//------------------------------//
// 25 – On the Trailing Edge 
// Story: Five Score – A Prench Tale Vol.1 
// by Alsey 
//------------------------------//





Laurence's View



“What!? But we can't do that!”

I keep my attention on the bowl, and the cereal-laden spoon I'm precariously bringing to my mouth. Serves me right – should've taken my time eating in peace before dropping that one...

“The plan's to leave today Laurence,” Mél goes on, “that's what you told me!”

“And the plan has changed.”, I answer simply after swallowing.

“I have to be at work tomorrow, I can't just take another day off right out of the blue! And even then, you really think that they'll let you? It's exactly what you promised them not to do!”

“So what?”, I shrug, starting to get a little annoyed. “What are they going to do, call the cops on me? While I'm doing their job..?”

“No, it's dangerous!”, Dusky whines as he clutches my left leg.

“Hush now...”, I dismiss the colt for the moment, before fully facing my sister: “That Antoine guy said we don't have much support around here, so I doubt they will be able to mobilize quickly enough to help. As for getting back to Coursac, either they are able to send someone to retrieve us, eventually, or Dad could probably drive us there, so don't worry.”

“Will you please stop with this nonsense!?”, Mom cries out from her seat at the dinner table. “You are not going out there!”

I roll my eye. “Not in broad daylight, of course...”

“Not at all! If you really are in contact with the authorities we will warn them, they will take care of this, and that's that!”

“Oh I am going to call them.”, I reply, putting on a stern face to oppose her histrionics. “But I also have my own job to do.”

“And what would this entail, exactly..?”, Dad asks with a sigh.

“Making contact, and assuring myself they're safe until they can be extracted.”

“That's not your 'job'!!”, Mom screeches, throwing up her hands in obvious frustration.

“Yes it is.”, I counter, deadpan.

Am I needlessly confrontational? Probably... But I'm too tired to indulge her sterile ranting right now.

Not that it changes anything, of course:

“You can barely walk out of your own apartment without having a panic attack and you want me to accept that– that you have to act like some damn guerrilla fighter!?”

...

You want me to tell you that I don't have a choice, that's it..? That I'm just hoping that, if I keep to my mission, a Princess who can basically read my mind will maybe judge me worthy of giving me my life back?

“It's the pragmatic thing to do...”, I mutter instead, looking down at my bowl. I've lost my appetite.

“Oh none of that old jive again!”, she snaps back. “So going to the supermarket or calling your doctor is too damn difficult, but putting your very life in danger, it's just no trouble at all, is that it!?”

“I don't think it's 'easy' for her, by any stretch.”, Dad intervenes. “It's... something that she feels she has to do.”

“You're always finding excuses for her!”

“I don't like it any more than you do, but if it's really a task she's been entrusted with—”

“And I don't give a damn what some moon horse filled her head with, we are not letting her conduct a raid on the neighborhood!”

“Adèle, please, she never said anything like that, no need to make it sound so needlessly dramatic. We can find their number and call, or I could even just go knock on their door.”

“Don't encourage her!”

By that point it's just better to tune them out... Trying to talk to her won't change anything, not before she has time to mull it over. A more productive use of my brain cells right now would be to think about how I'm going to explain things to that Antoine. He's not going to be happy, but I believe he'll have the good sense of realizing what our priorities are. And if he can send help or arrange transport, all the better.

I barely hear Mél over our parents' quarrel: “You're really sure about this..?”, she whispers, her hand brushing against mine.

Honestly? I wish we could've followed our initial plan to the letter, but... I'm not taking the risk of losing any of these stupid ponies – not if I can help it. “Yes.”, I reply succinctly.

She nods, squeezing my hand in understanding and support. Thanks, big sister...

Dusky has stopped clinging to me by now. Glancing at him, I can't miss his thoroughly neutral expression – or, more accurately, the neutral mask he has put over his countenance, and what lays beyond...

Well you can be angry at me all you want, kid... One way or another, I still have a pony to meet.











Sweetchard's View



It feels good to spend some time outside for a change, especially when the weather's nice like this. There's that string of gray clouds near the horizon, but Luisard said they shouldn't reach us 'til the afternoon.

Ponies are working sedately in the fields and at the edge of the woods. Old man Vallières is walking around with Fenchone and Keensight, Pippin's 'master list' in hand – probably going over what new plants and seeds we have to buy, if we have the money for it. I'm not too surprised the two mares aren't wasting their time in the garage this morning...

Yet Crispy's still spending almost every waking moment with Violette and our 'handler', even though I doubt she has anything to do but listen to their constant back-and-forth... I guess they at least got this call from Rafale during breakfast to shake things up a little – apparently she just can't go anywhere without stumbling upon a new pony.

Eh... Another lost soul for the herd.

*sigh*

To think I believed this 'pony thing' would be a fun adventure at first... Spend some time as someone else, someone better, leave the problems to the side for the weekend, or maybe a week, or maybe a little longer – how long didn't seem that important. It felt like a change of pace, something different from the prison of my life, and that's all that mattered.

And now? Well... Things weren't that bad back then, huh..? It wasn't what I wanted for me, and it was rough at times, but I had a home, a mostly-stable job for once, friends, family...

Sarah had a life, even if it was a fake one.

Sweetchard's just a useless cripple surviving on the edge, a faulty cog in a community whose whole existence is already precarious at best, with no salvation in sight.

But at least the weather's nice...

“Sweetchard?”

I turn toward Rustcrust, who's standing just at the edge of the great oak's shadow. I didn't hear him, walking on the loose soil of gardens decimated by the blight.

He looks infuriatingly hopeful. Incredible how getting a cutie mark has changed a testy colt into the resident counselor... “What do you want, Rust?”

“Well at first I was thinking of something like 'I like sitting under this tree too', but we're a little past that, aren't we?”, he replies with a self-conscious smile.

I can't help but chuckle, and he takes it as unspoken consent to come closer, laying down on my left.

Minutes pass, and to my surprise, he doesn't try to make me talk. Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I find him simply... relaxing, I guess? Doesn't even seem to pay attention to anything in particular.

Perhaps he does just like sitting under the oak... But I'm not that stupid yet. It's a classic trick, waiting for the other person to cave to the urge of filling an uncomfortable silence.

Too bad for you lil' buddy, I'm one tough nut to crack – and I had ample opportunity to get used to silence these past few days!

And try to see it that way: as long as I keep my mouth shut, I'm a good deal less likely to act like a big insensitive jerk; so win-win, right?

Because seriously, what are you even trying to accomplish? I thought I'd made myself pretty clear last time.

Is it because of that cutie mark of yours? Like, you just can't help yourself, that's it? You see a damaged pony, and you just have to try to... What's your shtick again? Glass half-full and all that, huh? You're not about to get out of business any time soon, living here...

You really should count yourself lucky Rust, 'cause you're one of the very few to have a decent grasp of their own life. Don't have to wonder anymore, never have to try and fail ever again... That must feel great.

...

Yeah, I bet it does...

...

Dang it.

“What's it like, to have a purpose..?”, I can't help but ask. “To always be sure of what you wanna do, of what you're good at..?”

He has the gall to take his time pondering the question. “To be honest, I may have a good idea of what I want to do, most of the time I don't think I'm really doing it justice... I do try my best, but will that be enough..?”

“Of course it will, that's kind of the whole point of having a cutie mark!”, I retort. How dare you be unsure!? You got your mark and you know what it means, you should be set for life!

“I can only speak for myself obviously,” he cautions, “but I'm not sure it's so clear-cut... Yes, it's been like a confirmation, telling me 'yup, you're on the right tracks, go ahead and don't stop', you know? But thing is, it didn't come with some brand new and shiny 'special talent' – I'm the same pony I was two weeks ago, I just know a little more about myself.”

“Still... If you got this cutie mark it must mean you're good at it, or at least that it comes easier?”

“Well I can only hope that'll end up being the case... I mean, for me it certainly didn't come out of nowhere, I already wanted to go into psychology. But I flunked college, like, hard... I didn't have the commitment to study and stuff – or for anything else really. Then after changing it's like all my flaws are turned up to eleven – aggressive, and mean, all this very raw emotional stuff... In hindsight, I'd say I tried to look tough, mature, less oversensitive, but that's not easy when you get the energy of a foal, and... And I'm rambling, sorry...”

“It's okay.”, I shrug. “I get where you're coming from, trust me... And I hope you'll still be able to make the most of it.”

“Thanks... I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to be 'saddled' with your own cutie mark, as Perche put it – you all got me thinking more deeply about it, that's for sure. I believe that, in the end, patience is key. Someday, like me, you'll realize what you can do for others, how you can uniquely contribute, or even just what you'd really like to do, and it'll all become clear. Or clearer, at the very least. Like I said, it didn't just make all my problems go away... But that's not really your cutie mark that's bothering you on this fine morning, is it..?”

