“Well.” Dash gnawed the inside of her lip. Air drew in, then out. She squinted against the pain in her ribs—enough to keep her from active duty, but not castle patrols. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Rumor around the barracks is She wants ponies to marry younger, so it’s mostly gonna be mares our age at Solstice.”
“Hm. I don’t see you wielding any proposals,” Rarity said.
“I’m not in the right job for foals. Not until I’m grounded for good, or promoted high enough for a desk job.” Moonbow propped herself up against the wall to stretch her bat wings. One came down to wrap around the unicorn’s withers. “Do you remember where we were?”
Rarity’s magic fetched the novel from behind a lamp, and she curled against the armor. Colder than fur and feathers, but it would do. Coils of hair ran over Dash’s lap in shiny violet streaks. “Chapter twenty-eight, I believe. Shadow Spade just found the Griffonstone double-agent in the diner.”
Weekly Devotional Confessional
Personal Log for Night Chamberlain Rarity.
Waning Gibbous 11.
Last night, I dreamt I had wings.
Not soft feathered pegasus wings, and not strong leathered bat wings. They’d been tapered, delicate things of gossamer and morning dew. Wings not of the gentle moth who shies beneath the moon, but like those of a butterfly—one of those poor extinct creatures too weak to survive the chill of Everlasting Night.
I had nothing to fear on that front. The sun was out.
My wings boasted vulgar, garish colors in the vivid hues that respectable ponies don’t dare flaunt anymore. My outfit, wilder still. The makeup was positively clownish.
And yet I’d no idea how absurd I appeared, for I had become overwhelmed and consumed and entirely besotted with the love of myself. Vain and self-absorbed, I soaked in the cheers and applause of my adoring public as a flower soaks in the sun, and sunlight is what I craved.
The sun warmed my coat until sweat oozed from my pores to soak the ghastly fabrics I’d draped over myself. Shameless, greedy, drunk and heedless in a stupor, I soared higher, higher, higher towards the sun.
And then my wings burned to ash.
I fell.
This is typical of most dreams of the sun: a textbook case of Daybreaker’s false egotism and false promises, the danger of untempered passions. A normal, if not upsetting, bad dream.
This is where I should have woken in a sweat, but.
I didn’t.
The dream kept going. I kept falling. I never hit the ground.
Not because I woke up first, but because she is there. She’s caught me in freefall, and the sky is the color of her coat, and the sky…. Oh, the sky, the sky goes on forever.
In the back of my mind, I know that somehow, in the process of putting myself in this absurd position, I’ve hurt her in some way. (In the light of moon and stars, I can’t recall the hows and whys of it. We competed for the same goal, wanted the same ideals… something. I don’t know. I know I hurt her. I hated that more than the falling.)
I’d been warned what would happen if I strayed too close to the sun. I’d been warned quite clearly. I can’t claim ignorance, and I cannot claim naivety. I knew. I just didn’t care.
This is the part when I ought to recant. I couldn’t ask for a clearer wake-up call—it’s a surefire sign to stop what I’m doing and turn the wagon around.
But it isn’t. Because in the seconds before she snatches me from the air—the breathless second before I wake up and I’m so close to the ground I can smell grass—I see the sky again.
The sky is a rainbow.
“He’s a stubborn one, I’ll give him that. A lesser stallion would’ve cracked weeks ago. As of now, we know he’s a former guard of Daybreaker’s regime, and a current stalwart of the insurgence group known as Sunwise.” General Wind Rider’s gravelly voice echoed through the throne room. He gesticulated with his wide leathered wings and stood with an easy confidence.
Few ponies could say the same, especially not in the middle of a disappointing report. If he’d come with exceptional news, he probably would have led with it. Rider, however, had flown with the Wonderbolts for years, and his lingering showmanship dovetailed Nightmare Moon’s taste for drama. He knew how to bide time without pushing his luck.
“However, we now have reason to believe that not only does he rank high within the organization, but he is also romantically involved with Mi Amore Cadenza herself. He calls her ‘Cadance’.”
A pair of blue eyes gleamed in the dark. Before one’s eyes adjusted to the well of shadows cast by the gas lamps, it appeared as if the general spoke to an empty throne. If Chamberlain Rarity focused her attention on the growing catalog of arrangements for King Sombra’s visit this winter and her mind on her work—
In the corner of her eye, Captain Dust and Lieutenant Dash stood at attention in the alcoves. The second lieutenant’s eye wandered to meet hers.
