//------------------------------// // Chapter Five // Story: Not All Who Wander Are Lost // by RazedRainbow //------------------------------// Chapter Five   – – – “Ah, Dr. Do.” Dean Gavel Bang lifted a hoof and motioned across his desk. “Please, I have a seat.”     Daring snorted, twisting a breath mint with her tongue. She hadn’t time to brush her mane or toss on one of her good dresses, so the least she could do was make sure her smile wouldn’t kill her employer. Though, on second thought, that didn’t sound like a bad idea. “I’ll take my chances. Wooden backs and me don’t get along.”     “As is the case with deadlines, I’m assuming?” The balding unicorn straightened a pen. As was often the case during her visits, all their tips pointed directly at her. “Midterm grades were due at noon today.”     “Must have slipped my mind.” She leaned against his bookshelf, nearly knocking over a snowglobe containing a cheap model of Mount Aris. It was nowhere close to accurate. One twitch of a feather, and Dean Gavel would be rid of the mistake for good. She’d be doing him a favor. She pulled her wings tight to her sides. “If this is going where I think it’s going, you do realize I have tenure, right?”     The dean cupped his hooves over his mouth, then let them fall flat on his desk. “Oh, yes, I have read your contract. Clearly more thoroughly than you have.” Daring rolled her eyes. Why did her bosses always have to be Law School grads?     “Yeah. Probably.” She glanced at the clock. Five past noon. She should be in bed. Between going over the languages of the book with Pallah and trying to get Pallah to focus and quit trying to flirt, she’d be up all night. Just like the night before. The letter would come right when I was getting comfortable.”     Gavel Banger groaned. “Dr. Do. I assure you I have not called you in to terminate you. However, missing a grading period is a strike. I take it you are a mare who watches baseball.”     Daring shrugged. “Season tickets to the University games. Good napping atmosphere.”     “Then you should understand me crystal clear. I understand that times have been tough for you, and you have my empathy, but all the professors must follow the rules.” He straightened his glasses. “You have until tomorrow at noon to send me the grades for you classes.”     Daring nodded and dismissed herself, waiting until the door closed before she allowed a chuckle to escape her lips. It wavered, her wings twitching at her side. There were no grades. Hay, she hadn’t held a lecture in weeks. She felt inside the front pocket of her coat. The notecard was still there, thank the stones. The library beckoned her. She could sleep when her father breathed once more. – – –   Stay awake... stay awake…  Scootaloo lay the book flat on her lap as she repeated the phrase, hoping that mere words would stimulate her drowsy mind. The book certainly wasn’t doing her any favors. Stay… Stay awake. Her eyelids drooped. “No!” Punching one foreleg did the trick, pulling her eyelids wide, but they began to slacken before the pain had faded.   Though her stop was a good half-hour or so from Ponyville, Scootaloo refused to fall asleep. Once she entered slumberland, it was nearly impossible to get her out. A weary chuckle escaped her as the memories of a school assembly flooded her. She couldn’t remember exactly what it was about—the words 'food' and 'nutrition' came to mind, but nothing specific. All she was certain of was that it had been boring as all get-out. She’d passed out almost immediately, and when she woke up, she found herself in an empty auditorium, moonbeams showering her through the skylight. Looking back at it now, it made her stomach ache even more. Nopony had tried to wake her? Maybe they had; she was just so out of it that any shakes fell upon numb withers. Yes, that had to be it. She yawned and stretched her forelegs above her head, the rough fabric of her seat brushing uncomfortably against her back. Although twelve bits could have bought her a seat in one of the more luxurious cars, she’d decided against it. Food and supplies were far from a guaranteed commodity the further north she went, and the higher-end cars were at the front, along with most of the staff. She was a filly, all by her lonesome, on a midnight train. If that didn’t raise suspicion, she didn’t know what did. How she had not been turned away at the ticket booth, she had no idea, and she would be damned if she got turned back now. The train hit another bump in the track, the sudden tremor nearly knocking her onto the floor. She nervously looked around as soon as she’d regained her balance, a blush heating her face. Even though she knew it wasn’t the case, she thought that she heard a mocking chortle. Luckily for Scootaloo, her fellow occupants in the passenger car were seats, windows, and open air. Still, she couldn’t help but be a little embarrassed by her lack of