//------------------------------// // Chapter Four // Story: Not All Who Wander Are Lost // by RazedRainbow //------------------------------// Chapter Four Scootaloo made her way down the path at a snail’s pace, eyes focused on the dry earth. A cool wind brushed against her back, rustling her already disheveled mane. She lifted a hoof and wiped her bangs out of her eyes for the umpteenth time, and as she lowered her hoof, she caught sight of the red leaves that loosely hung from their branches as they swayed in the breeze. Shivering, a smile crossed her lips. It was almost time for the annual Running of the Leaves. Goodbye boring old dirt path, hello red and orange blanket. Slick to the wheels, sure, but the crunching made it worth it. Scootaloo smirked and let her gaze drift skyward. The coming months had so much awesome to them. The Running of the Leaves was always memorable, but there were also the pumpkin muffins at Sugarcube Corner, the clouds of fallen leaves shooting out behind her scooter as she rushed over them, the long evenings spent crusading with only the fireflies to light the way. Good times, good times. The smirk was short-lived. Scootaloo doubted that there would be much crusading this autumn. Her sigh harmonized with the breeze as her chin fell against the handlebars. Apple Bloom’s bitter words still rang in her ears. Losing Rainbow was hard enough, but was she really willing to lose one of her awesomest friends over such a silly argument? Sure, Bloom could have been a little less… brutal in her word choices, but had she also not been right? It was just words in a book. Her chest hollowed, she shook it away. No. But, still… she leaned back. The clouds held no answers, but at least they’d calm her nerves. I’m going to fix this. Somehow. Her inner voice shook. Normally, she would have puffed out her chest and charged at the problem headfirst, but there was something about what Apple Bloom had said. Or rather, the way she had said it. She sounded like she hated me. Scootaloo stopped her scooter. She sounded like she really hated me. She sighed and leaned forward on the handlebars once more, letting the sun beat down on her troubled mind. Thinking too long about all of it was a dangerous road to go down, yet memories flickered in and out. Everfree branches slapping her face, jaws nipping at her heels. Rainbow. A familiar copper stench drifted up her nostrils and filed through her veins. She shook. Maybe Bloom was right to hate her. A squeak pierced the silence. Scootaloo’s ears perked up, aiming up and down the path. Not a single soul was on the road, but the squeak filled the air once more. Wings twitching, Scootaloo slowly rolled forward, keeping her ears and eyes open for anything suspicious. She couldn’t think of a beast that squeaked, but good hunters adapted. Her wings betrayed her, shifting from a flutter to a beat, pushing her forward way too quick. Suddenly, there was a loud splash. Scootaloo yipped and fell backwards, landing painfully on her haunches. She staggered to her hooves, coughing and brushing the dust off her coat. Eyes darting, she searched for her doom. Trees, fence posts, a couple bunnies hopping into nearby brush. Her glare turned to a grimace. Mumbling, she hopped on her scooter and rolled forward, and within seconds was beside a stream, staring up Fluttershy’s cottage. Passing by Fluttershy’s home was a daily routine. No matter what direction she headed home from, the route always seemed to cut by the cottage. Between the bears and the cockatrices and whatever else Fluttershy might be harboring within the fields, Scootaloo had always made sure to kick her wings into high gear as she passed it by. Nowadays, she had no doubt the fields harbored even worse beasts. Memories, emotions--both those that would never be felt again and that would never cease. Fluttershy had changed since the incident. It was expected, but it was still enough to twist Scootaloo’s gut. It had been weeks since anypony had seen her. Not even a candle or shadow had been glimpsed in the windows since Rainbow’s passing. There were rumors, however. Featherweight had weaved a tale at lunch once, claiming that he’d seen Fluttershy standing in the pond beside her house. Not swimming or watching a family of ducks or anything. Just standing in neck-deep water. Featherweight had a habit of sewing together lies, as the Foal Free Press headlines still sometimes showed, but there had been a glint to his eyes, a waver to his voice. Just thinking about it now was enough to turn Scootaloo’s blood to ice. The squeak pierced the air again. It seemed closer, but Scootaloo still couldn’t make out where or what it was. Ears falling flat once more, she swallowed a lump in her throat and turned from the skulking shadows of the cottage. Rocks kicked up around the wheels. “Just my imagination,” she muttered. “Nope, it’s me!” “Gah!” A red blob filled Scootaloo’s vision. She veered her scooter to the left. It flipped onto its side, throwing her into a stumbling gait. Celestia, she was going to hit it. Biting her lip and squinting her eyes, she raised a forehoof. It had to have a weak spot. All beasts have a weak spot. Her hoof connected with... something rubbery. Instead of a grunt or roar, a honk and foalish giggle perked Scootaloo’s ears. Pinkie... “That tickles. Do it again!” Pinkie Pie squealed. Scootaloo shook her head and tried to catch her breath. “Jeez, Pinkie, you scared the feathers off of me. What are you...” Scootaloo tilted her head. “Uh, why are you dressed like a clown?” Pinkie grinned, stretching the white and red paint on her face out into a rather disturbing smile. Another squeak rang out as she stepped forward. Scootaloo looked down and saw that extra-large flippers adorned each hoof. All she needs now are some balloons, Scootaloo chuckled at the thought, but stopped when she noticed two large