—And if she kept her mind on her work, Rarity could almost pretend Wind Rider was only rehearsing his report. Almost.
However, the leaden atmosphere, the cloud of stars undulating in the blackness— “I presume you’ve more for me than a nickname and a recitation of what I already know.” —and the thrum of Her voice proved harder to ignore.
Moondancer sat in her designated spot at the foot of the throne, transcribing the affair.
“You presume correctly, Majesty.” The general had a smile in his voice. “We now have a motive. Corporal Fly found this on him.” He produced a locket from his jacket. “The matching half of the photograph inside belonged to that librarian in Canterlot. She was his sister.”
“So it’s revenge.”
Wind Rider chuckled. “What else?” If he hadn’t gone into the armed forces, the general might have made an excellent storyteller. His voice droned on at a clip: easy to fall into, but easier to ignore.
Rarity let his voice fade into the background chorus of rain, shuffling wings, and the steady hiss of gas lamps. As well she should. Eavesdropping was a positively filthy habit; Her Majesty or Her courtiers would deign to inform her of the information she needed to know. No more, and no less. The stuff of politicking and royal maneuverings fell to viceroys, viscounts, and baronets. Chamberlains minded their own business.
Her eyes fell upon the rust-colored stains on the general’s battle shoes. One did not stick their nose where it didn’t belong, lest they wanted it cut off. Rarity made a note to have the carpet cleaned and reupholstered. Perhaps that could also be done with the tapestries; they needed attention as well, didn’t they? She turned to check.
“Rarity.”
The word froze her.
When she turned, she discovered that Wind Rider had gone. Night Guards loomed nigh-invisible in the shadows of the alcoves, and Moondancer lay so still and silent that she may as well have been carved from marble. For all intents and purposes, they were alone.
Billowing nebulae licked the edge of the throne, reflecting constellations across Rarity’s silver buttons as she approached. Rarity bowed her head and knelt. The tip of her horn grazed the throne’s base, and chills of magic bit the marrow of her bones. “Majesty. How may I serve You tonight?”
Up close, the gleaming starlight of Her mane cast Nightmare Moon’s silhouette in sharp relief. “Rise.” Her voice burrowed between Rarity’s ribs and nested there. She watched Her Chamberlain drag her eyes up to a respectful height, and blinked slowly. “You are trembling, Chamberlain Rarity. Tell me why.”
Was she? Rarity hadn’t noticed.
“You… oh, You possess a breathtaking presence, Majesty. To experience the magnitude of the Night up close—I… I am overcome.” Stop shaking. “I can only offer my sincerest apology.” Stop. Shaking. Deep breath. Good. “I will try to keep my emotions in check.”
She smiled. “You’re a poor liar, Chamberlain.” The little purr of laughter set Rarity’s teeth on edge. Was that danger, or just amusement? Was there a difference? “You’ll need to work on that if you’re to be a functional member of my Court. Honest politicians and noblemares never last long.”
Viceroy Moondancer laughed, so Rarity supposed that had been a joke. She managed a watery little chuckle. “True, yes. But your… Court, Majesty?”
“Yes, Chamberlain.” The deep reverb of Nightmare Moon’s voice fell away syllable by syllable until it became almost normal. Powerful, gripping, but not deep enough to sink into Rarity’s gut. “Did you not receive word of the engagement?”
“I did, Majesty, but—”
Of course. In marrying Prince Blueblood, she would become a noblemare. Not a minor throwaway title, but a real noblemare with a place in the Eventide Court. And there was something else, too. What, Rarity didn’t know.
“—but I hadn’t fully considered the ramifications. It needed time to sink in, and I must admit, I couldn’t place what my new position would be.” In jest, she gave a small chuckle. “Prince or not, I surely couldn’t become a princess by marriage.”
Moondancer snorted at that, and in turn, Her Majesty smiled.
“Is this why you have not rejoiced?” Nightmare Moon tilted her chin slightly. “It puzzles me that your dreams of late have been anxious and troubled. Is the pairing not suitable? Have I not offered the most coveted husband in all Equestria?” Again, She smiled. Wider, this time. “There are some who would call it a dream come true.”
And there it was. Night Chamberlain Rarity stared. “You? You did this yourself?”