I wouldn't blame anypony for mistaking my groan for the rumble of the incoming storm.

“This isn't another 'intervention', I promise.”, he tries to reassure me... with very limited success. “I'm not here to magically solve your issues because, well, like I said, I can't.”

At least he's upfront...

“What I can do is support you, and suggest stuff to try, or just hear you out when you need somebody to talk to. To remind you that you're not alone, you know? And even if you prefer not talking to me, other ponies are ready to listen, too.”

He sounds so earnest, like last time... Is it how he does it, shaming ponies into complying with his little fantasy, for fear of hurting his feelings? I can't say it's not working... But it's not like I'm keeping to myself all the time, Luisard has my back, and—

“I mean,” he goes on, “I'm sure Pippin wouldn't mind for example.”

Wait what!? I bring the full magnitude of my glare on the colt: “Are you spying on me!?”

He flinches, and his legs tense up like he's ready to spring into a run if I make any sudden movement. “Uh, you're not exactly making a secret of it,” he stammers, “and she and I talk occasionally, that's all...”

And you really expect me to buy such a convenient excuse!? Though... He doesn't look like he's lying, and... Well, I guess it actually doesn't sound that far out either?

Gosh I really need to work on that temper... Sarah didn't have this kind of problem.

So I'll, uh, I'll humor him for now: “You're talking with her?”

“From time to time.”, he confirms, his confidence returning quickly. He doesn't volunteer more details, however.

“So that's it, I'm like your last achievement to unlock, or something?”, I scoff. Grim Gimp Chard, endgame boss of Rustcrust's Crazy Quest, huh..?

He rolls his eyes at the cynical jab. “Nah don't worry, you're far from being the only one. I just feel that you could really use the support right now.”

“Yeah well,” I grumble, “if you really want to help someone, there's a mare in that garage who's running herself ragged, trying to flee from her issues...”

“Did you try to talk to her..?”

“Of course! But she refuses, always avoiding the subject! It's so frustrating!”

“Gee, can't imagine how that must feel...”

This time my scowl doesn't do much. “Well can't you just go pester her instead of me?”

“Oh I tried, trust me, but she didn't want to talk before, and it hasn't changed. Fleur and Violette don't have much success either...”

'Before'..? “Wait, what about the other day then? You mean she only came to that meeting to translate?”

He nods. “She told me she wasn't ready, she only wanted to help Sassaflash. And sadly, she seems even less likely to open up now that she needs it most...”

...

Way to go Chard, just way to go..! Could've just stopped acting like a darn coward for a minute and went to her directly, but nooooo, you had to try being sneaky and hope she'd do it on her own, and what did that get you? Back to square minus one with her, making yourself look like an even more obnoxious jerk than usual, and now that colt on his mission to save you from your own stupidity!

Things just keep on getting better and better...

“With everything that's happening to the both of you,” he says, his voice gratingly gentle, “it's understandable that your relationship's going through a rough patch, but—”

“A 'rough patch'?”, I cut him off with a snort. “Sorry Rust, but I don't think you really get what you're talking about here. You may be on top of your game when it comes to self-help speeches, you're still just a colt...”

... And you should enjoy the hoofful of years you have left before you have to deal with this kind of thing. It never ends well...

“You do realize that like you, I've got twenty-five years of life experience stored in my brain, right?”, he replies, some of his frustration showing through the deadpan look. “It's been repackaged, so to speak, and sure it may've rewound the clock when it comes to hormones, emotional maturity, whatever, but I also went through my fair share of relationships and drama... So please, I'm really getting tired of this argument, and...”

Rust's ears perk and he stops mid-sentence, glancing at something behind me. I too pick up on the growing din of the car as it comes out the forest and I jump to my hooves. Everypony else turn their head to watch the unfamiliar vehicle slowly making its way through the farm's gate, and tension rises in the air – while I let myself relax a little. It's the car I was expecting.

“Who's that..?”, the colt asks as he stands by my side, probably picking up on my lack of worry.

Luisard alights next to us before I've a chance to answer. “Hey Chard, that's the one?”, the pegasus asks, still suspicious.

I nod. “That's her.”

“More humans...”, he mutters. “You're certain we can trust this one?”

“A good deal more than the one spouting empty promises all day long, that's for sure. I told you, Rafale wouldn't be alive without her, and she took risks hiding us.”

His answer is a noncommittal shrug. Come on man, if I tell you she's one of the good eggs, it's 'cause I have very good reasons...

“Oh that's the new doctor?”, Rustcrust chimes in, a smile returning to his snout. “I'm gonna tell them!”

He canters toward the farmhouse, and as soon as he's out of earshot, Luisard leans closer: “Don't let that foal mess with your head, he doesn't know what he's doing...”, he whispers. “You shouldn't have opened that door in the first place.”

I don't disagree, but that's a little harsh to paint it this way. “It still comes from a good place, I think.”

“Be that as it may, he's out of his depth, cutie mark or not. He should focus on ponies who would really benefit from his help, I could name more than one... But you and me,” he says, tapping my shoulder with a pinion, “we're tougher than that. We're survivors, we know how things really are, and we got each other's back.”

“Yeah, we do...”

... Even if I don't feel very tough these days...

The car parks in front of the farmstead, and we come a little closer, halfway between the oak and the house. A wary crowd forms quickly, including those who were working in the garage... but not Crispy, to my surprise. The passenger door opens first, and out comes a well-built Southeast Asian woman, her right arm in a sling. She's dressed in dark blue, and wait, that's the policewoman – Clémence, I think it is?

“Hey guys, I've missed you!”, she calls with a wide grin, waving with her good arm, and more than a few wave their hooves or cheer in return.

Her voice, tinged by that warm Southern accent, is definitely familiar. I don't remember everything, but I've been told she took part in my rescue and was injured in the process, so that'd check out.

Is it why my heart's beating so fast all of a sudden..?

“It's only been four days since last time...”, Fenchone confronts her, though she sounds more amused than truly critical. “Do you ever listen to what your doctor tells you?”

“What can I say, desk job's driving me up the wall, I need fresh air!”, Clémence argues. “And this nice lady needed an escort anyway.”

“I picked you up on the side of the road, if anything I'm the one escorting you, officer...”, the driver says as she finally leaves her car.

“Details!”, said officer protests in mock outrage, earning a couple snickers from the ponies around.

The driver gives a good look at the whole farm, frowning, and when she scans the crowd, her eyes quickly meet mine. Solange Prévost, the veterinarian who hid us from the Brigade, Crispy's friend... and, I hope, the one who will be able to make my mare see reason.

However, the smile that was just starting to form on her lips falls apart when she glances at my left side, her brow creasing even more than before.

She snaps back to Clémence: “Is this what you call an 'incident'?”

The policewoman blinks at being the target of Solange's intense glare, before looking my way. Her playful attitude turns far more grim then, and she simply nods.

Solange zeroes in on me, ignoring the Vallières and our handler and everypony else as she walks up to me, crouching down about two body lengths away – just as I was feeling the urge to take a step back. All these eyes are still turning to us, to me... but she's not saying anything, her hand half-raised in an aborted action. The concern's obvious on her face, yet the longer she stares, unsure, at a loss for words, the more I can see the underlying fear. I can guess pretty easily it's not fear for only my well-being.

“Crispy is... Well, it's just for what she called you.”, I try to reassure her. “She's okay.”

And I guessed right – she sighs in relief. That doesn't lessen any worry she may have for me, though: “Do you want me to take a look?”

Our regular doc may be rude, but I still believe he knows his stuff, and the less check-ups the better. “It's alright, Crispy comes first.”

She nods, a little reluctantly. “We'll talk later, then.” Her gaze briefly shifts to my right as she rises, where Luisard's standing. Probably wondering about his own leg... but she doesn't inquire, not yet. Instead she goes back toward the Vallières couple to apologize and greet them properly, proceeds to do the same with all the ponies extending a friendly welcome...

And then she turns to our handler, Violette's human beau.

“You are the one in charge of this whole operation, correct?”, she asks, Arctic coldness in her voice and smoldering fury in her eyes.

The ponies closest to them wisely decide to make themselves scarce, except for Violette herself, who stands almost protectively at the man's side. For his part, he weathers it all like the slimy politician he is: “After a fashion, yes. Antoine de Cerdan, pleased to meet you, Mrs. Prévost, and thank you for coming on such short notice.”

She clutches his outstretched hand, and I get some satisfaction seeing his barely-restrained wince from the vet's iron grip. “I can see we will have much to discuss later on, Mr. de Cerdan, but you'll have to excuse me for the time being. Where's my patient?”

“Of course, of course; she's resting inside.”

Solange doesn't waste another second with him and enters the garage. During the tense exchange, the policewoman has circled the crowd and is now strolling toward us. At first she seems to focus on me, but then she sees Luisard... who for some reason is, uh, backing off and trying to hide behind me?

