Celestia stared at the doctor, still trying to come to grips. “Feather Flu,” she repeated at some length.

“That’s right. Influenza. Nothing to be overly concerned about, at least not yet at this early stage. It looks to be in its fifth or sixth day. She could’ve picked it up anywhere, really.”

“We typically expect flu season to peak in February and tail off through the end of May. June infections are fairly unusual, but not unheard of. It’s all a matter of exposure. This year’s strain was particularly nasty, I’m sorry to say. Over half of Ponyville’s weather team was stricken with Feather Flu in an outbreak earlier this spring. It’s a wonder she didn’t come down with it then. I take it she didn’t get vaccinated?”

“She said she didn’t want anything when I saw her. Said medicine was ‘gross’ and ‘for foals.’ ”

The doctor nodded and snapped open his medicine bag. “I can provide a decongestant for her lungs and sinuses, and some ibuprofen for the pain. That’s the limit of what I can do, though. I’m afraid for all the advances of modern medicine, there’s still no substitute for the body’s own defenses. She needs lots of rest and plenty of fluids. These things generally clear up on their own.”

“One more thing. Feather Flu is notoriously contagious. I’ll continue to check up on her twice daily, but until she’s out of the woods, I recommend restricting access. That includes friends, guards, and attendants. With any luck, she’ll be over the hump in a week, and back on all cylinders again in ten to fourteen days.”

The doctor packed up his things and shuffled out. All the while, Luna’s piercing gaze never left Celestia.

Celestia let out a long, heavy breath that blew a lock of her hair out of place. “Par for the course,” she muttered.

Rainbow growled and lifted her eyes from her Daring Do book, feeling quite annoyed and full of wrath. She was queasy and clammy, she’d just finished reading the same paragraph for the tenth time and she still didn’t know what the heck it said, and she sure as hay wasn’t in the mood to talk to this bozo again.

“I SAID I’M FINE, YOU STUPID QUACK!” she raised her voice. “You can take your thermometer and SHOVE IT UP YOUR—”

Rainbow mouthed a silent curse. Snapping the book shut, she sprang out of bed and started doing wing-ups off the floor. “Eh-heh, just kidding! Come in!”

“Strength training! Can’t be all about the cardio, you know. Gotta keep the ole’ wing power up!”

“Ah,” said Celestia with a nod. Turning, she placed a pair of pill bottles on the nightstand. “I only wanted to bring you these medicines. The court physician recommended this one for your headache, and this one for—”

Rainbow flipped back onto her hooves, almost snarling. Celestia quirked an eyebrow at her.

“The Dash does not get sick. The Dash has not been sick. The Dash is a fortress of immunity.”

“Rainbow Dash does not get sick. Sickness is beneath the Dash. And so are doctors, and medicine, and—”

The last item in the list would forever remain a mystery, as her lungs chose that moment to erupt in a fit of coughs. She sank to her haunches, hacking into her hoof.

As Rainbow’s fit died down, her expression gradually turned to annoyance. “So what? Now you’re just gonna stand there and silently judge me? ‘Look at the miserable little pony hack up a lung two seconds after she just swore she wasn’t sick. Hil-larious!’ ”

“Aw, just get out of here! Who invited you in, anyway?” She picked up a shoe and threw it half-heartedly at the princess. It made it halfway across the room before it hit the floor.

There was a pained, downcast look in Celestia’s eyes as she mumbled an assent and excused herself. After she had gone, Rainbow collapsed back onto the bed, groaning and feeling awful.

As she lay there with her face buried in her pillow, that pained, downcast look lodged in her memory for a good long while.

“Stupid Celestia,” she said to no one in particular, her eyelids drooping as she drifted toward a fitful sleep. “Not sick… ’m not sick…”

Night, and she writhed under her sheets, rolling first one way and then the other, kicking her legs at phantoms. Her eyes flew in a frenzy beneath shuttered lids.

Rarity was falling, plummeting below her. She’d flown too close to the sun, and now her wings were burned to cinders, and now she was screaming, and now she was falling, falling, falling, and Rainbow reached out her hoof to grab her, but the distance between them was too great, she wasn’t fast enough, she wasn’t good enough.

Everypony was watching, and she wasn’t good enough. She could feel their eyes crawl over her like ants, could hear every note of Rarity’s terror shrieking in her ears, and she wasn’t good enough. It was just like before. All the times she’d tried and failed, all the things they’d written about her, all the laughing in her face and the whispering behind her back and the sad looks her daddy gave her sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking, and nothing was any different now than it was back then, she still wasn’t good enough.

Ten yards out. Close enough to see the tears streak down Rarity’s face as she flailed in the air, helpless—

A little farther, a little faster! It’s not too late. She’s RIGHT THERE! I can still reach her! Please! PLEASE!

THE MACH CONE FLARED AROUND HER LIKE A SILVER BULLET. She HOWLED in pain and turned her head to the side, tears slipping off in the wind as she SLAMMED into the pressure barrier. Her wings BURNED and her lungs BURNED and her dreams BURNED and it was just like before, it was just like before, she couldn’t keep up, the cone was tightening around her and she couldn’t keep up, the quivering tension about to snap her back and she couldn’t keep up—

The look in Rarity’s eyes, the pleading, mortal fear, oh Celestia, please, just a little faster, PLEASE! She could almost reach her, she was right there, she was still right there—

PLEASE! PLEASE, CELESTIA! She could ALMOST reach her—her hoof jabbed forward, desperate to make the grab—

She saw frost on the window, snow piling on the sill, and white wings, and smiling eyes, and gentle hooves that cradled her in the firelight, kept her safe and warm and promised she would never be alone—

The heat of the crackling hearth as those wonderful hooves rocked her softly, lovingly back and forth, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the entire world—the cold air lashing her face as she FOUGHT and FOUGHT against the mach cone, REACHING with EVERYTHING she had in her—the pressure barrier SHRIEKING in her ears, rising above the wind’s angry roar—a quiet voice whispering to her, promising her she was loved and wanted, making her feel safe, giving her peace, filling her with trust, singing her off to sleep with a lullaby, so gentle and so pure—

And now the other pony’s arms were wrapping around her, taking her away—and she reached out as far as she could, but her mommy was gone, wasn’t there anymore to love her, and sing to her, and keep her safe—and she cried out from the hole in her heart, and she reached out as far as she could, reached out for the soft hooves that rocked her and the quiet voice she trusted, but it was too late, her mommy was gone—

The mach cone pushed against her. Her reality shrank down to the fear on Rarity’s face and the deadly ground, shooting up.

She wasn’t good enough… She wasn’t good enough… SHE WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH SHE WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH SHE WASN’T

The air was crackling and shards of the silvery pressure barrier were bleeding around her, but the harder she pushed, the more it pushed back. It was too late. She couldn’t catch up.

Rarity hit the ground. Her body jerked, her neck snapped and twisted the wrong way around, her blood—

Rainbow jolted upright in bed, gasping in terror. Her body rewarded her for it by plunging a knife of pain into the back of her skull and sending her into a fit of coughs.

She rolled over onto her side, hacking into the crook of her hoof, feeling her headache worsen with each spasm of her lungs. When it was over, she swallowed the phlegm back down, groaned, and shut her eyes. The afternoon light lashed her face and murdered any hope of getting back to sleep.

She felt tears threatening, but she fought them back, trying as best she could to put the nightmare out of mind, the way she usually did. It was hard this time though. They usually weren’t that vivid.

She grabbed hold of a second pillow and clutched it to her chest like a life preserver. Slowly, her pulse came down. Her nerves settled.

“GYAH!” Rainbow squawked. She bolted upright again, her headache sinking its white-hot branding iron back into her brain.

As she sat there in something approaching total misery, her eyes gradually shifted into focus to reveal the young princess of the moon herself, seated in a cushy armchair opposite the bed. Rainbow groaned and braced herself for the ‘ha-ha-gotcha’ grin she knew by now to expect, but Luna’s look was inscrutable. A perfect poker face.

Rainbow lowered herself back into her pillows, her breathing fast and labored. “I hope you don’t do this often.”

“Here we go again with the mind games. You know, I never had a problem with ponies breaking into my house back in Ponyville.”

Off in the corner, Tank yawned, stretched, and raised his green, scaly head, blinking slowly.

“You really shouldn’t say such mean things about your beloved pet. It isn’t courteous,” Luna jokingly admonished her.

Rainbow laughed. It was a mistake. She was coughing and sputtering for the next two straight minutes. Once her respiratory system decided to fall back in line, she peered up at Luna through wary, weary eyes. “Tell me this isn’t another one of your pranks.”

“Good, because if I drag myself over to the window and see your stupid flag sticking out of my front lawn again, I’m gonna be super unimpressed. You did that one already.”

Rainbow didn’t bother to hide her scowl. “What are you even doing in here? I thought I was under quarantine or something. You know, ultra-contagious, no visitors allowed.”

“Well, isn’t that the most awesome thing ever?” Rainbow snarked. “So was it not a thing for ponies to knock before entering back when you were socialized a thousand years ago…? Or were you all so busy living in caves and rubbing sticks together to make fire, you didn’t figure there was any need for doors and door-related etiquette?”

“We only huddled in caves to save ourselves from extinction. We had doors, but we tended not to answer, because it was usually death who came knocking,” Luna answered dryly.

“Your banter. A million times better than before you came to Canterlot. I think this place is rubbing off on you.”

“I was gonna go with ‘creepy,’ but I decided it wouldn’t be courteous.”