grace. Her nerves slowly settled and she lowered herself back into a relaxed position. Occasionally, she’d glance at the lonely seat beside her, a strange feeling building in her chest with each shifting gaze. It was a strange experience. She had only been on the train to Canterlot twice before, and both of those journeys had been filled with laughter, loud conversations, arguments over who got the window seat, and so on. Now, everything felt empty. No sounds, no ponies, nothing. As much of a slog as the book had become, Scootaloo had to stay awake, and so she opened Daring Do and the Phoenix Pool once again. It might have gotten a bit boring quite fast, but she had to push through. Valuable information might rest in the shortest of sentences. … Daring Do de... delft? Detlt? D... Dcvt? The train had long since left behind the street lights of Ponyville, and the lanterns in her car flickered at only half glow. Scootaloo squinted, rubbed her eyes, but the words bled together, forming solid black, unreadable lines. Muttering a curse, she reached to her right and shook the lantern that hung on the wall. She could see the fireflies in the glass—breathing, conscious and very much alive—but they refused to light their bulbs any brighter. “Come on,” she grumbled. “Come on!” Her animosity fell on deaf lightning bug ears. She flung the book back into her saddlebags. “Fine... have it your way...” Another heavy sigh escaped her lips as she slouched in her chair, forelegs crossed over her chest. She was bored out of her mind. She needed to do something to pass the hours. Reading wasn’t an option, and there were no ponies around for her to prank—not that she would do that. Pranking would only lead to her getting kicked off the train at the next stop. She slumped in her chair and rubbed her eyes. “So bored,” she mumbled. “Scootaloo...” She shot up and, gaze darting about the car. It was as empty as it had been seconds earlier. Scootaloo squinted and stared down the back entrance, expecting a horn or wing to poke out from behind a chair, or at the very least the echoes of hooves sneaking through the gangway. I know I heard someone... Scootaloo turned and glared down the front of the car. She was positive that someone had snuck up on her to play some stupid game, but there was nobody to be found. Grunting, Scootaloo lowered herself out of her seat, and slowly walked to the back of the car. “Show yourself!” she said, just below a yell, glancing down each row of seats. “I hear you! I know you’re there.” She paused just before she reached the last row of seats. There was no way that nobody was there. Like a cat after a mouse, Scootaloo crouched, then pounced. She rounded the corner of the seat with an accusing hoof outstretched, pointed directly at... Nothing. “What?” Scootaloo stuttered. She was positive that the culprit would be hiding right there. Perplexed, she turned to the door that connected the train cars. Maybe they’re hiding back here. She slid the door open and tiphoofed through the gangway—a difficult feat that resulted in her painfully bumping against the sides more than she’d like. Once she reached the other side of the shaking gangway, Scootaloo lifted herself up onto her hind legs and placed her forelegs on the windowsill for support. She peered into the next car. It was completely empty. No sign of anybody whatsoever. Grumbling, Scootaloo lowered herself from the window. She slid the door closed and placed her head against it with a heavy thunk. I’m hearing things... She shook her head and thumped it against the cold door. There had to have been something. She was not going crazy. She couldn’t be. Her mouth froze, solid and dry. She clenched her teeth, squinted her eyes, pushed back on the memories. Was this how she’d felt? “Scoots...” Scootaloo slammed a hind hoof into the door. “That does it!”. She turned and charged towards the front of the passenger car. “I’m going to mess you up so bad your mother won’t even recognize—huh?” The front of the passenger car was devoid of life, just as the back had been. Frantically, she dropped to her knees, peering underneath the seats. Finding nothing, she jumped to her hooves and glared through the window leading to the next car. Again, it was desolate. She lowered her head, tearing at her mane with her hooves as she ground her teeth to dust. I’m losing it... Scootaloo roared, punching the front wall. “This isn’t funny!” she screamed. Her voice echoed through the empty car, but there was no underlying giggling nor sound of hooves shuffling against the floor as they tried to sneak out. She was completely and totally alone. And something was calling her name. Scootaloo slowly walked back to her seat, mind and body numbed. I’m losing my mind, she repeated over and over again to herself. I’m losing my mind. She lifted herself back into her seat and slumped down with a sigh. No. No, she was just tired. She