The forest canopy was as unforgiving as the ether's indifference.
It shrouded whatever laid below, a shadow that persisted throughout all of time, regardless of whether it was day or night. There existed other spots that allowed more sunlight to filter through, albeit these spots were uncommon and peppered, spread throughout the forest like an inconsistent disease.
Feather decided to play a little game so as to not waste the opportunity of obscured daylight. Whenever he spotted a forest critter—even a mere glance—he would give himself a point. He wondered what kinds of animals he would see and how many points he’d end up with in the end; was he going to get nothing, ten, perhaps fifty?
Pride swelled in him from the fact that he knew he had good eyes. He would spot even the smallest of things, notice even the tiniest of details if he tried hard enough; the little colt was sure of it! The question was how many critters would actually show up, if any at all.
Feather wondered if he would be lucky today.
As he sauntered across the vague forest path with his group, he likened the hoofsteps of his companions to that of a beat, a piano with drums that played together. It wasn’t always harmonious (at other times it sounded like utter rubbish), but there were other times when he could recognize a faint melody, a dash of a tingly piano with its elegant notes and the beats of exotic drums.
Little Feather found things such as that. He would find a piano playing in the wilderness, a pencil stroke in statues, waves in the wind that ushered anything along. It was silly! But why did he do so? Perhaps it was boredom, or maybe it was because children saw things adults couldn’t, people too serious or distracted to see invisible things.
One, he counted in his head. He spotted what he confirmed was a squirrel, a small thing running on the forest floor in his view for a few seconds. The little critter held something in their paws he couldn’t quite see. It was probably a piece of food or some other comfort thing.
Feather found that rather funny, the fact that animals had certain objects they treasured or they used for legitimate utility: the dams of beavers, the favorite toys of cats and dogs, even the shiny objects of magpies and the webs of spiders. It was cute as it was fascinating. What kinds of other things did the animals out there in the world possess?
Two, he counted once again. Speaking of spiders, here was one right now. He stayed a fair bit away from the little rascal—it was, to be more precise, a rather large rascal, but small compared to a pony nonetheless. The dainty arachnid dangled from an invisible thread of spider silk, descending to eventually reach its web.
Was the world like that, a massive spider’s web that—despite seeming to be all encompassing—only touched a few places? There might be distant worlds forever out of reach from the inhabitants of this one. Was that comforting or horrifying?
Three. It was a dove. A dove so white he swore it penetrated even sunlight. But it did not have the grace one would expect of a dove; the poor thing was lethargic; it barely seemed to keep itself in the air.
Little Feather followed the bird for a moment as if his entire body was possessed, driving him to put out a hoof without even thinking to usher near the white bird. To come close to him.
The dove did and landed rather tersely. He first noted how soft it felt, how soft it’s feathers were. Despite seeming tired and sluggish, the bird heralded a beauty that perpetuated regardless of its condition. When it moved its wings slightly, he swore he didn’t even sense it; that’s how gentle it was.
And as he stared at the bird in silence, he wondered to himself if it was real. The whiteness of its feathers truly were so pure that it was comparable to gazing at an unpainted spot of a painting. Its black, beady eyes peered at his, similar to little Feather in the same fascination it held and different with the outward expression it returned to him: a benevolent peace, a hurtful but comforting truth.
Feather noticed that the dove’s wing on the inside was slightly shrivelled, crooked.
“Did you hurt your wing?”
The dove only cooed in reply.
A light wind patted his back. “Do you want to return to your nest?”
The dove cooed again, more enthusiastic, an approval.
He gently put the dove on his back, letting it rest and settle for a moment. “Show me the way.”
The dove pointed to a spot to his right, and so Feather wandered out into the thick of the trees to bring the dove back home.
A sky without stars.
That’s what it was. A sky without stars. A sky without any galaxy, without any planets, without any light. It was space, but there was nothing else. Was this what it felt like before God, before creation itself? Perhaps the creator was so lonely he decided to wrought reality to his fitting, a place that abided only chaotic rules.
Lonely. It was lonely. It was the interior of a black hole, an infinitesimally massive mass bound into an infinitesimally small amount of space. Black holes were where light could not even escape, sucked into its time-bending gravitational fields so powerful it would rip atoms to mere shreds.
Feather didn’t even feel like he was floating. He was only here, and he was the only thing in existence. Was he, though? It’s like it didn’t matter at all.
