Scootawolf landed in front of Photo Dash, unsure of what to say. She didn’t know whether to hug her foalsitter, or glare at her and fly back into the storm clouds: for, now that she stood before Rainbow (or a version of her, at least), she realised that she hadn’t entirely forgiven the real-life Rainbow for abandoning her when she had needed her most. Never mind about Rainbow Dash’s dreams, and her talent for stunt flying! She should have been there for Scootawolf as the world was slowly flipped upon its head.
That was what a good foalsitter was supposed to do, wasn’t it?
“What are doing here?” Scootawolf said, more forcefully than she meant to.
“Looking out for you,” said Photo Dash with a grin. She held her head proudly.
Scootawolf frowned at this answer. Before she could say anything more, however, they were joined by a dozen other Rainbow Dashes who had escaped from their own photographs, and who had fled to the Land of Scootawolf's Heart. They marched from the left and from the right, and in a great long line behind Photo Dash herself. A hoofful appeared from the sky and skidded to a halt on the wide cloudbank.
Scootawolf gawped at the hoard of Rainbow Dashes.
At last, she had found them: the missing ponies from the photos.
The extra Rainbow Dashes, around two dozen in total, gathered in a gaggle behind Photo Dash. One near the front said, “We’re all watching out for you, every one of us. We all sensed the Emberwolf coming, so we found somewhere to watch over you. Pretty neat, huh?”
Scootawolf’s fur bristled. It was exceedingly, exceptionally rich of them to tell her this, when the real-life Rainbow Dash had disappeared for months on end.
Scootawolf shook her head. “N-no,” she sobbed. “This is dumb – you’re just ponies from photographs. How are you s’posed to look out for me?”
Another voice sounded over the cloud bank. Scootawolf jumped. She knew that voice. And when she turned and looked at the new pony, she knew those eyes, that face, and that mane and cutie mark: a musical note drawn within a star, which itself was placed in the middle of a shield.
Sweetie Belle had come to speak with her.
“You’re wrong,” Sweetie Belle said, and there wasn’t just one of her, but a whole gang, advancing across the cloudbank. The Sweetie Belles were joined by ten different Apple Blooms. “There’s magic in the air tonight: the Emberwolf is one of the most magical creatures that ever lived, and you can never tell what’s going to happen when it’s around. So, tonight – so long as you’re near the Emberwolf and its magic – we’re more than just photographs. We’re memories, and we love you. You’re our friend.”
“You’re bein’ mighty silly, trustin’ the Emberwolf,” one of the Apple Blooms added.
Scootawolf realised she was blushing, and that her blushing caused her smouldering cheeks to cast a fierce orange glow over the surrounding ponies. Nervous, she clawed at the cloudbank. Although her body was made from coal and fire, ice pierced her stomach. She couldn’t stand here and take this. She had to speak. She had to defend herself.
“Hey,” she growled. “That’s not fair. The Emberwolf gets me. Not like you guys. You guys shouted at me. You said I’d changed, and that you didn’t like it.”
The Apple Blooms and the Sweetie Belles mingled with the Rainbow Dashes. There were even versions of Aunt Holiday and Aunt Lofty, and of Mom and Dad. Mom’s mane was crumpled, and a quarter of Dad’s tail was torn off, as though the pair of them had come from a photograph that had been ripped in half.
Photo Dash nodded at Scootawolf. “Yeah. Actually, that’s kinda the truth, ain’t it,” she said, much to Scootawolf’s surprise. “The Emberwolf makes you feel good about your anger. ’Cause, y’know what? Sometimes, it is good to be angry. When you’re angry about something, it means it’s important to you. When something makes you angry, then that’s a sign that you care about it.
“But Scoots," she continued, "what happens when your anger burns out, huh? What do you do then? D’you try and force yourself to stay angry forever? Sounds kinda tiring.”
Scootawolf opened her mouth – then closed it, and her heart hammered. Lightning flashed around them, painting the photo-ponies in light and shadow.
She couldn’t find an answer to the question.
Photo Dash stepped closer. “Why d'you follow the Emberwolf down the staircase? What were you hoping for?”
Scootawolf drew in a deep breath and whispered, “Is it so bad I just want somepony who understands me? Somepony who tells me that I’m not a bad filly for feeling angry?”
She trailed off as the lightning redoubled, and the rain fell with endless fury. Then Photo Dash stepped forwards across the clouds, closer, closer, and nuzzled her – and as Photo Dash touched her, something awoke inside of Scootawolf. She didn’t know what to call it, or what feeling to compare it to. But it was as though the Sun swelled inside of her, and that a mighty glow grew within her heart, casting blinding light into the furthest reaches of her soul: places where light had long given way to shadows.
She peered up at Photo Dash and her breath caught sharply in her throat. “R-Rainbow! What is this?”
Photo Dash spoke again. “Scootaloo,” she said. “I – I owe you an apology. I know what the real-life-me said about being angry, but she was wrong. She was dead wrong. It’s alright to be angry. It’s totally normal, and everypony feels angry from time to time. But this…” Photo Dash gestured at Scootawolf’s body, at the flames in her fur and the fires in her eyes. “This ain’t cool, Scoots. This ain’t you. And d’you wanna know something else? The Emberwolf sent you here, to the Land of your Heart, precisely ’cause it doesn’t ‘get’ you. Not fully, anyway. It forgot that, just ’cause you can be mad at your friends and family sometimes, that doesn’t mean that you don’t love ’em to bits, and that they don’t love ya right back.”
Photo Dash lowered her voice. Her words were full-to-bursting with love. “It thought that your Heart of Hearts was gonna be made from fire, like the same fire that consumes its own heart.” She smiled at Scootawolf. “It didn’t count on it taking the shape of somepony who loves you.”
Suddenly, Mom and Dad were at the front of the crowd. Thunder boomed. The rain picked up yet once again – oceans worth of hard, heavy rain.
Scootawolf trembled.
“We’re sorry, little one,” said Mom, “that your dad and I failed you so badly in real-life.”
“The Emberwolf’s magic is already fading, Scoots,” said Dad. “Soon, you’ll be pulled back to the Buried Continent, and you’ll have a choice: give into your anger and remain an Emberwolf forever. Or draw upon our love, and the love of your friends, and show the Emberwolf another path.”
“We love you,” said Mom.
“We love you,” said Photo Dash, and the other rabble of other Rainbow Dashes.
“We love you,” said the many dozens of Apple Blooms and Sweetie Belles.
Then Scootawolf heard the most startling voice of all: her own. The crowds parted to reveal a throng of Scootaloos of all different ages, for they had come from photographs taken from all different times in her life. They had orange coats, like fire. They had purple manes and tails and stumpy little wings. One of them, a toddler in pyjamas, said, “Remember. You ain’t Scootawolf. You’re Scootaloo.”
Before Scootawolf could say anything, her friends, family, and the throng of herselves waved in goodbye. The clouds vanished, and the world turned white again. The rain stopped. The roar of the thunder faded.
Everything fell silent.
“I love you guys too,” she whispered in the emptiness.
Then she blinked, and she was awake again, and she stood in the Buried Continent. The air was ferociously hot. The ground glowed scarlet and the crystal forest sparkled, waiting to Scootawolf to burn it down. Except, she wasn’t sure, anymore, that she wanted to harm it.
The Emberwolf flicked its tail in excitement. It was more like an overgrown puppy rather than the majestic wolf Scootawolf had come to know.
“You’re back!” it said. “And you touched your Heart of Hearts – no, don’t say a word! I can sense it! Now that you’ve gained its power, we can begin.”