red orbs floating behind Pinkie’s frilly mane. “Why not?” Pinkie piped up, somehow managing to smile even wider. Scootaloo groaned and placed a hoof on her scooter, spreading her wings. It was only Pinkie. Those simple words should have been enough to calm her nerves but her wings kept twitching at her sides. Pinkie always had her reasons, but dressing like a clown out near Fluttershy’s place? Even by Pinkie Pie standards, that was weird. Scootaloo cleared her throat. “So, uh, Pinkie. What are you doing here?” “Oh, I was just here to see Fluttershy.” “Ah.” Scootaloo slackened her guard, but her wings twitched on. “Um, how is she?” “Fluttershy and I are having a party!” Scootaloo’s jaw fell agape. “Wha-what?” she stammered. “A party,” Pinkie repeated. “You know? Balloons, cake, music, games, punch, smiles, balloons—” “I know what it is, I’m just... it’s just weird.” Pinkie blinked, still smiling. “Why? There’s nothing weird about parties.” She placed a squeaking shoe to her chin as she hummed. “Well, okay, maybe there are some weird parties. Like the mango-themed one I threw a few years ago, but besides that they’re not weird at all!” “They are when you...” Scootaloo cut herself off, looking away. Her mind always seemed to drift back to Rainbow. Mentioning her wouldn’t change anything, but darn it, it still hurt to say her name.  She cleared her throat. “Well, they are when… when you just lost somepony close to you.” Pinkie’s reaction was devoid of emotion. She simply tilted her head, smile unwavering. “Really? That’s the best time to party!” Scootaloo grunted and waved her hoof. A spark reignited the fire in her gut. She scowled. “Yeah, yeah. 'Think of the good times,’ ‘celebrate her memory!’ All that sappy stuff. Irregardless, I’m--” “Irregardless isn’t a word, silly.”  Scootaloo thrust a hoof. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m just pretty sure Fluttershy’s not in the partying mood. I mean, look at it”--she framed the cottage in her twitching wings--“it’s like nopony even lives here anymore.” Scootaloo found her next breath to be a shaky one. The words seemed to have no effect on Pinkie. She blew a raspberry and placed a squeaking shoe on Scootaloo’s foreleg. Pushing it away didn’t even draw a reaction. “Well then, you clearly haven’t been looking much, have you?” Pinkie eyed her balloons. “She’s always in town. Why, just this morning she was in Sugarcube Corner for, like, forever. Even ate five muffins. It was crazy! Then there was...” Scootaloo receded into the less spastic comforts of her mind. Pinkie could--and would--talk forever. Ignoring her was a lesson Scootaloo had learned quickly. She had learned more about the mating habits of bunnies during her sixth birthday party than she ever wanted to know. As Pinkie blathered on, Scootaloo occasionally bobbed her head in an agreeable nod, but most of her attention was set on the cottage. The very thought of Fluttershy partying at such a moment was a real head-scratcher. Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash had been friends since the dawn of time. The fact that ponies of such different stripes could tolerate each other, let alone become best friends, was sometimes difficult for Scootaloo to swallow. She was one to talk, though. Sweetie Belle had been  her closest, bestest friend for as long as she could remember. They had next to nothing in common, but friendships always seemed to work in mysterious ways. I guess opposites do attract. Scootaloo’s wings twitched. She lifted a forehoof and tried to calm them. Still, mysterious as the ways of ponies were, the idea that Fluttershy was willing to even get out of bed nowadays, let alone party, was one Scootaloo found difficult to believe. While braver than she let on, Fluttershy was still a timid and fragile mare. Something like this would break her. A knife stuck itself in Scootaloo’s heart and twisted. Maybe if the partying involves a bottle or three.  Pinkie was still yammering on. Blinking, Scootaloo shifted her attention back to her. “... And Rarity jumps up and yells, ‘Not my debutante gown, you produce producing dolt!’ So, Applejack stares her down, and you know what she does?” Scootaloo shrugged, completely lost. “What?” “She tosses the rest of the outfit into the mud, including the headdress!” Pinkie Pie burst into a fit of laughter and fell to the ground, rolling in the dirt and clutching her stomach. “It was hi-larious!” she managed to squeak out between gasps. Scootaloo did her best to chuckle along, but she knew she was far from convincing. Not that her performance mattered. Pinkie’s laughs were loud enough to wake the dead. Not to mention loud enough to mask approaching hoofsteps. “Hi Pinkie.” Pinkie stopped laughing and sat up. Scootaloo turned her head and gasped. Fluttershy stood before them, two songbirds perched on her back. She smiled at Pinkie Pie, chin up and back straight. Scootaloo couldn’t remember a time when Fluttershy had stood taller. Chills shot up her spine. She waited for Fluttershy to glance over and throw a warm smile in her direction, but Fluttershy kept staring at Pinkie, seemingly unaware of Scootaloo’s presence. Endless questions and theories floated through her mind. Something resembling an answer came to light as the sun passed behind a cloud, then brightened once more. It wasn’t much of an answer, just a glint on the edge of Fluttershy’s eyes, but it was enough. A hint of something Scootaloo couldn’t put her hoof on. Desperation? Torment? Scootaloo didn’t have time to find an answer before Pinkie Pie scooped Fluttershy up in a bear hug. “Heya, ‘Shy!" she squealed. "You ready to par-tay?” “Of course. I always am,” Fluttershy replied without mumbling or shying away. She even laughed a little. Scootaloo narrowed her eyes. Were the changelings back? Pinkie interrupted her string of thoughts with a squeaky hop. “Well, then. Let’s