//------------------------------// // Assist Trophy // Story: Anchor Foal: A Romantic Cringe Comedy // by Estee //------------------------------// She could... It was the first thought to breach the silence which seemed to occupy all the space between Fleur and the cottage's temporary caretaker. None of the words were verbalized, nothing reached open air -- and yet they still filled Fleur's ears, blocked out every sound from the animals. Noises which seemed just a little more unsettled than before. She could... "What was the mission?" Maybe it was just diplomatic. The Bearers serving as representatives of Equestria. That made a certain amount of sense. Maybe Celestia had decided the nation needed a refreshing war and had dispatched that bitch accordingly. Snowflake took a slow breath. "I don't know. We..." Another, with the red eyes briefly closing. "...usually don't, not when the alert comes in. Not unless it's something which affects Ponyville and everypony has to be told. The scroll came in. Twilight was a few minutes behind it, and she teleported Fluttershy out. Back to the tree: they were all going to meet up there, and -- they're gone." And there would be no way to find out. Fleur could try to contact the palace, and the most which might happen would be an alicorn laughing directly in her face -- -- no. Celestia probably wasn't the type to directly laugh, or perhaps even smirk. She would simply turn tail and trot away. Not so much dismissal as an open display that Fleur's question hadn't even been worth hearing. "So you don't know where she is," Fleur slowly tried to verify. "Or what she's supposed to be doing, how long she might stay there... anything." The head shake was somewhat pained. "She took her saddlebags. The ones she keeps loaded for the things where it's going to be at least overnight. That's all I know, Fleur." That head dipped, the brush-cut mane pressed down by a weight which the thick neck could not bear. "It's all I'll know until she comes back and tells me what happened. If she's allowed to. If she can. It's a mission, and... I stayed. Twilight had Spike --" Who? "-- send something to my other clients: a palace hire is an automatic override for everything else I have booked." Quietly, "I hold down the cottage until Fluttershy returns. That's my job. That's the only way I can help her when she's doing this. Giving her a little less to worry about." Just as soft, "How often does this happen?" A longer silence this time, one weighted with memory. "I've been in Ponyville for two years and a season," the stallion finally said. "Fluttershy's been training me for a little less than that, and I didn't become her go-to substitute until she felt I could at least try to do a few things. The ones she'll let me do. In that time, this is the nineteenth mission -- or the nineteenth which meant I had to come here. There's been a few small ones, things which had to be done in and around Ponyville or Canterlot, and some of them took less than a day. Sometimes one comes in right after the last one finishes. We had nearly two moons between them once. But... nineteen, Fleur. A few of those were just overnight. The longest was ten days." Nineteen. She didn't know much about what the Bearers did. They had beaten back Nightmare (somehow), recaptured Discord (and what had Fluttershy's part been in that)? She'd heard something about their participating in the reintegration of the Empire. But... Nineteen times. In two years and a season, nineteen times when she could have -- "You know about some of what happened," she carefully asked. The eventual nod was a reluctant one. "Are any of them just meetings? Dignitaries who have to see the Bearers?" As it turned out, the pegasus had at least one way in which he was very much like Fluttershy. "Twice," he admitted, once the typical wait time for a response had finally run out. "I think the Princess tries to keep them away from that unless there's no way out of it. They're..." A somewhat briefer hesitation. "...not always good in social situations." And with both Fluttershy and that bitch involved, the peacetime reluctance felt sensible. So she could be all right. It may be nothing more than an overnight meet-and-greet, one far enough away that they needed some travel time... Except that one of the more persistent rumors concerning Celestia had the Solar alicorn capable of international teleports -- but then again, a pony who refused to pay for the Bearers' services probably wasn't going to provide free rides either. "Do you get updates? Any notice about when something's over and she's coming home?" "Sometimes." Another slow breath, and she tried not to watch the muscles shift. "Fleur -- it's a mission and I have to stay at the cottage until it's over, as much as possible. I have to try and get home long enough to bring Genova here: she'll hide from just about everypony else. But after that, I probably won't leave the grounds. I don't hear any rumors going through town because I'm not in town, and that's all they are: rumors. The ponies who come here are worried about other things, and..." This pause was solid enough to serve as roots for the almost-family tree. "Most of the ponies who talk to me just left town," Snowflake finally said. "The other one will make up any story about what her hero is doing, and Rainbow will save the day in every last one of them." His head dipped again. "When it