“The term,” said Moondancer, “is thank you.”
“Oh!” Curse it all, she’d started shaking again. “O-oh no, Your Majesty, I’m grateful—truly, I am—but I… oh, dear. Well, I don’t deserve it. I’m not worthy of such a gift.”
“Humility is a virtue, Night Chamberlain, but do not sell yourself short. You have performed exemplary work in my service. If not for you, we wouldn’t have our favorite guest in the dungeon.” The great arc of Her wings bloomed dark, awful, and gorgeous. “You are scheduled to meet your fiancé at the start of New Moon. We still stand at high alert, thus you shall be accompanied by a Night Guard.” The Princess made a dismissive gesture towards the alcoves. “That one, I suppose.” She turned to Moondancer to confirm. “That is the injured one, yes? Yes.”
Lieutenant Dash’s bright magenta eyes—no, light burgundy after all—blinked at them in the dark. She saluted with a nod.
“Yes, Majesty.” Rarity bent her head. A thin tendril of stars lifted her chin up again.
“Oh, always so serious.” She laughed. “Ah, rejoice, dearest Rarity. You’ve earned this.”
Moonbow Dash paced semi-circles around the mountain of luggage. Her tail clinked against her armor as she flicked it, and she twisted her mouth as if she’d swallowed something sour. Halfway through one circuit, she stamped her hoof and paced the other direction.
Watching her in the reflection of her vanity mirror, it put Rarity in the mind of clockwork soldiers in a music box. She refocused on brushing her mane. Future brides ought to look presentable. “Is there something on your mind, Dash?”
Dash snorted. “Think you brought enough for an overnight trip? Sheesh.” She made a great production of rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath and flapping her little bat wings. It was annoyingly precious. “I think this is more stuff than you brought on our camping trip. At least that took, like, three days and we were outside, but this is ridiculous.”
Rarity’s hairbrush paused mid-stroke, ninety-two out of one hundred. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. Prince or not, this is way too much—are those two umbrellas? You know you’re gonna be inside the whole time, right? And even if you weren’t, all the rain’s going east for crop stuff.” She tapped the wooden structure in the center of the mound. “Who brings a literal wardrobe?!”
“The chiffarobe is a present, first of all.” Rarity turned from the vanity while her hairbrush finished the last few strokes. “But what did you mean with all that business about camping?” Her? In the black dead forest with the dirt and timberwolves and all those wretched thorny vines? The very idea!
“Yeah, that one summer in the falls, remember? You and me and Applejack—”
The brush dropped. “How do you know Applejack? She moved ages ago!” She wouldn’t be caught dead in a forest, either. Not unless Orange Co. needed space for a new industrial greenhouse.
“She...” Dash flicked an ear. “I know I saw her at Solstice last year for Orange’s wedding. Pretty sure I knew her before that, though. I guess I first met her at…” Her wing rubbed the back of her helmet. “…huh. I’m sure I’ll think of it.”
Rarity doubted it. Unless Moonbow arrived in Ponyville back when she’d been a filly, or had been stationed in Manehattan—and she hadn’t—there was no way. Applejack didn’t even have a cutie mark when she’d left. “I’m certain we’ve never been camping either, dear.”
“Yeah, but…” A lost expression crept over the second lieutenant. The beginnings of another protest stirred under her breath, but it died before it began. For all the world, she appeared an actor who’d stumbled into the wrong production.
“Perhaps,” Rarity offered, “you dreamed it?”
“Don’t think so. I don’t really dream much. See, I do these little naps instead of one big sleep. That means I’m ready to fly whenever I need to.” Dash pawed the carpet fringe. “Not that big on dreaming, anyway. Mine get kinda… weird. Way too real.”
Understandable. None of them slept well in the first weeks of Eternal Night. Traumatic stress of Daybreaker’s regime took a toll on everypony. Canyons of blank space cut across memories of the Unenlightened Age.
Rarity felt no rush to fill those gaps.
Flames roar through Town Hall. Sweetie Belle screaming. The mayor dead. Everypony screaming, fire everywhere. A wicked and terrible alicorn throws her head back laughing—
None at all.
“You should try to sleep anyway.” Rarity crossed the room and sat next to her. Would it be appropriate to touch Dash’s hoof? She blinked at her shiny little shoe beside the filthy battle boot. Probably not, under the circumstances. “If you’re having bad dreams, Her Majesty could help. She’s always helped with mine.”