“Hey, Sam, right? How's it going?”, she greets him anyway. He doesn't answer, looking at anything but her, feathers rustling. I know he's not a big fan of humans in general, but why so sullen?

Before I can even attempt to mediate or at least ask him about it, he takes wing and dashes around the oak and to the other side of the barn, out of view. The woman isn't as shocked as I am, more like disappointed. “He, uh, he goes by Luisard now.”, I tell her, not really sure what to say.

“Noted...”, she sighs, walking even closer to me. I get the feeling she was kinda expecting this turn of events. “So, the new doc's a friend of you and your group?”

“Yes, she's—”

I almost fail to suppress a yelp – it's like glass shards writhing in my leg!

The woman speaks but I can't hear, she reaches for me and—

Heart's hammering in my chest, can't shake the stench of blood filling my nose, and– and..!

STOP!!

STOOOOOP!!

Everything becomes a blur of pain and screams– pain pain more pain– bone cracks rattling me whole– can't breathe– can't move– grip and tear and cold so cold—

... And then I'm brought back to my senses, feeling my rump against the ground, and the presence of ponies right next to me. It all faded as if it never happened.

No more hands holding me down...

No more blood...

No more piercing shriek...

Just the soil under my forehooves, the breeze in my mane, the mad rush of blood in my own ears the only thing I can hear... I breathe in deeply, and smell the farm's clean air, and familiar scents.

Opening the eyes I didn't remember closing, and blinking the moisture away, I see Rustcrust and Fleur at my side. Worried, but cautious as if I were some kind of ticking bomb. The policewoman is back near the car, looking hurt and sad. Everypony else is watching too, silent but with more concern and sorrow on all their faces...

Gosh what did just happen? And why!? Nightmares aren't supposed to happen when you're wide awake!

But it's over now, everything's fine..! Nothing more to see here, you can all stop looking at me like that!

The awkward silence is broken by Solange as she exits the garage, but she must be too focused on getting to her car to pick up on it immediately. It's only once she has pulled out what looks like a bulky gray laptop that she turns in my direction. “Sweetchard, you're coming?”

Coming? To see Crispy? Yes oh yes, I wouldn't want anything more in the world!! Now she's clearly noticing that something's amiss, but no way I'm giving her a chance to reconsider that invitation! “Yes, of course!”

I quickly stagger up to her – or I would have if Rust wasn't trying to cut me off! He plants his hooves firmly on the ground, ears drawn back and copper eyes wide with worry: “This isn't normal Sweetchard, you can't act as if nothing happened!”

Not now!! “I don't care, Rust!”

I go around him but he persists, jumping back in front of me! “Look, you're still shaking! Do you even know what triggered you?”

Will you leave me alone, you little runt!? I move to swat him away but it's enough to make me stumble, and I barely avoid getting a faceful of dirt..! And to top it all off when I look up it's to find ponies surrounding us!

Because of buckin' course Bilberry and Violette would choose this moment to drop all pretense and come rub in my face just how much they pity me! And you Fleur, you think I'm blind!? You and Sassie can judge me all you want, I'm doing my best to support Crispy – something you're clearly not doing a good enough job at!

It's not just the usual suspects this time either, even Sèlengrain and Alex are joining in! Come on guys, I'm not going to hurt Rust! I'd never do that, you can stop watching me as if I was about to bite his head off!

And you, you, Rust!! This is all your fault, your fault for trying to dig up things that are better left dead and buried!! You think that a little chit-chat will somehow make anything any less worse than it is!? That suddenly Crispy won't hate my guts!? That it'll make me whole again!? That the nightmares will stop!?

What now, it wasn't enough, you need all your little friends to join too, it's a special anti-Chard rally of the Cartoon Club!?

D– don't you dare hug me!! They're all closing in, and I—

Don't you—

...

Dang it..!

A whirl of warm touches, of comforting scents, of half-heard words whispered in soothing tones... None from the pony I need most, but it'd still be so easy to lose myself in that.

Maybe I did. I can't say how long it's been going. I try to get away as soon as I'm not shaking like a leaf, but only the adults let go at first. They have to help me untangle the foals.

Only Rust's left, and... Okay this one's on me, he can't really pull back if I don't stop holding him. Yet, even standing apart, his eyes are still locked on mine. Again with the concern, the sorrow – but beyond all that, absolute, unrelenting conviction.

It's his calling. He won't give up.

He won't give up on me.

I...

No, no, no, you... You shouldn't waste your energy on me, I... Look, I've stopped shaking, and my pulse is almost back to normal, I'm okay, I...

Of course I'm not okay..! But I don't deserve to be, not by a long shot – not after all I've done, all I haven't done, and...

And I just want to see Crispy, that's all I want, I...

“I promise I'll talk to someone, alright? J– just let me get to her for now, please..!”, I plead, the words struggling to get out of my sore throat.

It's not Rust who answers but Fenchone; when did she get so close? “Alright, Chard. But let's be clear,” she says, dead serious, “I also expect you to keep your word. We all gave you a chance to sort this out on your own terms, and it's clearly not working. Spend some time with Crispy and your friend for now, but after that things must change. Got it?”

“Yes, yes!”, I manage to blurt out before it turns into a hack – I don't care right now, I just want to see her..!

Hooves help me get back up, even if I don't remember sitting in the first place. The circle of ponies breaks up, giving me a clear path to the garage. Solange isn't here anymore. I hobble as quickly as I can, fleeing from my friends and all the gazes I can still feel on my back.

I slip through the half-opened doors. There she is, laying down on her right side over a bunch of mats, those we use as seats when we eat here. Her mane's a mess, the fur under her eyes is matted by drying tears, and she just looks so, so tired... Maybe that's why she's also a lot calmer, or, more likely, it's the simple presence of Solange. The vet has her back to me, bent over Crispy and her laptop-thingy. From the glimpses I get of what's happening of the screen, it must actually be some kind of portable ultrasound machine.

Crispy's ears twitch as I inch closer, and her vacant stare focuses on me. “Chard..?”, she croaks, blinking like she's not sure her eyes work right.

“Hey.”, I answer lamely, sitting on a stray cushion – too far from her to my liking, but the closest I dare to chance for now. “You okay?”

“Are you?”, she asks back, brow furrowing.

I feel sweaty, I shiver, my heart's still beating fast and it feels like I've swallowed sandpaper... Yeah, I'm a mess of my own. Solange spares me a glance, intense but not unkind. I know I won't fool her, not completely; no need to make her distrust me.

“Oh, uh, yeah, just... Just felt a little weak for a moment, that's all.”, I stammer. Kind of an understatement, but it's still the truth. “How do you feel?”

She sighs, and averts her eyes.

Dang it...

Crispy goes back to staring at nothing. Solange continues with her machine, holding the sensor device against Crispy's lower belly. What am I supposed to do now..? I want to show her I'm here for her, that I care, that she can depend on me, but...

But does she really need me..?

Does she want me?

... Should I even want her?

Things have simmered down, compared to that night we finally came clean to each other, and we're mostly back on friendly terms. But she doesn't love me.

I think I love her. Despite everything.

Or am I just clinging to a lie..?

I don't want to think about that... And anyway, there's a truth neither of us can contest right now: she's carrying our foal. I can't imagine leaving her like this, it's pretty obvious she needs all the support she can get. And if this can help her remember the good times we had together, if it can make her reconsider... All the better.

So much I've already lost... If there's a chance I can salvage at least this one thing, then maybe... Maybe this life will still be worth living.

My gaze wanders more and more toward the machine's screen, trying to catch something of what's displayed, even if I can't quite make sense of it. I bet Karim would, if he—

No. Not thinking about that either.

“What are you doing..?”, I force myself to ask Solange.

“Making sure it's not a twin pregnancy.”, she answers – drawing a long, frustrated groan from Crispy.

“Why? You make it sound like a bad thing... Not that it'd be a good one either,” I quickly add, “I mean we weren't planning for one foal in the first place, so...”

“It's a routine check but a necessary one. One twin is almost always stillborn, sometimes both of them if nothing's done, and it can hurt the mare.”

“Oh...” That... doesn't sound good at all. “So... Is she..?”

“Fortunately not, from what I can see.”, the vet answers, and we share a relieved sigh. “As for the rest, it's tricky to estimate date of conception just from fetal size when there's so many unknowns, but if I had to take a guess, compared to real horses... I'd say it's about halfway through, so five to six months. A little too late for sexing... and it complicates things.”

The view on the screen is put on pause as Solange pulls the sensor away, or maybe it's a snapshot. Maybe I'm imagining it, but if I squint just right, I can almost make it out.

The shape of a tiny body, like a little bean in its pod...











Amber Spire's View



The rocks are still slippery from the rain, even here in the woods. Doesn't help that my hooves are caked with mud; I really should build some kind of access ramp to get in and out of the sinkhole more easily...