Luna rolled her eyes. “I haven’t been sitting here watching you sleep. I only let myself in a few minutes ago. I did knock first, but you didn’t answer, as you were too busy suffering your terrible dream. I’m only here to check up on you because you didn’t let in the court physician earlier this morning, it’s past noon, and nopony’s seen you all day.”

No use trying to dodge the question anymore. Rainbow closed her eyes and sighed. “A while.”

Rainbow did some math in her head. “A long time, then. It was the start of May when I got this dumb thing—” She flicked her horn. “—and I guess the dreams started… I dunno, a week before then?”

The look on Rainbow’s face turned sour again. “Sunshine, lollipops, and ponies who know how to mind their own bucking business!”

Rainbow sputtered, her mouth flapped open and closed like a goldfish. She felt like kicking herself under the sheets.

“Listen. It isn’t uncommon for alicorns to yearn for their mothers approaching and during the hour of their Unity. Vivid dreams to that effect aren’t unknown either,” Luna said.

Luna seemed knowledgeable, even self-assured, but soon enough her face dissolved into doubt. “At least, I don’t think it is. I’m not certain. I don’t know if you realize what a strange case you are.”

“You do understand what happened to you was unprecedented, don’t you? Unity isn’t supposed to be such a painful ordeal. It’s meant to happen when an alicorn is an infant, when the bone of the skull is soft and the horn can emerge without resistance. It was never some kind of horrific torture like what you had to endure, at least as far as I understand it—because it doesn’t ever happen to full-grown ponies.”

“I can’t say for sure. I was still banished when you were born, of course, but as best I understand it, when you were a foal and your horn didn’t appear after weeks and weeks, Celestia summoned the most powerful archmages in the realm to scan you and see whether you had any alicorn magic in you. At the time, there wasn’t a drop to be found. I can only speculate the alicorn blood is so dilute in you, it caused your Unity to be postponed. It’s why my sister never realized you would have to go through all this someday when she…”

Luna trailed off. She pursed her lips, realizing she’d said too much. But her meaning came through to Rainbow Dash, crystal clear.

She felt her throat tighten. The burning sting of tears. A sniffle got out despite her best efforts. “S-Stupid stuffy nose,” she said, her voice thick.

An uncomfortable moment went by. Rainbow was sorely aware how uncool she looked. She tried to swallow her emotions. “So… You’re saying these dreams I’m having aren’t natural because… because what happened to me isn’t natural? It’s all just… biology gone haywire, or something?’

“Or maybe there’s something else causing you to suffer them. It could be there’s some part of you that can’t let go. Or can’t stop letting go.”

“Or maybe it’s both. Maybe there is some lingering residual effect from your Unity, and something psychological as well. I don’t know. I’m not an expert on these things.”

Luna nodded. She headed to the bedroom door, but stopped there and lingered, pausing to give Rainbow Dash one last sympathetic look.

Then she left. Rainbow tracked the sound of her hoofsteps as she went down the stairs and out of the house. No sooner did she hear the front door close than her head crashed into the pillow, her body surrendering to her aching muscles.

Rainbow Dash felt worse and worse as the hours ticked slowly, miserably by. Her cough deteriorated. Her breathing became shallow and ragged. Her headache kept up its relentless assault on her pain centers, to say nothing of the thousand other aches all throughout her body. By the time five o’clock rolled around, she couldn’t have done another wing-up if she tried.

He was a middle-aged stallion, smart-looking, all done-up fancy-like in a collared shirt and necktie, with the obligatory stethoscope hanging off his white coat. Having him here bothered Rainbow, but she wasn’t in any kind of position to put up a fight.

The doctor met her bleary, mistrustful eyes with his intelligent ones. “You can speak your mind if you want to. Whatever your feelings about us physicians are, we don’t bite. I promise.”

“You’re just… trying to trick me… so you can stick that stupid popsicle stick in my mouth and shine your stupid light down my throat.”

“I took a Hippocratic oath to do no such thing. Tactics like that would be a violation of medical ethics.”

Rainbow muttered something under her breath about a ‘hypocritic oath,’ but almost immediately, another fit of coughs exploded from her lungs and sent her into writhing convulsions. Pain, pain, and more pain mushroomed in her skull with every heave of her chest. At the end of thirty seconds, the attack subsided and left her trembling under the bedsheets, a sweat-faced, groaning mess.

The doctor hovered over her, concerned. “What is it that’s causing the cough? Does it come on its own?”

Rainbow opened her eyes and looked up at him bleakly. She motioned with her hoof, and he picked up the cup by her bedside and raised it to her lips. She spat another throatful of yellow phlegm into it.

“Yeah,” she answered. Her voice sounded raw. “Happens every now and then. And… if I breathe in too much.”

The doctor returned the cup to her nightstand, then retrieved a small notebook from his bag. For a while, the room was quiet. Just the sound of her ragged breathing, and the scratch of his quill against the parchment.

After a minute had gone by, he broke the silence and asked, without looking up, “So why is it you don’t like doctors?”

“Had a lotta bones set in my life. Fractures. Sprains. If somepony makes you feel a lot of pain, it’s natural to have a knee-jerk distrust for them after a while. I talked to Twilight about it once, a long time ago…”

A tormented look passed across her face like a fleeting shadow, there all at once and gone again in an instant.

The doctor seized the opportunity to jam a tongue depressor into her mouth and shine a flashlight down her throat. He was done in a moment, but that didn’t save Rainbow Dash form exploding into another fit of coughs.

“What the hay—” she wheezed in-between paroxysms, “happened to—your stupid—bucking oath?”

“You aren’t the first stubborn patient I’ve ever had to contend with. Lucky for you, I’m stubborner.” He helped her sit up in bed. “I did ask you to open your mouth and say, ‘ah.’ ”

As her coughing fit began to abate, he brought the cup to her lips again, and another sticky wad of throat-matter found its way in. Rainbow moaned pitifully and collapsed against her pillows.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “That’s the problem with this place. Everypony lies.”

He actually looked a smidge regretful. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I am. I don’t mean to abuse your trust, but you are my patient, and it’s my job to get you back on your hooves again. Take me at my word. I’m only looking out for your best interests.”

Another rasping, quill-scratching minute went by. Half of Rainbow was curious what he could be writing. The other half of her felt so terrible, she didn’t think she could bring herself to care about anything ever again.

Rainbow swore, but she did as he ordered, propping herself up in bed once more. A moment later, she felt the cold metal of the stethoscope press against her bare back, dead-center between her wings.

Her head hit the pillows again, and she fumbled for the blanket to keep the shivers at bay. The doctor helped pull the covers up around her and make sure she was tucked in.

Goddesses, this was the worst. It was like she was a helpless little foal. Maybe death would swoop in and save her from this embarrassment. Then again, she’d always hoped for a really awesome death, with samurai swords and zombies and explosions. This was the opposite of cool, the lamest possible way to go: death by slimy balls of snot.

Rainbow stared up at the ceiling through unfocused, half-lidded eyes. From the depths of her fevered mind, a sudden curiosity bubbled up.

“Yeah, yeah…” Rainbow’s brow wrinkled as she gathered her thoughts in a fog, trying to figure out how to best put her question to words. “What… What do you know about me?”

“No… No…” She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating harder to try to find the right words. “What do you know about me apart from that? Like… about my identity? Who I am?”

“I’ve spent practically the last month of my life cooped up in the palace. It… hasn’t been all great. And I’ve got… like… no idea what’s happening on the other side of the castle walls. But you must know something, right? You’ve got friends and family on the outside. You probably keep up with the papers. What do you know about me? What are other ponies saying?”

“I know your name’s Rainbow Dash. You had a hoof in defeating the tyrant, Nightmare Moon, and redeeming Princess Luna. My daughter and her husband were in Ponyville for the Summer Sun Celebration a year ago when the whole fiasco went down. After the tyrant was defeated, it was quite the celebration the kingdom threw for you and your friends, or so they say.”

“And I know that these days, you also go by the name Princess Aurora. That much is common knowledge among the guards and staff. It got out to the press ages ago.”

Rainbow gestured at her horn. “What about… this? How much do you know about this?”

“More than most others, I expect, being the court physician. Princess Celestia informed me of your ordeal when you first came to reside here at Canterlot Castle. Unity, she called it. Your doctors in Ponyville were kind enough to forward me the relevant medical records before they burned the original copies.”

“Next to nothing. The Crown has kept that information under wraps. But I can make an educated guess.”

“Enough of this line of questioning,” he said. “Thinking about these things isn’t going to help you get any better.”

Rainbow tilted her head meaningfully in the direction of the open window. Her lips curled upward in a funny-looking grin.

“You know, I did a few sonic rainbooms in the sky over Canterlot a few weeks ago. I… haven’t been super discreet. Lots of ponies must have noticed the horn when I was zooming up and down the avenues. What are they saying about me? What are they writing?”

The doctor stood up without answering and proceeded to rifle through his medicine bag. Rainbow watched him, perplexed.

“A patient’s emotional well-being is just as critical to her recovery as all things physical,” he answered vaguely.

“I’m afraid,” he cut her off, “it isn’t just Feather Flu. You’re also suffering from acute bronchitis. The airways in your lungs are inflamed. That’s what’s behind your cough. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for this sort of thing to develop from a respiratory infection like the one you’ve come down with.”

