision of the future,” she said. “It's something bad. Something I don't understand.”
She quivered.
“Something my parents didn't understand,” Marble said.
Lyra wrapped her hoof around Marble. Her emotions had finally caught up with her thoughts. First and foremost, Lyra felt bad for Marble. Marble hadn't asked for such a both fortunate and unfortunate talent. Nopony asked for these burdens, a fact Lyra knew all too well.
“I know how you feel,” said Lyra. “I'm running too.”
She told Marble her entire story from start to finish. The dam burst and what seemed like a life's worth of questions and regrets poured forth. Retelling her entire history to somepony who slightly understood, Lyra realized how much of her life had been spent defying others. She'd defied her parents, defied supposed friends who'd laughed at her chosen career path, defied newspapers that tried to paint her as some kind of lunatic. This had always led to Lyra running away in some way or another, be it from the home she had once shared with her unsupportive parents or some particularly persistent journalists. Lyra was a runner through and through.
But what happens when somepony whose used to running decides they'd rather stand still? Lyra wondered.
Lyra stared into Marble's timid eyes.
“I think you should go home,” she said.
Marble looked startled.
“But...my parents...,” she said.
Lyra gave Marble a perhaps overly friendly pat on the head. They might have been the same in many ways, but the difference in experience was obvious. Marble was still hindered by her somewhat limited perception of life. Her eyes reflected back the innocence Lyra had lost in her late youth.
“You need to go home,” she said. “But first you need to decide where that is.”
She stepped away from Marble and yawned. The late hour was finally catching up with her.
Marble stared at Lyra. Those bright eyes attempted to hide a layer of sadness and pain, but the illusion was failing. Lyra herself didn't appear to comprehend the extent of her troubles. She'd been running and hiding so long that she couldn't strip away her own layers. Yet however oblivious she was to what lay at her core, it was still eating Lyra's heart from the inside.
“Would you like to come with me?” Marble asked.
Lyra started to decline automatically, but the words froze in her throat. If she left Dodge City, she'd be going down a path that hadn't been laid out for her. While Lyra had ultimately been the master of her own actions, there had always been another pony behind the scenes. Lyra realized she was free from all that.
“Can we leave tomorrow morning?” asked Lyra.
Marble blushed and her eyes dropped to her hooves again. She was suddenly aware of Lyra's closeness and the hoof around her. As quickly as it had overtaken her, Marble's boldness vanished.
“Mm hmm,” she said.
Lyra felt somewhat guilty at having wanted to leave so soon. She had noticed the strong bond Marble seemed to have formed with Trouble Shoes. She herself had come to like Trouble Shoes and Hard Luck immensely in a short period of time. Nevertheless, Lyra wanted to get Marble home. She had a feeling something important was waiting for both of them.
The name “Pinkie Pie” had been on that mysterious list Lyra had found what seemed like ages ago. She had no idea what it meant, but she had a feeling she was very close to finding out. The question was whether or not Lyra wanted to know.
Marble sensed the subtle shift in Lyra's emotions, but she said nothing.
Lyra was afraid.