Ah! As if I had the time and materials for that! It's already hard enough to make this bridge for the ghost... How many more trees do I have to blast down? Sure it's always good to train, but I feel bad for them...

Then again, they're just trees. I shouldn't feel guilty for so little.

Still...

If only I could use a couple of these big, tall ones... but then no chance of getting them through the tunnel, of course! I really hope we have enough ropes and cables on the farm, and that nopony'll notice if I borrow some. Well, 'borrow'... It sounds far too much like stealing to my taste!

It's for the mission, so that's okay. Once they see the results, they'll understand.

It doesn't feel right...

But it's not like they're using these materials at the moment, they won't miss them! And I can return everything I take later on – no harm, no foul.

That doesn't matter, it's still... It still bugs me!

Oh come on Amber, try to be reasonable... It's better to act now, and ask for forgiveness later. It's a tough choice, sure, but I'm used to making those, am I not?

True... Back then I couldn't always afford to strictly follow the letter of the law; taking the pragmatic option was a necessity if I wanted to eat or have a safe place to sleep. Is it so much different now? It's not even as if I were doing this only for my own survival this time, quite the contrary! Increasing our chances to reach Equestria and saving a stranded pony are well worth feeling a little guilty for a while. I just wish I didn't have to keep doing it in secret...

Unfortunately, it is still far too soon. I'm the only one seeing the bigger picture, they wouldn't understand.

If only Laurence were here, or if Sweetchard weren't so standoffish...

Anyway... I hope there's still something left from lunch. Darn rain, I could've been back in time! At least it's a good excuse if—

“Hey, you!”

I freeze mid-step, right ear swiveling toward the voice's source, somewhere behind me; I can hear the steps now. The flames are stoked deep in my chest, menacing to rise up to my head, but I quell them for the moment. Turning, I see the approaching man, and spot the blue uniform under his opened raincoat.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! What is he doing here!? None of them should be in this zone yet! At this hour they should be...

Oh stupid, stupid Amber!! He's right on time, it's you who's late!

I suppose it's still better to cross paths with a member of our security force than with a random hiker, or one of these Brigade monsters...

“What are you doing in this part of the woods, little pony?”, the white policeman asks as he walks over, glaring down at me. “You can't wander so far from the farm.”

Do you have to make it sound so condescending..? “I, er, I was just looking for more rocks, and it started raining so I waited for it to stop.”

The man stands so close now, towering over me. “There's plenty of rocks downhill.”, he counters. “It's already hard enough to keep watch over such a large property, so keep to the farm from now on – for your own safety.”

My throat tightens at these last words; his cold voice makes it sound all the more like a veiled threat. I know it's not really one, that he's on our side, but... Well, the police taught me time and again that it is on its own side before being on mine. They can't all be like Amine or Clémence, far from it. “I was just looking around,” I try to explain, “it's far from any road and—”

“And I don't care. Get back to the farm. Or do I have to drag you to it?”

I can't help a little nervous giggle from escaping my lips; he's... He's not serious, is he?

He doesn't look like he's joking, still glaring, arms crossed over his chest.

“You won't need to.”, I answer curtly, glaring back. I'm too tired to try and argue with someone who will refuse to hear me, better to just leave... One ear still trained toward him, I begin walking away, more slowly than absolutely necessary. It's one thing to comply, and quite another to—

“Fuckin' horse freaks...”

Only a low grumble under his breath, barely audible amid hoofbeats, footsteps, and droplets falling from wet leaves... but not quiet enough for this 'horse freak'!

Just who do you think you are!? This time I can't fully stop the gout of righteous fire as it seems to feed on my indignation, and for the faintest instant I contemplate just how much I could make him regret his words as he's plodding away—

No, stop. He may be some rude old monkey, castigating him would only complicate matters. I have to keep a low profile!

But I don't care right now, the fire begs me to punish him, to put him back in his place!

Sto—

It's foal's play to ever-so-slightly twist the man's foot just before it connects with the ground. He curses and trips, though I'm a little disappointed that he manages to catch himself against a tree trunk before impacting the mud.

“You okay?”, I call innocently. “Two legs aren't that great for balance I suppose...”

Rubbing it in may have been pushing it a little too far. He clearly doesn't buy the innocent act, and now stomps toward me with anger written all over his face. I know I should just flee, but who does he think he is to give me orders, to decide what I should or shouldn't do!? I'm the one with the real power here, the one really in control!!

“Hey Didier! What's up?”

The cheery voice stops the policeman dead in his tracks, just as much as it smothers my fiery passion into mere embers. We both turn toward Clémence as she strolls to stand between us, like she's shielding me from him:

“So? Is there a problem here?”, she asks her older colleague, deceptively cordial.

“No...”, he mutters, only now trying to affect a semblance of professionalism. “I was only enjoining this one to get back to the safe zone.”

“That's all? Well don't worry, keep to your round, I'll walk her back myself.”

He hesitates, for a moment, before turning on his heels and leaving without another word. You're acting a lot less tough when it's not just a pony you have to bully, right big guy? Good riddance!

Clémence crouches to my level once the man has vanished deeper into the woods, and even then her voice's just above a whisper: “Sorry about that, not all the boys were exactly thrilled to be roped into this assignment. It's not really on the books, and... Hey, that's kinda spooky, this thing you're doing with your eyes, I like it!”

What?

I try to blink away whatever she's talking about, and the world loses this blue-purplish hue I hadn't noticed until now. Does this fire, this magical energy the ghost gave me, somehow show through my eyes as well as my aura? That would explain why it affects my vision when I channel it. But I didn't actively want to reach for it this time, it rose almost on its own, and—

“Amber? Still with me?”

“Oh, er, yes, yes! Thank you Clémence, this was... unpleasant.”

“I got that, yeah. So, your mom was getting a little worried, you know...”

Uuuuuuuugh..! As if I needed that now! She's perfectly fine with letting me deal with ponies alone while she lounges the days away with her boyfriend, but if I skip lunch she sends the cops after me? Between that and how she's fussing over me working too hard or not getting enough sleep, I just..! I just uuuuuuugh!

“All is not well in Unicornland, I gather..?”, she asks with a sympathetic smile.

“You have no idea...”, I groan. Mom uses what she calls 'work' as an excuse to spend all her time with Antoine but still finds ways to worry about nothing, Luisard is making a game of frustrating me, Laurence isn't here, now that there's not much for me to do in the fields everypony's gonna expect me to go back to finding the way to Equestria... How could I not be stressed to the point of flying off the handle at every new problem!?

“Eh. I've been a teenager, too.”, she shrugs with her good shoulder. “Did you talk to her about it?”

“That's not the point!”, I protest, flakes of dried mud falling from my legs as I stomp in frustration. “Ugh, whatever... What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be resting at home?”

“Oh you know, I was feeling like taking some fresh air, chatting with some friends, this kind of thing.”, she winks. “Speaking of, I heard Big Boss bailed on us this weekend?”

“Yeah, visiting family... She'll be back tonight.”

And that won't be quite soon enough... I wonder how it went with her parents? I really hope they turned out to be a little less lousy than mine...

*sigh*

I let myself plop down on the forest litter, feeling even wearier than usual. To heck with dirtying myself a little more...

“Too bad,” Clémence sighs in turn, joining me on the ground, “that's gonna be a little late for me... Guess I can still come back tomorrow, huh?”

“What? Oh, for Laurence you mean. Yeah, I'm sure she'll...” I trail off, as I finally take a good, long look at the woman's face. There's... something behind her usual joviality, something that makes it feel forced. “Are you okay?”

“Uh?” The question seems to surprise her, but then she looks away, teeth worrying at her lower lip. “Actually... Well, it's nothing, really.”, she claims, despite how uncharacteristically self-conscious she's acting. “I mean, I've no right to be bothered by this, I'm not the one dealing with it!”

“It sounds like it's still bothering you, though...”, I note softly.

“Yeah I noticed...”, she pouts. “It's just, I gave everything I had to keep him alive, and today it's like he's harmed by my very presence! And I feel so damn dirty to be hurt while he's the one hurting for real, it's just my ego or whatever!”

At first I'm not quite sure what she's talking about, but then I realize what the 'keep him alive' bit alludes to: how, while still reeling from her own gun wound, she did everything she could to keep Chard alive until medical help could arrive. I had barely been able to do anything to help at that time... “You're talking about Sweetchard, right..?”

“Yeah. He had one of these PSTD flashback things you hear about, you know? And I'm pretty sure it was because of me...”

“Oh.” Poor Chard... “Well, it's not your fault; you couldn't know, and it wasn't intentional.”, I try to console her. “And I understand why it pains you. Give it some time, Chard is... He's still in a bad place, and he doesn't... Well, he doesn't make it easy. I mean, I'm his friend, and at first we tried to talk about it, all of us, but he just grew more withdrawn as a result... He's still in contact with Pippinstrelle and Luisard, at least. So, well...”