The doctor snapped his bag shut. When he turned back around to face her, there was an amber bottle in his hoof, with a mysterious-looking liquid sloshing around inside it. “The good news is that I’ve got some cough syrup here that’s going to alleviate some of the misery. Take one capful morning, noon, and night. One, and only one. Understood?”

He held out the bottle to her. When she reached to take it, he pulled it back again. “One capful.”

She snatched the bottle with a nasty look. When it became obvious he wasn’t about to let the issue go until he’d done his due diligence, she made a show of unscrewing the cap, measuring out the prescribed amount, and swigging it down in a single gulp. “There. Happy?”

The doctor nodded. “My other recommendations are unchanged. Lots of bedrest, fluids, and time. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning and check up on you again. And if you’d like somepony else to talk to about your concerns, I can bring it up with Princess Celestia, and she can—”

Twilight Sparkle and the guard captain boarded the train to Manehattan at a quarter past two, and it chugged its way out of Canterlot Station shortly after. Of the train, there wasn’t a lot to say. Of the trip, there was even less.

Tristar showed her to a private sleeping car, opening the door for her as she shuffled inside. “My personal lodgings,” he said. “It’s eighteen hours to the city. Make yourself comfortable.”

Twilight looked around the suite, finding it to be well-appointed. She turned a suspicious eye up at Tristar.

Twilight nodded. They exchanged a few more courtesies, and then she was grateful to see him leave.

The trip went by without incident. Hours passed, and she didn’t stray from the car, preferring to stay put and dig into the reading material she’d brought along for the ride. She cracked open the criminal dossier and flipped from page to page, committing to memory the photographs and biographies of each of the thirteen members of the Ascendancy.

But the longer she read, the more her mind began to wander, reflecting first on the mission yet to come—then, in due course, on her traveling companion; on Tristar. Her jaw clenched, adrenaline crashing in her veins as she replayed the earlier confrontation in her head. The way he’d dressed her down in his office, refusing to admit one iota of accountability for any of the things he’d done! Her anger flared.

Still fuming, she stuffed the intel back into the manila folder and pushed it to the side. She couldn’t concentrate on this right now. She needed to focus on something different.

A flash of her horn, and her travel bag flew open, a worn and weathered book floating out. Its gilt lettering glittered in the fading daylight as she took it in her hooves: A Brief History of Equestria, Part One.

It fell open naturally to Chapter Three, page 171, and she pored over it for the hundredth time, searching for any new information, anything at all she could use against the terrorists who’d hurt her brother. It wasn’t long before her mind began to wander down the same well-trod, vindictive paths as before. Her eyes flickered over each line, but her brain just couldn’t churn the words into meaning. The arrogant guard captain stuck in her craw.

The light in the cabin turned pinkish-orange as the sun began to set. It was behind the train and out of sight, but nonetheless, she cast her gaze out the heart-shaped window, savoring the view as the trees and hilltops were painted with the magnificent colors of dusk.

Back to the dossier she went, then back to the book, then back to the dossier, and so it went for a time until at last, she pushed back her chair and stood up, filled with frustration and annoyance and the need to know why. She barged through the door and headed up the train.

Two cars up, she found another sleeping cabin, though it wasn’t anywhere near as luxurious as the one she’d been provided. This one was crammed with narrow bunks, and there were no fewer than twelve guards clad in armor, fortified and fighting-ready. Her security detail for the trip, and they were understandably on high alert.

“Where’s Captain Tristar?” she demanded of one of them who looked to be the acting commander, a gray-coated stallion in regalia.

“Not here, Miss Sparkle,” he replied. “He’s taken wing. Gone up for a fly and a breath of air. He’ll be back by nightfall. Is there something I can help you with in the meantime?”

The countryside stretched beneath Tristar like a sea of ink. The sky above was its mirror, the moon and stars blotted out by onyx fields of clouds, jet-black and formless.

It didn’t matter. It was enough for him to be up off the ground, away from that suffocating, claustrophobic prison-on-rails. Back on top of the world, where he belonged.

He looped and rolled, and his muscles stretched pleasantly, all the piled-on stress of the last several days bleeding off the tips of his wings and the vanes of his feathers. These cross-country trips were getting to be a bit much. As grave a threat as the Ascendancy posed, he looked forward to the day when he could go home to more important things.

One last corkscrew, then he leveled out and began his descent toward the moving train.

Of all the things he expected to find on his return, Twilight Sparkle standing on top of the caboose was not one of them. But surprise, surprise, there she was. Waiting for him.

“We need to talk!” she yelled. The wind was deafening, and so was the clatter of the wheels on the rail joints.

Tristar landed a few yards away from her on the roof of the train. His lips drew into their usual scowl.

Right on cue, a circle of light burst from Twilight’s horn, rapidly expanding to envelop them both. There was a lurch, a blinding flash—and then they were suddenly someplace else.

Tristar leapt back into the air, wings firing, martial instincts kicking in. The train was gone. They were on a paved road. Two-story brick buildings on either side, with paint peeling off the doors. Some of the windows were boarded up.

A few flickering streetlamps. Not a lot of light, but enough to make out the words on the shingle-signs that hung from the nearest establishments. There was a union hall. A boarding house. Not another living soul in sight, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Concealing shadows were all around them. If anypony was out there lurking in the dark, they’d have no way of knowing.

Twilight seemed unconcerned by all this, but Tristar could barely contain his rage as he spun on her.

“Why, we’re in a charming industrial town someplace east of Neighton! I’m not sure what it’s called. I was sitting at the window when we went by it thirty minutes ago, and I thought it would make a lovely place for a visit. Surely you must have seen the lights from the air?”

“Relax. I can bring us back any time I feel like it. I’m Princess Celestia’s prized protégé, after all!”

Tristar would’ve kept up the fight, but he sensed the looming futility of it. He hung his head, defeated.

A familiar tingle in the back of Rainbow Dash’s throat yanked her from her reverie, made her sit up in bed so fast, she swore her brain must have bounced off her skull, her head was pounding so hard—her hoof fumbled blindly for the cup on the nightstand, but found the lamp instead, managed to smash right into it, sending it teetering, falling—it hit the floor the exact same instant the coughs came bursting out of her—

The coughs came and didn’t stop coming. A long, hacking string of coughs from deep inside her lungs, rough with the scrape of the phlegm in her throat and wet with the mucus that came sputtering up. She reached again for the cup and found it this time, brought it to her mouth, and spat the gunk into it.

She peered down in a detached way at the fresh layer of yellow ooze that had collected in the bottom of the cup. Then she put it down on the nightstand and collapsed back into her pillows, gasping and wheezing as her eyes fluttered shut. The chills picked that moment to come back on, and she drew her blankets tight around herself, quivering as she curled up into a little ball.

Rainbow would’ve thrown up her hooves in exasperation if she didn’t ache so much. “This is the worst,” she moaned.

She couldn’t go on like this. Staying awake was a nightmare, and there was no getting back to sleep so long as her cough continued to torment her like this. In a moment of desperation, her eyes fell upon the bottle of medicine the doctor had left by a her bedside.

She snatched it up, plucked off the lid, and chugged the whole contents down, her face scrunching at the hideous taste. Once she’d emptied it, she tossed away the container without a second thought and retreated, shivering, back underneath her covers.

The discarded bottle rolled off into a corner. If only she’d bothered to read the label, she might have known what she was in for.

Twilight racked her vocabulary for a fitting adjective as they rambled past another shuttered storefront.

No, that would be too judgmental. She was a guest in this place, which meant she oughtn’t think any impolite thoughts about it. Every city, town, and hamlet had its own unique and special charm. Sometimes, you just had to look a little harder to find it.

And besides, this place had its own architectural marvels. She cast a glance at the behemoth structure rising out of the distant hills, all crumbling masonry and twisted metalwork, gantries woven between the rusted-out blast furnaces overtop the corrugated roofs. More pipes than she could ever count, thick pipes, and slender pipes, and pipes so huge, they could double as obelisks, sloping skyward to meet the smokestacks and shot towers, which loomed gargantuan over all, silent as tombstones.

Twilight opened her mouth to ask Tristar a question. “How long do you think it’s been since—”

He hushed her, then took her by surprise, pulling her into a narrow alley they happened to be going past. Twilight struggled against him for a few seconds until her ears picked up the unmistakable sound of a group of colts coming down the road in the other direction. There were five of them, maybe six, all adolescents, laughing and shouting drunkenly to each other, egging each other on. As they jaunted on by the crevice they were hidden in, Twilight saw they were all earth ponies, not quite old enough to drink yet. Though that didn’t seem to be keeping them from passing a bottle back and forth.

They kept on going around a corner, and the sound of them faded into the distance. As soon as she was sure they’d gone, Twilight wrestled free of Tristar and fixed him with a livid glare.

Tristar stared at her. Then, with a grimace, he shook his head. “Naiveté isn’t a good look on you, Miss Sparkle.”

A few more minutes wandering, and they found a drab little hole-in-the-wall, the Wistful Spirits Tavern. It was… not the most reputable establishment Twilight had ever set hoof in, by appearances. But it was off the road and brightly lit, and that was enough for their purposes.

Tristar immediately made for the bar, but Twilight nudged him over to a corner booth. He snorted, but complied. They slid into the secluded nook, and a haggard-looking earth pony barmaid soon waddled over.

The barmaid stared at her. It was several awkward seconds before Twilight realized her mistake.

The earth pony nodded and lumbered behind the bar. Now it was Tristar’s turn to stare.

