One of Applejack’s trees was on fire.
Twilight watched it in silence for a time. She could have snuffed the flames with magic at will, but she didn’t see the urgency—the tree’s wounds were mortal. When Twilight arrived on the scene, its leaves were already gone. Some of them had fallen before they burnt to ashes and remained in the ground yet, thin sheets of green whose edges turned brown, then black, then curled into tight rolls.
Beside them, on the ground, were the apples. They didn’t burn. Twilight had imagined they would burn, turn black, darken until they were like little spherical lumps of coal, but they contained far too much water for that. Instead, the apples boiled. They burst open like grenades, splattering apple juice in all directions. Steam rose from their hissing, roiling flesh.
The flames themselves were eight feet high from the tallest branch. They leapt from root to trunk to twig, gaining strength all the while, like the tree was not the source of fuel, but merely the center of the inferno. Their heat could burn a pony from twenty feet away.
“Twilight,” somepony said. She didn’t notice who. “Do something.”
So she put the flames out. Then she asked what happened. Rarity and Applejack were the only witnesses, and they did not give the answers she expected.
Rarity was normally long-winded. Theatrical. Dramatic. Twilight expected her to go on at length, to embellish, to craft her words. And yet, all she said was. “Starlight lit one of the trees on fire. Then she ran away.” Her manner was stiff and her speech stilted and uneven. She could say no more, but gestured at the tree behind them, as though Twilight might not have noticed it.
Applejack, by contrast, spoke at uncharacteristic length. “Do you know that kind of angry where a pony stops shouting?” she asked, her tone meandering. “Where they scream and rant and rave, and all of a sudden, it just stops? And their face gets all calm, but you can still see it in their eyes. Like they, you know, just decided that screaming ain’t enough. That kind of angry that says, ‘I’ve made a decision. I’m going to do something.’”
“I know that kind of angry,” Twilight said.
“Well, that was Starlight. It was Starlight, and she lit a tree on fire, and…” Applejack swallowed. “I didn’t know it was going to stop there.”
“I know,” Twilight said. “I know.”
“She could have, Twi.”
“I know.”
Twilight asked them other questions: what were they talking about before, what were the circumstances, what exactly did Starlight say, where did she go. She called off the idea of a search party, on the basis that what guards Ponyville had wouldn’t be able to do anything with Starlight in the unlikely event they caught her. Besides, Starlight was one of the few unicorns in Equestria capable of teleporting themselves great distances. If she wanted to leave Ponyville, she would already be gone.
But she wasn’t gone. Twilight found her that evening, curled up on the hill where the two of them went to lie under the stars.
It was a new moon that night. The stars were gorgeous, but the world was dark, and Twilight didn’t see Starlight until she nearly stepped on her. Given that she’d been using the glow of her horn to navigate, she knew Starlight must have been able to see her coming a mile away.
But Starlight didn’t run. She hadn’t even bothered getting up. She lay in the grass on her back and looked at the sky, like this were no more than a social outing, where Twilight might bring a telescope and some tea.
Twilight waited for her to run, to fight, or perhaps just to speak. But Starlight did none of those things, and eventually, the silence grew too long. “You’re in a lot of trouble back in Ponyville.”
“Mmhmm,” Starlight said, her voice distant and soft. “You can go ahead and blast me with the Elements of Harmony. Or lock me in Tartarus, if you prefer. I’m not going to struggle.”
“It didn’t have to be this way.” Twilight let out a long, slow breath, and when Starlight didn’t respond, she settled down into the grass beside her. Starlight rolled her head to watch as Twilight tried to get comfortable.
She still didn’t know what to do with her wings when she was lying on her back. Squirming, shifting, flexing, nothing would make them quite fit. “Applejack said you were talking about diamond dogs.”
“They were stealing from her orchard,” Starlight explained. “So she and a bunch of her neighbors ran them off. I explained that most of the diamond dogs I’ve seen lately at the edge of town had visible ribs. They’re malnourished. And fruit isn’t really great food for them, the same way it isn’t for normal dogs. If they’re stealing apples, it’s probably because they’re hungry. Desperate.”
“I could do something about that.”
“You could,” Starlight agreed. “Applejack could do something about that. She could leave out eggs and milk and other things they can actually survive on. Rarity could do something about that. She could help them find gems they can trade to Ponyville for food.”
It was Twilight’s turn to be silent, as the two of them watched the stars roll past. Given the time of night, The Chariot was high in the sky. Twilight could trace the imaginary line between the stars, forming the constellation in her mind. The air was chill, and while Twilight’s pegasus character protected her from any discomfort, Starlight shivered in a sudden breeze.
“But they wouldn’t,” Starlight went on. “It was very sad, they said, and somepony should do something about it. But it wasn’t their problem. They don’t know any diamond dogs.”
“So you lit one of Applejack’s trees on fire and implied the two of them might be next?”
“I didn’t say anything like that.”
Twilight turned her head to look at Starlight. “Your eyes did.”
A sharp intake of breath let Twilight know she’d hit the mark. Starlight laughed, tensed, bit her lip. “I got angry,” she said, her voice stiff and reedy, as though she might laugh again at any moment. “I got angry, Twilight. What else was I supposed to do?”
Without waiting, she went on. “They’re people. They’re people like you and like me, only somehow in Applejack’s eyes, they’re worth less. In Rarity’s eyes, they’re worth less. Oh, sure, they don’t have anything against diamond dogs. They’re not bigots. But love isn’t the absence of hate. So they wouldn’t help. They don’t think it matters. Not the way a pony’s life matters. Not the way a real person’s life matters. Because the diamond dogs are strange and foreign and far away and they don’t suffer where the two of them have to watch. So it doesn’t count.”