I'm not really sure how to go from here, unfortunately. I'd go for a hug if I weren't so grimy right now; I opt for a nuzzle to her knee instead. It makes her chuckle, so I count it as a success! If only it were that easy to make Chard smile these days...

“Speaking of, you're pretty familiar with Luisard, right?”, she asks.

I'm all for switching to a lighter subject, but I'm not sure I fancy that one either... “Pretty familiar, yes. Why?”

“Just curious. He's a shy one, from what I saw.”

“He's not exactly shy, it's just that he usually keeps to himself... Sometimes not as much as I would like...”

She cocks an eyebrow, a smirk forming on her lips. “Oh? A specific reason..?”

Wait, did I say that out loud? Buck! “Er, well, he can be a little forceful when it comes to his opinions, and he's too prideful to consider alternatives, you know? Like, good luck trying to talk him out of his dislike of humans for example.”

“I see... It's probably why he avoids me, then. Beyond that he's doing fine, I hope?”

“Mostly.”, I shrug. “I know his leg can still be painful at ti—”

We're interrupted by a mortifying rumble from my empty stomach, my cheeks burning at Clémence's snicker. “It was nice to chat, but it's also getting kind of late, isn't it?”, she remarks as she pushes herself upright. “Come on then, let's see what we can find in the kitchen. Your mom must be wondering what we're doing.”

“I suppose you're right...” Getting back to my hooves and shaking the dirt and twigs from my tail, I follow after Clémence. There's no need to guide her, because her sense of direction is clearly as good as my own compass in these woods.

“Ah, by the way,” she adds offhandedly, “if you really have to wander around these parts, please watch out for the aven further north, it can be dangerous.”

“'Aven'?” I think I've heard the term before, but...

“It's a type of sinkhole.”

My heart skips a beat, and it's almost enough to make me trip over my own legs. Clémence glances back briefly, before continuing:

“Lots of animals – and sometimes people – can fall into these things, especially if like this one it's in the middle of the forest. Place gives me the creeps something fierce... Know what I'm talking about?”

“I—”

Don't say anything!

“Amber? You're alright?”

Blast it!! Not a word! W– I can't trust her, she's just another of their lapdogs, she could—

What!? No she isn't! She literally took a bullet for us! She came to my help just a minute ago! Maybe I can't tell her everything 'cause that could put her in a bind with her superiors, but—

No!

And what if I do? Seriously, what's going on with me!? It can't just be the stress, I'm not like that, not since I went pony anyway!

“Uh, Amber, can you hear me? What's with ponies today...”

Clémence is kneeling in front of me, and I can see she's concerned... Well, even if I don't give her all the details, I can at least answer the question:

“Sorry Clémence, kinda zoned out here. So, actually I never go in this part of the woods, so don't worry about me.”

W– wait, that's not what I was going to say! Why did I lie!?

“Ah, I thought... Well, that's for the best!”, she smiles a little awkwardly, getting back up. “You're sure you're okay though?”

“No I—” A jaw-popping yawn cuts me off, but— And I suddenly feel soooo tired...

Wuh... No, I..! Stop yawning, you stupid mouth..! I'm not– I'm... Maybe Mom is right for once, I should get more sleep...

This– this can't be normal..! I look pleadingly at Clémence, but she misses the point: “I, uh, didn't think you were that tired. Well, all the more reason to get moving, I can't carry you with just one arm if you fall asleep.”

But I really should listen to her, I barely stand on my hooves right now..!

She helps me stagger toward the farm as I keep yawning and yawning and yawning every time I wanna talk, and...

And I'm so exhausted for no good reason, and...

... And something's not right..!











Laurence's View



I drop down on the other side of the hedge and back into the safe shadows of cloudy twilight, but I don't lower my guard just yet, listening through the drizzle's patter.

After half a minute without barking, I allow myself a sigh of relief – no dog lurking around this house... They can't all turn out to be surprisingly friendly to random intruders.

I'm sure there's still some of that disgusting slobber in my hair that the rain just refuses to wash away, I can feel it..!

This pony better be worth it, for that and the talking-to I'll get from Mom and Dad for slinking away. Dusky won't be happy either... But of course they're worth it! Hell that's not even a matter of 'worth'! There has to be a reason they didn't answer my emails, or the man at the door acted as if he were alone despite the second car in the driveway... Just waiting isn't going to cut it! They're in the most critical time right now, straddling the line between two species, between two worlds, and... Ugh, what is it with solo missions and getting all lyrical!? Focus!

Okay, if I remember correctly, it's the last garden I have to cross – after this there'll be only the narrow street between me and my objective. Looking to my right I can see lights from the house connected to the garden, human silhouettes moving in the veranda. Staying low to the ground, I stalk through the fifteen meters or so of muddy grass, and I make it to the other side without issue.

I give myself a moment to listen for any traffic in the street before trying to climb the new hedge, wary of the telltale rhythm of steps or the low rumble of an incoming vehicle. I guess a lifetime of doing my damnedest to avoid people is finally paying off... That's quite the precious set of skills, considering I look like a little walking flag!

Though I'm not sure how accurate this 'little' part really is... I mean, I'm taller than most ponies. Standing up I'm definitely taller than Mél, but I'm supposed to be a midge shorter than her... Heck, 'tall' has never been an adjective I ever thought could be applied to me! I'm so used to have to look up at people, but now, even when I'm forced on all four the top of my head already reaches what should be my breast! That's what the furniture suggests, at least. Back then it did feel like some parts were growing instead of shrinking, and—

Goddammit, focus!! If there's one thing that has shrunk it's your damn attention span!

Let's hope that I'd still notice stuff while daydreaming, if only subconsciously... As it stands, I think that the way's clear.

I let the wings spread slightly as I ready my jump, my whole body coiling on itself, and I spring upward. Long feathers slap the air, propelling me ever higher against the raindrops, enough to land on top of the hedge, though not without a wince from the impact with the scratching branches. Scrambling through, I only allow myself the briefest of glances up and down the empty street before pushing away from the hedge, letting the appendages anchored to my back spread out instinctively and carry me forward in a gentle glide. I land on the wet asphalt without issue – I'm getting the hang of this particular maneuver, since my first hapless attempt when getting down from my bedroom window.

Forgoing my sweater was definitely the right call, even if I feel a bit exposed. Not only is it easier to move and let the wings do their work unimpeded, but the poor abused garment would've also ended up soaked, muddy, and thoroughly ripped up... That forced me to wear my last pair of decent shorts if I wanted usable pockets, though. Their sacrifice won't be in vain!

Crossing the remaining distance, I inspect my next obstacle: a low brick wall, crested by another hedge. This one reaches higher, is thicker, and is better maintained than any of the others. Let's see... I should be able to clear it with a wing-assisted jump, though only after a running start – not the stealthiest thing I could do. Until now my footsteps were muffled by the mud and the old socks covering the hooves, but I'm not sure that'll be enough against the hard pavement...

I've seen pegasi perform vertical takeoffs without any issue. I've seen them hover in complete defiance of gravity and aerodynamics. I know these wings must have the power to get me up there on their own, if I command them to do so.

...

Well, let's see if there's another way in, huh? I don't like standing around in the open like this.

Maybe if I go through a neighbor's first, I could—

Oooh, what do we have here..?

I take a closer look at this patch just above the wall, close to where the hedge ends at the corner of the property. There's very little resistance when I push an arm through, revealing an open space between two trunks. Only the outermost branches have been preserved to hide the hole from both sides of the hedge, making it hardly noticeable to a casual observer. It's large enough for a child or small adult.

Oh please don't tell me some random burglar has chosen tonight of all nights to try to break in..! But no – the inner branches have been cut a long time ago, enough that the shrubs have started to grow back and slowly fill the unnatural emptiness.

Whatever its origin may be, this is just what I need!

Scaling over the brick wall and shoving myself through the narrow, prickly tunnel, I end up landing at the edge of a well-manicured lawn. The tall pine I had noticed this morning hides me nicely from the house's view, so I can take my time listening in and observing these new surroundings. A covered swimming pool occupies a substantial part of the garden, with a flagstone terrace between it and the back of the house. There's nice flowerbeds on the sides, and an ivy-like plant growing against the walls of the building, especially around the right corner. On the left, French doors allow me a glimpse of a darkened room, with flickering light coming from somewhere deeper inside – probably a television. Looking up at the second floor, I can easily tell the right-most window is the one through which I saw the near-pony. There's light there too, the panes left partially open in spite of the rain.

Well then, no sign of any dog in the vicinity, so the only thing left is to get the pony's attention! I crawl from behind the pine, getting close enough to the house, and I empty my shorts' pockets of the pebbles I've collected earlier. I lost some of them jumping over hedges, but it should be enough for what I need.