Tristar shook his head. When their drinks arrived a minute later, he took a good-sized swig, savoring the burn of the whiskey as it rolled down his throat. Only after he had the warm glow of the liquor inside him did he deign open up Pandora’s box:

“And I’m willing to bet you don’t like me much either,” Twilight said. “But you invited me to be a professional collaborator on this mission, and I respect that.”

“I want to know why you are the way you are. I want you to tell me why you have such a chip on your shoulder. About me, and about Rainbow Dash.”

“And I suppose if I say no, you’ll leave me to hitchhike the rest of the way to Manehattan,” the guard captain chuckled.

Tristar’s smile disappeared. “You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, you know. My opinions are my own.”

“Your opinions are your own. Your actions are conduct unbecoming an officer in Princess Celestia’s retinue.”

Tristar laughed darkly. “Why? Because I took certain measures to keep your little disappointment of a friend safe in Canterlot Castle on the eve of a terrorist attack? I shed my blood in Manehattan alongside your brother to keep innocent ponies safe. Don’t forget that.”

“ ‘The bastard child of an earth pony,’ ” Twilight echoed his words sourly.

“Do you really want to have this conversation? You aren’t going to like me any better at the end of it, you know.”

Tristar drained the rest of his whiskey in a single swill. He slammed the glass down and signaled the barmaid for another.

“That’s your answer?” Twilight scoffed. “That’s your explanation for all the awful things you’ve done?”

The barmaid delivered his second drink. Tristar sipped it leisurely and chose not to reply.

Twilight couldn’t wipe the disbelief off her face. A single laugh escaped her, mirthless and hollow. “Wow. What a fantastic friendship report this one’s going to make. ‘Dear Princess Celestia. Today, I learned some ponies are huge racists.’ ”

“A bit late in life to be learning that lesson,” Tristar said dryly. “Especially for a unicorn born and raised in Canterlot, of all places.”

The look on Tristar’s face was half smirk and half leer. “You know, it shouldn’t amaze me how oblivious some ponies are, but it always does. It’s usually the smart ones, too. Never fails. Folks like you, you’ve always got the biggest blind spot for the prejudice you grow up around.”

“You make it sound like I’m the bigot when you’re the one who just admitted you don’t like me because I’m a unicorn!”

“No, I dislike you because you’re an ignorant little girl who brings down her judgment like it’s a hammer of truth. It’s got nothing to do with you being a unicorn. I only dislike unicorns in general.”

“Why, then? Why do you generally dislike unicorns?” Twilight bristled. “And how am I ignorant?”

Tristar shoved his drink to the side. The animosity shooting back and forth between could have crackled in the air above the table.

“Fine. You’re ignorant because you grew up ignorant. You aren’t wise. You sure as hell don’t know how the world works. You don’t know a damn thing you didn’t read in a book. You’re a unicorn, born to other unicorns. You’ve never had the short end of the stick in life.”

“So what?! Who cares if I’m a unicorn?!” Twilight had to struggle to keep from shouting. “What difference does it make?”

“And what of it? Magic has done more to advance the quality of life for ponies than anything else in history!”

“Has it,” Tristar said dryly. “How convenient for you that magic should be the thread that holds up the world. Our society… Our technology… The sum of our progress over the past thousand years depends on it. It’s true! Magic is the engine that drives Equestria. And what a cruel, unhappy fate it is that it must fall to the unicorns to shoulder such a burden. That your kind should suffer the responsibility of pulling all the levers.”

“You being the smart, perceptive girl you are, I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your powers of observation how masterfully your unicorn brethren have capitalized on that unfortunate way of the world. While we pegasus ponies push clouds and the earth ponies play in the dirt, you unicorns have carved out quite a healthy slice of the pie for yourselves. As scholars and scientists, technologists and engineers. Artisans, craftsmen, and precision laborers beyond compare.”

Tristar’s lip turned up in a sneer. “Two days ago in Manehattan, I even saw a flyer for a pair of unicorn inventors pitching a fully-automated apple-picking and cider-squeezing machine. As if the world needed such a thing.”

“You’re wrong,” Twilight said adamantly. “The unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies put aside their differences a long time ago. We live together now, in peace and harmony.”

Twilight stared at him in horrified disbelief, as if he’d just voiced something obscene or sacrilegious.

“I’m one of the few pegasi who are. Even then, I’m only nobility on account of my bloodline. If I weren’t a direct descendant of Commander Hurricane and heir to the honors and decorations of his House, I wouldn’t be nearly so lucky. And what about you?”

“The bright, talented young Twilight Sparkle. Recipient of the finest education in this kingdom or any other, courtesy of Princess Celestia and her School for Gifted Unicorns.”

Twilight’s eyes blazed. “I worked for every SCRAP of my success. I EARNED my achievements.”

“How fortunate for you, then, that you were born with that horn atop your head! That you could be eligible for enrollment in such a prodigious institution! Last time I checked, Princess Celestia didn’t sponsor any schools for gifted pegasi or earth ponies.”

“Well, of course not! Pegasi and earth ponies have no affinity for magic. What would they even teach?”

Tristar sneered. “You’re a nasty little girl, you know that? Totally ignorant to all the doors of opportunity that have been opened to you on account of your privileged birth and upbringing. It’s depressing to think you and Shining Armor come from the same stock.”

“You really think you could’ve reached the same heights if you’d come into this world a pegasus? Imagine it! Twilight Sparkle, born with a pair of wings instead of a horn. Could you have hatched that dragon’s egg at your enrollment test? Been accepted to the same school? Gotten the same world-class education in magic, science, history? Risen to become the protégé of Princess Celestia? The Bearer of the Element of Magic? You think your life would’ve been anywhere near as plush?”

“Do you ever even THINK of such things? Do you think your little friend Rainbow Dash doesn’t?

“You have the AUDACITY—” He leveled an accusatory hoof. “—to claim the moral high ground. You point your guns at ME for being reprehensible because I’ve said a few unkind words to her. It’s true, I have! When you’re born a pegasus, you’re born with PRIDE, and NOTHING stings worse than having that pride ripped away from you. So maybe I did speak out of turn—but I’m not her friend. YOU have the GALL to be JEALOUS of her.”

“Even if I WERE jealous, I never swore an oath of duty. YOU did. And you’ve violated it COUNTLESS times over!”

“Write me up, then! I’ll wear your censure as a badge of honor! Why the hell should I listen to you? Arrogant little unicorn who’s never seen a day’s hardship in her life! You’ll NEVER know what disappointment feels like—not until you’ve seen the clouds roll in after the sky shatters into a miracle of colors, and listened to the silence that comes after the boom.”

The painting hung, as ever, above the mantle in Rainbow Dash’s home. It was an abstract composition: a playful depiction of a rainbow as it arced across the sapphire sky, brought to life in swooshing, vivid brushstrokes. At the center of the canvas, it crossed the line from day into night, plunging courageously into the darkness—but once it found itself there, it shrank and it shriveled, it spiraled in on itself, and it disappeared into nothingness.

A million different ponies could have looked at the painting and drawn a million different meanings from it. That’s the nature of art. When Celestia raised her eyes to it, all she felt was the inexorable creep of time, and the melancholy of missed chances. A swirling uselessness of should-haves and could-have-beens.

Tristar went back to his drink and pointedly didn’t answer. That didn’t stop Twilight’s brain from churning.

“The sonic rainboom… That’s why you resent her so much. That’s why she’s a disappointment. But why…? What’s that got to do with…?”

“If only you could understand. But you can’t. You aren’t a pegasus either, and even if you were, you’re too young to remember what it meant at the time. What an inspiration it was that one of our own—a little filly, even!—could accomplish something so monumental!”

“The press descended on Cloudsdale. Photographers were camped on every cumulus. Journalists from far and wide stalked the playgrounds for an interview. She talked big. The sonic rainboom was foal’s play. She could pull it off again, no problem. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Newspapers began to question the story. Why hadn’t she broken the sound barrier again? How could an elementary school filly have accomplished something so impossible in the first place? Sensationalism gave way to mockery and doubt. Cynics suggested it was all one big con job. That she must have enlisted a unicorn accomplice and staged the whole thing. Her failure was an embarrassment to all pegasi, everywhere.”

“She was a hotshot. She was cocky. Never knew when to stop running her mouth. It only made things worse for her. For all of us. Then, when the spotlight turned its back—that’s when she got reckless.”

“But Rainbow Dash HAS recreated the sonic rainboom. I was there, at the Best Young Flyer Competition,” Twilight pointed out.

“And what a great practical joke on our kind that turned out to be! Yes, she did finally pull it off again. A few months later, what happened?”

“She never was one of us to begin with,” Tristar corrected her. “Come to find out every yearning pegasus heart, every wide-eyed pegasus filly and colt who wanted to believe in her got played for a fool. The sonic rainboom, nothing more than alicorn hocus pocus. Our humiliation. Our punishment for dreaming we could ever be capable of it. We looked for a speck of hope, and we thought we’d found it. The audacity of us! It was never ours to aspire to in the first place.”

The rain came down like a thousand angry hooves beating their wrath against the lonely cloud house. The sky was dark and treacherous, the menacing storm swirling around the mountaintop, blotting out all sight of its lofty peak.

Celestia knocked on the bedroom door. As ever when she was about to come face-to-face with Rainbow Dash, there was a tempest of emotions roiling in her, every bit as potent as the weather raging outside. The worry intertwined with regret. The queasy dread of anticipation. She was never eager to walk back into the little alicorn’s line of fire, to have another row of holes blown in her heart.