Moonbow stared at her. The lost expression had vanished. “…Right, help. Rares, are you okay? I saw you tonight in the throne room. That looked… intense.”
“Oh, well, it’s as I said before. Standing in Nightmare Moon’s presence can be overwhelming.” To her credit, she hadn’t even wept afterwards. Wanted to, but didn’t. “Overcome with love for Her Majesty, I suppose.”
“Rarity. You were terrified. I thought you were about to faint in there.” Dash’s wing wrapped around Rarity’s back. She shouldn’t have done it. Rarity shouldn’t have leaned into it.
They should have parted ways at Harvest Moon and left each other alone. Rarity should have offered her gratitude for Dash’s service and gone back to work. It had been she who’d pulled the lieutenant into this. She who didn’t have the discipline to turn Dash away when she found her after she’d left the infirmary. The heat of spring and summer had dissipated long ago, and Rarity missed her old excuse. She missed a lot of things.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m better now.” A little open air. Some warmth. That’s all she needed. Rarity pressed against the armor and tapped her nose under Dash’s chin, smiling when she felt Dash smile. “There’s still time before bed. Why don’t we read in bed for a little bit?” Her hoof began to lift the helmet.
Dash pushed it back down. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea. C’mere a sec.” In one smooth motion, she hoisted the chamberlain into her hooves. She glanced at Rarity’s surprised blink and grinned. “I’m gonna show you something neat.”
Rarity gasped for breath. Sheens of sweat shimmered in her coat, despite the cold. Little clouds of her breath lifted up into the blanket of cumulus above their heads. Still trembling, she wrapped her forelegs tighter around Moonbow’s neck. “That was amazing.”
“Heh. I know.”
Disheveled tangles waved behind her in the open air. Rarity would need at least three hundred brushstrokes to make her mane presentable again. Somepony down there probably heard her shrieking at takeoff. It didn’t matter. “That… was amazing. Is flying like that for you all the time?”
“Yep, pretty much.” They touched down on a lonely cliff face. The lights of Ponyville sparkled in the distance, and with Castle Midnight to the north, Rarity guessed they must have landed in Galloping Gorge.
Rarity wobbled on the rock a moment before she found her legs. “Can we go again?”
Dash plopped down beside her with a satisfied sigh. “What, another ride through the stars at breakneck speed, so fast the fur melts off your face?”
“Yes.”
“So fast it turns all your bones into jelly?”
“Yes!”
“So fast that it rips all the feathers off the little birdies and even the falcons have to hang their heads in shame knowing they could never hope to match that level of speed? Of power? Of that supreme level of totally superb awesome awesomeness?”
Rarity squealed and peppered Dash’s cheek with little kisses. “Yes yes yes!”
“Sure, I guess I can squeeze in one of those.” Dash hissed with a flinch. “Maybe not right away. I might’ve pushed a little too hard just now.”
Lightly, Rarity prodded Moonbow’s ribs. “You’re not supposed to overexert yourself. The nurses said—”
“I know what they said. I’m okay, I just need a sec. I can fly fine, I’m just not supposed to run drills.” The Night Guard’s wings flexed and stretched, throwing long shadows over the rocks. “But these things aren’t built for speed. They hit like a buffalo, though.”
Grit, dust, and cloudstuff mussed the armor’s shine, yet the glamoured wings could have come fresh from the spa. No nicks, no cuts, no scars. Dearest Moonbow took such pride in her scars. Every one had stories behind them, from the magical burns of unicorn terrorists to the nick on her eyebrow when she’d crashed into a birch tree. She’d marked every part of herself, save the part that belonged to Nightmare Moon.
Rarity raised an eyebrow, inspecting the rent-to-own Guard wings. “How fast are the real ones?” she muttered, mostly to herself.
“Dunno, really. Until I earn full transformation, I can only guess, but I know Wind Rider can—”
“No.” Her eyes narrowed. “How fast are your real ones?” When Rarity prodded the glamoured bat wings, they didn’t flinch at her touch. They didn’t shiver at the wind or catch the light, and the more Rarity thought about it, the more she came to resent them.
“That’s it, I’ve decided,” she said. “Take off your armor.”
“W-what? Why?” Moonbow shied back, fluffing under the collar and… was that a blush Rarity saw? “No, that’s dumb. Besides, I only need to ditch the backplate to fly with the feathers. …Though I guess flying around half-dressed looks kind of silly.”