I pull off the sock from what's left of my right hand, take a nice round pebble, and throw!

... Straight at the neighbor's roof.

Correction: it would be enough if I could aim for shit.

So, let's do the same, but taking the offset into account. That should do it, right?

This time I hit the ivy-covered corner of the wall.

Oh goddammit!

I grab the next pebble and throw – ah, right between the two panes and into the room! How's that, huh?

Then I notice I just threw with my left wing as if it were a hand, and... Ugh, stupid body!! You always have to ruin everything!

Anyway... This should do it. I checked regularly through the day, the pony seems to have stayed there, and in their state I doubt that—

Oh it's them, I see a head peeking through! I– hey, wait up! Don't hide, I didn't even have a chance to talk to you, and I can't just shout! “Please co—”

Instead of the pony it's a long rope that shows up through the window, uncoiling almost down to the ground.

Uh. I did not expect that. Did they read my emails then? Why wouldn't they answer? Could it be a trap..? They looked very anxious this morning, so they don't have any reason to lash out at someone offering help, right?

I guess I'll have my answers once I'm up there...

Better to drop the other socks for this – it's already going to be a challenge as it is. I wish I'd paid more attention to how Amber and Chard managed this kind of acrobatics... The rope isn't as thick as I'd like, but I can still grasp it well enough between palm and finger. I tug twice to make sure it has been adequately secured, and well... Here goes nothing!

I begin to pull myself up, and, uh, this... This isn't as hard as I feared! The rope is still dry so my grip is pretty good, I'm either lighter or stronger than I thought, the wings are... doing their thing, and my feet find easy purchase against the ivy – I knew it couldn't hold my weight on its own, but like this it's not an issue! In no time at all I climb the four meters or so to reach the window sill, and hoist my upper body through.

The human-turning-pony has their back to me, standing in the middle of a cozy yet tidy bedroom, only illuminated by a desk lamp. I immediately notice the long, wavy cream-and-cyan tail as it swishes anxiously, the hind hooves hardly hidden by ill-fitting slippers, and the snowy ears firmly folded back along the puffy mane. Poor thing has been cursed with an even more ridiculous hairstyle than Amber...

A little bit of research and Dad asking around allowed me to deduce who they most likely are: Élise Sommer, twenty-five since last Friday, currently living with their widowed father. I couldn't find a phone number, but apparently I got the correct email addr—

“Dang it Maëlle, I told you to text me when you got here..!”, they hiss in a distinctly feminine voice, before turning toward me. “If Dad heard y—”

She freezes, light blue eyes growing wide as she stares at me – the muddy one-eyed creature who definitely isn't whoever she was expecting.

“Uh, hi..?”, I squeak, still half-sprawled on her window sill, legs dangling in the rain.

With a strangled gasp she dives for her desk and whirls around holding a– WHAT!? Who the hell keeps a freakin' flintlock pistol in their bedroom!?

She aims the pistol right at my face, time stopping from shock and fear as we peer into each other's eyes, a finger's press away from disaster, and...

Wait a minute... Aren't these thing supposed to be 'primed and loaded' first?

It seems she too is growing aware of that little snag, and she fumbles with stiffening hands to now brandish the pistol by the barrel as an improvised club!

“No please listen to me,” I blurt out before she tries to bludgeon me, “I'm here to help!”

The pistol stays raised, ready to strike at any moment... but the attack doesn't come. I can see she's unsure, hesitant, but most of all, she's afraid – and from how distressed she looked earlier, I suspect it's more from her current situation than just the surprise of me showing up. I remain motionless, relaxing my face muscles to hopefully appear less threatening. She glances at my ears as they slowly swivel back to a neutral position, then at the hooves capping my hands, and recognition dawns on her.

“Are you the one doing this!?”, she cries out, still pointing an accusing pistol at me.

“I swear I'm not.”, I answer, aiming for a 'calm and composed' tone. “We're in the same boat, I'm, uh, just closer to the prow. I'm here to help you. My father came earlier to try to check on you, but the man at the door rebuffed him. I found your email address 'Elise_S42', but you didn't reply to my messages. You are the same Élise, right?”

By way of answer she inches toward her bed, and without letting me out of her sight or dropping the pistol, she grab the phone with a colorful case that was sitting on the sheets. I understand her pain, as she grimaces at how hard it is to use this kind of device when you're losing fine motor control of your fingers...

“Are you 'LS'?”, she asks after much clumsy tapping, frowning.

“Laurence Ségaux, yes.”, I nod. I didn't give my surname in the messages, and even set up a new account for sending them just in case, but it's better to be honest and direct now. “So you've read them?”

“No, they... They all went right into my spam folder, I didn't notice.”

Tsss, of fucking course they'd—

We're both startled by a knocking at the bedroom's door: “Élise? Are you... Are you all right?”, comes a voice from the other side. Masculine, older – that must be her father! Dammit, I don't need another layer of complications here! If when surprised the daughter's first reaction is to grab a gun, what would he do?

To my relief Élise doesn't seem especially pleased by the paternal interruption either – her eyes are darting from door to window like she's been caught red-handed, her breathing quick and shallow, both phone and pistol clutched to her chest. Relief soon turns to concern as another, more insistent knock rings out, and she only grows more nervous and indecisive – I need to do something!

I force a wing to unfurl and wave it like a hand, instantly grabbing her attention. Good, now let's hope she'll trust me enough for this: I bring the wing forward and make the primaries curl into a makeshift fist except for one feather, that I use like a long, flat, blue index finger to approximate a shushing motion. Then I twist the wing to point the feather-finger at the door.

Fortunately she gets this message, and with a crisp nod she darts for the door: “H– hey Dad, sorry, I was on the phone!”

“... Is that...”, the man replies after a pregnant silence, sounding uncertain, and pained. “Sweetheart, your voice, it...”

“Oh, it... It changed again?” She glances at me, distressed, but I can't help her much here. “I'm sorry, Dad...”

“It's... It's not your fault.”, he says. “Who was it?”

“Maëlle, she just wanted to, well, to know if I wanted to go out this week, you know? I said no of course, I... I don't want her to catch whatever this is.”

“Of course...”, he sighs. “Don't worry sweetheart, we... We'll find something. I've talked to some friends, and I'm sure they'll have an idea.”

“Thanks Dad...”

“Do you... Do you want me to call the clinic for you tomorrow?”

“That'd be great, yes, I... Do I really sound that different..?”

Another pause. “It's all right sweetheart, I'm sure it'll go away. That doctor was an idiot, but we will find something, I promise... They were too stupid to do anything for your mother, and now... Now..!”

I avert my eye as Élise tries to comfort her father through the door, pushing my focus away from them. I don't like eavesdropping on such a private, painful conversation...

My gaze wanders over the room, stopping first on the little trophies and medals atop a fully-stocked bookcase. Hard to say what they're for from this angle, maybe a sport? I know my parents like to keep mine somewhere. Looking for clues, I find none with her reading materials – mostly fantasy novels, history stuff, and some biology or medicine textbooks. Academic achievements instead of athletic, then? Her desk may be more telling, as a whole corner is dedicated to art supplies, and on the walls I recognize aquarelles hung among the family pictures and old posters of human anatomy. I'm not really artistically-minded, but even I can tell they're beautifully painted. The subject of predilection is some kind of teal and green brigantine-like airship, soaring through cloudy vistas on white ethereal sails. I wonder if she's familiar with Final Fantasy? That would make for an efficient topic of conversation! Though I guess this is neither the time nor place to talk about video games...

Eventually the two voices fall silent, heavy footsteps grow distant, and I turn my attention back to Élise, sitting forlornly with her back against the door, both phone and pistol abandoned at her sides. I doubt what I'm here to say will make her feel much better, but what else am I supposed to do..? So with a sigh I finish to clamber into the room, shaking some life back into my numb legs – and damn I'm dripping water all over her parquet, the tail and my shorts are completely soa—

Sharp clops come my way, and I look up to see Élise now standing over me with fists clenched: “I want answers, now..!”, she all but growls, glaring through her tears.

I blink at the harsh tone, but it's not against me, not really. She's worried, probably both for herself and her father, anxiety and despair have thoroughly frayed her nerves – it's not 'aggressive' aggression, but 'I'm in pain' aggression. I certainly know the feeling...

“That's why I'm here.”, I reply with a slight nod. “I saw you standing in front of your window this morning. It looked like you could do with some help.”

“You can say that again..!”, she grumbles, before turning and flopping down on the wooden chair at her desk. The shot of adrenaline from my arrival isn't enough anymore to compensate for how tired she must truly be. “So I'm... I'm mutating into... whatever you are?”

“Yes.”

“Can you stop this..? Reverse this?”

I was dreading this question... “I can't, unfortunately. If I could I wouldn't look like this, trust me...”