There was no answer, so she knocked again, taking a deep breath as she sought a moment’s serenity in the sound of the rain; in the calm before whatever was about to follow. When there was still no reply, she let herself in.

It took Celestia’s eyes a second to adjust to the darkness. Rainbow Dash was passed out under a pile of blankets five layers thick, asleep in her bed, half-rasping and half-snoring. The sound of her labored breaths wasn’t at all comforting, but at least it meant she was getting some rest.

Celestia drifted to the bedside, as quiet as a mouse. Ever so gently, she laid a white hoof upon her forehead to feel her temperature. A grim expression fell across her face.

She wet a rag under the bathroom faucet, folded it neatly, and placed it on Rainbow’s head for comfort. Next, the blankets: slowly and carefully, she adjusted them, gathering up the ones that were about to slip off and spreading them back overtop the sleeping filly. She collected the tissues wherever they’d fallen onto the floor, discarding them in the wastebasket; and, bringing the wastebasket with her, along with the well-used cup from the nightstand, Celestia started on her way out the door.

“Sparkle seven duckies? Huh?” Rainbow lifted her head, blinking rapidly. The rag slid down and draped across her snout.

“S-Sorry. Don’t think m’brain was working right.” Rainbow swallowed, her sore throat causing her to flinch. “Um… Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” said Celestia with a strained smile. She levitated the rag off the end of Rainbow’s nose and set it aside. It was obvious she was uncomfortable as she lingered halfway through the open doorway. Rainbow hadn’t been awake to invite her in, after all. She wasn’t certain if she was welcome, whether she should stay or leave.

Setting the items down, Celestia returned to Rainbow’s bedside. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

Rainbow didn’t seem to hear her. She had picked up the rag and begun to fiddle with it. “Wha’s this?”

“Keep me cool?” An enormous grin spread across Rainbow’s face, as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Keep me COOL! Hahaha! Never needed help with that before! Hahahaha-kuh-KHAKH—”

A hacking string of coughs cut her laughter short. Celestia’s eyes flew wide as she helped the struggling girl sit up in bed, sputtering relentlessly. She ripped a tissue from its box and brought it to Rainbow’s mouth. In her momentary panic, she didn’t notice the stench of the alcohol on her breath.

After a minute, the coughing fit abated. Celestia gingerly took away her hoof, allowing Rainbow to melt into bedsheets.

“That, you are,” replied Celestia with a twinge of a smile. “I think your fortress of immunity may have sprung some leaks.”

“Y’know, ’s funny…” Rainbow’s words slurred together. “All the times I times I chewed out Thunderlane for taking too many sick days… but I don’t think I ever felt this bad before in my whole life. Have you ever just wanted to die?”

Celestia’s blood froze to hear that question. She wallowed for something—anything—to say. “I…”

A long silence went by. Rainbow lay still upon the bed, eyes closed, her chest barely rising with each shallow breath. When she finally spoke, the words fell out of her in a mumbled-out whisper.

Celestia forced herself to reply calmly, clamping down on her growing alarm. “What do you mean?”

Another long, long stretch of silence. Rainbow lay so quiet and deathly still, Celestia dared to imagine she had drifted off to sleep.

“I used to be a pegasus. It made me so proud. Made me proud to know others looked up to me… that I made other pegasi proud.” Her lips lifted with the wisp of a smile, gone as quick as it came.

“I used to have friends…” she rattled out. “Friends who cared about me, who’d be there no matter what. And now—”

She flinched and exploded in another fit of coughs. Celestia was there in an instant to help her sit up, to bring another tissue to her lips. Rainbow spat into it before settling back again, wheezing.

“Eleven,” Celestia answered without missing a beat. Her eyes stung. Her throat felt suddenly, indescribably tight.

“Eleven! Guess I had it easy… Applejack was even younger. We still talk about it sometimes, you know… or we used to. ’Specially around cider season. Always somethin’ to look forward to!”

Her mouth split open in a huge grin. She started to laugh. A voiceless, hissing laugh that wouldn’t quit.

“It’s so funny! All the nights I cried for my parents. Now I’ve finally got one again, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alone!”

“Stop. Please, stop.” The words were thin, almost mute. Celestia was weeping openly now.

Rainbow fell quiet. Only for a few seconds, but those seconds stretched to eternity and back again.

Rainbow’s voice seemed to come from far away now. As if dancing on the edge of a dream.

“I still remember stuff, y’know. I remember… I remember pegasus ponies spinning up above me. I would reach up and try and catch them, and they would go ’round and ’round, playing that song… D’you remember that? That was real… wasn’t it?”

“And I remember… I remember the snow. It was so white outside… so cold… but you were always there to keep me warm. And sometimes, you’d even sing to me… that lullaby…”

“I don’t… I… I’ve tried so many times to… to figure it out… You named me. Aurora… I still hear you call me it sometimes when you think I’m not around. I wasn’t nothing to you. So why? Why wasn’t I good enough…? Was it really just because… because I didn’t have… a horn…?”

Celestia couldn’t speak. She could shake her head no, but she couldn’t speak. Her world was too much anguish for words. Too much heaving sobs and shuddering breaths.

Rainbow’s voice was no more than a whisper now as she slipped further and further from consciousness. Her lips barely moved:

There was no refuge, no sturdy rock, no salvation Celestia could cling to that would spare this moment from engulfing her. Her shoulders shook. Her pain bled out and left desolation in its wake.

Rainbow’s chest rose and fell peacefully as she succumbed, mercifully, to sleep.

Luna lingered at the doorway to Celestia’s office, peering in. The lights were off. The fireplace, cold and forlorn.

Celestia stood at the window, bathed in the solitude of the night. Outside, the storm continued to rage, lashing the castle with rain and thunder.

Luna took a step inside. It wasn’t like her sister to dwell in darkness. Celestia was always so much warmth. So much radiant light.

Luna ran to her sister’s side and threw her hooves around her, wrapping her in a loving embrace. Celestia’s head buried in her shoulder. She cried. She cried so hard, it hurt.

Celestia only cried harder, the whole world crashing down around her. She felt Luna’s hooves give a squeeze, and she leaned into her, weeping uncontrollably.

“Tia! Please, talk to me!” Luna’s voice choked with emotion. She felt her eyes mist, her own tears beginning to threaten.

She had never seen Celestia break down like this, not once in all her years. Seen her cry, sure: lots of times when they were children, and after mother, and after father, and the tears fell freely when they were reunited in the aftermath of Nightmare Moon’s defeat. But not like this. Never like this. This was the weeping of a soul beyond hope.

“If I’d known—if I’d known, I never would’ve done it—if I’d known it would hurt this much—”

“L-Luna! What have I done? She’s broken! She’s broken inside, and I can’t help her! I’ve ruined her life! I’ve ruined EVERYTHING!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW! If I had known she would have to go through it, I never would’ve—n-never would’ve—”

She howled her anguish into Luna’s mane, a wailing scream that ripped from her like a shard of glass. Luna cried silently alongside her, rocking her with those midnight-blue hooves.

She cried like a well without a bottom. Like there was a tempest inside her, fighting to get out. She cried until her lungs shriveled in her ribcage and all she could do was gasp breathlessly.

Luna was with her the whole time to share her grief. And when her sister’s sobs quieted to whimpers, Luna was there to help her off the floor and over to a sofa.

“I love you, Tia. I’ll always love you.” Luna didn’t know what made her choose those words when it was clear her sister’s despair was centered on Rainbow Dash, but she said them all the same.

“It’s never been behind either of us.” Celestia managed a sorrowful laugh and the smallest of smiles. “Should I thank the Ascendancy for giving you back to me? If they hadn’t needed back their goddess…”

“Look at me. I’m the older sister. I’m supposed to be the one to comfort you, and here you are, turning the tables on me yet again. It’s true, though, no matter what you say. Driving others away, hurting the ones I love—it’s all I do… It’s all I’ve ever done…”

“All you’ve ever done is torture yourself over things in the past that you can’t change. What were you even doing in here all alone by yourself? You know you can come to me about anything!”

Celestia answered the question by levitating something off the windowsill—a little book with a sky-blue cover. It floated over to Luna, who plucked it out of the air and looked down at it curiously.

Rainbow Dash smiled up at her with that brash, confident grin of hers. Page after page of her. Photo after photo. Every gap-toothed school picture day. Every little league cloudball game. Pictures of Rainbow Dash blowing out the candles on her birthday cake jockeyed for position with snapshots of her tearing open presents on Hearth’s Warming Morning.

Luna’s mouth fell open. She had never seen Rainbow at so young an age, nor with hair quite so spiky. She looked up at Celestia in awe. “You’ve kept this all her life?”

On this page was a photograph of Rainbow Dash as a little foal, looking no older than four years old. It was Nightmare Night, and she was dressed as—what else?—a Wonderbolt.

There was an older-looking pegasus stallion accompanying her in the photo. Her adoptive father, Luna hazarded. He had a bright, jubilant smile on his face as he lifted her high in the air, supporting her on the end of his hoof. Rainbow’s arms and legs were outstretched, mimicking an actual Wonderbolt in flight. Her pink eyes shined as she grinned into the camera, holding a trick-or-treat bag between her teeth.

Luna turned the page. Here was one of Rainbow Dash with her mother. No special occasion: just a candid shot plucked from normal, everyday life. Rainbow was laughing, trying to push away her mom, who had her muzzle buried in her mane and appeared to be blowing a raspberry into her neck. They both looked so happy.