Rarity nodded. “Precisely.”
Dash pursed her lips. “It wouldn’t make a difference. A few extra seconds, maybe a tighter turn or three.” She sagged a little. “…I’d catch more thermals. Feel the wind in my feathers.”
“On the contrary, Lieutenant Dash, I believe it would make all the difference. If nothing else, it’s a chance to see them in action before you make first lieutenant.” After the Solstice, who knew if she’d ever get a chance to see them at all? “And on a personal note, I like seeing them. They’re glorious.”
The chest plates went first. Rows of blue feathers blossomed from leathery skin as the bat wings fell away like dust on a trophy case. A light breeze teased the primaries, rippling through the secondaries, tertiaries, and the softer-than-soft down feathers. Every feather fastened by skin and blood, every feather unequivocally Dash.
“You really like these old things?” She dipped her ears, but a smile hid beneath the helmet. “Nopony’s into featherbacks anymore. Even civilians have them now.” Dash stepped out of the first shoe while she unfastened the last of the rear guard.
“Oh, absolutely!” Rarity circled her, admiring the tiny nicks and tatters in the otherwise glossy feathers. She’d preened them. “Why, they’re so out they’re in. Vintage, I’d call them. Anyhow, it’s still a speed experiment; as it is, nopony else can blast through the sky the way you can, right?”
“Technically, on the straightaway, Fleetfoot—”
“Oh, Fleetfoot, Shmeetfoot.”
The last battle boot slipped off Dash’s hoof. She placed it in a crevice, along with the chest plate. “What’s ‘vintage’ mean?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s a fashion term.”
Dash blinked. “Really? Huh, I didn’t know you were into fashion.”
Rarity pulled her silk dressing gown around her shoulders: an elegant number, deep purple with blue accents, not unlike the rest of her wardrobe. Not unlike most of Equestria’s wardrobe. “As a filly, yes. For a time, I even fancied myself a future designer.” She smiled at the silliness of it. “I wanted to create beautiful things: flowing gala gowns, avant-garde runway statements, stately tuxedos... Making Equestria shine brighter one pony at a time.”
The year before everything changed, shoulder pads had come back into style. Even at the time, they were hideous leftovers of a decade so engorged with choice it didn’t know what to do with itself. Even so, Rarity found herself missing them. A selfish want, she knew. Gussying up just to show off—what could be more vain?
She’d been a filly in an age that didn’t know better, but even now, older and (presumably) wiser, the ghost of vanity wormed into her. Sometimes, she wondered about adding a pink scarf or a pair of gold earrings on the nights when she didn’t actively serve Her Majesty. Only wondered.
“A silly little filly’s trifle, really,” Rarity said.
“I don’t think it’s that silly. When I was little, I wanted to be a Wonderbolt.” Moonbow twitched her ears in thought. “Then again, a lot of ’Bolts ended up joining the Guard anyway. In a way, I guess I got in after all. Except there’s less racing and more standing around looking spooky.”
Rarity couldn’t disagree. The hawkish helmet cut an imposing figure, especially in the dark where shadows did half the work psyching ponies out. Less so on a mostly naked pegasus. “As a former fashionista, I regret to inform you that you cannot flap about wearing just a third of an ensemble, Moonbow.” She pointed at the helmet. “When I said lose the armor, I meant all of it.”
“The helmet stays.” She hovered out of reach before Rarity could do anything about it.
“Why?” Rarity lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve taken it off plenty of times. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Now that she considered it, when had she last seen Dash without the helmet? When she’d been stuck in the infirmary, but bandages wrapped her head then. Before that, it had been on Liberation Night. Perhaps the week after.
“Unless!” Rarity jolted straight up. “Unless it isn’t.”
“Uh. Rarity?” No doubt about it, Dash was definitely blushing. Her feathers bushed out as the unicorn stalked closer with a sly smirk. “What are you doing, Rarity?”
“Lieutenant Dash, you’re hiding something.”
“No I’m not! YOU’RE hiding something. This is insubordination, you can’t go around telling officers to remove their helmets.” She climbed higher. “I outrank you.”
“Barely. We’re nearly the same rank as it is, and I’ll be a—a something in two months, and then I’ll outrank you anyhow.”