“What are you..? The wings, and the horse things, you're... You're like a miniature Pegasus..!”, she realizes in almost baffled wonder, not unexpected if she really is a fantasy enthusiast.

“More or less. I am– I look like a pegasus pony, but I'm actually human, like you. Have you heard of My Little Pony?”

She ponders the name for a second, frowning. “You mean like the plastic dolls, with the brushable hair?”

“Yes.”

“But I gave mine away ages ago, how could it... Wait, is it contagious?”

“It's not, don't worry.” It's clearly a relief to hear that, but I can already see new doubts creeping in. “And it's not your fault either. You couldn't prevent it.”

“How can you be so sure..? Are there others like you? L– like us..?”

“There are, and more than a few. Check my messages, there's pictures attached.”

Good thing I kept that photo we sent to convince Violette's group back then, because I didn't have any of Coursac. Only downside was Dusky fussing that he wasn't included, so Dad had to take another picture of the colt hugging me... Don't have to guess what is eliciting that faint smile as she peruses the photos: “Aww, he's cute...”

“Yeah, yeah...”, I sigh, rolling my eye. “Get to know him and you'll see just how well he weaponizes that cuteness... Anyway, you're not alone, Élise. You're not the first one going through this, and probably not the last.”

“Then you must have noticed trends, patterns across all cases in how this thing progresses?”

“It has been very consistent so far, yes.”

“Good, good... So, for example, you could tell with certainty if teeth are supposed to fall off during the process or not, right?”

She's trying to make it sound nonchalant and detached – something the tiredness must make a little easier. But I get the feeling she's far more worried about this specific point than she wants to let on, and...

Wait a minute. How can I even 'get a feeling' in the first place? It's like the aggression thing earlier, it seems almost obvious from how she acts.

It's not supposed to be obvious.

All my life I've struggled with interpreting social signals, with understanding how people work, with picking up on non-verbal and other implicit cues. Even after years of practice there's still so many things that keep going over my head.

Why would she be so easy to read? She's a stranger, I had no opportunity to learn her tics and patterns. What makes her different? Is it because she's technically a pony? Are ponies easier to read? They do have large expressive eyes and ears that broadcast basic emotions, and I've heard a comment or two about scents, but on the other hand they're a whole other species and she hasn't even finished transforming, so...

Is it me who's different?

That damn mare, could she... Could she have this thing I've always lacked..?

... Well she can keep it!!

“Mrs. Ségaux..?”

Come on Laurence, you've got a job to do here! “Please excuse me Élise, I, uh, get lost in my thoughts at times.” All right, I need to be neutral, objective, to the point – no need to upset her even more with talks of how nightmarish the whole experience has been for me... So what was her question again? Ah yes: “No, your teeth won't fall off. Like your ears they are going to be remodeled.”

“Okay, that's... that's something, at least...”, she mutters halfheartedly. “Will it hurt?”

Not physically, no... “The whole process is virtually painless. You probably won't even notice.”

She gives me a deadpan look. “I doubt I'd not notice my teeth getting all flat...”

“'Flat'?”

“Well, isn't that how horse teeth are?”

“Horses I can't say, but... Here molars have these sharp ridges,” I comment as I gingerly move my tongue around my mouth, “while premolars are mostly the same as before... I think. Maybe they're longer.” Dammit, how can I not remember how my teeth are supposed to be!? “Incisors are definitely wider, thicker, and have these creepy pits in them, but the biggest change are the diastemas really.” Ugh, even keeping my tongue clear of these zones, I can't help a shudder just thinking about them..!

“The what?”

“Diastema, the space between back and front teeth.”

She frowns, and I can see she's checking it out with her own tongue – then suddenly her whole face blanches, eyes growing wide and hands shooting for her mouth as she lets out a strangled cry!

I don't need to understand any of the garbled words to get what the issue is, and I rush to her side: “Hey hey hey, I'm here, calm down! It's okay, I didn't catch it either when it happened, it's okay..! Come on, breathe in, breathe out, slowly, breathe in, then breathe out...”

I'm not sure she really hears me, chest still heaving erratically, little whimpers escaping from behind the hands clasped over her lips... How can I help her? There has to be something I can do! I'm close enough to touch her, but how would she react? Maybe a simple comforting pat on the knee would be both low-risk and effective? It's not like I have a better idea right now anyway...

Slowly, I raise my left hand, bring it closer. She doesn't shy away, if she's even aware of it, so I start patting her leg as softly as I can. Even through the pajama pants it's obvious that the limb's proportions aren't strictly human anymore, the knee already a little closer to the hip than it has any right to—

Her own hand shoots for mine and seizes my knuckle! Her grip is strong, almost painfully so in spite of her stiff fingers, but... But it's not an attack. Not with the way she holds my hand pressed against her leg, or how tightly she squeezes it...

“It's okay, I'm here... You're not alone... And it's going to be all right Élise, I promise...”

... A promise I can't truly honor, but that won't stop me from doing my best.

She needs some time before letting go, still badly shaken. “Oh goodness, why did it have to be the teeth..!”, she moans, speech somewhat slurred by keeping her tongue away from the front of her mouth.

“I'm sorry,” I say a bit lamely, “it's... It's just part of the changes.”

Wiping her tears with the back of a hand, she then points at her phone, left near the door: “Please, could you..?”

“Of course.”

Once the device is back in her possession, she switches the camera on and, with some hesitation, parts her lips to take stock of the damage. Like I expected, her canines have vanished, like they were never there in the first place – I'm lucky enough to still have mine, albeit reduced. Her transformed incisors haven't reached their full breadth yet, as she doesn't have the snout to accommodate them fully, and... Wait, is that a third set of incisors just starting to grow in?

My tongue darts for my own teeth, and I count the number of creepy pits – twelve in total, for six upper and six lower incisors. Three full sets, instead of only two.

...

How the hell am I only noticing this now!?

I know I wasn't always in my right mind back then, but how could I miss getting four new teeth!?

And if I missed those... Fuck, how many premolars are human supposed to have again?

Nope! This is not the time, Laurence! Élise is your priority, she needs your help!

The girl's done with her inspection by now, and looks thoroughly dejected... What should I tell her?

“I know this is all overwhelming,” I begin, and god I can't believe I'm about to say this, “but it's probably better to try to not pay too much attention to the changes themselves. They will... They'll progress at their own pace, and like I said it doesn't hurt. That's only for the physical though, there's—”

“I can't let these things just happen like this!”, she protests, gesturing at her mouth for emphasis. “There's really nothing you can do? Nothing I can do?”

“There is one thing: holding on to yourself. That's the most important part.”, I state with all the gravitas I can muster. “These changes won't stop at your body, they'll make you think – make you feel things that aren't you. You need to stay vigilant, and not let them reshape you into someone you're not...”

... So you can end up like me, a sad wreck of a woman, trapped in a pony's body.

...

No, I said I'd be neutral and objective, and if... If Élise doesn't have any issue with the pony she was, then who am I to tell her she should have one? I don't want her to torture herself needlessly...

But she goes on before I can find the best way to explain things better: “Then I need to know, I... Please don't leave me in the dark! What's going to happen to me next? My hands? My face?”

“Would it make you feel better, to know..?”, I ask carefully.

“I... Maybe not,” she admits, “but I just want something that I can do! Even if I can't stop it, at least I can prepare myself for it, try to find... I don't know, ways to not let this become a total nightmare!”

Talking more about the physical changes... That's something I can certainly get behind right now.

Is it cowardice on my part..?

*sigh*

Probably, yeah.

“All right. So, concerning the next steps of the process, let's see... If I remember correctly, by this stage your lower body will continue to change up to your hips. Staying upright will get more difficult, as the pelvis deepens and leg proportions get more equine – broadly speaking, the new hair will keep spreading, the sole of your feet will keep getting longer,” I describe while pointing to the relevant areas, “and your knees will keep migrating closer to your hips, like this.”

“So I'll have... I'll have what you have, right?”

“Eventually yes, but not until the latest stages – for some reason other changes will take place before these ones are even completely finished. For example, if you get wings I think they should've just started to form by now.”

This clearly catches her interest, to the point that some of the wonder she displayed earlier manages to peek through the dread and frustration. She moves her mane to the front and reaches for her back, trying to feel the area bellow the shoulder blades – and she gasps in surprise. Well I guess we know what kin– wait what is she doing!?

I look away as she completely removes her shirt – she's not even wearing a bra! Is this the pony nudism striking early!?

“There's something, right?”

I glance her way, and fortunately she's facing the other direction. Like she suggested, the flesh of the middle of her back is swollen, vague shapes under the skin heralding future avian developments. “You're getting wings, yes.”

She turns again so I do the same. Damn ponies and their complete lack of basic propriety..! Can't she at least wait to have a full coat before showing all her... all her stuff!?