He remembered things about his life. First words. That beach he visited as a colt. A camping trip with his friend Rainbow Dash. That time he got his first job in Manehattan, a rookie weather control pegasi that handled new reigns more quickly than most. He recalled the bitter taste of Ohteotl. And her eye, that piercing, eye of glowing red.
He recalled meeting with River Moon for the first time, and meeting with Twilight Sparkle. It was as if only moments ago had they arrived at La Orilla.
Feather had been on the top of the world, a pyramid’s crest that overlooked a rainforest that had no end. The Amarezon. A kingdom too unruly for even kings to rule, and so it was only itself.
And those dreams with Jade. Talking to her. Comforting her. Sharing bits and pieces of knowledge. A spar of words. It was wonderful as it was melancholic, for would he ever see her again?
He was taken back to that seemingly perpetual instant in a train, voyaging unknown realms of space-time in pursuit of perhaps imaginary destinations. All that mattered was that they were together.
He remembered being attacked by a beast and dying.
But now was different. Feather was okay. It wasn’t too cold or too hot; he didn’t hunger, he didn’t tire, he didn’t feel any sort of pain. It was okay, and it came as no surprise to him.
It was skimming through a book Feather already knew, looking back at his experiences, reliving some parts and highlights throughout the chapters as they spanned on. Some of those chapters were terribly short, some were strangely lengthy, and both controversy and good-doings popped from the contents of their pages.
It might be a constant to all living things: a book, a story. With every creation came a tale, and what of things that didn’t have at least a background? Creations come with stories, much like a literal tome, bound together, cover to cover, with a durability that lasted for generations.
Stories themselves usually outlive even the most sturdy of literature. They lived in the memories of future generations, oftentimes on the tip of tongues, but so long as one knew of a particular tale, then it was precious. It could herald change for better things.
It was peaceful to know that.
A single spot in the isolated cosmos called to him. Feather couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there; he was sure of it. Its presence felt close, but it laid afar, both fiction and reality, indescribable at a glance yet straightforward when viewed from a new angle.
It was light. It was hope. And yet, he had not the urge to hurry to its presence.
Feather simply existed in a universe as silent as he was.
He took one step forward, then another step, advancing closer to the presence of the ethereal glow. He took another step, then one more, again and again. His hoofsteps were steady now, a light but firm trot towards the light at the end of the tunnel.
That was when Feather Dew saw everything that did happen, everything that didn’t happen, and everything beyond the view of mere mortals in a place that had no beginning or end.
It was getting harder to see.
The forest was obscuring too much sunlight. As Feather pressed forward to the direction the dove pointed to, he wondered if there was something sinister going on. He couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that he was somehow being watched, that this was all a ruse, that this dove was a part of a conspiracy—a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
No. That couldn’t be true, right? What purpose would a dove like this have for luring a young colt into the forest? What was the point? Why would anyone do that? The forest was—for the most part—just a forest, and that was that. There was nothing going on.
Yet little Feather still could not shake off the feeling, a feeling of discomfort that contorted his stomach, making him think twice as to what was truly going on.
It was as if he was sensing for the very first time in his life, the first throngs of consciousness. His environment felt weird. Whenever he glanced at forest canopies, whenever he took a glance behind him only to be met with the indifferent fauna, he was struck with a sense of loneliness.
It was a sense of grief he hadn’t experienced before. He felt like a stranger of his very own body, a vagabond soul that knew of no destination.
Feather was interrupted when the dove cooed happily. They were in front of a tree, seeming the same as any other. This tree was special when he observed it more, for he realized that just by one of its branches laid a nest. It perched high from the ground, safe from any wandering predators below.
“I’ll be nice, hold on.” Feather extended his wings, regarding them. He grimaced a little when he saw how small they were; they weren’t that small, but for a colt of his age, they should have been bigger by now.
Little Feather exhaled and said to himself, “you’ve been practicing; you’re going to be fine.” Without further thought, he began to flap the pair, bringing them upwards.
“Woah!” He stumbled a tad, rocking to the side, though he was able to regain his balance at the last second. Feather glanced back at the dove, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that; it’s definitely the wind.”
They met the tree branch’s level, near the nest. He carefully scooped up the bird and placed it in its safespace. He giggled a bit as the bird cooed and set its wings to its side, resting. Home at last.
“That’s the spirit,” he said, patting it gently on the head. “You just stay here, okay? No need to go out and get lost.”