had gotten maybe an hour’s sleep in the last few days. A little shut-eye and she’d be good to go. Nerves satiated, Scootaloo placed her cheek against the back of the chair, and watched the scenery. The world outside was pristine. The night sky was cloudless, and the stars and moon shone as brightly as Scootaloo could ever remember. She had never realized how many stars made up the midnight sky, but now she found herself enthralled by them. She wanted to fly up there and swim amongst them, maybe even stopping to take the occasional nap on a passing comet. The dream shone as bright as the moon for a split-second before quickly fading. Her dream, as awesome as it sounded, was a lost cause. School might have never fallen high on her list of priorities, but she had paid enough attention to know that ponies don’t go to space—even Rainbow Dash had told her that flying into space was impossible. Scootaloo wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been speaking from experience. Even if ponies could fly through space, Scootaloo doubted she'd be one of them. She could barely hover in the air for more than five seconds. To fly thousands of meters into the air was a desire she doubted would ever be fulfilled. For years she had been trying to master flight, and for years it had evaded her. With Rainbow Dash’s lessons, she’d been getting better, but then... She shook the thought from her mind. In the distance, strange lights began to appear against the horizon, far more yellow than the stars that dotted the sky. Scootaloo lifted her window and stuck her head out of it, craning to get a better view . A large collection of lights hovered along the peak of the mountain. Tears sprung to Scootaloo’s eyes as the air whipped against her face. Soon, the shadowy outline of a large spire became apparent against the starry backdrop, smaller silhouettes quickly becoming clear nearby. The lights and shadows rose higher and higher, until Scootaloo the act of watching them sent electric jolts down her neck.. The train entered a tunnel, shooting a deafening burst of air into her ears. She pulled her head back inside. Pressing her forehead against the glass, Scootaloo angled her head until she caught sight of  a small blue circle at the end of the tunnel. She watched, mouth set in a dumb grin, as it grew to the size of a house. Right before the train exited the tunnel, Scootaloo stuck her head back up to the open window and yelled out. “Woo hoo hoo!” The echo of her voice, while nearly drowned out by the speeding train, caressed her ears and sent a chill down her spine. The feeling of the night air rustled her mane once more, sweet smelling and as cool as a winter’s nap. Above her, the stars sparkled and beckoned her. It was breathtaking. Lifting her forelegs out in front of her, she leaned back out the window. She pressed her hooves together and closed her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. It was just a feeling, nothing like she knew the real thing had to be, but if she pinched her eyelids tight enough she could almost smell the cirrus drifting below her. Static crackled through the train’s intercom. Scootaloo screamed, head shooting upward and bumping against the top of the window frame. Rubbing her throbbing skull and stiff neck, she glared up at the speaker in the roof of the passenger car as muffled words came out. “Now approaching: Canterlot Station.” Scootaloo replayed the voice in her head a few times. The voice she’d heard earlier had been raspy and deep. Smooth, even, despite some of its gravel. This voice was more high-pitched and rag out in a dozy monotone. The culprit remained at large. She yawned and looked out the window, questions burning in her mind. That voice. I know I’ve heard it somewhere. But where? The train’s whistle blew out in a shrill tone. Fields of stars an open valleys gave way to concrete, dim lantern light, and gaudy advertisements. The train slowed to a stop, covering  the platform with a thick veil of steam. Scootaloo squinted, but saw nobody walking amongst the vapor. She leaned back and smiled. No ponies meant no wasted minutes, and she liked to think that every second wasted lead to dire consequences. It kept her moving. She dared say it kept her alive. If somepony were to board—in her mind, she was picturing a hefty heiress to a cardboard box manufacturing plant—she would have to wait at least ten minutes for the hundreds-upon-thousands of suitcases and hat boxes and pet carriers and what have you to be loaded into the baggage car. Then she’d have to wait ten more minutes for the bulging beneficiary to inch up the steps and into their posh sleeper car. The train hissed and lurched, flinging Scootaloo out of her reverie. The train was out of the station before she could get her wits about her, and she soon found herself isolated once more. A cacophony of squeaks and rattles carried on—growing louder and more annoying with each passing bump—and Scootaloo bumped her head on the shaking glass more times than preferred. The sooner I get off this thing, the better. She snorted in and stretched. A fetid stench--like milk left in the sun to soak rotten eggs--snaked through her nostrils. Throwing her hooves over her muzzle, she gagged and blinked back tears.  