comes to what I hear when they get back, I... probably know more than I should, Fleur." The red eyes completely closed. Powerful forelegs briefly shook. "Sometimes," he softly finished, "they tell me things I... have trouble hearing. Things I don't want to believe. But right now, all I know is that they're gone. All of them are gone. Ponies fill in at the Acres, and that's going to be extra-hard, with cider season so close. Somepony takes over at the library, if Spike --" Again: who? "-- went with them. A student baker at Sugarcube Corner. And me at the cottage, until Fluttershy comes back. That's just how it is. You get used to it..." "No," Fleur quietly countered. "You don't." His eyes opened. He looked at her, and continued to do so for some time. "No," he eventually agreed. "You don't." A birdsong of alarm came from behind Fleur. Somepony was coming up the path. "It's starting early today," Snowflake said. "She didn't have any appointments scheduled for this hour. But when it's the cottage..." Fleur nodded. Thought about the hours which now stretched ahead of her, time during which her charge wouldn't be there. That precious post-date window fully occupied by Bearers, with no chance to immediately educate, no current way to make the mare see how to use the moment... Potentially, there could be some damage to fix when Fluttershy got back. A lot of damage. She could... "Then I'll leave you to it," Fleur stated. Wondered why the words hadn't echoed within the sudden hollow inside, started to turn away -- -- softly, oh so very softly, something else the near-siblings had in common, "Fleur?" She hesitated. Glanced back. "I..." A tiny swallow made its way down the thick throat. "Fluttershy's -- told me about what the two of you have been doing." And before she could react, "In the treatment room. She's taught me a lot, but -- it sounds like you know some things I don't. It's hard out here without her, I think you know that, and... if you're not doing anything today..." He was the strongest stallion she'd ever seen, at least for muscular development: by their very nature, there would be (slightly) smaller earth ponies who had more raw power. Perhaps that was what let him carry Fluttershy's burdens for a while. The factor which allowed him to make the request at all. "...I could use the help." She blinked. Her first instinct had her mentally pulling up her escort's rate sheet, followed by a careful, completely sarcastic internal examination of the per-hour fee. She didn't know much about Snowflake beyond his non-substitute occupation -- and that was as freelance labor-for-hire, with no regular employer and nothing even faintly resembling a steady income. (And yes, it was possible to say the same thing about an escort, but her calendar had been booked, and she'd eventually needed to add a waitlist.) He couldn't afford her. The second instinct found her considering some of the things he'd just said. She talks to him. She tells him more than most ponies. Possibly more than anypony who isn't another Bearer. He knows more about her than most. He's a way to learn more about her, things her friends won't say, because he feels like he's her brother and he cares... She tells him about the missions, at least some of the time. What would some ponies give to know about those missions? Better yet, how much would they give? The third thought concerned time. She was about to have an undefined amount under her hooves, time during which she would essentially have to... wait. Listen for rumors on the wind while knowing they were nothing more, try to pick up any hints, the faintest signs... And there was one more factor, at least for those she was willing to perceive. It wasn't the last one: there were aspects hidden under that, and some of those had been deliberately buried. It took a bad moment or the excavations of the nightscape to bring them to the surface, and Fleur wasn't ready to face them just yet, not under Sun. But when it came to simple, ongoing low-level revenge... I'm supposed to be looking after Fluttershy's social welfare. A pony who comes home to find her cottage in order is going to be a little more relaxed. She'll have one less thing to worry about and with Fluttershy, that list is just about endless to start with. One aspect taken care of makes it that much more likely that I can get her to the second date in a hurry. It would be time spent learning. Better yet, it would be time Celestia would pay for, at the full rate. Let's bill this one on the invoice as -- 'emotional support.' "You sleep on the grounds?" He blinked. Nodded. "I can't," she told him. "I'm going back to my house at night." She'd been told there was space at the cottage, and she also remembered being told that it was animal-occupied. "But I can stay for a while -- under one condition." And looking squarely at him, "You have to talk. At least a little. And more than 'Yeah.'" With a careful smile, "I'm spending enough hours with one near-silent pony. I'm not going to make it two." The tectonic plates of his features shifted. "I'm not the best talker," Snowflake admitted. "I... don't have a lot of ponies to talk to." "What's a lot?" He thought it over, and did so rather quickly: they could both hear the hoofsteps approaching. "Three." "I think," Fleur smiled, "you've already proven you're capable of going to four." And just before the pony came around the bend, with a