get this party started!” Pinkie shouted. They broke their embrace and quickly trotted towards the cabin. Scootaloo followed as quickly as her shorter legs would allow, but the two mares had disappeared behind the cottage long before she could reach a steady gallop. As she neared the cottage, she caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye. Skidding to a halt, she squinted into the woods. A sea of trees, a couple squirrels and birds moseying about, nothing out of the ordinary. Something orange flickered at the edge of her vision, but when her vision focused on the are, she found only trees. No movement--nothing at all out of the ordinary. “Must have been my reflection,” Scootaloo muttered before turning and trotting towards the cottage once more. She didn’t know how realistic the statement was, but it calmed her throbbing heart enough to keep her from collapsing. Behind the cottage was a small table with a vase full of wildflowers and tea set resting in the center. Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy sat on opposite ends of the table, chatting and sipping from their cups. Well, Fluttershy was sipping. Pinkie was downing cups of tea like they were shots of punch. Scootaloo slowly walked up to the table, eyebrow arched, debating whether or not she should leave. She plopped down in the grass, peering around the wall and starting at Fluttershy. She studied every detail of her—the flicker of her eyes, posture, whether or not her lips quivered—searching for a hint. Something smelled fishy, but the answer escaped her. “... Mr. Cat and the Mice family have finally settled their differences,” said Fluttershy. “Great!” Pinkie blurted, downing another cup of tea. “And Ms. Bluejay’s sore throat has finally healed up, thank Celestia. I was so worried that I’d have to find another contralto. Do you know how hard it is to find one at this time of year?” Pinkie shrugged and shoveled three chocolate teacakes into her mouth. “I have no idea.” “Difficult. Really difficult.” Fluttershy sighed and stared into her cup. Like ‘losing your best friend’ difficult? Scootaloo thought. She could see through the facade—could see the hurricane brewing right below the surface—but she had no idea what to do about it. A hug may let Fluttershy release her emotions, but hugging wasn’t Scootaloo’s thing. Prodding her with questions wouldn’t do much good either; Fluttershy would probably just shrug them off and continue chatting with Pinkie while ignoring Scootaloo completely. Still, Scootaloo felt the need to do something. Leaving the safety of the cottage wall, Scootaloo marched into the unknown. “So, umm, Fluttershy.” Scootaloo found her voice shaking almost immediately. She covered it with a cough. “Uh, what’s up?” Surprisingly, Fluttershy looked down, giving a warm smile. “Oh, the same old stuff. Feeding the animals, spending time with my friends. It’s really nothing interesting.” Not buying it. Scootaloo cleared her throat. “You sure nothing’s bothering you?” “Oh, no.” Fluttershy shook her head vigorously. “Why ever would something be bothering me? Should it?” A crack appeared in her armor: a sideways glance at Pinkie. The flash of panic and pain lasted only an instant, but it was enough. Scootaloo cocked her head. “Are you sure?” “Oh, I’m sure.” Fluttershy flashed a too-wide grin. “Everything’s been just fine... just fine... just...” Her smile faded, and she glanced downwards, seemingly enthralled by the tablecloth. Pinkie had stopped chowing down,  now looking on with flattened ears, crumbs falling out of her still-open mouth.. "Fluttershy?" Pinkie asked through a mass of cake. The sound of wood sliding on grass filled the air as Fluttershy pushed her chair back. She turned and trotted away from the table, eyes downcast and a blank expression on her face. Pinkie Pie swallowed a mouthful of cake—chasing it with the rest of the tea in the kettle—jumped up and pursued her distraught friend. Scootaloo looked on, unsteady legs shifting between ‘follow’ and ‘don’t follow,’ as Fluttershy disappeared into the cottage. The door slammed behind her, nearly clocking Pinkie’s nose. The party pony paused for a second, forehoof raised, before quietly opening the door and shutting it silently. A chorus of voices arose within the house not a second later. “Fluttershy? What’s wrong? Answer me!” Pinkie pleaded . “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?! You know what’s wrong!” Fluttershy’s voice cracked as it reached a volume Scootaloo had never heard it reach. Her ears fell flat. She’d really done it this time. “Fluttershy, please, don’t yell at me.” It was Pinkie’s turn to waver, her voice sounding off like a deflating balloon. “I... Fluttershy, you’re crying?” “Of course I am,” Fluttershy sniffled. “Why?” “Why? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t? One good reason!” A tapping of squeaks sounded. The mental image of Pinkie, still in costume, trying to console a broken friend might have been slightly funny in different times. As she leaned against the wall, Scootaloo felt what was left of her heart break. “Because…” Pinkie sighed. “Because you have us. Be… because being sad, totally understandable as it is… it won’t—” “I know!” Something shattered inside the house, followed by the familiar clinking of porcelain bouncing across the floor. “I know it won’t help, okay! She’s gone. I have to live with that. I know that! It’s just... Scootaloo." There was a long pause before she continued, "She’s so... I. Celestia, Pinkie, I can’t take this anymore!” Fluttershy burst into a loud series of pathetic sobs. “Hey, now. C’mere,” Pinkie said quietly, energy extinguished, voice only carrying barely-contained sobs of its own. “I... I’m barely holding it together as is, Pinkie,” Fluttershy wept, her words muffled. Pinkie always went straight for the hugs. “I can’t even leave the house