Beside her, something chuckled in between ragged coughs. Every joint in Scootaloo’s body went stiff, and her blood ran cold. She glanced out the corner of her eye, her neck refusing to turn, and noticed a shadow falling on the chair beside her. No way. No freaking way. Her stomach and lungs curled into one another for shelter, and her breaths came out in metallic rasps. She was certain that nobody had entered the car in Canterlot, and she hadn’t heard either door slide open or shut. Is this the dude who was messing with me? Scootaloo asked herself, dredging her mind for clues. The math didn’t work out; that smell was something someone couldn’t just put a mask of cologne over. Her neck was fused tight while her mind raced. A little peek over her shoulder wouldn’t hurt, but at the same time…  The train bounced once again, and she quickly turned her head, deciding that the bumpy track would be a feasible excuse if the pony behind was not in the mood to be gawked at. Celestia knows I’d be embarrassed if I stank that bad. She prepared herself to come face to face with the incarnation of Tartarus. She didn’t prepare herself enough. The thing was directly across from her, its form a solid and shapeless mass of shadows. Its face was equally featureless. Black cheeks--she wasn’t sure how she could tell, but it seemed obvious--curved up and around a mouthless black head. A scentless smoke billowed out the top, forming mane-like wisps that floated and danced above its head, seemingly immune to gravity, breaking apart and reconnecting with a faint hiss.  What stuck out to Scootaloo—what made her heart crash against her ribcage like a jackhammer—were the eyes. They were a sickly shade of yellow. What little light there was in the train car reflected off the figure’s eyes with a blinding glow that rivaled the sun itself. She blinked. Black spots danced through the air but Scootaloo saw no pupils amongst them, nor any expression or movement from this creature. They were not of this world, and they were most certainly not what Scootaloo wanted to stare at. And yet she couldn’t look away. What the hay was this thing? Was it a figment? An apparition? Or was it an actual, living and breathing thing? Bizarre as that may be, there was always that possibility that this thing was actually there. Scootaloo allowed herself to take a breath, and her nostrils were once again filled with that unpleasant aroma. Cigar smoke had joined the mix, and she tasted the bile filling her mouth. The current flowing through her open window did nothing to cool her soaked brow. The thing continued to stare, unmoving and unbreathing. Just ignore it. Just ignore it. It’s not real. If you ignore it, it’ll go away. Her eyes betrayed her and darted over to the thing. It stared, head completely still despite the incessant rattling of the railcar. And Scootaloo stared back. Look away. It’s just your imagination! She roared to herself, trying to lift her hooves so she could grab her head and force it away. She remained paralyzed, her forelegs seemingly stitched to on the arms of the chair, and no amount of lecturing or sweating or swearing was lifting them. Move. Move you fu— A loud roar ripped through the railcar. Scootaloo recoiled backwards, throwing her now functioning forelegs over her face. Almost as soon as it had happened, the roar ceased--no echo or growl left in its wake--and Scootaloo fell back against the side of the car, sliding off her seat. The only sound was her breathing—the only feeling, her back bouncing against the wall as the train chugged along—yet she refused to lower the shield over her face. That thing was out there, possibly  looming over her at that very moment, waiting for her to open her eyes so she could watch it strike. Kill her, gobble her up, Scootaloo had no idea what it wanted, but the air was heavy with ill omens. The squealing hiss of the brakes suddenly sent her body rolling to the side. Instead of tossing out a leg for balance, she let her head thump against the back of the bench. The train came to a rest with a loud hiss, and Scootaloo could make out an intense glow against the inside of her eyelids. She grunted and lowered her forelegs, keeping her eyes firmly shut. Behind them, a battle raged. Don’t be such a coward! Suck it up! No. That thing... it— Don’t give me that crap! Are you really this weak? No, I— Then open your eyes and take this thing on! Scootaloo inched her lids open. The train was already rolling again by the time they were fully open. She faced the floor, then the ceiling, the