//------------------------------//
// Quiet Thunder 
// Story: Room for Improvement, Methinks 
// by Impossible Numbers 
//------------------------------//

At Flight Camp, Thunderlane’s disgrace:
The little colt had lost the race
To Rainbow Dash, who’d made a dare.
“I bet I’m fastest in the air!”
Poor Thunderlane, whose mind had swallowed
The Wonderbolts: he’d promptly followed
His Dad’s advice to buck the norm
And take the pegasi by storm.
“Your grades,” said Dash, “might pass the test,
But everyone knows I’m the best.”
“Yeah right,” said Thunderlane. “But I
Don’t smash things up each time I fly.”
Yet Rainbow’s words soon had consumed
The Thunder’s thoughts, for he’d assumed
That pegasi were fighters first.
A loser? That was just the worst.
The second place held special terror.
To lose to gold: that was an error
No Wonderbolt could ever make.
And Thunderlane had made mistakes.
From that day forth, he made a vow
To make ‘em shriek and make ‘em wow.
First Flight Camp, then the weather team:
All service for poor Thunder’s dream.
He was a master of the shocks;
Could conjure lightning from his locks.
A thundercloud was just a squeak
Compared to Thunder at his peak.
For hurricanes, he was a champ,
His rain the terror of the camp.
But when it came to racing? No!
True, he made everyone look slow.
Except, of course, for someone flash,
A certain someone: Rainbow Dash!
To get kicked out of Camp so young
Meant nothing when she was one rung
Above the ladder Thunder gripped
Between his hooves. One day, he… flipped.
“‘But Rainbow did a Rainboom once!’
‘She’s inspiration for the runts!’
‘She saves the town of Ponyville!’
‘A sec with her’s an awesome thrill!’
‘Poor Thunderlane, he almost won,
Just when he’d thought the race was run.’”
And never mind that Thunder too
Was prone to sneaking off to do
Less awesome things like eat and sleep.
His pride was thin, his torment deep.
A silver medal on his chest,
Forever number two, not blessed
With greater things: old Thunder left
The clouds behind, his hope bereft.
Meandering, he soon came down
To Ponyville, a nearby town.
So full of ponies of the earth
He’d normally give a wider berth.
Instead, he landed by the stream
That caught his eye with summer’s gleam.
The weight of cottages behind,
He sank in gloom, dreams undermined.
“Hello there,” said a squeaky tone.
Though Thunderlane still felt alone,
He recognized small Fluttershy
Whose presence usually passed him by.
Surprisingly, old Thunder said,
“Quite nice down here.” (He thought it dead
Of interest). “Just not exciting.”
“But ponies here are more inviting.”
“How’s that?” he said, and she replied,
“Some ponies like to stay inside
And some of us care more for living,
Since life’s a gift that’s keeps on giving.”
“But where’s the rush of awesome speed?
And sometimes don’t you feel a need
To prove your skills and make the most
Of flying, soaring, things to boast
About?” He shrugged. So Fluttershy
Showed him a flying butterfly
And said, “Yes, animals compete
But other things make life complete.
A moment’s beauty flowing by,
The cadence of a lullaby,
The fruiting of a farmer’s patience,
The meditations of the ancients…”
“This sounds like all New Agey-stuff.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “It isn’t guff.
I think you should give this a chance…
If that’s okay?” She looked askance.
Well at the time, old Thunder shrugged,
And flew away, but those words bugged
His mind throughout the airborne trip.
Could he afford to let this slip?
So over time, he came to see
What made the earthen ponies free
Of worries that imprisoned him,
But evidence was rather slim.
At least until he watched the swarm
Of butterflies, and strangely warm
Inside his chest, the joy leaked out
And gave small Flutter’s words some clout.
He listened to the Ponytones,
Famed singers, from the baritone
Of McIntosh, and Rarity,
Whose cadence rang with verity.
He watched the Apples brave the muck
And with some water, time, and luck,
Produce a rain of ripe red fruit.
In awe, the insight left him mute.
For all the time there’d been no rush,
No madness; just a careful hush,
A sense that something greater loomed
And fed, and loved, and grew, and bloomed.
So Thunderlane, while never first,
No longer thought himself the worst.
Although he made the Wonder team,
He was no hostage to his dream.
Thus in-between his thunderous storms,
He took a slightly quieter form
And watched the earth, paid his respects,
And took the time to just… reflect.