small, wry smile creating fresh fjords, "...yeah." It was, Snowflake (eventually) told her, not a particularly busy morning. The first visitor had a sick skunk, and the diagnosis for the condition ultimately turned out to be 'skunk': take an animal who liked to eat everything it could find, give it a head small enough to poke into the majority of containers, and consuming something that upset its stomach was just about inevitable. The medication dispensed was a standard herbal mixture, and the task of giving it to the skunk was nosed over to the pet's owner: when it came to keeping harsh odors from adhering, the Foal Soap had limits. Skunks made for loving, highly-inquisitive companions, ones who tended to follow their pony at a distance of three hoofwidths -- and who still didn't deal well with strangers trying to stick something strange-smelling in their mouths. After that, it was morning feedings: the cottage residents had to be taken care of, and some of the nocturnals were put to bed. Snowflake straightened wherever possible, cleaned whatever he could, took custody of a few deliveries (medical supplies and animal food, with that last in bulk). There was a patrol conducted, checking the grounds, and Fleur stayed in the cottage for that one: she didn't know the route just yet, and she was dealing with the first of the appointments. That visit hadn't been veterinary in nature. Fluttershy scavenged her limited income from multiple sources: the majority of it was medical services, but she also offered kennel duties to ponies who were going on vacation, looking after their pets. And a pony who could just ask a nervous animal to stay calm, coo to it in its own language when it was nervous, talk it out of wriggling or biting... that was a pony who just needed some special training and a full set of brushes. Fleur, whose training in that regard had been for the equine form, didn't have any trouble adapting, and a returning Snowflake was caught staring at the results as the happy (and heavily-tipping) owner led her now-strutting canine away. "Wow," the stallion stated once they were alone again. "Where did you learn how to groom?" "It's all fur in the end," Fleur shrugged. "It's a little different when you're working around paws instead of hooves, but it's still fur." "But... Volia snaps. Fluttershy can talk her down, but I have to get the muzzle. I didn't show you where that was, and I didn't get to warn you --" "-- she snapped," Fleur admitted. "Or at least she tried to. She showed me her teeth and I showed her my field. Most of what she did once she realized the glow wasn't going away was fume." The dog had been fast. Fleur had been faster. Snowflake exhaled. "Good. Because I remembered who was coming in just as I was finishing up the patrol, and then I flew back." How? A little more shakily -- still strange to hear from such a large stallion -- "I thought you were going to get bitten." Fleur shook her head. With guilt flowing in, "I should have warned you. I --" "-- no squawk, no blood, no foul. Who's next?" "Nothing for nearly an hour," Snowflake told her. "This is usually just --" -- and a hoof knocked on the door. "When emergencies show up?" Fleur finished. It was, at best, half a joke, and that required some serious rounding up. Another knock. "No," Snowflake said -- then hesitated. "Well, yes. That's every hour. But this is usually just when the mail comes in." The mare should have been beautiful. Her overall form was elegant: nowhere near as sleek as the pegasus ideal, but there was a sense of flow about her. (To Fleur, it was an odd sort of flow: not so much air skimming across her body as the world itself sliding away -- but it was there.) The wings, oddly, were just about ideal. Grey fur... that was mildly strange to see in a population which tended towards brighter colors, but this shade had a rather smooth quality to it. The blonde mane and tail were nicely hued, while the mare's features were -- -- well, that was where the trouble started. At the moment the door had opened, those features had begun as something which were at least partially open. But at the second the mare had seen the stranger, they had closed themselves off. Gone solid, turned into something suitable for keeping records at the local bank. A face which said it had no interest in anything Fleur would ever say or do, unless it was an announcement and act of permanent departure. All of that instant hatred was fully (if rather briefly) visible in the mare's left eye. The right, however... Appearance... when working within the rumor mill, performing initially-minor acts of sabotage where the reverberations simply increased with time, ending in earthquakes that shook the social web apart -- it was something which could be worked with. But Fleur had rarely done so, because few ponies could truly help how they looked: cosmetic magic was minor, illusions hard to maintain, shapechanging effectively impossible and if you met one of the exceptions to that rule, you were supposed to alert the Guards immediately. In many ways, a pony's appearance, much like their field strength, was fixed from birth. Fleur had been insulted for her looks, time and time again. There were those who felt that beauty directly equated to stupidity: the more of the first, the greater the second, until somepony on Fleur's level could do no more than giggle and wait for somepony to buy her things