shaking metal bars that made up the luggage racks garnering her attention. Better to stare at that than a beast straight out of tartarus. A voice in the back of her head told her to face forward; she shoved it away. It came back again. Stop being such a chicken! Again, she ignored it. “Scootaloo...” The voice slithered through her ears, down her spine, and pierced her heart. She clamped her eyes shut once more, leaning into the bench and curling into a ball. “Gutless...” Scootaloo shook her head. “No, I’m... I’m not...” “Scaredy cat...” “No, I’m not.” “Weak...” “No.” “Coward...” Scootaloo leapt up, nostrils flared and brow furrowed. “Shut up, shut up, shut—.” The passenger car was barren. She was completely alone. As she had been the entire time, hallucinations be damned. The train lurched suddenly, the familiar shriek of brakes filling the room. She leaned back, breathing still heavy and mind stuck in unease. What’s wrong with me? She found herself asking that question with each rattle of the car. The intercom crackled once more, though no words were spoken. Scootaloo’s ears perked up. What stop was she at anyway. They’d passed through Canterlot, and this was their… second stop? Her eyes grew wide as she ripped open her saddlebags and rummaged through the contents, eventually making contact with a hard book cover. With a grunt, she pulled it out—along with half of her supplies—and opened to the front cover. A folded up piece of paper rested beside the book’s map and she yanked it free of its binding, unfolding it and placing it beside the book. She had to squint to make out even the largest shape, and the names were little more than foreign squiggles, but she could still see the truth. Something was wrong. She moved her focus over to the rail map, cross referencing both maps. Crayon lines spread across the fold-out train map—a rough estimate of her route. Her eyes darted between the two maps, noting similar landmarks and curves. Her heart sank in her chest. The line on the book’s map curved to the north; the rail line began curving west. She had missed her stop. She was supposed to have hopped off at the first station after Canterlot. Not the second. Not the twentieth. The first. “Crap,” she muttered, hastily stuffing the book, map and whatever objects now littered the floor into her saddlebags. The whistle blew loud and shrill, and Scootaloo squeaked at an equal pitch when the train started to roll forward. Once she was sure that every last item was in her saddlebags, she flung them over her back—not even bothering to tighten them—and made a break for the exit. By the time she reached the door, the train was already out of the station and picking up speed. She considered jumping, but that was too risky. Getting to a distant mountain was hard enough with four working hooves. Judging by the endless line of trees and grass around her, nary a lantern in sight, a broken leg might be death out here. But, staying aboard the train would only take her farther from her destination, closer to major cities and a ruined chance to fix this stupid world. She glanced down at the ground before her. It seemed soft enough: grass as far as the eye could see, no obvious boulder or tree trunks—though with the thickness of the grass and lack of light it was difficult to tell. If she tucked and rolled, she might just make it out okay, but. No! She was talking crazy. This isn’t a comic book. A pony can’t just jump off a moving train and walk away. But she had little choice. She ran through a list of past scooter accident in her head--wincing as the phantoms each cut and bruise seemed to stung her once agian--and noted that she had walked away from all of them. Cuts and bruises, but no broken bones. No complications she could think of. Scootaloo closed her eyes and took a deep breath. You don’t learn to fly by sitting on your flank all day. You learn to fly by jumping off a cliff. “Here goes,” she whispered before leaping off the train. As her hooves left the safety of the floor, she felt a tug at her back and a sudden disappearance of weight. She turned her head and saw her saddlebags flying away from her, its contents spilling out over the side of the track. Son of a— She hit the ground back first and rolled through the grass awkwardly. A mud puddle greeted her when she finally stopped, and she quickly flipped over onto her back. For a while, she lay there, limbs askew and chest rising rapidly as she gasped for air, cursing herself for moving. She’d hit back first--if a broken leg wasn’t a death sentence, paralysis certainly would have been. A comet streaked through the vast, starry sky, but Scootaloo was too busy trying to regain her breath to care. The train whistle echoed through the valley like the song of a small bird. Scootaloo forced herself to sit up, though her back provided heavy resistance. She kicked one hind leg, then the other and let out a