A clank as the plate was put down, burdened by the weight of the tall sandwich on its shoulders, its layers of potatoes and cream and pasta oozing out.
In the Rainbow family's kitchen and dining room rolled into one, as Gilda and Dash's parents sat on the couch around half of the table.
The sky outside was a yellow morning, the sun's rays piercing through the clear windows and reflecting off of the sink, oven, stove, and plate.
Smelled of baked pasta, steamed potatoes.
"So..." Gilda spoke up, coughing right after. "Where's Rainbow Dash?"
Windy Whistles scratched her head, about to laugh a nervous streak. "Funny you should ask that, Gilda...considering that this is the first time you've seen this sandwich in forever...her favorite sandwich..."
Bow Hothoof patted his wife beside him on the head. "You've never heard of her in the news? At all, Gilda?"
"You could say we griffons aren't so keen on reading about current events," Gilda said, tinge of anxiety in her tone.
Windy gave a solemn nod. "If you don't know...she's part of the Wonderbolts."
Gilda was taken aback, evident in slanting her head a lot. "Really, now? She finally accomplished her life-long dream, huh?" She crossed her forelegs together, a smile creeping up. "You must be proud of her."
"We are very proud of her and what she has done," Bow said, pulling Windy closer. Noticing her moist eyes. "But, when the war came on, the Wonderbolts were taken up for the fight."
"Which means that..." Windy choked, "that she's...not with us for the time...being."
He tilted her head up a little. "There, there, honey."
Gilda raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me she's dead?"
Windy fell out of her chair, screaming.
Bow picked her up, struggling.
Gilda watched, standing up from her seat, holding on to the table, watching a loving husband bring her faltering wife up on her four hooves, her four unsteady hooves.
"Dead..." Windy murmured. "Dead...dead..." She stared at Gilda with wild eyes. "She's not dead! I know that she isn't!"
"OK, Windy," Bow said, a hoof and a wing on her neck. "You've been through so much work for the day. I think you need some rest."
"But, it's early morning," Gilda observed.
"Quiet, you!" Windy screamed, huffing as she left the room and flew up the spiraling stairs.
Bow looked at the ceiling, as if tracking her movements on the second floor.
Door slam above.
He shuddered, sat down on the couch again with Gilda.
Chilling silence in the morning.
"I'm very sorry for her lashing out at you like that," Bow said, speaking in an apologetic way. "I get that you and our Rainbow Dash had a unique, youthful dynamic, but...I couldn't put the blame all on her. No, I couldn't put a single ounce of blame on that fantastic mare." A heavy sigh, almost heaving. "There's a good reason why she's so high-strung."
Gilda tilted her head a bit at that.
"Our Dashie...she's hurt. Hurt really bad. Last month, somepony took a jab at her face. She got out mostly fine, but her eye's got a scar. Nothing too serious, but still...anyway, that's not all." A pause, catching his breath, catching himself close to tears. Almost a choke. "A week ago, we've received a letter. It told us that a part of her ear was broken off in battle. Her hearing's as fine as before...well, we hope. Then, a few days ago, I was reading the news when I discovered that she cut her tail short. I thought it was some sort of new regulation or something, but I did some research...found out that she was grabbed by the tail and was close to getting captured because of that—which is why her tail's like that now."
"But, she's good, right?" Gilda asked, anticipating.
Bow sighed again, eyes toward the table with a penetrating gaze. Looked up. "It's...unfortunate that you came here today...of all days, Gilda."
The griffon raised an eyebrow again, a frightened expression. "What happened to her?"
Bow took out a note from his pocket.
Hoofed it to her.
Gilda unfolded it and read.
Mr. Hothoof and Mrs. Whistles,
Your daughter, Rainbow Dash, is recuperating from an unprecedented injury. While we cannot disclose the details of her condition, what we can divulge is that she is not permanently disabled. However, she cannot fight effectively at the moment, so she will be on leave beginning next Friday. Her recovery will surely be hastened by your parental care.
The Wonderbolts
Underneath the typed letters was a hoofwritten postscript.
Bow & Windy,
Your Dashie is not in good condition. No matter how much the censors up here try to suppress me, I'll still do my best to prepare you for what's going to happen on that fateful Friday.
Believe me when I tell you this—not as the Captain of the Wonderbolts nor as Rainbow's boss, but as a friend:
Your daughter needs you through this trying time. Her "injury" is not a mere bruise. She's lost something dear to her, something she's cherished so much.
I've seen her kicking and screaming when she understood what she had lost. I've seen her smash all the locker rooms. Rip the beds into pieces. Shouted to our faces at every turn. Shattered the windows. Hurt her friends. Everything.
We've had to call in our guards and higher officers to restrain her more than once. We've told her to rest, that there are ways to mitigate the loss.
She would have none of it.
The Rainbow Dash you knew right up to her leaving Cloudsdale is gone. The Rainbow Dash you'll meet next Friday is a battered, beaten mare—a horrible wreck of a once bright-eyed filly.
Please. Help her. Take care of her more than you have ever done.
She needs you.
Yours,
Spitfire
A tear fell to the letter.
Gilda looked at him.
Another tear down his cheek.
The griffon stood up, slowly hovering back to the front door.
Watching him silently cry.
Gilda closed the front door, back in the open air of the suburbs in the clouds and made mostly of clouds—the cool morning air of Cloudsdale.
Landed on the cloudy "paved" path to the sidewalk.
Turned around to face the street.
"Oh, uh, hi!" Scootaloo greeted, a bit nervous. She stretched a hoof out to the griffon. "You must be a fan of Rainbow Dash, too! I'm Scootaloo, and I'm the President of the Official Rainbow Dash Fan Club!"
Gilda glanced left and right, timid. "Uh...hi." She weakly waved a claw. "I'm...Gilda." A forced grin.
The filly gasped and shook her claw fast. "The griffon that Rainbow Dash made friends with a long time ago at the Junior Speedsters' flight camp?! I'm so honored to meet such a historical figure—"
"Shh!"
Scootaloo hopped away. "Wh-Why did you do that?"
"Rainbow's parents are busy," Gilda said, brushing and nudging the filly toward the street. "We don't want to disturb them."
"Busy with what?" Scootaloo asked, curious.
She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Personal stuff."
At the end of a long hallway of doors, paintings, and portraits of Rainbow Dash in all stages of her life—from foalhood to adulthood—at the end, there was a big picture.
Of Rainbow Dash in full Wonderbolt uniform. The old one. The one without any of that bulky armor or that cumbersome helmet. A simple blue and yellow suit, a simple pair of goggles.
Windy Whistles stood in front of it, looking up at it.
Crying.
Tears flowing.
"Dashie!" she shrieked.
A maddening scream.
Banged her head on the wall.
"Dashie!"
Flung herself at the door.
Cracking it.
"Dashie!"
Punched the wall.
Once, twice.
Lost count.
Huffing, breathing.
"Honey," she could hear him say, "you...you should calm down now. What...what if they're wrong and—"
"They're not!" Windy howled, pointing at him. Accusing. "I know what's happened to our Dashie!"
Bow held his chest tight.
Windy opened the cracked door.
Slammed it shut.
Locked.