without seeing something that reminds me of her. Even… even then there are the books, and the pictures. A-and then there’s Tank always wandering around the yard, looking so confused and scared and... alone. And... and... then Scootaloo. She was always so… and, and Rainbow was..." Her voice shattered as she wailed the next words. "I miss her, Pinkie. I miss her so much. I want to wake up. I want her back. Celestia… I just want her to fly back in through that door.” Fluttershy’s voice dissolved into a series of squeaks, sobs and whimpers. “Shh,” Pinkie whispered, her voice sounding like it belonged to a completely different pony. “It’s okay, Fluttershy. I do too. It’s okay...” Pinkie’s voice cracked, sending a chill down Scootaloo’s spine. Fluttershy breaking was one thing; to hear PInkie collapsing under the strain of it all was enough to make her scream. She pressed her ear close to the wall, listening carefully, wondering if the conversation was going to continue. Debating whether she should walk in that door and give Fluttershy a hug as well. Maybe it would help. Maybe it would make her feel better too.  A sudden, shaky inhalation floated out the window, but it was followed only by another series of sniffles and muffled sobs. Scootaloo sighed and stood up. Her presence had caused this. She deserved no peace. Step by shaky step, she walked down the path. Is this all I am? A problem causer? She wanted the answer to be 'no,' but all she could see was a giant, glowing ‘yes.’ Her mind was elsewhere as she neared the stream. Her eyes were downcast, yet she still managed to almost trip over a green rock. As she skidded to a stop, a head poked out from the ‘rock’ followed by four legs. “Tank?” Scootaloo grinned, leaning down and patting him on the shell. The tortoise looked at her with expressionless eyes, but the hint of a smile rested on his weathered lips. Although she sometimes questioned Tank’s intelligence, she could tell that he recognized her. She hadn’t spent much time around him, but the times she had were interesting moments to say the least. “Hey, dude. How’s it hanging?” Tank blinked. “Fluttershy treating you good?” Tank blinked again. Scootaloo looked over her shoulder and sighed. “Look, Tank, I don’t know what you know or don’t, or what you’re going through, but I want to let you know that… she’ll be back. I’ll get her back. Rainbow, that is. I know you miss her. I... I do too, and that’s why I’m going. Not just for me, but for you... for Fluttershy... for everypony.” Tank blinked and smiled, and Scootaloo grinned, rubbing the top of his rough head. The explanation had been more of an excuse, but Scootaloo thought it was good enough reasoning, and Tank seemed to be buying it. She chuckled and gave Tank one last pat on the shell before standing and trotting towards the path. She looked over her shoulder and saw Tank watching her. Scootaloo smiled and waved a hoof. “See you around, bud. Keep Fluttershy company... she needs it.” Tank blinked and smiled. Scootaloo waved one last time before pushing off and speeding down the path. * * * Voices carried out of the house as Scootaloo climbed the steps. One was the accented voice of her father; the other made her heart stop. She had run into Rainbow’s other friends today. Only one remained. One she would have no choice but to deal with. Perfect. Just perfect. She peered through the window near the door. Her studied a map pinned to the wall, squinting and rubbing his chin. “So, the sculptors will be set up on Main Street?” He placed a hoof on the wrinkled sheet of paper. “That is correct,” Rarity replied, hovering a quill and scroll before her and making a check with her magic. “And the painting booths will be on Goldwire?” He pointed to the other end. “Mhm.” He shook his head, tilting it to the side. “Aren’t we being a bit unfair to the potters?” “The potters have gotten Main the past two years. The sculptors got shoved into the botanical gardens last year. That’s much too far away from their fellow artisans.” She took a step toward him, patting his back. “It’s only fair that you be given the opportunity to actually show off your goods this year. Some of the works you came up with are… I haven’t seen that touch from you in so long.” Her father nodded, but stepped aside, eyes still locked on the map. “Yes, but pottery brings in a huge profit. If we shove them into the alley, aren’t we doing more harm than good?” She laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I have some splendid designs all set up. Extravagant, luxurious and, most importantly, valuable. We’ll be able to turn a healthy profit without those lazy potters. Good heavens, Sand Blast, for a sculptor you sure are intent on selling yourself short.” She looked to the corner of the room. “As I said, some of your best work yet..” He shrugged. “I don’t think any of them are in my top five.” “Well, it’s not about what you think, now is it? It’s what the public desires, and I can guarantee that every single one of them will be purchased by the end of the fair.” “Maybe, I don’t know”  Scootaloo groaned. When her father talked shop, he always managed to make it sound so boring. She pushed through the door and flopped down in a chair next to the unlit fireplace. Letting her head sink into the aged fabric, she stared at the ceiling, tracing a few cracks before closing her eyes and sighing. “Looks like somepony’s home early.” Her father smirked. Scootaloo looked out the window. The sun was, once again, nearly settled below the horizon. Very funny, Dad. She stifled a rebuttal and instead looked to the unicorn peering over her father’s withers. “Hey, Rarity. Sweetie Belle said you were at the spa. Get out early?” Scootaloo ran a hoof through her mane. “She’s going to be in for a surprise when she gets to the boutique.” Rarity’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. She went back there already?” She glanced at the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room and frowned.  “Uh, yeah.” Scootaloo pushed her head deeper into the felt.”What are you doing here anyway?” she mumbled. “Bother.” Rarity sighed before turning to Sand Blast. “Looks like our meeting will have to resume at a later time.” Sighing once more and muttering something about ‘leftovers’ under her breath, Rarity trotted to the door. “You didn’t answer my question!” Scootaloo called out. “What are you doing here?” “Scootaloo, that is none of your business.” Her father stepped forward. Too late. Rarity had stopped in the doorway, tail swishing. “No. No, Sand Blast, she has every right to know,” Rarity said, lifting a hoof and turning to Scootaloo. “I was in the area, and I remembered that I had yet to discuss the upcoming Arts Faire with your father. He and I are in charge of it as you know.” “So you didn’t go to the spa?” Scootaloo tilted her head in confusion. “What makes you think that?” Rarity asked, briefly giving Sand Blast a shaky glance.. “Well, the spa’s like... on the other end of town. Not exactly in this area.” “I...” Rarity tried to reply but only a series of squeaks and murmurs came out. Scootaloo groaned. They all played out the same. Uneasy words and secrets barely hidden. Rarity briefly placed a hoof over a silver locket that was draped around her neck before looking over at Sand Blast, eyes wide. “I... I, uh... should really be going. Um, I’ll be here at around, uh, four tomorrow afternoon to finish the planning, okay?” Sand Blast nodded. “Sounds perfect.” Rarity smiled and quickly exited the house, forgetting to close the door behind her. Scootaloo’s father walked over to the door, watching Rarity gallop down the path. He let out a long sigh. “Poor girl,” he muttered as he closed the door. He stood still, staring at the door for a few moments, ears flicking against his receding mane. The room seemed to grow hotter, more compact. Scootaloo cleared her throat but the breaths wouldn’t come. Finally, her father turned, eyes like daggers. “Go to your room,” he said sternly. Scootaloo sat up, nearly falling out of the chair, eyes wide. “What?” “Go. To. Your. Room!” Each word shook the walls. “But. What? Why?” “Because you were exceptionally rude to our guest. That is not acceptable. A close friend of the family even! Absolutely unacceptable.” He grunted and shook his head, looking out the front window once more. Scootaloo jumped out of her chair and stamped her hoof. “Well, she should stop being so secretive! Everyone should. I’m tired of everypony hiding stuff from me! I…” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. How she longed to be outside where she could spit the bile clean but she’d just have to push through. She stamped a hoof. “What was she doing over here anyway? She’s been here, like, every single day this week.” “She’s been here to help me prepare for the arts show. As she does at this time every year.” Scootaloo shook her head. “No. No, I saw the way she looked at you. There’s something else going on here. I’m not an idiot, Dad” “No, but you are disrespectful.” He glared down his spectacles at her. They seemed to magnify the heat of his glare to a boiling point. “What goes on here is none of your concern, Töchterchen. It’s adult business.” “I’m old enough to know!” He gave a deep laugh. There was no mirth in it. “There are so many things you aren’t ready for, honey. You have no idea just how much you don’t know,” he whispered to himself, barely loud enough for Scootaloo to hear. Sighing, he turned away from the window, locking eyes with Scootaloo. He was no longer glaring, but his face was still set in a stern gaze. “Now, go to your room.” “But—” “Go!” He thrust his hoof towards the stairs. Scootaloo grunted. Tyranny! Tyranny and lies! She stomped up the stairs, nearly sending picture frames crashing off the walls. Good. Who needs them? When she reached the top-step, she turned and glared at her father, trying to form the most menacing scowl possible. He stared back, eyes narrowed. Scootaloo snorted before trudging to her room, slamming the door, and screaming into her pillow. She’d show him. She’d show all of them. * * * Flames spread across Scootaloo’s body. Or so it felt as she thrashed about on the bed. Sweat poured down her face, dampening her covers and making them impossible to lift. The air boiled and froze at the same time. Thunder pounded in her ears, rattling her brain, and she pushed against the weighty covers with all her might. The thunder transformed into a voice. “Just remember, squirt. Keep your wings moving and your wits about you.” “Rainbow!” she called out, the words echoing around the void. Scootaloo grunted and cursed, bucked and thrashed, but escape seemed to be millions of miles out of reach. Despite the python-like grip of her sheets, she continued to fight. She was either going to escape or go down swinging. ‘Quitters never win. Winners never give in.’ Then the voice filled her mind once more; the faded echo of a ghost. ‘Sometimes the best way to fight back is to relinquish yourself. If your wings aren’t lifting you, don’t flap harder. Let the air grab your wings. Feel the magic, squirt. It’ll lift you up.’ Scootaloo bit her lip, closed her eyes and lightly pushed against the smothering sheets. The covers fell off her, and through the floor. Scootaloo hopped out of bed and looked around. A vast plane stretched out around her: dead quiet and ghostly white. It was barren, save for her bed and a small speck in the distance. Her legs quaked, her wings stiffened, but she saw no other way. Taking a deep breath, she scampered off in the direction of the spot. As she drew closer, the speck began to grow and take shape. Soon, it was no longer a blank black dot, but a towering obsidian door. Around the door’s body were carved figures. Ponies were the most prominent, but Scootaloo could also make out dragons and griffons, as well as species she didn't recognize. She trembled as the monolith’s shadow washed over her. Her raspy breaths fogged the brass door handle as she stared at it with quivering eyes. “Push it. Open it,” said one voice. “Don’t do it,” said another. What would Rainbow Dash do? It took her less than a millisecond to conclude that Rainbow would barge right in without hesitation. A move that, Scootaloo had to admit, was anything but a smart one. Listening to the latter and exploring the area for better, less risky options would be the smartest thing to do. But where was the fun in that? An unseen force pushed against Scootaloo’s back, throwing her at the door. It flung open before she made contact. Scootaloo landed hard on an oak floor. She rolled over onto her belly and gasped for air. Slowly, she raised herself up onto numb hooves and looked around. She was standing in the hallway outside of her bedroom—or rather an imperfect replica. Everything was exactly as it should, except for one thing. The pictures. Her father had removed all the pictures of her mother years ago, yet they seemed to be the only ones covering the wall. Every square inch of the wall contained her mother’s warm, grinning face. Scootaloo gulped and ran towards the stairs. She tripped on the fourth step and rolled head over hooves all the way to the ground floor. The world spun around her, and she wasn’t sure which way was up, but she recognized the sound. The sound of somepony sobbing. Loud, heartbroken wails seemed to seep through the walls. Scootaloo grinded her teeth as she searched for the source of the ungodly noise. Her father sat on the couch, forelegs wrapped around a quivering white form. Scootaloo stood once more, checking for broken bones, and tiphoofed towards her father. As she got closer, a distinctive dark-purple mane became apparent against his orange coat. It was not as curly as Scootaloo was used to it being, but rather flat and soaked through. Scootaloo was dizzied by a sudden burst of deja vu. She couldn’t even make out the words being spoken between the two ponies—it was all echos and static—but the pain in the mare’s voice was haunting, just as it had been the last time Scootaloo had witnessed it. The moonlight seeped through the window just long enough for the rest of Rarity’s coat to shine. There was so much blood. A board creaked behind Scootaloo and she whirled around. Her mother stood atop the stairs, facing away from her, staring out into a black abyss. “Mom?” Scootaloo called out. Her mother didn’t respond. She simply unfurled her wings and soared out an open upstairs window. “Mom!” Scootaloo cried, chasing after her. She jumped through the window as well, wings spread and beating relentlessly. The figure faded. She couldn’t keep up. She couldn’t even stay afloat. After only a few measly meters of flapping, her muscles cramped. Gravity took over. She fell, and fell, and fell. The descent lasted minutes... hours. Or was it a matter of days? She wasn’t sure; there was no sun nor moon in the sky, and the ground wasn’t growing any closer. Yet she could feel the air scratching at her face and the energy being siphoned out of her body by the passing eternities. Escape and defeat were both out of reach. She simply floated, disconnected and desperate. “Help me!” she cried into the abyss. The abyss didn’t respond. Then she saw it. A crystal-clear prismatic figure soaring out of the shadows. The figure grew closer and more apparent. “Dash?” Scootaloo squeaked, her voice a mere hiccup in the void. Rainbow Dash smiled and nodded. Scootaloo sighed in relief. She was safe now. Rainbow Dash was there. Everything was perfect. And then a roar pierced the silence. Thunder burst a hole in the blackness, and streaks of lightning shot across the sky, illuminating it like the sun. Rainbow Dash shattered into a hundred pieces, raining out across the darkness, smacking Scootaloo in the face and sending her somersaulting into the darkness. She fell... … and fell... … and fell... * * * Scootaloo shot up in bed, gasping for air, hooves tearing at the mane plastered against her face  Darkness surrounded her.She yelped and jumped out of her bed, landing awkwardly on the floor, slipping on her sweat-soaked hooves. For a minute she lay there, trying to keep her spooked mind at bay. The nightmare had been the same one she’d had the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that. She sat up and looked around, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. She noticed that she was staring right at her bedside table—specifically, the picture that rested atop it. She sighed and placed her hoof on top of the frame, debating whether to place it face down or not. The sight of it tore at her insides, yet she couldn’t help but smile.. There’s a chance... Scootaloo sighed and looked out her window. It was a beautiful night—a cloudless night. The perfect night for an adventure.She snuck over to her saddlebags, moving slowly as to not wake her father with a creaking floorboard. Layer by layer, she tossed out any useless items: textbooks, calculators, a ruler, and so on. By the time she was done, only Daring Do and the Phoenix Pool remained. Yawnining, Scootaloo stretched and walked over to her closet. Inside were some of the bare necessities--a sleeping bag, a canteen, a first aid kit and a compass among other things. Through diligent effort and a little bit of fabric-tearing, she was able to stuff the items into her saddlebags. She scooted under the strap and stood, lifting the bags with her. Or trying to. She could barely take two steps without breaking a sweat, her legs creaking and wobbling beneath her to the point of snapping. Maybe she should have packed lighter, but she could see a principle to it all.. If she wanted to get something, truly wanted to get something, she would have to work her feathers off—labor to the brink of death—to earn it.  