It was not best case scenario. That entire week she read voraciously, even book five, and the inevitable showdown came that weekend.
Right as he was sitting down for breakfast, Morning Glory burst into his house and threw down book six onto the table with a thump. She glowered at him, and even her snakes seemed to be irritated. “You are a terrible pony for ending it like that,” she said, panting for breath. She'd clearly run the whole way here.
Wind Shear chuckled nervously. “That was the general consensus,” he admitted. “Made the Bookhorse List of top ten cliffhangers. Number nine, but still counts.”
She grunted an agreement and stomped over to the bookshelf and scanned.
Wind Shear sat. He licked his lips, steeling himself for the confrontation he knew was coming.
“Where is it?” she demanded, coming back into the kitchen. “Where is book seven?”
“It… doesn't exist,” Wind Shear admitted.
“What?”
“I haven't written it.”
“You haven’t-!” She shook her head and took a calming breath. “Alright, I'm ok. Are you almost done with it? What happens next?”
“Uh… No, and I'm not sure.”
“What?” For the first time, something more than anger or apathy crossed her face. Was it despair? “How do you not know?”
“I just don’t,” he said helplessly. “I’ve tried for years, hoping to resolve this story and tie all those plot lines together, and I draw a blank every time. I've got other series-”
Morning Glory kicked a chair over, both loudly declining his offer and shocking him into silence. Her snakes hissed angrily. “Why would you build me up just to rain on my harvest day like that?” she demanded.
“If it makes you feel any better, there’s a lot of harvest days that have been rained on?” he tried.
“It! Does! Not!” Morning Glory stomped on the ground with each word. “You made me care about things! I cared about Blueberry Pancake, even if he had a dumb name! I cared like he cared about Creme Brûlée.”
Wind Shear snorted. “Blueberry Pancake is a flawed character. He cares about Creme Brûlée, sure; but he's also worried about his relationship with Puff Pastry and thinks it could possibly go somewhere.”
“Her mother?!” Morning Glory shrieked.
“The pony who cared for him and actually helped patch him up after his ‘little fight’ with Claw Hammer? Yeah. The pony who is the best chef in that little town, remembers and makes him his favorite food ‘just because’, combined with his lack of proper mother figure in his life means he doesn't know if he loves her as a partner or a mother, and he's worried about how either one will affect Creme, especially because he’s not sure if Creme reciprocates his feelings as strongly as he feels towards her. Part of him is convinced she thinks of him as a brother. He's a mess.”
“Well, unmess him!”
“How?” Wind Shear demanded, turning the tables. He stood up, though he kept a respectful distance from her snakes. “There's no simple solution! He needs to grow, he needs to figure it out on his own, and I have no idea how to put him through that! I don't even know which mare he should end up with!”
“I was wrong, you're the mess! You've got to think of something,” she said almost desperately.
Wind Shear rolled his eyes. “Fine. He sleeps with Puff Pastry, tries to tell Creme Brûlée the next morning and ends up sleeping with her, too, and though he thinks he can hide it from the other they find out and stone him publicly before dinner.” He paused. That might have meant something else to her. “Uh, I mean…”
“I know what you mean,” she hissed. “Sweet Celestia, is every stallion I meet destined to disappoint me?”
Wind Shear pursed his lips but said nothing. He was a disappointment.
Sensing she wasn't going to get anything else done here, she huffed angrily, scowled at everything, and stomped out of his cottage and slammed the front door behind her. The whole house rattled from the force, and a picture fell off the wall and hit the ground somewhere in the front room.
Wind Shear scowled and headed over to the couch, now no longer hungry. It had hardly been the first tirade he'd sat through, and it probably wouldn't be the last. And it wasn’t like he cared about her or her opinion. She kept barging into his house, taking his stuff, eating things from his garden, raiding his fridge like she lived here.
But still, she'd seemed so devastated. She'd been swept into the world he'd created, caught up in his creation; and then he'd effectively pulled the carpet out from under her.
After a few moments of self-reflection, he heaved a sigh and reluctantly dug his typewriter out from under the couch. It still had a half empty sheet of paper loaded in it, still there from that note he'd stuck on his fence all those months ago. He pulled it onto his lap and brushed a hoof against the keys. A little smile pricked at his lips. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try.
Wind Shear took a long, steadying breath. The forest was dark and foreboding. More than once, the thought of turning back flitted through his mind. Also the nagging fact that he hadn't actually told anypony that he was coming here, because he didn't want to be followed or talked out of it. Which also meant that if anything happened to him, nopony would know about it.
But he was determined. And maybe more than a little bit prideful. So he stepped inside, crossing the threshold between civilization and chaos.
The forest wasn't quite as scary as it sounded, especially now that he wasn't blindfolded. It was dark, though. And shadowy. And there were no other ponies around. And there were all kinds of animals lurking around.
Ok, so it was a bit scary. He swallowed nervously and moved on.