Little Feather found himself stupid when his own words hit him.
“Oh! My camping group!” He turned to the dove and gave a nod, saying, “It’s been fun, but I really do have to go now, otherwise my camping group won’t know where I am!” The dove gave a gentle gesture of its wings as Feather lowered himself to the ground.
“Bye!” He looked back from the little bird to face an entire forest on his own, a large expanse of darkened verdure.
Most prominent were densely populated trees. It made it confusing as to where to head next. Every time he took a peek somewhere else, every time he contemplated where to go, the options grew to the point that he didn’t know what to make of it, much less choose.
A stroke of genius graced him, an idea sprouting in his head. Little feather spread his wings once again and took flight, reaching for the tree tops. He struggled through the thick forest canopy—it took him several minutes to cross it and to dust himself off of the debris from the little mess he made. Once past that, Feather flew up steadily as he watched the expanse beyond him.
It was huge. Looking at it from the map made it look plain, just like any other mountain range and wooded area. Reality differed, and it was the largest sea of green Feather ever had the pleasure to look at.
He could only observe it for a second, for the winds up here were raucous, buffeting him to stumble down on a tree top. Poor little Feather had to recollect himself and hold steady to the branches to make sure he wouldn’t get knocked off by a harsh gale once again.
His discomfort worsened as he realized that his little wings were of little use in weather like this, in an environment this unforgiving and expansive. Feather knew he wouldn't last amongst mountain winds for even five minutes. He couldn’t take his chances and risk going up here any time soon.
But the sun was nearing the horizon. Feather watched as the light that reached his hooves grew weaker, receding to where the sun slept. He gulped and hastily reached the ground once more, setting his hooves on the topsoil.
It was growing cold. The colt leered at the forest with a rising trepidation. The uncertainty grew as he started a cautionary walk through the darkening twilight.
Feather heard the sounds of lurking creatures, slithering serpents, the crack and break of a twig or a leaf he was certain he didn’t make, and yet he couldn’t spot any creature. Any other pony. Was his mind playing tricks or was there something out there about to attack?
“I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Feather could recognize that voice from lifetimes away. It didn’t make sense, but his preconceptions have been thrown out the window lately. He was supposed to be here with her. This was where he belonged. They both were lost in a place forgotten by any god. Any creator’s touch.
He turned to face Jade, calm in his expression. Feather had a certainty in him, that pride he needed, for if the world would not regard him and give it to him, then so be it. He would be his own strength, be the master of his own fate.
When Feather’s eyes met hers, a stillness brewed inside of him, a disquietude only dead men knew, for only those who’ve peeked behind the veil understood what it was like to meet the end of all things.
“It... It was painful. So painful, in fact, that it’s as if I wasn’t even myself when it happened. I couldn’t think. I could barely see. I was dying, and it was the most hurt I had ever experienced. Suffering. Anguish.
“But suddenly there was this wave of peace that washed over my soul, a peace that I was surprised to feel even if—in retrospect—I knew it was going to come.
“I also felt a peace coming here. There are no stars, and it’s dark, but that doesn’t matter to me. It felt good, you know. It feels good to be here; I don’t exactly know why. It’s like we don’t even exist.”
Feather let out a non-existent breath. There were no words.
“But despite me feeling this way, I know I’m not yet done. I know that I still have promises to keep, obligations I can’t run away from. I still... I can’t run away from the things I fear.”
She tilted her head curiously, though a stifled sorrow risked to leak from her expression. “What is it you fear?”
What is it I fear? A simple question. But simple does not equate to easy.
He scoffed and shook his head. “Departing before I complete my obligations is one,” he said hushedly, her sorrow seeming to infect him also. “I told you I would come and find you. Save you. Get you out of whatever place you may be. You’re lonely there.”
Jade blinked and observed him closely. “That is only a part of it.”
“Yeah.”
“But you do have other things you fear, right?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t really want to tell me them, do you?”
A pause. What could he say? The fear she wished to know suddenly swooped into him, a fear that what he was as a pony would forever be changed because... things change.
And he looked the most crestfallen he had ever been, that peace he described to her fleeing away into unknown places. To other ponies? Wandering souls that too seeked that comfort in a place that wasn’t a place, a time that wasn’t real? He didn’t mind it too much. He could only think of himself.