“Nova and Blaze were kind-hearted ponies. They never thought twice about sending doubles.”

Celestia looked away. “You haven’t realized yet… You haven’t realized what a curse this actually is. You were asleep for a thousand years… In some ways, it spared you a lot of pain.”

Celestia scrounged for the words to explain. “Time… slips by. And moments become precious. If the universe had been ordered differently… If a pony could rise from the ashes as easily as a phoenix, and my heart along with them… But no. Not everyone can live in eternal summer. That just isn’t the world we live in. I… I needed something, Luna. If I blinked, and missed it... then how could I ever forgive myself?”

Another turn of the page, and here were all three of them, smiling from the stands of a Wonderbolts show. Mom and Dad were sporting toothy grins, but Rainbow’s was biggest of all. She was leaping out of her seat, practically bursting with joy.

“I don’t know what to say. Nopony should have to bear this weight alone for so long a time.”

“I’ve been bearing this weight for a thousand years. Since the day you were taken away from me… I’ve never been brave enough to let another into my heart. I’m a coward, Luna.”

“I am. All my life, too afraid to open myself up again to the pain of loss… It was never hard to justify. These ponies make dying their life’s work. But what choices did I make because of it? Were any of them good?”

Luna flipped ahead in the book. No photographs on these pages. Instead, she saw news clippings taken from the kingdom’s various major daily publications. The articles were old, but the subject matter was all too familiar.

“Cloudsdale Filly First to Break Sound Barrier!” roared the headline on the Manehattan Times. “Sonic Rainboom Stuns and Delights!” shouted the Baltimare Herald. The story was much the same across the Tribune, the Sun, the Gazette. The press lavished praise, heaped accolade after accolade upon Rainbow Dash, who looked so incredibly young to Luna, her picture smiling out from the black-and-white newsprint, sometimes confidently, other times with clear apprehension. Reading between the lines, it was clear there was more at stake. Every rhapsodizing column and word of acclaim was laced with expectation.

Then, on the next page: “Boom Filly a Bust?” wondered one daily. “Cloudsdale’s Prodigy Falls Flat!” sniped another, set alongside a picture of a defeated-looking Rainbow Dash hobbling to her hooves after crashing into a field.

The Canterlot Sun was cruelest of all. The headline was smaller, as by this point the news had fallen off the front page. But it still made room to mock, in stinging block lettering: “Not Good Enough.”

The meteorological phenomenon observed in the skies from Canterlot as far east as Manehattan is once again without explanation as experts have pushed back on popular claims. Initial speculation in the aftermath of the event two months ago had purported the attainment of supersonic flight was the cause of the spectacle, but that theory has been widely challenged.

“A pegasus could not create a marvel like this, much less a pegasus foal,” supplied Dr. Gusty Gale, a renowned unicorn weather scientist and academician at Princess Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. “A pegasus is not physically capable of reaching such velocities.”

Asked his opinion on the cause of the phenomenon, Dr. Gale lent his voice to the growing chorus of experts asserting a mass deception, enabled not by pegasus wingpower, but rather unicorn illusion magic.

These allegations place Dr. Gale and fellow like-minded experts squarely on the opposite side of the controversy from the Crown, which has adamantly opposed the notion of unicorn involvement since it became embroiled in the dispute last week. An official spokespony for the Palace waded in, “We didn’t detect any unicorn magic over Cloudsdale. There was no unicorn magic over Cloudsdale. At this time, we see no reason to contradict the account as it was originally described in the press: that this was an amazing feat of athleticism on the part of one awesome pegasus filly.”

“You,” said Luna. “You’re too hard on yourself. You pretend like you waged a campaign of deliberate neglect. Like you never once cared! The evidence to the contrary has been in front of you this whole time. It’s right here, in black and white—and living color.”

She flipped to another photograph. This one showed Rainbow Dash in her element: darting through the sapphire sky, the vivid colors of her mane whipping around her in the headwind. Squeezing every drop there was to be gotten out of life and basking, as ever, under the warm and watchful glow of the sun.

“Oh? And after her parents died, when she wanted to strike out on her own. That inheritance that came her way—that little windfall that let her build that mansion of hers—that wasn’t you?”

“After my restoration, I dipped into the budget and reviewed the kingdom’s finances going back most of the past millennium. Did you really think you could sneak that one past me?”

A feeble smile wormed its way onto Celestia’s face. “Underestimating you is one thing I’ve never been guilty of.”

“Love is the most powerful emotion there is, sister. You cite the loss of me as the reason for your aversion to it, but you forget the opposite side of the same coin. The most important thing of all!”

“What’s damaged doesn’t always need to be. What’s frayed can still be mended. So long as there’s still breath in our lungs and life in our veins. You and I are proof enough of that.”

“Stop mourning your yesterdays,” she pressed the book into Celestia’s hooves, “and start living for your tomorrows.”

“It isn’t that easy, Luna. You don’t understand. To hear her talk… I don’t know if this is something I can fix. She’s lost her place in the world and everything she ever dreamed of. She’s lost everything.”

“I believe in you, Tia. I believe in your ability to make things right.” She smiled tenderly and cocooned Celestia in another gentle, loving hug.

Celestia nodded through her sniffles. Her sister’s hold on her loosened, and she took it as a cue to rise from the sofa.

Maybe Luna was right. Maybe there was a way forward, a path through this darkness. She didn’t know if she believed it, and she severely doubted her ability to make things better for Rainbow Dash, who was clearly hurting so much… But she owed it to her to try.

The window latch yielded to Celestia’s magic. The pane of glass swung open on its hinge, letting in the furious sound of the storm. Celestia glanced back at her sister from the opening, face etched with sadness.

“Tomorrow, I need you to find Twilight and bring her to me. It’s urgent that I speak with her.”

Once more, Celestia stood in the forlorn heart of Rainbow’s home, surrounded by the aching darkness.

She felt uncomfortable as she looked around the den. More than once, on her way back over, she had second-guessed herself, questioned her wisdom and her purpose. Of course, the room itself hadn’t changed in the scant hour since she’d been here. The shadows still crept from behind every pillar. The painting and its spiraling, moribund rainbow still hung upon the wall.

On a petite table next to the front door, there was a small, framed picture. The glass in it was broken, save for a few defiant shards that clung to the edges here and there. Inside it was an old black-and-white photo of a pegasus stallion and mare, whose kindhearted faces Celestia knew all too well. And at the bottom, one other pony: Rainbow Dash, in vivid color, cut out from a separate photo and pasted in-between them, so that the three of them could be together again, if only in remembrance.

Celestia glanced down at her sky-blue book of memories, brought with her from the castle. With a throb in her chest, she placed it on the tabletop next to the picture for Rainbow to find.

Her mission accomplished, she could have slipped out then and there, retired to her chambers for the rest of the night—but responsibility drove her back up the steps. She was already here. She ought to check on Rainbow Dash, to see how she was doing.

Once again, she stopped in front of the bedroom door. Took a moment to steel herself. Then, let herself in.

Rainbow was still passed out on the bed, her mouth hanging open. It didn’t look like she’d moved an inch. Her breathing, what there was of it, was shallow, almost imperceptible, with not even the usual rasps.

Nothing about the young girl’s appearance was encouraging, but it was the pallor of her face that really concerned her. She hadn’t been nearly so pale during her short-lived visit an hour ago, nor as silent, nor as still…

Ever so gently, Celestia laid a hoof upon the little alicorn’s forehead to take her temperature.

Her fever hadn’t been nearly so dire an hour ago, either. She was burning up, and likely suffering from acute dehydration.

Urgently, she gave the sleeping filly a shake. “Rainbow Dash. Rainbow Dash, can you wake up for me?”

Celestia’s mind flew as she weighed options. The rain was still coming down like jagged knives. Outside, lightning flashed, and another preternatural belt of thunder resounded off the mountaintop. Best course was to send for the doctor, get Rainbow Dash out of here and back over to the main keep, where he could tend to her. But flying there was out of the question. Rainbow’s frail constitution wouldn’t abide the gale. Teleporting, too, might cause a dangerous shock to her system, putting her in even worse straits.

Determined, Celestia marched over and threw open the bedroom window. The rain fell sideways into the room. The storm howled at her, screaming all its violent hate and anger in her face.

Back to Rainbow’s bedside, she went. She pushed back the blankets, nosed under the filly’s sprawled-out form, and lifted her gently onto her back. Rainbow’s hooves dangled as she lay there with her face buried in the softness of Celestia’s mane, but otherwise, she didn’t move. Didn’t react.

A glance through the bathroom door, and on went the faucet, filling the tub with lukewarm water. Celestia watched from afar as the bath slowly came up. In her ears, the shallow inhale-exhale of the unconscious girl’s breath. In her chest, a coiled-up mass of anxiety.

Now, the flutter of wings at the window. Celestia felt the first mote of tension dissolve, though there was still plenty more where that came from. “Philomena, thank goodness for you!”

The phoenix perched on the sill, shining bright. Her feathers were pristine, unscathed by the torrents of rain that were boiling off all around her. She gave a plaintive caw.

“I’m sorry to pull you away from your brood, but her fever’s taken a turn for the worse. Fly for the castle. Alert my sister. She’s to summon the court physician and return here with him as soon as she’s able. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to bring down her temperature.”

Not a moment’s hesitation. Philomena took off at once, a blazing orange lance in the darkness. Celestia closed the window to keep out the storm.