because she wasn't capable of counting her own bits. That her clearly-increased sex drive had to mean the most recent bathroom trip was either for masturbation or to seduce whoever (or whatever) she found within, as she obviously wasn't capable of going more than three hours without pretending to an orgasm. That she was uneducated, incapable of learning, and got by on nothing more than her looks -- she'd heard all of it and more. And so she might insult somepony for their choice of dress, because that was a choice. For failing to hide the extra third-bale they were carrying around their belly, because overeating was also a choice, as was failure to attempt any level of diet. For cosmetics, because you could learn to apply them and those who never got it right were the ones at fault. For mainstyles and fur grooming and so much else. But not for their basic looks, for nopony could truly help that. The mare had no control over whatever had happened to her right eye, and so it was something Fleur generally wouldn't speak about. Wouldn't judge her for, although presenting the false appearance of such could work when the cause was sufficient and all other material had run short. The mare should have been beautiful, and... there was that drifting, roaming golden eye. The mailmare had looked at Fleur, seen something very close to the unicorn version of pony perfection. Something she could never have. And with that, there had been hate, an instant loathing which might never fade. Fleur understood. And she didn't hate the mare in return, not yet: there had been no true cause. The pegasus hadn't acted on that emotion, and as long as that status maintained, Fleur had no reason to do anything. But she felt that hatred, both its familiarity and inevitability. And on a day where she had already been reminded of too much, it brought something back. "They're staring." "Of course they're staring. You've only been here a little while. No one knows you yet." "But they're staring..." "She's not home," Fleur steadily stated. "I can take the mail." The mare didn't look at her. She nosed the lid up, mouth-dropped the slender bundle in the box. Flew away. ...right. Fleur's horn ignited, nudged open the lower hinged panel, and the envelopes slid directly into the secondary bubble. A rather casual sorting took place during the trot back into the cottage, missives shifting within the corona as a myriad of animals watched her pass. Bill. Bill. Bill past due -- no, that's a journal subscription renewal and they're just putting that on the envelope to scare ponies. With her charge, it might even have a chance to work. Bill... To: Fluttershy Phylia Fauna Cottage Ponyville, EQ 73214 From: She looked at the sea-green envelope for a few seconds, then trotted back into the examination room. Snowflake had a scouring pad hard-pressed under a golden forehoof, and was exerting some of that strength against an old floor stain. The stain, mostly due to the opposition's reluctance to risk sacrificing the pad, was winning. "You were right," she told him, separating out the bills and floating them to the top of a small cabinet. "Just the mail. Do you pay her bills while she's gone?" "The late ones," Snowflake reluctantly admitted. "When I can. The palace reimburses me." "Nothing late in this group," Fleur told him, considering how much a basic Bearer stipend might do to eliminate some of those bills. "Three bills, a subscription renewal, and --" she sent the last letter to rest in front of his gaze "-- I think this one is a little more personal." He looked directly at it. Slowly nodded, and watched as she receded her field enough to let him get a tooth grip. Snowflake slowly trotted out of the examination room. It took him two minutes to return. "On her pillow," he said. Fleur nodded, and seized the chance. "Tell me about her family." It hadn't quite been a fully casual inquiry -- but then, she hadn't meant it to be. His head almost snapped up. The red gaze bore directly into her eyes. "Why?" The defensiveness of a protective sibling. She held her ground. "What do you know about why I'm here?" Silence. Visible rumination. "I've tried asking her about it," Snowflake finally said. "She pushed it off. Over and over. She's good at not talking about things. She only told me what she told the Bearers: when she was ready. But they thought it was about social things. Opening up a little more. And last night..." The sigh was a surprisingly small one, and still managed to shift quite a lot in the way of mass. "...it's kind of obvious now," he continued. "It's about dating. About finding somepony. Because..." The words trailed off, and did not quickly restart. He just shuffled some of that considerable weight from hoof to hoof. What remained of his wings trembled in an awkward vibrato. "...we didn't have much time to talk, before the mission came in," he finally said. "But I had to try and talk, with her that upset. She's... not good at a lot of things. She doesn't like pushing ponies away, because she tried that again last year and -- overexerted." The tail was shifting now. "So last night made her remember that, and... she was having a hard time with it. I don't blame you --" "-- and I didn't know that," she carefully broke in. They'll all have worked it out, and if they haven't, that bitch will spread the word, they may have her to themselves for days... "I don't know much of anything