steadier breath. Wincing and trying to rub the pains out of her wings, she watched the train rapidly speed away, the lantern-lighted back window of the caboose shrinking from a volleyball sized orb to a golfball sized speck in a matter of seconds. That she had survived jumping off such a fast-moving object was a miracle, but her mind was more focused on what hadn’t survived her impromptu exit. She stood, groaning as her back fired off more lightning bolts of protest, and hobbled in the direction she’d seen her saddlebags fly. “They couldn’t have rolled too far,” she whispered, scanning the darkened weeds. “Should be right about... here!” She slammed her hoof onto a patch of vacant earth. She cantered a few yards to her right, and checked the area, finding nothing. The process was repeated for what felt like hours. “This is getting ridiculous,” Scootaloo muttered to herself as she paced up and down the side of the track. Had they gotten caught up in the wheels? No. No, she couldn’t think that way. They were around here somewhere. She  just needed some sunlight. As she searched for a place to rest, the sound of ripping paper suddenly greeted her. She looked down, lifting her foreleg slowly. On the ground was a familiar sheet of folded parchment. In the pale glow of the moon, she could see the word “Equestria” written on the top. She scooped it up in her mouth and took a few steps forward, coming across a blanket that had inconveniently landed in one of the many puddles that littered the field. Soon, she was coming across a new object with every step, and in a matter of minutes she had gathered all her items, including the saddlebags. For the most part, they were in good condition. Sure, the blanket was a little soggy, and there was a small crack on her compass, but those things could be ignored. The map, however... She tried to tape it together with bandages, but she couldn’t get the signs lined up right. Her hooves weren’t exactly the most precise or versatile, and to make matters worse, the wind had started to pick up. It wasn’t that strong, but it carried just the right amount of intensity to rustle the map and rip the pieces apart a little further with each gust. Scootaloo had tried using one of the rocks that lined the railroad track as a paperweight, but most of them were too large and simply got in the way. She reached into her saddlebags and pulled out her coin purse. They weren’t the heaviest things in the world, but maybe they’d keep the map steady while she patched it. Carefully, she extended her hoof, and began to turn the bag over. In such dim conditions, any bits she spilt would be lost until morning. Clickclickclick The sound of coin on rock and grass filled the air, igniting a hurricane of undiluted rage within Scootaloo. She bit her lip and counted to ten. It didn’t stop her anger, but it cooled her off just enough that she could scour the ground for her lost bits without being blinded. She kicked and pawed and scanned every single speck of dirt, but her bits were nowhere to be found. Groaning, she slammed a hoof down on the muddy ground, sending water and gunk flying into her face. A yelp escaped her lips as a few drops of the muck landed directly in her eye. “Great,” she mumbled, rubbing her burning eye with her foreleg. “Just great!” She ended with a scream, which reverberated through the wide open like a pebble in a cave.  Scootaloo had felt alone at many times in her life. Now she realized that she didn’t even know what ‘alone’ truly felt like. Canterlot was the farthest from Ponyville she’d ever ventured. While that could be considered a good ways away from Ponyville, at least she had been accompanied by somepony during those visits to Equestria’s capital. If she had walked to the edge of the gardens in the royal palace, she would still be able to see home. There she’d had a bed, food, shelter from the rain. This was different. She was alone and there were no familiar faces or places to be found. Nopony was there to hold her hoof. Though good samaritans willing to provide food and shelter for a filly such as her existed, there were no guarantees. She couldn’t walk into any village and expect someone to give her a warm bed and three square meals. No, she was on her own. What had she gotten herself into?  