By now, the bath was nearly ready. She ambled over to it, still with Rainbow Dash draped across her back. Shucked her golden slippers and her vestments, and dipped in a hoof to test the warmth of it.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she shut off the tap. “I’ve got to bring that fever down. Please, have mercy on me for this.”

The moment was upon her. She spent another few seconds gnawing on her lip. Then, gently as she could, she levitated Rainbow Dash off her back and into the tepid water.

Rainbow didn’t stir from her reverie, but she instantly began to shake, her whole body erupting into shivers. A bullet of regret lodged in Celestia’s heart to have to watch her suffer. The water must still be too cold.

A golden aura lit up her horn as she poured her energy into the bath, raising the temperature by degrees. Slowly but surely, Rainbow’s shivering began to quell. She crumpled like a ragdoll, but Celestia was there to hold her, to keep her head above water and whisper reassurances in her ear.

There was a glass beside the sink where Rainbow Dash kept her toothbrush. Another glimmer of Celestia’s horn, and it whisked to her from across the room. She filled it at the tap and raised it to the filly’s parched lips.

Rainbow was unconscious, but she still had enough reflexes to swallow when Celestia tipped the cup. She gave a tiny, pitiful-sounding cough.

Celestia continued to provide her drink in this manner for a while longer. Once she felt satisfied that Rainbow had partaken enough, she began to drizzle the cooling water over her head and body.

That was probably for the best. It didn’t take much to imagine how embarrassed she would be if she were awake for this kind of treatment. How loudly she would protest, and all the venom she would hurl…

Her lips drew thin as she upended another cup onto the overheated girl. For an age, she didn’t say another word. So hung up was she on the shriveling, spiral-down trajectory of her own ill-fated choices. On her own swirling uselessness, should-haves, and could-have-beens.

But for the sloshing of the water and the fury of the storm still raging outside, the silence was deafening in Celestia’s ears. At long last, she broke it with a single gray laugh.

Again, she laid her hoof upon Rainbow’s brow. Her fever was still far from breaking, but her temperature had come down some—that much was apparent. It should have been a comforting sign.

Celestia couldn’t find it in herself to be leavened by it, so dark a place was she in. She brushed Rainbow’s wet and matted bangs away from her eyes, gazing down at her sadly. Her magic did the work to unstopper the drain.

“I should be better at a lot of things…” she mumbled. “It doesn’t make sense, I know. I can command conversations with heads of state, but whenever it comes to you, I stumble… I fall.”

She wrapped Rainbow in a towel and did her best to pat her dry. The little alicorn wasn’t a pretty sight: she was drenched; bedraggled; her body hung limp, her feathers askew and out of place, her mane knotted and snarled. As the air nipped at her damp coat, the shivers came back with a vengeance, plunging her into a new bout of misery.

They made the short journey back over to the bed, and Celestia set her down again among the rumpled blankets. For a moment, the goddess stood over her, lost in how gaunt she looked, and how pale, and how cold…

She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. It would be a violation. Already in her mind, she held the fully-formed image of Rainbow Dash lashing out, tearing her down for it, shattering her—the way it always ended up playing out.

But she also knew how badly it would hurt her to wake up in such a state, her coverts mussed, her pinions bent or broken…

How many times had it come to this? She only wanted to do what was right, and to do right by her. So many times, she had tried to do right! So many times, only to have the heart and soul ripped out of her.

Her mind drifted back a week, to the verbal and emotional thrashing Rainbow had given her in the fading light of the aviary garden. Her best hopes laid waste in her arrogance, in her ineptitude. The hurt and betrayal in Rainbow’s eyes… The burning anger…

The burning anger in Luna’s eyes, a thousand years before. Luna, screaming back and forth with her across the negotiating table. Luna, turning and walking out with her supporters in tow. Out of the castle… Out of her life…

Up onto the cloud bed, she climbed, and she lay down at Rainbow’s side. Her white wing folded over the shaking filly, blanketing her against the cold.

She looked down somberly, but with unmistakable fondness for the sleeping girl nestled at her side. The situation being what it was, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the scene a month ago at the outset of this journey. The days spent in hospital with Rainbow Dash tucked under the crook of her wing, recovering after the trauma of coming into her horn… Her naïve, selfish hope that her past sins might be forgiven…

The wind and rain continued to batter the house, and another peal of thunder echoed through the walls. Celestia was about as tired as she could ever remember being. By now, the doctor must be on his way, but how long it would take him to get here in a tempest like this was anypony’s guess.

A few minutes went by, and the warmth of her enveloping wing chased out the shivers. Rainbow relaxed into her side, snoozing quietly. For the first time in hours, she looked to be in something approaching restful sleep.

With a mirthless smile, she lowered her head to Rainbow’s wing and began coaxing the rumpled feathers back into place. She started at the top and worked her way down: the coverts first, then on to the medians, then finally the tertials, secondaries, and primaries. Her teeth closed around the tip of each untidy plume, straightening it and tucking it underneath its neighbor.

She worked slowly, methodically. In her ears, the steady rhythm of the rain and the slow, deepening sound of Rainbow’s breathing as she lulled off ever more and more. But in her mind’s eye…

She remembered her mother, and those wonderful occasions when her mother would gather her up in her hooves, hold her snugly, and preen her feathers, just as she now found herself doing now for Rainbow Dash. And how loved it made her feel. And how safe and secure, snuggled in her shielding embrace… in those perfect days, before the Nightmare came.

Celestia slowed, then stopped her ministrations altogether as the memories lapped at the banks of her mind. Her wing folded over again and pressed Rainbow protectively to her side.

She hesitated. For a brief instant, she imagined she might have seen Rainbow’s ears give a little flick, but no. It was only in her mind.

Her own ears pinned back. A terrible weariness bowed her head, and Celestia felt every one of her thousand-plus years weigh down upon her. Her heart twisted in her chest, but still, she continued:

“My mother, I lost when I was very young. Even younger than you were when your mother and father were taken from you.

“I don’t talk about it. Not with anyone. Not ever. In fact, I don’t think I’ve talked about it since the day it happened. But I watched my mother… die… right in front of me.

“I watched the roof rip off my home. I still remember looking up and seeing the clouds through the gaps in the beams. So dark… Darker than anything else I’ve ever seen. And my mother, pushing us into the cellar nook… Telling us to stay put, stay together, no matter what.

“Then the roof ripped off, and it was so loud… it was so loud… And she was there. My mother was right there in front of me, so close I could’ve reached out and touched her. Standing between it and us, screaming, begging for mercy. For it to take her in our stead. And then…

“I reached out for her… I reached out for her, and I screamed for her to come back, please, please, come back. I screamed, and I reached out my hoof… and I almost went out after her. But I remembered what she said, and I stayed put… If I’d gone out, I would’ve been killed too.

“That was the last time I saw my mother. There wasn’t even a body to bury… There never were bodies, in those days. She gave her life protecting us. My only comfort is that Luna was too young to remember any of it.”

“Or you would, if I only had the courage to talk to you while you were awake. You can’t hear any of this, can you?”

Rainbow lay still and didn’t move. Her eyes were shut, her breathing sonorous and deep. Celestia gave another chuckle, full of pity.

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” she mumbled weakly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so much.

“Whether you can hear me for not, I guess what I’m trying to say is—I know what it means to look up at the sky and wonder if your parents are looking back down on you. To fall asleep pouring so many emotions into your pillow, you wake up numb from the lack of them. To be willing to give anything—anything—to be with them again. And to have to go on without.

“I know what it means to be alone. I’ve been alone longer than anyone else in the whole, wide world. For almost my entire life… until you gave me back my sister a year ago. And I’m so, so sorry—”

“I’m sorry you had to suffer that loneliness! I wanted it to be different for you— I wanted you to be happy! But when your parents fell ill, I stayed away—not because I was afraid of scandal or what anyone else might think, but because of my own failure—because I was afraid of you!

“Afraid of losing you—afraid you would hate me for everything I’d done—for everything I hadn’t done, hadn’t been to you in life. I kept my distance, and because of it, I wasn’t there to hold you up when you needed anyone to believe in you—and I’m s-sorry for it! I’ll never be sorry enough!”

She tried to keep it bottled up inside her, but the emotions were overwhelming, years of shame and heartache clawing to get out. A few hitching whimpers slipped past her defenses.

“From the moment I gave you up, when you were a foal—the very reason I gave you up—I was only thinking of myself, and that’s the one thing a mother should never, ever be able to do!

“I let you down! I let my mother’s memory down! I let everyone down! It’s my fault! It’s… It’s always my fault, every time. But it was never yours!”

The tears rolled down against her will. They fell from her cheeks, staining the alabaster of her hooves a damp, forlorn gray. Through shimmering eyes and a cloud of despair, she gazed down at the little sky-blue filly nestled underneath her wing, so fragile and so frail.

“It was never your fault! It was never because you didn’t have magic! It was never because you didn’t have a horn! It was never because I was ashamed of you, or because you weren’t good enough!

“The greatest pony I ever knew wasn’t an alicorn, wasn’t a unicorn. He was a child of the sky, just as you were—just as a part of you ever shall be, no matter what. He wasn’t born with magic, but he brought the whole world light and hope. He taught me about devotion and sacrifice… He didn’t have magic, but I loved him more than life itself.

“And—when my father died, I cried over him until all the warmth and joy in the world went out of me. I cried over him for a thousand years—just as I will again someday, when… w-when you…”

Celestia broke down. Her grief was like an ocean washing over her as she swept Rainbow Dash up in her hooves, holding her tightly to her aching heart, frantically, desperately, as if she might disappear if she let go. Rainbow’s face buried in her chest, and Celestia’s in her little girl’s mane as she gently rocked her back and forth, gasping through her sobs and muffled cries.