about her, Snowflake, because it is so hard to make her talk. I'm trying to help her, and not knowing about her life -- I could hurt her. I don't want to. And I understand that you want to protect her. I've --" a well-measured pause "-- seen how some of the ponies in town treat her. Like she has to be protected. But dating is partially about taking chances." He nodded to that. A simple, steady nod. "So I understand that you want to protect her privacy," Fleur went on. "And if I ask about something too personal, you can just tell me to shut up. But there's things I feel like I have to know. Things she may not tell me. That was a letter from her parents. So... tell me about her family. As much as you're comfortable with saying. Because maybe that'll let me help her." The partial amputations slowly came to a stop. "What do you want to know?" And she smiled. "Well, I didn't know she had a surname..." It got a small, deep chuckle out of him. "She hardly ever uses it. Official forms, mostly." "And her parents still live where she was born? That return address is her hometown?" The crevices briefly went awkward again. "She was born in Trotter's Falls..." Why does he look hurt? "Her parents were traveling," he continued. "It was a conference they couldn't miss. They left as a pair and arrived as a trio. But yeah -- they're still in Stratuston, at least when they're not working." Traveling parents. "What do they do for a living?" "Stormbreakers. Emergency stormbreakers." Fleur blinked. "I don't --" "They take care of wild weather systems," Snowflake clarified. "Outside Equestria. The way Fluttershy tells it, a lot of the other nations don't want their weather controlled -- unless it's an emergency, like a hurricane coming in or going one blizzard over the line. So those governments have an agreement with the palace: if it could be a disaster, we send pegasi. Her parents are part of the emergency team." Hurricanes... "So they're strong." A small nod. "Very -- from what Fluttershy said. I've never seen them work." "Have you met them?" "Once, for about ten minutes. There was a conference in Canterlot, and they made the side trip. They were here for about two days. I was dropping something off for her: it's easier for me to haul something from town than have her pay a delivery charge. They said hello, and that was about it." Thoughtfully, "I think I might be the only one who did see them. They stayed at the cottage, and she didn't leave for as long as they were around. So as long as nopony else came by..." "What are they like?" He was looking directly at her again. "They love her," the stallion said. "You don't even have to see her with them for ten minutes to see how much they love her. They've always loved her. They don't understand her, but --" His jaw slammed shut. Fleur kept the smile internal. There it is. You're not used to talking with other ponies -- so you don't know when to stop. "I think," she gently said, "that last bit was going to be important." He hated himself for having slipped: there was no effort being made to hide that self-directed loathing. But he also knew he couldn't leave it as a partial statement, and so that strength eventually forced the rest out -- at least once the huge sigh had wrapped up. "They thought," Snowflake said, "she would be a stormbreaker, just like they were. They had every reason to think that. For some families, strength of magic is almost random. But in her line... it's in the blood. It's been there for generations. And she went to ground. It was the last thing they were expecting. From what she says, it's something they still don't understand. But they love her. If she was going to ground, they were going to make sure she got there in one piece. They've loved her every day of her life, Fleur. They don't understand her, but they support her. She told me her father watched in the examination room for hours, and he couldn't work out any of it, but it was his daughter doing it, she was happy and that made him happy. They're proud of what she's done, prouder still that she's a Bearer. Even if that --" and he had to gather strength again, when it seemed as if there should have been so much freely available "-- scares them. They knew some of her work with animals could be dangerous, and they accepted that because they accepted her mark. They go into danger every time they're on the job, and they come back, because that's their talent, both of them. They understand dealing with danger, when it's in the heart of your mark. But there isn't a mark for being a Bearer." "It must have been like finding out she'd joined the Guards." Only without the pay. He nodded. Both parents alive. Both parents love her. He could have missed something, but... She'd never really suspected the parents. In that sense, the stallion's words would have brought a degree of comfort -- except for a simple fact: she also didn't believe they'd ever recognized Fluttershy's pain. They certainly hadn't tried to teach her methods of dealing with it. They loved her -- but they didn't understand. "Any siblings?" The pause had no reason to be that long. "One," he tensely said as a golden forehoof began to grind its way through the scouring pad. "A younger brother." She had to ask (and suspected he wanted to say it). "And the reason you bit those words in half...?" A small curl of friction smoke was rising from the abused floor. "None of