She rolled her eyes. What a load of crap. Read a few pages of a book and boom! I’m an egghead. Still, as she found her balance, the words flowed through her body, carrying a sparking energy. Motivation. She took a deep breath and her legs steadied. Without the help of another pony the saddlebags couldn’t be tightened, but Scootaloo didn’t mind. As long as they remained on her back, they were tight enough. She still needed to grab a few more materials anyway. Then she’d be off. Right before she opened her door, she reached over and grabbed the picture of Rainbow Dash off her nightstand. It still made her smile--made her eyes burn. She had little space, but she could spare the room. Carefully moving her wing, she slipped the photo into the side pocket of her saddlebags. Then she grabbed Rainbow’s old flight goggles and slipped them over her head, letting them slide down around her neck. Scootaloo looked at herself in the mirror, smirking at the sight of her new necklace. Now this was jewelry she could handle Once she was certain that the photo was secure, and that the goggles were not too tight, she opened the door. She looked up and down the hallway, checking to see if the coast was clear. Finding no sign of life, Scootaloo tiphoofed out of her room and towards the stairs. Her father had fallen asleep at his workbench—an all too common occurrence in the weeks leading up to the Arts Faire. Normally, Scootaloo would have woken her father up—sleeping while slumped over a table wasn’t doing his back any favors—but waking him up was the one thing she did not want to do at the moment. His coin bag was laid out on the table, right next to a tipped-over bottle, probably tossed there carelessly when he had begun to work. It was so close, right in a hoof’s reach, yet she sat frozen. She needed the supplies, but… what would he say if he awoke? If he knew? How would he react to her grand scheme? Hugs? Scolding? There’d be tears either way. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The mere idea of taking her father’s bits filled her throat with bile, but If a stain on her soul would erase the pain--hers and so many others--then dirty hooves were the toll she’d have to pay. Sorry, Dad. Scootaloo carefully leaned over the table, mouth open and ready to grab the bag. She could feel her father’s breath on her face as he snored heavily. Eyes locked, lungs tightened like a vice, Scootaloo could feel droplets of sweat poking at her brow. All it would take was a single exhale, and her mane might brush against his muzzle. Centimeter by centimeter, she moved forward, heart racing a little bit faster with each movement. She could taste leather on her tongue and she eased her mouth shut, grasping the pouch between her incisors. Her forehoof tapped the bottle as she retreated. A small cling sounded, a canon blast in the night air. She froze, eyes fixed on her father. He stirred slightly, snorting obnoxiously, but his eyes remained shut. Within seconds, he returned to steady snoring. Scootaloo waited until she was out of the studio before she took a breath. She opened the bag and quietly sorted the bits on the kitchen table—coin by coin—and counted them. There were one hundred bits in total, so Scootaloo took fifty; only half of them should do. There were plenty left. It wouldn’t break them. She dumped the bits in her saddlebags, and placed the rest into the coin pouch. Scootaloo then tiphoofed over to the pantry and pulled out what little food she could fit into her saddlebag: some berries, a few apples, carrots, she was even able to fit a potato in. Any other food she needed she could get from a merchant or find it on her own. The path to the Phoenix Pool may have been off the beaten path, but it couldn’t be that desolate. She was bound to come across at least the occasional village or farmstead. Smiling in satisfaction, she pulled the drawstrings tight. The basics were all there. She was good to go. ‘Go.’ The word weighed heavier than the saddlebags as she slung them over her back once more. Was she really doing this? She shook the question away. Nopony ever earned anything by sitting still.  She crept out of the kitchen, and across the living room, stalling at the front door. The house was dark and quiet. It pushed in on her chest, suffocating her. How would he react? Again she shook the thoughts away, pushed as hard as she could. It would hurt, it would enrage him, but the journey would be worthwhile in the end. Right? “See you later,” she whispered in a voice that she could barely hear herself. “I love you, Dad.” Blinking away the tears that had welled up and drawing in one last breath--getting one last taste and smell of her home to keep her company on the road--she opened the door and walked out. Her scooter bowed and groaned beneath the bags’ weight, wheels digging into the muck. Looks like she was just going to have to hoof it.  