She trotted up to the track, looking up and down their darkened length. The train was long gone. The only whistling she could hear were the occasional pitchy tunes of a confused songbird and the static chirping of colonies of crickets. She mumbled and turned her attention down the track. A few hundred yards away was the station. It was as small stations could get. Only a single lantern lit its platform, and even from a distance she could see that there were no benches on the loading platform. The station itself was merely a small building, no bigger than a garden shed, surrounded by nothing. As she neared, it seemed to shrink and break apart even more. The sides of the station were unpainted, and the wooden walls were a model of degradation. There were so many cracks in the weathered boards that it was nearly impossible to tell where they connected. The roof was covered in holes and the windows were dusty. Scootaloo walked up to the building and peered through the window, but all she saw was a reflection of her own face. The platform itself was in no better shape. There seemed to be more holes than actual floor—pony-sized gaps surrounded by rotten plywood. A sign near the hanging lantern read “G-something-na” At least she thought it was a ‘G’. One of the faded letters looked like an ‘h’ or another ‘n.’ She supposed it didn’t matter. Her stop was supposed to be long before--miles away by this point. Scootaloo noticed an old newspaper rack near the edge of the platform, but decided to let it be. Considering the state of the station, the ratty newspapers in the rack were probably published before Princess Luna had been banished to the moon. Scootaloo cautiously trotted behind the station, stepping around countless papers, bottles, tiles, splintered boards with rusted nails sticking out of them, and brown globs that were surrounded by hundreds of buzzing flies. She hoped they weren’t what she thought they were, but considering the state of her location, it wouldn’t be surprising. After pushing her way through the brush that had accumulated near the back of the station, she came to the edge of a towering forest. Even in the dark she could tell that the trees were much much taller than any of the ones in the Everfree Forest. She observed the tree line closely, hoping that she’d catch sight of civilization. A lantern amongst the black. There had to be a town somewhere. Rail stations weren’t built in the middle of nowhere. Only darkness stared back. Groaning, she turned her attention back to the station. It seemed to be the only building, dilapidated or otherwise, in the area. As far as the moonlight stretched, she saw no shadowed rooftops, no lanterns hanging in shop doorways—not even the stumbling silhouette of a drunken pony making their way back from the local tavern. There was the station and nature and nothing else. She sighed and walked back to the derelict shed. A loud yawn rumbled her chest and she rubbed her numb face with a hoof. Movement was necessary, but getting some shut-eye tasted so, so much sweeter. It’d be easier to find her path in the daylight anyway. She wobbled up to the station door, and studied its state. The hinges were rusted and the latch hung lazily against the door. She pushed against it lightly, and it swung open. Scootaloo gave a blissful sigh and thanked Luna before tiphoofing into the musky station. The interior consisted of one room. A table and chair rested in the corner, faced directly towards the door. Beside it was a smaller table, covered with old papers and books. And against the back wall, barely visible amongst the shadows, was a sight that made Scootaloo grin from ear-to-ear: a bed! She threw off her saddlebags and practically bounced over to it, flopping down and sending a plethora of loud squeaks into the air. Scootaloo placed her forelegs behind her head and sighed contentedly. Normally, a foreign bed wouldn’t bring forth such relief, but these were far from normal times. A chill wind blew over her, sending chills through her body. Reluctantly, she rose from the bed, closed the door with a gentle nudge, and pulled her blanket out of her saddlebags. It was still damp and smelled of wet dog, but it would have to suffice for tonight. She fell forward onto the bed, burying her face in the mattress while giggling foalishly. Sleep... thank you... It didn’t take long for the excitement to wear off, however, and she soon found herself lying on her side, mud-covered blanket draped over her curled-up form. Those hollow feelings had returned, pressing down on her chest like a lead weight. She wanted to be able to be lulled to sleep by her father’s loud snoring. She wanted to hug her pillow close to her and fall asleep cradling it like a pet. She wanted to stay awake for hours, sending Marse code messages to Apple Bloom with her firefly lamp. All she could do now was curl up tighter and hope that the Sandmare was on her side tonight. Scootaloo closed her eyes and lay still. She started to hum an old lullaby to herself, one her mother had sung to her. The lyrics escaped her, but she remembered the tune. It was majestic and warm and... loving. Scootaloo kept humming despite the pressure building up in her chest. It subsided eventually, along with most feeling, and the cold tail of slumber coiled around her. In those final moments, as her hums died off, a few of the lines came to light. “Sleep tight, my angel in flight. Rest your wings,  Embrace the night. Close your eyes, my little dove I’ll stand watch Daughter I love.”