this," Snowflake stated, "leaves the cottage." It had emerged as a statement of fact, and done so at the same moment she'd heard the first bit of wood break. Fleur nodded. "Fluttershy," the stallion slowly said, "was a problem birth. She shouldn't have survived. She did. And her parents loved her. They still do. But they were scared, Fleur. They thought any other foal would go through the same thing, and they might not have been as --" the pause felt odd "-- lucky twice, to be in just the right area for somepony to help. So they decided that would be it: one foal. But a few years after, they got a surprise. Then they had a miracle. No problems. No issues. He was their miracle colt, and that's how they treated him: as a miracle. And they did at least some of that with Fluttershy -- but he's the one who believed it." Fleur's wince was partially artistic, and woefully sincere. "There's a saying," Snowflake went on (and now his tail was starting to lash). "Something about... the world owes you a living..." His brow started to crease with concentration, even as they both heard birdsong in the distance. "'As a matter of fact,'" Fleur quoted, "'the world does owe you a living. But it's a lifetime job to collect.' Solomon Short." He was staring at her. "That's the one, right?" She hadn't expected to hear a pony trying to quote a griffon philosopher... You really are a little more than you seem, aren't you? She was briefly curious for a look at his puzzle. Her first suspicion of his dating life was a null set, but -- well, strictly speaking, she wasn't interested, not for herself. Strength only went so far in the bedroom: delicacy was far more valuable. However, when it came to what he might long for... Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah. He only heard the first part. The world owes him a living, and everypony in the world is supposed to pay off. And he's the kind of pony who could come into a million bits next week and be broke next moon. He doesn't come to the cottage because he's not welcome here. Fluttershy told him that, after the first time -- before I moved to Ponyville, before most of the Bearers met up: she'd only been here a year. She pushed him away, and..." She has trouble with rejecting ponies. She rejected her brother. Softly, "What did he do?" "Let's just say," Snowflake quietly answered, "that if she'd come home five minutes later, the cottage would have been a lot more empty. Because the world owes him, so everything in the world belongs to him. Other ponies... just have custody of it for a while. They haven't spoken in years. I don't know if they'll ever speak again, not snout to snout. And her parents love her, and they love him, because he's their miracle. But to get them in the same room..." A deep breath. "And she loves him. She loves him because he's her brother, and she hates that she can't trust him, she hates herself for not trusting and pushing him away even after he showed her why she couldn't trust. And she told me it's not his fault, not completely. She said... he's five. Nopony's ever told him he had to be older, so he's five, and he'll be five forever until somepony forces him to grow up." She pushed her brother away... It took an effort to speak at anything approaching normal volume. "Do the others know?" "I don't even think they know she has a brother," he softly snorted -- followed by "Applejack would probably say that's a tradition: the others didn't find out about Twilight's older brother for nearly two years. I was just at the cottage when he sent his letter. He didn't ask for money so much as he expected it. She -- needed somepony she could talk to after that, and I was just there, Fleur. She showed me a picture, because she kept one from his visit. Good-looking colt. It's part of how he keeps getting money. But if he ever lands on the grounds again --" -- which was when the birds sang again, and desperate tiny hooves pounded on the cottage door. Snowflake stopped. Spun, with broken wings flaring as he flew from the room. The little pegasus was barely coherent, and only slightly more conscious. She wouldn't come into the cottage. In one very real way, she couldn't. Snowflake was in the doorway, and some of that blockage was inadvertent: the stallion was just that big. The rest came from fear, and so much of it was his. "Please! Please, you have to, I found him and he's... he's..." He said nothing. In some ways, it felt as if he couldn't. Fleur, who'd trotted, was having trouble seeing the filly past his bulk. She got the impression of a very light yellow coat, got a glimpse of glasses, saw that the wings were hanging at an awkward angle, feathers dripping with froth... "He's hurt! I went to Sweetbark and she -- I had to come, she told me to come, she wouldn't even look at him..." ...which was when she smelled the blood. She hitched herself to a little wagon. She's too young to fly for very long. She couldn't fly, not with the burden. So she buzzed. She galloped as fast as she dared, using her wings to speed herself up. She's too young and too small and she kept it up the whole way here, because there was no other choice. And her mark is pawprints. She found it, and she had to do something because it's her mark, because she's a filly and she cares... "Please!" Weeping now, shedding what might be the last moisture in the little body. "I..." It surprised Fleur, just a little: on some level, she'd