“I don’t know if I even want to tell it to myself,” he said. “Dying is less harsh. It makes dying a solace, a place to run away to.”
Surprise flickered in her eye. Aghast. “What could possibly make you say that?”
“I just said it. It makes me wonder what I am now. And it’s a childish, small thing.” He hung his head low. “It doesn’t really matter.”
“It matters because you care so much about it.”
Another pause. “I guess that’s true.”
“So I’ll ask again.” Her tone grew both austerity and genuine concern. “What is it you fear, Feather Dew?”
He steeled himself by blinking, gaining cognizance. “You.”
“Losing you.” His poignant eyes bore into hers, yet they glimmered a gentleness only known by those who’ve mastered themselves. “I’m afraid. Afraid of losing things. What more of a pony, a person? How do you lose someone?”
And then he glanced away. “Losing things. Leaving them on a bar counter, it’s usually as simple as that. Things can be obtained. Owned. They’re simple.
“But a pony? We can’t classify ourselves like objects. It’s difficult to lose something as complicated as people.
“We’re the most real things to exist. People are so many things. Ideas, beliefs, convictions. And we might be the only things that believe that we’re more than what we are, more than the bodies we have, more than the actions we do, even more than the dreams we wish to achieve.
“I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s what they say the end is. And yet our memory lives on. Can we really say we’re gone?”
His gaze drifted heavenward, though no stars greeted him. “I thought it was something special. I thought nature was something beautiful. It’s many things. I didn’t think I would end up the way I am because of it.”
Jade tucked her head to her neck, knowing full well of what it was like to be betrayed by what they loved most.
“My stars,” Feather whispered. He seemed surprised, but no epiphany came to him. It was inside him all along. “I’m scared. Scared of losing what I am. Scared of losing myself.”
And the two only gazed upon themselves, mirroring each other's looks. One feared of letting himself go, and the other had already been lost perhaps for a thousand years. They were different and incomparable. Yet at that moment, abiding not to the limitations of reality, they thought of the other as the same.
Words were ready to leave his tongue, but he halted his lips. What else needed to be said?
Jade closed the distance between them. She uttered no words, though her muzzle quivered. A fragility spread across her face, and at that moment she seemed of a young filly. She was as scared as he was, and although that fear was similar, it came from another place. She looked the most different since they first met.
Jade proffered open hooves, the space between them meant for him to be in.
Feather silently sidled into her embrace, wrapping hooves around her as well. Her hug was gentle, that sensation of her coat, that neat mane. To have her and only her in her embrace made his heart feel complete somehow. She must have felt the same, too, right? Perhaps it was best not to ask and to leave it to fate.
A sensation wetted his coat, one he never expected. She was crying, gentle sobs reverberating his chest. Feather stood frozen. He was afraid. He wished...
No. Wishing was for when one couldn’t do anything. His fears still struck him, but Feather was stronger than that. He understood exactly what he needed to be.
Feather held her even closer, wrapping around a wing for good measure, holding her gently but with a conviction that he was to never let go of her again. Feather pressed his muzzle into her emerald mane. No force ought to tear them apart without him having to fight it—fight for them. Not even gods. “I’ll go back. I won’t let go of my promise to you so easily. I’ll save you. Save the both of us.”
She stifled a sniffle, a soaked eye radiating melancholy.
“I accepted that I was here,” she said, the two easing their embrace. “I accepted that this would be my fate. For all eternity. For a while, nothing mattered.” Jade fluttered her eyelids. “And then you showed up.
“You know what? It hurts even more now than it ever has been. I suspect it’s hope. Back then, I had nothing. But now you and your friends give me something to hope for, so I have something to lose. And so I then have sorrow, and I cry for the first time in eons. It stabs my heart over and over again, but it means something.”
Forbearance graced her face, lips and heart steady. “I feel something again. I am somepony again. It's a childish thing.” Jade chuckled, as if remembering his words. Her expression turned wiser. “But sometimes childish dreams are what we need. Some things can only come from our fantasies.”
Jade seemed frail and small in his hooves, and her voice was no louder than a whisper, but the conviction that dripped her words was enough to silence a pantheon of gods. “Thank you, Feather Dew. Thank you for giving me that hope so I can feel pain. So I can yearn. So that I can feel real again.”
A sad smile split his face, Feather tightening his hold of her. He tucked her head under his chin, setting his cheek on her temple as he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll find you, and then you will be real.”