At long last, Celestia managed to take control of her hitching breaths. Now she cradled Rainbow in her arms, her anguished eyes roving over her, taking in every detail of her countenance: the delicate lashes of her eyes, and the bold colors of her hair; the shallow rise and fall of her chest; the serenity on her face as she slept; her nose, her mouth, her ears…

Still sniffling, Celestia placed a tender kiss on her forehead. Then she hugged her again, and hugged her tight.

“I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…” she mumbled in a broken voice that seemed to come from far away. “So many millions look to me for guidance. My sun is the kindling for their hope, burning bright. They whisper my name in their prayers: ‘Celestia, please!’ But who does a goddess speak prayers to? Who does a goddess beg for forgiveness…?

“I know I’ll never be your mother. I gave up all rights to that privilege a long time ago. But I’ll never stop being proud of you! You’re so brave and devoted, and so, so smart! I know you don’t think you are, but you are! So many others would yearn to be in your place, but you above all of them have the wisdom to recognize this for the gilded cage, the poisoned chalice it actually is. I… I only wish it hadn’t been forced on you.

“And… even though you might never look on me as a mother, I s-swear, you will always, ALWAYS be in my heart! I will NEVER forsake you again! If I could change the past, I would—b-but all I can do is promise—for every second I wasn’t there, I’ll love you ten times more! I’ll move the sun and sky for you, if that’s what it takes!”

Her voice sounded raw. Every part of her felt raw. Celestia indeed seemed very aged then, no longer the elemental force of nature she so often projected. She was less the towering mountain and more the mountain worn down by time. Beaten by the elements, pummeled into submission.

Still, the sobs continued to wrack her. They were quieter now, fewer and farther between, but every bit as meaningful. She buried her face in Rainbow’s shoulder and nuzzled her tenderly. Her hoof stroked the hair on the back of the filly’s head. She wished she didn’t have to let go.

Regretfully, Celestia forced herself to lay the sleeping girl back down on the bed. Her lips placed one more gentle kiss on Rainbow’s brow, and then she drew away, her shoulders sagging.

Then, above the waning sounds of the storm, which was finally tapering off outside, the room filled with the haunting, ethereal notes of a lullaby:

Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry.
Go to sleep, my little baby.
When you wake, you shall have,
All the pretty little ponies.
Blacks and bays, dapples and grays,
All the pretty little ponies.

The song was already far from upbeat to begin with, but infused with Celestia’s unfathomable melancholy, that solemn melody took on an entirely new definition of sadness.

Not long after that, a thestral-drawn chariot pulled up in front of the cloud house, and Luna disembarked along with the doctor. Celestia met them at the front door, wearily explaining the state she had found Rainbow Dash in and everything she had done to provide remedy. The doctor thanked her and praised her for her timely intervention, then headed up the stairs to check on his patient.

Celestia would have liked to stay longer, but Luna was adamantly opposed to the idea, insisting she had done enough for one night, that it was important she get some rest. After some back-and-forth, Celestia relented. Luna ushered her onto the chariot, and minutes later, she was helping her sister into bed back at Canterlot Castle. The lunar goddess smiled reassuringly and encouraged her on a job well done before bidding goodnight… though Celestia didn’t miss the way she hovered at the door, nor the small, sad look she threw her before departing.

Her head hit the pillow. Even for how tired and worn down she was, she didn’t fall asleep for some time.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Captain Tristar led Twilight Sparkle out of the ramshackle little tavern, past the sagging eaves on the tinderbox homes. They slipped out of sight into an alleyway, and from there, Twilight used her magic to teleport them back onto the train bound for Manehattan.

The contingent of guards Twilight had encountered earlier was in a white panic when they reappeared in a flash of light, frantic at the disappearance of their captain and V.I.P. escort. Tristar was able to explain the situation and smooth things over, though Twilight’s ears flattened at the indignant look he paid her. So obsessed had she been with interrogating him, she hadn’t fully considered how their security detail would react when they both went missing.

In truth, she hadn’t considered a lot of things. As Twilight lay herself down to sleep, listening to the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the train as it sped on its way down the tracks, her mind was racing just as fast, pondering all the things he had said to her. The truths about herself laid bare.

Was that the reason for her—well, she might as well own up and admit it—her less-than-professional behavior, of late, vis-à-vis Rainbow Dash?

Thoughts, thoughts, and more thoughts swirled in her memory. Visions of short-tempered interactions and conversations gone wrong. Private moments of insecurity. A can of beans.

She sighed. Deep down inside, she felt stirrings of guilt. Sleep wouldn’t come for her, either, for quite some time.

Rainbow Dash, on the other hoof, slept peacefully for the first time in days. Hours later, when the dawn chorus of birdsong roused her, it was the first morning in a long line of miserable mornings that she hadn’t awakened to a guttural cough or a nightmare.

For a while, she just lay there, contemplating whether she felt well enough to get out of bed. She was still far from a hundred percent, but days spent cooped up had given her a nasty case of cabin fever. She unfurled her wings experimentally, and that’s when she noticed her feathers.

Every one of them was groomed to perfection. Days spent tossing and turning should have made an unmitigated disaster of them, but no: from base to tips, they had been perfectly aligned, worked over with more time and attention than most pegasi would have spent even on their own upkeep. They were so immaculate, they almost seemed to shine.

“Well, well, well! A trifle earlier than I’m used to seeing ye, lass! The sun’s not even up yet! Since when are you an early riser?”

The Caretaker straightened up from the soil bed he’d been preparing under a tall, broad-limbed oak. He brushed the dirt off his hooves. “Aye, well, I reckon ye’ve done enough of it lately. Feeling better?”

Rainbow had a complicated look on her face as she peered down at him from the branch she’d perched on. “Yes and no,” she answered cryptically.

“Come down here and help me with these azaleas. Now’s the perfect time to be replanting them. They like the shade.”

“Look, um… No offense, but I’m still off my game,” she said when he offered her a trowel. “I’m not up for anything strenuous.”

“Well, now that ye mention it, you are a… little hoarse,” he said, scratching his beard.

He winked at her playfully. “Gardening’s always made ye feel better in the past. But it’s up to you, of course.”

He offered her the trowel again, and she took it from him, levitating it easily in her pristine, white aura. Then, sinking to her knees, she began the task of scoring the root bulbs on the azaleas.

The Caretaker watched her in silence for a minute as she worked, moving with precision from one plant to the next. He gave an impressed whistle. “I say, but you are getting good at that.”

“Aye, that’s the problem with being sick. Any time the nose gets stuffed up, the mind’s sure to follow. Too much time to sit and stew. Here, you can move on from those azaleas. You’ve done good enough.”

Felt the Caretaker’s eyes on her as she climbed back to her hooves, wobbling unevenly. Her balance wasn’t quite up to par yet, and she had to spread her wings to right herself. Her companion likewise reached out a hoof to support her. “Steady, there, Dash.”

“Sitting and stewing. It’s all I’ve done since the day I woke up with this stupid horn, wondering why I… why I wasn’t…”

“No… That isn’t right. I’ve been doing it way longer than that. Here, you can have your dumb trowel back…”

She passed back the gardening tool, then fluttered weakly to a wooden bench under the boughs of the old oak. The Caretaker followed in short order and sat down beside her.

Rainbow huddled into herself, staring down at the ground. Her tail swished restlessly behind her.

There was no response from the aged pegasus beside her. His face was serene as he watched her silently, respectfully.

“Years and years, now,” she mumbled. “I’ve always had something to prove.”

“I used to think I had something to prove to everypony else, but… maybe, the whole time… I really had something to prove to myself.”

“And maybe… maybe I never needed to. Maybe the whole time, I really was good enough.”

“Good enough for myself,” she said firmly, looking up at him with the ghost of a smile. “And… for all the pretty little ponies.”

There was nothing more that needed to be said. Together, they supped on the tranquility of the East Garden, just listening to the gentle breeze and the morning song of the robins. Out across the glade, Rainbow gazed, past the gallant statue of the First King and the ivory majesty of her cloud house, its waterfalls streaming. Toward the horizon, where twilight was ebbing, and the first radiant colors of the dawn blended with the blues of Luna’s night to paint a masterpiece of light and vivid splendor.

Rainbow felt her heart squeeze again. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Celestia…”

“Well, that’s enough loafing! I really ought to get back to these azaleas.”

The Caretaker stopped after rising from the bench. He raised an eyebrow at Rainbow. “Thanked me? For what?”

“Uh, duh? For everything you’ve done? Everything you’ve been to me, ever since the day I came here? There’s been times I felt trapped… Times I felt lost… Times I didn’t know who to turn to. If it hadn’t been for you…”

“Think nothing of it!” he waved it off with a grin. Then, leaning forward, he spoke into her ear: “Truth is, you’re surrounded by ponies who care about ye. You just need the courage to open up and see it.”

“You know, lass, if gardening’s not to your liking, perhaps a bit of flying would do you some good? I know too well how ye look forward to it. Say… a quick jaunt to the castle and back, maybe?”

She stood up slowly, using the armrest of the bench to steady herself. Then, stowing her trepidation, she thanked him again and departed, wings bearing her out across the verdant meadow, off into the open sky.

Alicorn

by Aldea Donder

10. Once Upon a December