Dash crossed her forelegs. “Two months isn’t now, is it?”
“Now you’re just being petulant. You’re a Night Guard; guards serve ponies of the castle. I still win.” She reared on her hind legs as Dash flapped backwards. “What are you hiding from me? Did something happen to your mane?”
“No.” That poker face wouldn’t fool a blind infant.
Rarity hopped an inconsequential little hop. “Show me! I want to see. Please?”
“No you don’t, it’s—look, Zephyr can’t dye it again until the rest of the stitches come out, plus it’s all gross and why… why are you looking at me that way?”
“Now I have to see it. Come now, I won’t tell a soul.” Rarity tossed her knots and tangles over her shoulder. “It’s not as if you’re the only one here with a mane emergency.”
“That’s not the same thing. Everything looks good on you—you’ve got freaky look-great-all-the-time powers and…” Dash groaned. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”
“Not on your life.”
“Okay.” Dash touched down, both hooves on her helmet. She groaned again. “You asked for it.”
Rarity staggered back with a gasp.
COLORS.
“Oh. O-oh my. Oh MY!”
It was all she could say. What else could she say? Such colors! That scream of poppy-blossom red and the lush emerald fields of grass, and the full plump oranges grown from the sun—oh, and the tongue of the sun whipping bright yellow, bold and grand, not searing or hurtful but warm and feather-soft. And there in back, the extinct rich violets that only bloomed in books, and the gorgeous azure blue of fine Saddle Arabian silks.
“Dash.” Rarity blinked away tears. “Oh my goodness.”
Moonbow’s head hunched in her shoulders. “Hey, I know it’s terrible, but there’s no need to cry about i—”
Rarity grabbed the pegasus with both hooves and kissed her. She kissed her until she ran out of air. And then she ran her hooves through all those magnificent colors and kissed her again. “Darling, you’re BEAUTIFUL!”
Dash blinked with both cheeks mushed between Rarity’s hooves. “I am? Hey—no, I’m not! I’m tough and fierce, I don’t do pretty.” Her war face held significantly less menace when squished up. Even less when kissed upon the nose. Dash did her best, bless her.
“Tough and fierce things can be beautiful too, darling.” Nightmare Moon, for instance. And yet Dash was even more beautiful than She—a sleek, strong creature with a mane shining all the colors of…
“A rainbow.” Cradling the lieutenant’s chin in her hooves, Rarity let her cheek rest against the stripe of fluffy reds and yellows. She breathed in the scent of water vapor and iron. “It’s been so long, I almost forgot what they looked like. How dare you keep something this divine under your hat for so long, Moonbow?”
Rarity pulled away, curious. Though lovely, the moonbows of the Canterhorn waterfalls had colors so faint and diluted they may as well not exist at all. “You changed your name, didn’t you?”
“It’d be kind of strange for Nightmare Moon’s guard to have a name like Rainbow Dash. Rainbows need sun ’n’ stuff. Can you leggo of my face now?” She rubbed her cheeks as Rarity pulled away, eyeing what must have been an ungainly grin.
Though she tried to hide it, a shy smile twitched at Dash’s—Rainbow Dash’s—muzzle. What a sweet smile for such a pony on so dark a night. “So, do you feel better?”
Rarity considered it. “Yes, Rainbow Dash.” It even felt fabulous to say. “I think I do.”
“Good. You deserve to have a break sometimes.” Rainbow’s wing flipped Rarity’s mane the wrong direction. “What do you say we find out what these vintage wings can really do?”
“I’d love nothing more.”
Together, they lifted off the cliff. Below them, the kingdom of Night smeared in wisps of whites and blues and tiny little lightning bugs. A painter's mistake wiped off the canvas. The weight of the last night—of five years’ worth of last-nights—dropped and fell away, too heavy to carry and too slow to keep up. Wind in her ears roared louder than any stupid old thing she’d worried about hours before. The landscape shifted. Browns and greens overtook blues and whites, and the city lights clapped out all at once, with only the rush of black clouds beneath her hooves.
And above…
Moonlight filtered through a sweep of blue feathers and skimmed a shock of color bannering through the night. Rainbow Dash held the horizon in her eyes and rushed to meet it, teeth clenched in a spitfire grin.
She had been right about the view.
In that harmless space of seconds, Night Chamberlain Rarity knew she had committed high treason. It bothered her less than she’d imagined.