She gritted her teeth, looking off into the grass. “I reread my manifesto. The one I wrote in Our Town. I keep rereading it, because I can see what’s wrong with it and where I made so many mistakes, but there are also so many parts of it that are right, and I don’t know how to separate the right from the wrong. And one of the good parts was, page forty, second paragraph.”
She did laugh again. Then she quoted herself: “‘Above all, always be capable of feeling deeply any injustice committed against anyone, anywhere in the world. This is the most beautiful quality in a pony.’”
“It can’t work that way, Starlight. The world is unjust sometimes. That’s just how it is.”
“No. It’s not,” Starlight said. “Those diamond dogs at the edge of town. The ones going hungry. They’re not suffering because that’s just how it is. They’re suffering because a specific set of ponies decided not to help them. And it’s all that way. When we say, the world is naturally unfair, what we mean is we’re not prepared to accuse the ponies responsible.”
“You think I should accuse Rarity and Applejack? Of what?” Twilight scoffed. “Being bad ponies?”
“They’re letting an innocent creature starve because they can’t be bothered. In what sense is that not being a bad pony?”
“And if they helped the diamond dogs, what’s next? You’ll blame them for not helping the yaks? Or the changelings? Or for not helping rehabilitate the stormguard, or rebuild the goblin lands? Where does it end?”
“Well if they did help the diamond dogs,” Starlight’s tone took an edge, “and the yak, and the changelings, and if they did rehabilitate the stormguard, and rebuild the goblin lands, and give aid to griffonstone, and teach disadvantaged earth ponies to read, and all the other things they could do, then I guess,” she snarled out the words, “this ends with a world that isn’t so fucking terrible!”
Her breath came out in short gasps. She shuttered in the grass. “Maybe the reason the world is so awful is because we make it awful. Did you ever think about that? Maybe that’s how it ends.”
“You’re getting angry again.”
“I know. I know, I…” Starlight sniffled, rolling away from Twilight and tucking her legs around herself. “I’m sorry.”
Twilight let out a soft, “Mmm,” so Starlight would know she heard, and then took her time considering her reply. As another chill wind blew over the hill, she asked, “You know they’re not bad ponies, right?”
“I’m not sure I do know that. No.” Starlight’s voice was tight. “Am I wrong? Am I wrong that they should care?”
“Charity begins at home,” Twilight said. “Maybe it would be good, if I could be friends with every creature in the world. But I can’t be. Nopony can. And that means there will always be creatures in the world I care about more than others. And that means Rarity and Applejack and Pinkie and Shining and… and you, get special treatment. Because that’s what caring means. I care about you because I want to help you, more than I would a stranger.”
Twilight gestured up at the sky with a hoof, even though she knew Starlight couldn’t see. “And, should I grow my circle of friends? Yes, of course. Should I take the time to be charitable to ponies who aren’t my friends? Yes, of course. And should I feel empathy for the pain of creatures I don’t know personally? Yes. Yes, Starlight. I should. But there will be times I treat you better than I would other ponies, because you’re my friend. And to those other ponies, if your special treatment seems unfair?”
She shrugged. “That’s life.”
“That’s selfishness.” Starlight sneered. “You’re giving to the ponies it feels good to give to, instead of to the ones who need your kindness.”
“I’m giving to the ones for whom my kindness means something. A judge could say, given your case history, your psychological profile, and current legal best-practices, you’re better suited to rehabilitation than punishment. Or I could take the time to come out here and chat with you, instead of shooting you with lasers. And from the practical perspective they’re the same thing, but I’d bet the second one means more to you.”
Starlight sniffled. “It does.”
“It means more because I love you.” Twilight paused. “I mean, platonically.”
“I knew what you meant.”
“Okay.” Twilight rustled her wings again. “It’s the same way for everypony, Starlight. Charity isn’t just giving the thing or the act. It’s kindness and friendship and community. I could go volunteer at a soup kitchen in Canterlot and hand out a thousand meals, or I could give Pinkie Pie half of my sandwich because I can see she’s sad. And the second one is better. It means more.”
Twilight lifted a hoof above her head, obscuring part of The Chariot. With the vehicle itself covered, only Celestia’s part of the formation was visible. “I’d rather get limited help from the ponies who truly care about me, than unlimited help from some cold unfeeling social machine.”
“You said,” Starlight mumbled, “that giving Pinkie Pie a sandwich when she’s sad means more than handing out a thousand meals to creatures you don’t know. But this whole chat started because creatures go hungry. What if those thousand meals were for creatures that were starving to death? Does Pinkie’s smile mean more than their lives?”
“You’re leaping to conclusions. All you know is that a few diamond dogs looked a little thin. You don’t know they’re actually starving.”
“No,” Starlight said. “And you don’t know either. Because you didn’t care enough to ask. And I’m sorry, Twilight, but right now, I think I hate you for it.”
She laughed again, and bit off the words. “I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me, with everything I did.”
“There will have to be consequences for this. Significant ones.” Twilight let out a small breath. “But, consequences befitting a powerful unicorn who struggles to control her emotions. Not a criminal. You didn’t mean any harm.”
And Starlight whispered, “Thank you.”
“Heh.” Twilight let out a little breath, and paused to watch a shooting star fly zip across the dark sky above. “I believe you, you know. That you care about them. You care about everypony, sometimes to the point that it’s disabling. You care so much you can’t control yourself.” She glanced at Starlight. “Have you tried caring just a little bit less?”
“I can’t. I can’t control how much something matters.”
“Well, I don’t think Rarity and Applejack can either.”
Starlight froze for a moment, then she lifted her head, and looked back over her shoulder at Twilight. But Twilight was still staring up at the stars.
“Let’s stay here for a bit,” Twilight said, “before we head back to Ponyville.”
And together, they watched the shooting stars go by.