Redheart's voice trailed off. She shook, sitting next to AP on the couch in their living room. Winter wind shook the house. He hugged her, and kissed her on the nose, tasting the salty tears matting her coat. "My love," Redheart whispered. "It—it feels good to tell you…"
He took her head in his hooves and looked into her right eye. "It looks fine," he said.
"Doctor Looky Loo at work says she can see some residual damage," Redheart said, "when she checks in there with her 'scope, but my vision is good enough. It's not like I'm a Wonderbolt."
He kissed her ear.
She looked at the mess, the twins' toys scattered everywhere, and smiled.
"I'm hungry," Redheart said, and looked at a clock. "Goodness! I've been talking forever. We're way past lunchtime, but I'm not in the mood to cook."
After dressing in heavy winter coats, scarfs, and hats, they trotted to Café Hay.
"How's your son?" Redheart asked Savoir Fare, the café's host.
"The cast comes off soon, but I don't think he'll want to try ice skating again this winter. My wife and I, well, we wanted to thank you again."
Redheart frowned, and nodded. "I'm just glad we were there at the pond. That break needed to be splinted just so. Can we have the private dining room, please?"
"Of course, Madame Redheart. Anything for you!"
They trotted through the open dining room, following Savoir Fare. Flitter and Cloudchaser, twin sisters and Redheart's fellow Home Guard reservists, waved at Redheart from their table.
Cloudchaser still wore a brace around a rear leg from that past summer's terrible incident with the diamond dogs, and her bangs hung more messily than usual over an angry scar along her forehead. The twins smiled and nodded to Redheart. "Sarge," they both said.
Redheart nodded back. "Ladies."
AP knew he was missing something passing between the three citizen-soldiers.
Deep in the back of the restaurant, behind a closed door, Redheart cradled a mug of hot chocolate in her hooves.
"My third Wounded-in-Action," she said, "And the last one I can tell you about, was a psychological wound. I mean, I broke some ribs, punctured a lung, lost a few teeth, but mostly a psychological wound."
AP reached out and touched her forehooves with his. "Were you... what happened? Were you captured again? Were you... you... like those three fillies?"
"No," Redheart said. "I killed. Me, with my red-cross-and-hearts cutie mark, and my special talent for healing... I am a killer."