By the end of the pathway to her home, her face was damp with sweat--certainly not tears--but she pulled in just enough energy to turn and waved goodbye to her house. She knew that nothing would see the wave, but she had to do it. She had to say goodbye. Then, with a loud sigh, she turned and marched away from her home. * * * An odd glow illuminated the headstones. It wasn’t frightening, but something about it made Scootaloo’s legs shake. She slowly moved around the weathered granite stones, eyes locked on the ground as to assure herself she wasn’t stepping on any memorial wreaths or stuffed animals. Numbness seeped into her hooves as she passed grave after grave. Death was one of the sad inevitabilities of life, and that made Ponyville Cemetery all the more discomforting. The idea that she could be talking to somepony one minute, then watch them take their last breath the next, twisted Scootaloo’s gut into tighter ribbons than it was already knotted in.The only solace she could find was that very few names were familiar, and most of those ponies had passed due to natural causes after a long, happy life. This peace was immediately erased by the unweathered, elaborately decorated grave at the top of the highest hill in the graveyard, nestled directly below a large oak tree. Objects of all sorts had been set out in front of the grave: flowers, photographs, a silver locket, a ratty copy of Daring Do and the Quest for the Sapphire Stone, a Wonderbolts pin. There was even one of Pinkie Pie’s famous quadruple-chocolate-chunk cupcakes leaning against the slab—although, due to birds, squirrels and the weather, it barely resembled a cupcake anymore. Just a wrapper. Hollow. Scootaloo sat down in front of the grave and stared directly at the rainbow lightning bolt that had been delicately painted on the front of it. Her breath shook. Her eyes did not burn; rather they froze. She placed a hoof on an earthy hump in the ground and atted the mound. “Sorry I haven’t been here yet, Rainbow.” Scootaloo paused, waiting for a response she knew wouldn’t come. The only sound on the hill were gusts of wind and crickets chirping amongst the neatly trimmed grass. She swallowed heavily before continuing, “I guess... I guess I have trouble facing the facts sometimes.” She chuckled to herself. “Although you probably already knew that.” For a brief moment she smiled. A chill breeze flattened it out. “Things have been a bit crazy. Everypony’s been acting really weird. I get it. I’ve been losing it for awhile now.,” Scootaloo mumbled, scratching the back of her head. “First… first mom, then you.” Her voice drifted off with another gust of wind. What the hay was someone supposed to talk about here? The weather? Their own selfish feelings? No answers came, just more wind. She sighed for what felt like the hundredth and kicked at the dirt. Maybe the sky would hold some answers. As expected, no solutions resided there either. Scootaloo bit her lip and picked ‘everyday life,’ and began to speak softly. “Uh... the weather patrol’s been pretty ineffective. I guess that’s to be expected. It’s hard to replace the... the greatest flier, well, ever. Rarity and Twilight have been closing up shop earlier and earlier. Applejack and Fluttershy have been steering clear of town altogether. Thank goodness Big Macintosh can carry a load into town on his own, because the Apples would be doomed without him. Kinda like how this town is doomed without you.” Scootaloo paused and tried to blink some heat back into her eyes. “No, that’s harsh. But, they really do seem broken beyond repair. Can’t say I blame ‘em. Pinkie’s still Pinkie though. A little bit on the fragile side, but she’s probably handling you being...  being gone better than anypony else.” Scootaloo chuckled. “Heh, the world could be ending and Pinkie Pie would still be trying to get everypony to smile.” Scootaloo paused and briefly glanced at the goggles draped around her neck, a heavy lump forming in her throat. “I uh… I hope you don’t mind. I don’t do them much justice, I know, but I’m working on it.” I can’t do this. Scootaloo rose to her hooves, turning from the grave and looking over the valley. She couldn’t force herself to talk to Rainbow like this. It was totally uncool. It made her look like she was giving in. No. No, this site was but a motel: a brief stop for Rainbow to rest her weary bones before she could burst free into awesomeness again. Scootaloo was sure that, in a few days, the grave would be unneeded—the items strewn before it, pointless—and Rainbow Dash would besoaring along as though nothing ever happened. She had faith, and that was enough. That had to be enough. “I’m going to fix this,” Scootaloo whispered, her words lost behind a sudden gust of wind. “I’ll get you back, and I'll fix this.” Without turning to look at the grave, Scootaloo began to make her way towards the exit. She’d have plenty of time to talk to Rainbow in the future. Words, apologies, and tears could all be spilt at another time, to a far more alive face. She pushed the iron gate open, flinching as the loud squeak rattled her ears. She dug her hooves into the ground, gaze darting to her left and right, finding nothing but empty paths. For now, she could breathe easy, but not too easy. Her father could awaken any minute and, after going up to her room to apologize or simply check on her, discover that her bed was empty. She needed to move. The coast was still clear. She cantered down the path. At a fork in the road, she reached into her saddlebags and pulled out Daring Do and the Phoenix Pool. She opened the book to the map, studying the page as best she could in the moonlight. A route through Canterlot was the quickest option, and also the easiest. She looked up at the Ponyville clock tower and noted that the time was eleven forty-five. A train—used mainly to transport ponies who worked the graveyard shift—departed from Ponyville’s train station every night at midnight. From what she had heard, it was usually near-empty. For once, she had luck on her side. Smiling, Scootaloo shoved the book back into her saddlebags and galloped towards the station. As she made her way into town, she stole a glance upwards. The skies were clear and the moon was bright. What a perfect night. A grin tugged at her lips. The great unknown beckoned her and she was all too eager to comply. But that could wait. For now, she had a train to catch. Scootaloo began to lower her gaze, halting when she caught a flash in the top corner of her eye. She craned her neck toward the vacant spot in the sky for a few seconds before shaking her head and continuing towards the train station. Still, the image kept sneaking into her mind. The image of a grey rainbow streaking across the sky.