been waiting for a rather pained sort of 'Yeah'. "Zipporwhill... I..." "I know she's not here, but Sweetbark wouldn't and you're all there is..." She was still trotting forward, a little more quickly. But on one level, it could be argued that there was no hurry. She was working with a lifetime. "I'm supposed..." The words were almost broken, and the stallion's posture was quickly following suit. "I'm supposed... to send you to Canterlot. I -- Fluttershy told me not to, to never --" "He won't make it! He's barely breathing now! You have to! You --" "Snowflake." It was a tone she'd used with Fluttershy. It was a level of authority which sometimes had to appear in the bedroom. The sound of a pony who knew what they were doing, and did so on a level their audience couldn't match. The sound of domination. He responded more to tone than name, glanced back at her. It was enough to let her see the fear in his eyes. "Step aside," she told him. "Let me see." He did, with so much of that movement coming from instinct. She saw. Groundhog. Male. Bite is through the abdominal wall. Bowels are probably perforated. Barely breathing. Already been pulled from wherever she found him to the vet, and then from there to here. She put blankets in the wagon. She tried to be gentle when she moved him. She came all the way here with its blood in her coat. "You're Zipporwhill," Fleur softly said as her front knees bent, bringing her that much closer to the filly's level. "That's right, isn't it?" The weeping, snuffling little head just barely managed a nod. "You're very brave." Looking at the wet green eyes. "Most ponies wouldn't try to touch someone that hurt. And I know you did your best not to hurt him any more. I know you want to help him. But I think..." Body within the shadows of the cottage. Head and horn in Sun. Saying not the things the filly might want to hear, but that which had to be said. For the filly was innocent and in so many ways, innocence had to be protected. But no matter what anypony did, innocence always died. It could be argued that death was what it was there for. "...you know -- he can't be." As gently as she could, "I won't lie to you, Zipporwhill. I won't tell you tales about potions that carry him to mystic meadows, where he'll be okay but can't see his friends again. He's dying. There's nothing which can stop it. All we can do is take his pain away. Do you want that?" The filly was looking at her now, and the expression was a familiar one. There was pain, sorrow, a sudden fury at a world which didn't seem to care. But there was also the face of a child who had just been treated as an adult, and whose newest wish was to be a foal again. "...you can't save him?" "Nopony could." One mare to another. "...you can... make him stop hurting?" "If you want me to. But... it'll be the end for him. If I let him stay awake, Zipporwhill... he might live for a few hours. But he'll be in pain the whole time, pain so strong that all he can think about is the pain. If he sleeps... he'll rest. And when he rests, he'll let go." From behind her, with so much of that pain now being carried by another. "Fleur... she told me to never..." "This," she told the stallion, "isn't about you." He shut up. "What do you want me to do, Zipporwhill?" Fleur asked, as they all listened to the animal's whimpers, the little squeals. Waited. "If you help him," the little pegasus sniffed, "he dies?" Fleur nodded. "...h-h-help him..." She straightened up. Looked at Snowflake. "Where's the herb patch?" He didn't answer. Stood stock-still, dumbstruck. Being useless. "You mixed the medicine for the skunk. With fresh herbs, and you left the room to gather them. You weren't gone all that long. Fluttershy's a vet, and a good vet grows their own herbs. Where is it, Snowflake?" "It's..." He swallowed. "It's in the attic." Easy directions, then: just keep going up. "Bring them in. Take Zipporwhill into the restroom, help her wash up, cool her down. Put the groundhog on the examination table. I'll go get what he needs." Almost a plea now. "How do you know --" But she was already moving, and so ignored him. It'll be there. All of it will be there. Because you're a vet, aren't you, Fluttershy? A real vet. (Why had Sweetbark sent the filly here? Why had the mare stretched out the animal's suffering, tortured the filly by making her hear the little cries for so much longer? Why had a perfect vet turned a patient away?) And when you're a real vet... There was a little sunroof in the attic, and light streamed down onto the patch of dirt. Touched dark gloss, and silently soaked in. To the eye, the leaves were black velvet. To the touch... the same. They had a light coating of fuzz, something which made them soft enough to tickle -- assuming enough contact could be made through fur. It was easier to tickle the very young, when the coat was less coarse, allowed more sensation to pass through. To taste, however... well, Fleur could, if she'd wanted to. She had before, when it was in this state, and it hadn't tasted like much of anything. A leaf with the feel of a peach, and none of the taste. It was slightly bitter, a little sharp, and didn't have flavor so much as it had reactions. You could eat as much of it as you liked, if you were desperate enough to consume something with no real nutritional value, which couldn't even be enjoyed. You just had to be very careful about what else