//------------------------------// // Photo Dash // Story: Emberwolf // by Lucky Dreams //------------------------------// Scootawolf closed her eyes then stood as still as stone. Once upon a not-very-long time ago, the thought of standing still and quiet would have been poisonous to her, but that was before the arguments had started. It was before the gloom-ridden evenings spent with no company but the Daring Do books lent to her by Rainbow Dash. She was good, these days, at being quiet. So, she shut out the world, shut out the cries and bird songs of the Buried Continent, and the scarlet glow of the earth. She ignored the mouth-watering scents of crystal fruit. “I’m ready,” she whispered. “What do I do?” A few seconds passed. The Emberwolf didn’t respond. “Hello?” Scootawolf said. Then the Emberwolf drowned her in fire. It happened so fast! Scootawolf was swallowed by flames, was lost in heat, light and fire! Yet the fire didn’t burn her. It didn’t even singe her, and the heat was hot-bath-perfect. It was snuggle-under-the-covers warm. The flames were precisely the right temperature to make her feel loved and safe. She opened her eyes. Everything was white. And in the whiteness, she heard the voice of the Emberwolf from all around. “I have sent you to the Land of your Heart, which is found in the very centre of your soul,” it said. “Be warned. This magic won’t last. Soon, you will be dragged back to the fires of the Buried Continent. If you are to find your Heart of Hearts, you must be fast.” Scootawolf tilted her head, puppy-like, attempting to make sense of the bewildering words. “Wait, hold up. I’m where?” “Hmm, I suppose it is complicated for a wolf so young,” said the Emberwolf with a sigh. “How best to explain it? You are inside of your dreams, Scootawolf. You are awake inside of a dream.” The explanation was a pawhold. Although Scootawolf still didn’t entirely understand where the Emberwolf's magic had sent her, ‘in her dreams’ felt a good enough start. At the very least, it was an explanation that she could begin to grasp. She nodded and said, “What am I searching for? What does my Heart of Hearts look like?” “It will take the form of something important to you in real life,” replied the voice of the Emberwolf in the endless whiteness. “For some, their Heart of Hearts could be something as simple as an old jewel, or maybe a childhood toy. For others, it is possibly a book, a photograph, a painting, a snowflake. The only sure thing is that everyone’s Heart of Hearts is completely different from one another – but that you will know it when you see it. It will call to you, and you will feel its pull. When you lay a paw upon it, its power will flow through your body; when you awake, you can then draw upon that power, and you too will be able to breathe the fires of the soul.” Scootawolf nodded again. In her mind, she went over what exactly she had to do: she had to search through her dreams to find her Heart of Hearts, and then touch it to borrow its power. Only then could she breathe fire like how the Emberwolf had breathed it over the forest. One last question sauntered into her mind. “What does your Heart of Hearts look like?” But the Emberwolf didn’t respond, and Scootawolf couldn’t feel its presence anymore. A few seconds later, the whiteness lifted. She wasn’t in the Buried Continent anymore, but she was in her dreams, and they were wide and green. Yet she paid no notice to the lush green earth but stared at the clouds gathering in the vast distance. They were shaped like anvils, and so huge that perhaps they weren’t clouds at all, but mountains which had grown tired of the ground and had floated into the sky. “I live with the sky in my heart,” Scootawolf whispered to herself. “I live with friends in my spirit. I fly with Rainbow Dash in my soul.” She felt a peculiar twitching, tingling, tickling on her back; she sighed in feather-blessed pleasure. Just like that, she peered over her shoulder, and although her body remained wolfish, she had grown wings again, more wondrous than anything even Rainbow Dash herself could have dreamed of! Her new wings were as wide as the Emberwolf was tall and they were made from pure red flames. Scootawolf grinned at her fiery wings, then flapped them and took off from the grass. It wasn’t a moment too soon. Suddenly, the wide green earth vanished into nothing and was replaced with a sea of clouds: for the Land of her Heart was a country where nothing was permanent, not even the earth beneath her paws. Now, everywhere she looked – above and below – there was only endless sky painted black with storms. Fearsome winds tossed her between the angry clouds. The air was so cold that it stung like icicles. But Scootawolf wasn’t surprised by any of this: since her parents’ arguments had started, the Land of her Heart had become a cold dark place indeed. Despite the cold and the dark, however, this awful sky was still a part of her. And so, from pure instinct, she sensed when to swoop to avoid lightning bolts, and when to flatten her wings so that the wind didn’t rip them from her wolfish body. The air was soaking wet, a mix of rain and sleet and snow and hail. She was drenched to her bones. Her fangs chattered, and the fires in her fur almost went out. But she flew on, fast and determined, and she was guided by a pull in her belly, a feeling that she was drawing close to something. Whatever form her Heart of Hearts had taken, she could tell that it was near… Then the clouds parted— And there it was. Shock pummelled her. Scootawolf was so stunned by what she saw that, for a moment, she forgot to keep her wings steady, and started to plummet through the storm clouds. She caught herself and hovered in the air, forcing herself to stare at her Heart of Hearts. It wasn’t a jewel. It wasn’t a book, or a painting. It was Rainbow Dash. Yet not just any Rainbow Dash, but the one missing from the cherished photograph she kept on her bedside desk! Scootawolf wasn’t sure how she knew this, yet she felt the truth of it in her stomach. This new version of Rainbow Dash even looked like a photograph. There was a certain sheen to her eyes, a strange gleam to her body, like the glossy shine of photo paper. The colours in her mane and tail were faded, as though they had spent too much time in direct sunlight. You’re not the real Rainbow Dash, Scootawolf thought to herself. I’m gonna call you Photo Dash. Photo Dash stood on a bank of jet-black cloud. Lightning flashed around her. Thunder roared. She ignored it, however, and beamed at Scootawolf. Scootawolf hovered closer; the pull in her stomach grew stronger. Before long, she was close enough to hear Photo Dash talk. “Wanna know something cool, kiddo?” Photo Dash said. “You’re not an emberwolf pup, but you’re a pony. That means you’ve gotta stop calling yourself Scootawolf. Your name is Scootaloo, and you’re way more awesome than what you’ve become.”