The next few days passed Rumble by in a haze. He lay listlessly in his room, soaking in the suffering he felt on a physical, emotional, and aspirational level. He just wanted to absorb the pain that was owed him from the mistakes he’d made, and then move on with his life. He would need no further convincing from Eddy or Thunderlane to stop training so hard; he realized now how hopeless it had been all along for him to try to compete with ponies who had so much better genetics than him.
Better genetics than him. Better mindsets than him. Better luck than him.
It was made all the worse, when his brother decided to let into his room one of his Wonderbolt teammates, and her “Princess of Friendship” tagalong.
“Some map sent you here? You’re wasting your time; the problem’s already resolved itself,” Rumble assured them. “I’m done pushing my body beyond its limits. I’ve accepted mediocrity. If Eddy’s willing to forgive me, I’ll probably get back with him, too.”
“It’s not about mediocrity, kid,” Rainbow said. “It’s about being happy with setting and overcoming your own limits.”
“The real reward lies in self-discovery,” Twilight opined.
“Yeah! You’ve got all the time in the world to figure out who you are!” Thunderlane exhorted.
Rumble couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe I’m being lectured by two Wonderbolts and a Princess about knowing your limits.”
Still, with enough badgering, Rumble felt he had to compromise with them on something. The Princess pony thought he might “find acceptance” among flyers who were more “at his level,” at the weekend Ponyville Weather Team Junior Flight Camp (much less selective than the local Wonderbolts Junior Speedsters branch). Whatever. Rumble had experience blowing off lame classes and camps, and it would at least get these two nosy ponies off his case for a while.
And so the very next weekend he found himself sitting by his lonesome, observing from afar the rest of the camp-goers (most of whom were years younger than him) as they enthusiastically engaged in their flight drills. Rumble wondered whether, in the past couple of years, he himself was ever the subject of interest of an observer far away; somepony stewing in his own bitterness, who wanted nothing more than to warn Rumble of the futility of it all, the cruelty of it all, if you were not among the chosen few. Warn him that even if his cutie mark told him he belonged in the air, it did not mean he could cut it as an ace flyer.
After all, the weather division of even a small town like Ponyville probably outnumbered the total number of stunt flyers in all of Equestria. They earned a living doing things most ponies found boring—hence, why they were teaching the foals here all the coolest aerial tricks that a weather pony would never use in all their life. Double-revolution corkscrew reversals? Synchronized diamond formations? Give me a break.
Whatever. This is where everypony—himself included—thought he belonged, so this is where he would remain.
He turned his gaze across the horizon, to another campground. The flight camp was divided into four groups: the open camp, the high school fillies’ camp, and the elementary colts’ and fillies’ camps. This lattermost group was the one he now spied upon.
Somehow, he felt a little less bitter about watching these ponies practice their (much more rudimentary) flight drills. Perhaps because he wasn’t a little filly himself, and wasn’t able to project his own frustrations onto them. Perhaps because he couldn’t be bothered to feel even an echo of competition anxiety with them, the way he could with his own fellow campmates. Whatever the reason, it calmed him to watch these young pegasi learn the earliest ropes.
Rumble caught sight of one camper who was separated from the rest of her camp, a bit like Rumble himself. But rather than shirking off and moping like he was, this little filly seemed devoted to her own drills, much more fervently than the other girls. Upon closer examination, her efforts were obviously being stymied by some sort of birth defect with her wings. Poor thing.
He watched her repeatedly attempt—and fail—to achieve any sort of lift under her wings, although he could tell that that was only partly due to her defect. If she just compensated enough with her form, he bet she could fly like the rest of them. After fifteen minutes of this, Rumble’s sympathy got the best of him, and he couldn’t help flying over to her aid.
The filly turned around as he landed next to her. Shy and beside himself, Rumble could only utter a high-pitched, “Hi.”
“Hello,” the filly greeted cheerily. “Are you a growed-up from the big fillies’ camp?”
Rumble blushed. “No, I’m from the open camp,” he said, in a distinctly deeper voice. “Look, I can tell your wings are growing in a little awkwardly, and your left is smaller than your right. You won’t quite get off the ground, if you try those drills the same way your friends are.”
“Really?” she asked. “How can I do it then?”
“You have to compensate with your right, but not too much or else you’ll spin right over. You also have to pay special attention that you flap your wings parallel to the ground...”
And so Rumble spent the rest of the day with this filly—Pollen Breeze—adjusting her flying form until it was just right for her wings. She achieved some basic lift pretty quickly, and he even inadvertently taught her how to utilize her stunted wing to do a little midair barrel roll, which they both found hilarious.
“Thank you so much, Mister! Nopony ever taught me to do it like this!” she said gleefully.
“No problem, my pleasure. Just takes a bit of an individual touch, y’know? What works for others might not work for you, and vice versa.”
“Right.” The sun had noticeably moved lower in the sky since they’d begun, and the young pegasi were congregating back at the campsite. “Think I should be getting back to camp now.”
“Yup. Don’t want your friends to worry about you.”
She buzzed back to her camp slowly, a foot off the ground. “I’ll make sure I work on what you taught me!”
Rumble called after her: “I’m sure you will! You’re a quick learner!”
He couldn’t help but smile stupidly to himself in the aftermath of this unexpectedly wholesome encounter. A remnant of his former angst still snarled in the back of his mind, that black creature with a mind of its own. But this time he felt pity for it, rather than the other way around. You didn’t cure her, you know, it growled. She’s still a weak flyer. She will always have to exert more effort than her friends just to make do. There will be hard caps to her abilities that no amount of creativity will get past.
The beast’s words were as clear as they always were, but somehow they lacked their same bite. I guess you’re right about those things, another part of him thought, but I just don’t really care about that. She’s happy to learn, and I’m happy to teach. Why pretend it’s more complicated than that?
So this is it, then? The final crumbling of your aspirations to become an ace flyer? After all this confusion, that mark on your rear just meant you’re going to become some measly flight instructor?
Now that you mention it, that doesn’t sound so bad. If I can’t move the hearts of thousands with amazing tricks and stunts, maybe I can content myself with just leaving a positive impression every now and then.
At once, both sides of his mind exclaimed: But who knows what the future may hold?