you ate. Her field moved carefully. The leaves had to be broken off at the exact base, so the plant would be more readily able to grow replacements. And there's the red petals. Grouped close, but not too close. And the blue flowers, under glass. Glass with holes, so the air can reach it -- but holes too small for any of your animals to get in, and the dome is anchored so they can't knock it over. You know exactly what you're doing, Fluttershy. (It had been years.) (It had been a lifetime.) (It hadn't been long enough to forget.) (It never would be.) Leaves, petals, and flowers. She reanchored the glass before she left, carried the ingredients in her corona as she trotted back down, keeping to the same path she'd followed on the way up. She'd passed what she'd felt was the door to Fluttershy's bedroom, but... this wasn't the time. Snowflake met her on the final ramp. "What are you doing?" He'd gotten a little strength back, with all of it in the soft-spoken low voice. "Where is she?" "On the new couch." Giving it the first tear stains. "The groundhog?" "Examination room. Fleur, what are you --" She told him, and his ears went back. "...what?" Distractedly, Oh. Right. Don't clack my teeth. Try it this way... "Putaverunt Dolore," she told him, and before he could ask, "It means 'thought pain,' Snowflake. It's a poison, one of the deadliest ones known. It takes three plants to make, and Fluttershy had all of them growing in the attic, because she has to. I'm going to mix it, and then I'll give it to the groundhog. Then it'll be over." He was staring at her again. "Poison," he tried, as if it was the only word there was. And at that, it was a poor substitute for 'yeah.' "Animals die here," she told him. "All the time. What did you think she did to them? Just asked them to die, and then they decided to obey? But it has to be mixed fresh, because the concoction is only stable for about five minutes. Nothing preserves it longer than that. It has to be --" mixed fresh every time "-- done now." the clacking sound, the mindless clacking "You're mixing a poison," he tried again. "It's painless. It'll just -- go to sleep." Desperation, protest, perhaps both. "You said it's called thought pain..." "That's what happens if I take it." She was getting sick of the staring. "It can't kill me. It can't kill you. It can't kill anything that thinks. It'll just make you wish you were dead." It's a test. They don't want to fight you, because they might lose. They can't afford to look weak. So they tell you to prove you're intelligent, to prove you aren't prey. If you're not prey, you'll drink it. And then they watch you writhe, and they laugh and laugh and they can pretend they aren't the weakest thing there. Except they still are. They'll tell you it's the worst pain of your life, and they're wrong. Thinking is pain. "As long as you can think," she told him, "you'll live. And that groundhog is dying, and I think you're in the way." She hadn't meant to be that forceful. Nowhere that dominant. But he moved, and she headed for the examination room. Alone. There were things you never forgot, no matter how much you wished to. Time abraded memory: somepony had said that, or perhaps someone. And for this, time refused to do the one job it truly had. You crush the leaves. You pour hot water over the petals. You grind the flowers. You hear the clacking. The horrible thing is hearing it. The worst thing is hearing it stop. Stir... How many times have you done this, Fluttershy? A pony ruled by her own fears, controlled by the distant laughter of others, who started every day knowing she might have to kill... A hundred? Two hundred? More? How long ago did you come to ground? How many times...? For Fleur, it was the third. Little whimpers from the table. Tiny squeaks. "I can't talk to you." No answer to her partial lie, at least none that she could understand. "Not in words you know," she pointlessly explained. "Not that you can hear. Not that you..." Stopped. Took a deep breath, and told time to let her be in the now. "Something decided you were prey," she quietly told it. "And it was right. But you don't torment prey. You make it quick. Clean. You just... end it. Maybe you were strong enough to get away from it, or it tried to play with you. Either way, it lost. It doesn't get to eat you." Letting the brew steep, as the tiny squeals seemed to soften. "Do you know the victory cry of prey, when it wins?" she asked the groundhog as she trotted to the table, the deep purple liquid held still within the floating vial. "'Die hungry.' Whatever tried to eat you will be hungry tonight. Maybe that means you won." Her corona surrounded the little animal, cradled it. Tilted the vial towards its mouth. "You won," she whispered. "You..." She climbed up onto the new couch, moved around the fresh stain. The filly only looked up at the end of it, registering presence more than movement. Fleur looked down at the little pegasus. Silently waited. And then the tears were soaking into her coat. She allowed the filly, a child with pawprints for a mark, to cry against her. To snuffle and sniff and ruin her makeup. It didn't matter. Somepony had to be there, and... this time, that was Fleur. She hadn't gone to Fluttershy, when her charge had cried. But that was different, for Fluttershy needed to be stronger. This time, there had been a death, and... Innocence had died. Somepony had to mourn.