He'd been hoping that it would be brighter, like the clearing Morning Glory lived in, but those were few and far between. Most of the forest was dark. And a bit cool. And a lot a bit noisy. And he knew none of these creatures here. Cloudsdale didn't have a big population of any animals but birds.
A twig snapped in the underbrush far too close for comfort. He jumped and took a small step back, fearful of what horrifying creature was there. Definitely not a bird! What was it? And more importantly, was it hungry?
A small brown rabbit hopped out of a bush. It rubbed its face with a ‘ksh ksh’ sound, and quickly hopped away. Wind Shear sighed with relief. He turned to continue-
And bumped right into another pony’s face.
“Agh!” He shrieked and jumped backwards, tripping over his own hooves and falling to the dirt.
“There a reason you're wandering around my forest?”
“Morning Glory!” He sighed, relieved, and pushed himself up. “Oh, thank goodness. I was looking for you.”
She stalked nearer, her snakes hissing threateningly. “Ponies who look for me tend to go missing,” she growled. Her eyes flashed as she circled him.
“Ah, but how many ponies come looking for you and bringing gifts?” He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a thick sheaf of paper.
She stopped, glared at it, then at him, wordlessly asking for an explanation.
“It's the first draft of book seven of the Open Door series. It, uh, still needs a subtitle, and,” he cleared his throat and added quietly, “a really good editing pass—but I wanted you to be the first to read it.”
She paused. She blinked. “Me?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“You,” he confirmed. He chuckled. “Somehow you got me writing again when nopony else could. I figured it was the least I could do.”
She bit her lower lip. Her snakes swarmed over each other, as if they, too, were confused. But eventually, she reached out and took it. She looked at it, cracked a wry smile, and then walked away.
Wind Shear watched her go. Then-
“Wait.” He turned himself in a circle. All these trees looked the same to him! “How am I getting out of here?”
A pinecone hit him on the side of the head. “You're a pegasus, genius! I'm sure you'll think of something!”
Wind Shear woke up and stretched. It had been a week since he’d been in the forest, and a week since he’d seen hide or hair of Morning Glory. Hopefully today he'd get that manuscript back. Maybe he should have made a duplicate copy first, before giving it to her. What if she'd trashed it? Burned it? It hadn’t taken her nearly as long to read the others. He doubted he'd be able to rewrite the whole thing from memory.
But he'd trusted her.
He stretched his wings. Had that been a mistake? Should he have not trusted her?
He shook that thought out of his mind. Crazy she may be, but she was a good pony under that rough exterior. He had no idea what had happened to her, or what had turned her from earth pony to gorgony, but under all that, he was convinced she was still a good pony.
And… wait, what was that smell?
He launched himself out of bed so fast his hooves got caught in the sheets and he tumbled face-first to the ground. Scrambling up, he kicked the sheet off his hoof and nearly flew into the living room.
She sat at the table. The food she'd made was on the table, still steaming in its freshness. She had a few eggs in front of her, though these were still in the shell and not in an omelette like his were.
And the manuscript sat on the table, still in pristine condition, off to the side.
“Hey,” he said, panting.
“Hi,” she returned, the slightest of scowls on her face. “Took you long enough. Almost started eating without you.”
He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and he wasn't sure if it were because the book was back or because she was. “How was it?”
“It was good,” she said. She looked up and smiled back, revealing her fangs. “It was really good.”
“Thanks,” he said, sitting at the table. She slid the plate of eggs over. “So, you liked it a lot?”
“I did.” She picked up an egg and examined it. “I felt like you tied it all together. It really does need an editor, though. For example, Creme Brûlée’s cutie mark is two cups, not three. And that's just on page two.”
He cracked a wry smile. “I always forget,” he said, taking a bite. Most cutie marks were either one big picture or three smaller pictures in a triangle shape. Two was rare, but not unheard of. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to give her just two way back in book two. Probably a way to make her stand out. Or maybe it was related to the book number in the series.
She swallowed the egg and picked up another. “And you said the door to Blueberry Pancake’s apartment was blue in book six, but chapter four here says it's green.”
“He repainted it,” Wind Shear lied.
She gave him a flat look. Even the snakes seemed to be saying ‘I'm not buying it’.
She was so expressive.
He sighed and hung his head in defeat. “I'll fix it.”
“You'd better.”
There was a pause. The only sounds were the fork on the plate and the next egg cracking in her throat.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For letting me be a part of it.”
“You're welcome.”
“What happens now?”
“Now, I finish your breakfast. Good stuff, by the way.”
Morning Glory threw a napkin at him.
He ducked and grinned. “Then, I edit it. Then, I see if my publisher still remembers me. And then… I become a published author again.” He grinned. “Should be fun.”
“Well, here's hoping for another bestseller.” She grinned. “There's got to be at least a few stupid, blinded mares willing to buy it.”
Wind Shear laughed. “We'll see, won’t we?”