“Are you blushing..?”

“No I'm not! Now put something back on, please...”

“Whyever for?”, she scoffs. “In case you didn't notice, my breasts aren't here anymore...”

Uh. I forgot about that part.

“So... How does it feel, to fly for real?”

“I, uh... I can't say...”

“Oh. I guess they're not really functional, they're so small...”

“No, no, they are functional!” I turn her way again. Her bare chest arrests my attention for an instant before I can refocus on her face: “You'll be able to fly, I'm just... Well it's not my thing, but others really enjoy it!”

I probably would too, if...

If I weren't...

Nope, not thinking this way for a single second! “So! Where was I? Ah yes, further changes. During the next dozen of hours or so, your wings will come out and gain their feathers, your skull will change proportions toward a more equine shape, and your coat will finish growing in. It's only then that the final steps occur almost all at once to, well, complete the transformation. Your legs will reach their final proportions, your neck grows longer, your shoulder joints will change orientation as your collarbone melts away, and then it's... It's...”

I'm rocked by a full-body shudder as I'm reminded of the last step, of that terrible night when I saw my humanity being stripped away right before my very eyes, and– oh fuck why did I think talking about the physical would be any better!?

Come on Laurence, it's almost done, you can do it!!

I raise my hand that isn't a hand. It's shaking.

I can still see it...

“So, uh, the last step is this, your... The bones in your hand, between wrist and fingers—”

“Metacarpals.”

Her voice startles me out of the awful memory. “What?”

“These bones, they're the metacarpals. Those I remember, at least.”, she chuckles.

“Yes, yes, metacarpals... They'll elongate, just like the soles of your feet, about twice their initial length. That part gets thicker, and broader, and it pulls your thumb and pinkie down, like your fingertips make a 'U', but the middle finger, it swells with bone and sinews like a flesh balloon that forces the others to fuse all together, fills up your palm, and– and your nail—”

“Hey, are you all right..?”

The images of that gruesome night are cleared again as Élise kneels in front of me, and I can see plain as day how she looks at me – but that's not how this is supposed to go!

“Shush! I'm the one helping here!”, I scold her. I'm here for her, she's supposed to listen and be helped! It's the only thing I have left so let me have this!

Yet she crawls closer, heedless of my order, with so much concern in these pale blue eyes of hers: “Are... Are you sure? You're crying...”

No I'm—

...

Dammit..!

I blink the offending tears away. Okay Laurence, calm down already – breathe in, breathe out... This isn't working as it should, you're not helping right now, you're worrying her even more!

“P– please excuse me Élise, my... My time going through this was difficult, but I swear it's not the way it'll go for you! I'm, uh, kind of a fringe case. The overwhelming majority of ponies I know are happy and reasonably well-adjusted, really, though that's due in part to the mental changes. They'll help you adapt, at least, but like I said they... They can also make you lose touch with your human self. It's to the point that some ponies, they don't even act like they just switched species!”

“I... I've a hard time imagining that, to be honest.”

“You and me both...”

My stupid meltdown mostly averted, and my botched presentation concluded, we fall into a lull, both of us sitting on the floor. I catch Élise glancing at her hands, and it's not hard to guess why...

Ugh, I've been such a complete idiot! And we still need to go over the curse itself...

*sigh*

Maybe later.

“This change...”, she enounces, carefully choosing her words, “there is no going back, that's it..?”

“We don't have a way to change back yet, no...”, I'm forced to admit. “But I'll do everything I can to find a way to get our real bodies back.”

“Do... Do you think I could still paint..? Or even use any kind of tool?”

I nod, and grab her phone between three feathers to prove my point: “Hooves and wings are surprisingly dexterous. With a little practice I'm sure you—”

The sudden buzzing almost make me drop the phone, and Élise is quick to reclaim it. She goes from a smile to a frown as she reads the text, her ears folding back.

“A problem?”

“No, it's my friend, she... We, uh...” She looks embarrassed, guilty almost, reminding me of how she acted when her father called. “She insisted, wanted to see me, and...”

“And the rope was for her, huh?”

“Yes. She's supposed to text me once she's down the street, but that wouldn't have been the first time she decides to surprise me... I told her it's not a good idea, but—”

She stops, ears perking, her head turning toward somewhere else in the house. Before I can ask she gets up and goes for the door, trying to listen through.

“Your friend..?”, I whisper once I've joined her.

“She would never use the front door.”

Uh. I have a bad feeling about this...

I put my good ear against the wood. I can make out at least two voices coming from the first floor, both masculine, one probably belonging to her father, but it's all very faint – too much to catch any word, and too much for it to be unintentional.

“Know who that could be..?”, I ask.

“No... Dad didn't say he was expecting someone...”

Who would come to this house on a rainy night, behaving so secretly..? This can't be a coincidence.

The discussion downstairs goes on for a little while, followed by an instant of silence, then steps going up the stairs – and it's more than two sets of feet.

Before I can even question my hunch I've bounded back from the door and seized Élise's chair, rushing to wedge it between floor and door handle – it won't buy us much time but it's better than nothing!

The girl jumps in surprise, looking at me like I've lost my mind: “What the heck are you doing..!”

I try to push her toward the window, but she resists! “We have to go Élise, this isn't normal..!”

“Nothing about this is 'normal'..!”, she snaps back, gesturing at herself.

A knock at the door! “Élise, sweetheart?”, comes her father's voice. “I know it's late, but there's someone who would like to meet you, he says... He thinks he knows what's happening to you.”

DAMN IT!! There's only two kinds of people that could fit this description, and the ones on our side can't be here yet!

But Élise doesn't know that of course... She's looking at the door, at her father standing beyond, it's obvious she's tempted to open it – and I can't let her do that!

I grab her arm with a wing, making her look at me: “I didn't do this to myself..!”, I hiss, pointing at my eyepatch. “Some people are hunting us, people like those behind that door..! We have to go..!”

She shakes the wing off and steps away, glaring at me – I'm sorry I'm acting so rough but this is s—

Another knock: “Is there someone with you?”, her father asks, louder this time, more insistent!

She doesn't have a chance to open her mouth before there's a flurry of steps, and someone tries to force the door open! When the handle proves useless they start pounding against the wood, shouting to each other over the father's protests – they know!

Élise looks at me, then at the shacking door, the creaking chair, then back at me – she's shocked, afraid, unsure, but this is not the time to hesitate!

“Please, you have to trust me!”, I plead out loud, starting for the window. “Let me help you!”

To my relief the harsh yells and the first crack of the wood panels finally push her to follow after me, even if it's painfully obvious how much it costs her. She rushes for the rope, I help her pass through the window and under the rain – damn this is taking too long, that chair won't hold much longer! She's climbing down, but so slowly, I can hear men calling outside, they're going to cut off our way out!

No other choice – I really hope she's lighter than she looks!

She yelps when my arms close around her chest, and shrieks when I kick us off the wall. There's a fleeting, terrifying fraction of a second when we hang upside-down in the damp air, before the wings spread to their full span and I manage to twist us right-side. I command the limbs to flap once, twice, just enough to increase our forward momentum and glide a little further, angle them slightly to avoid the swimming pool, and—

Ouch! That landing... could've been better..!

Élise is the first back up, wobbling on her half-finished legs, fancy tail smeared with mud, and damn there's one of them running our way!

The man's already upon us, he grabs her by the wrist, tries to bring her down! I leap back to my feet and charge head-first into him, pushing him back but not enough to make him fall. He goes for something in his jacket – a knife!

A first slash, to keep me away, but too wide, it leaves him open – I dash to his left and kick behind his knee! He stumbles, and can't do anything when I jab right at his jaw, knocking him down with a cry of pain.

One down for now, but the others aren't far behind! Élise is standing here, eyes wide, I have to urge her toward the pine. Fortunately she snaps out of it, and she goes through the hole in the hedge on her own. The street's clear, we just have to hope we can get to my parents' quickly enou—

Hey where the hell is she going!? She's running down the street, in the direction of a crossroad!

“Élise, stop! Not that way!”

“Maëlle, my friend, she always parks down there!”, she says without even stopping. “Come on!”

Damn damn damn and damn again!! I can't let her give me the slip if she's chased by Brigade-style goons, she's in danger! But they're waiting for me back home, and that's a safe place, we'd—

“Let her go..!”

Wh— “Dusky!?”

I stare at the colt, standing here drenched and muddy, scowling at me!

“What are you doing here!? This is dangerous, go back t—”

“Just let her go!” he repeats with an angry stomp. “We need to get out of here before they see us!”

Damn it, Élise's almost all the way down the street now, I can hear the men just on the other side of the hedge, Dusky's standing right here, and– and— 

And damn it all to hell!!

I snatch the colt with a wing and force him close against my side. He protests and struggles but I don't care – I start running after Élise, as fast as I can!