//------------------------------// // Case Twenty, Chapter Seven: Silver Lining // Story: Ponyville Noire: Rising Nightmares // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// The spinning red and blue lights illuminated the cabin, the colors spreading across the snow in every direction. Six police cruisers were all parked about the perimeter, the swerving tracks marked behind them evidence of their hasty parking.  “How did you figure out that this was Coin’s safehouse?” Cold Case asked, staring at the building from outside.  “Soil traces on Diamond’s and Coin’s cars,” Phillip said. “Sweetgum leaf tree on Coin’s car. Distance from here to McNeighley’s narrowed down the area. Just lucky we found it so fast.”  “Lucky for him, at least,” Daring Do commented with a scowl, glancing back at a cruiser sitting towards the back of the phalanx. Coin Toss was shivering in the backseat, clutching a blanket around his body and staring at nothing. Two officers were both glaring down at him.  A troop of officers emerged from the front door, their weapons lowered and shoulders slumped. Bumblebee set down the shield he’d been carrying and removed the gas mask over his face. The countenance beneath was a mixture of horror and awe.  “All clear,” he reported. “But…” He shook his head. “There’s no way one pony did this. No way. It had to be an army.”  “You wish,” Agent Strider said soberly as he, Phillip, and Daring proceeded towards the front door.  All of them glanced up at the balcony overhead. Two corpses, a hippogriff and an earth pony mare, were illuminated by the bulb over the glass door, weapons discarded next to their still forms. The hippogriff’s forelimb hung limply over the edge. As they passed beneath the balcony, some drops of blood, still slightly warm, dripped between the slats next to Strider’s hooves.  “Ick,” he groaned and entered the hallway. They were greeted by a corpse sprawled face down on the floor, blood staining the once-beautiful throw rug across the tiles. The cottage stank of death. Bodies lay in every hallway and every room, blood spilling from slit throats, slashed eyes, and bullet wounds onto the floor. Almost every one of the corpses had an expression of terror upon their countenance, mouths hanging open in silent screams.  “Crikey,” Phillip breathed as they proceeded through a sitting room. The acrid scent of cordite hung in the air, muting the odor of blood. One wall was pockmarked with bullets, and chairs and tables were overturned in what appeared to have been a desperate bid to escape, judging by the three corpses sprawled across them, discarded guns dropped amidst smashed plates, glasses, and books.  Strider looked over the bullets marring one of the walls. “There are no blood trails leading out of here; he wasn’t hit,” he observed. “Every light is on, and there’s no cover in here.” He bent down next to one of the bodies, frowning as he studied the jagged tear in the side of the jenny’s neck. “How did they manage to not hit him?”  Daring frowned and tapped her head. “He had a Talon of Glory…” she muttered to herself. “What are those, what are those, I know those…”  “I saw his bird carrying it out,” Phillip said. “Looked like a mummified griffon talon holding a candle.”  “Right!” Daring declared, brightening. “Talons of Glory, made from the right hoof of a griffon hanged for murder! The candle creates a sort of anti-light: if you light it, it basically dims all the light around you, but you can still see.” “Useful for stealth missions,” Phillip nodded.  “Why can’t they make magical artifacts that make our jobs easier?” Strider complained. “Why does all the cool stuff have to be evil?”  “Says the pony with the cutting-edge magical gear,” Daring replied.  “Yeah, but remote surveillance viewers and holographic scene projectors are just rocks, not murderer’s talons,” Strider replied.  Cold Case cleared her throat pointedly from the door. “Agent.”  “Right, right,” Strider nodded. “Darkness, hallucinogenic poison,” Phillip said, looking around at the corpses. “No wonder they panicked. Doctor had every advantage he needed.”  “Coin said he was in the basement. Let’s check there,” Daring suggested, nodding towards an open door revealing a set of stairs.  Tendrils of yellow smoke clung to the steps, twisting and turning in faint winds. The three detectives donned gas masks before heading downstairs.  Phillip paused at the bottom of the steps, raising one eyebrow at the sight of the door lying on the floor. Smoke was still rising from the threshold where the acid had eaten through the wood and lock.  More bodies littered the floor of the basement, but instead of knife wounds, all of them were punctured by bullets. Shells were scattered everywhere amidst the crimson pools.  “Whoa,” Daring commented.  All three of their eyes were drawn to the pegasus laying wide-eyed and slack-jawed in the corner, his chest and throat punctured. The motto on his foreleg was stained with red, as if death itself were mocking the ideal of “Mareland Above All.”  “Winged Key,” Strider said, shaking his head.  Phillip looked from the hole blasted into the ceiling. “Blasted a hole in the ceiling. Pumped gas in here,” he reported. “Fear gas. Ponies here all went bunta, started shooting each other.”  “Poor bastards,” Strider commented, looking through the unlocked chest in the corner. “Then the thieves came in and stole the painting after they were all dead.”  “Except for Coin,” Phillip commented, looking at the lone gun laying in the corner. “Who managed to tear the painting and run.”  “Lucky bastard,” Daring muttered. “Wouldn’t have thought that he was that tough.”  “Hey, detectives,” an officer called from up the stairs. “There’s a set of hoofprints outside. They lead to an abandoned farmhouse next door. Nopony there, but it looks like they left behind some maps and cameras and stuff.” “Probably won’t mean much if they left it behind,” Phillip commented, sighing and shaking his head, looking over the corpses sprawled across the floor.  “At least we got something out of this,” Strider said, pulling the plastic bag out of his coat.  All eyes fell upon its contents: the torn upper half of Not to Be Replicated, the reflection in the mirror and the top of the stallion’s hat visible.  “Lots of ponies died for this,” Phillip commented. “Must be important.”  Caballeron lay trembling on the floor, staring at the shadow stretching over his head.  “You,” the hooded stallion snarled. “Complete. Idiot.”  “I’m sorry, señor,” Caballeron pleaded. “It was the agent, I didn’t account for--”  “Silence.”  Caballeron swallowed and closed his eyes, keeping his head lowered.  He heard his master turn towards the podium where the precious tome had formerly lain. “The loss of the Kyaltratek is an incalculable setback,” he growled, laying a charcoal-colored hoof on the podium. “All of that power and knowledge...lost to me. And without it, I cannot unlock the secrets of the Rings.”  Caballeron kept his eyes shut, gripping the cloudbrick floor like he was afraid an errant wind would blow his trembling form away; the condemned pony was starting to think that the anticipation was far worse than the ax falling.  “And worse yet, you were only able to retrieve half of the map,” the voice continued in that snarl of barely restrained anger.  Caballeron glanced up. The aged canvas was placed upon the easel, but the stallion with his back forever turned to the world had vanished, replaced by a weathered scrawl of a map; a dotted pathway led between drawings of mountains, trees, rivers, and clusters of cottages before disappearing into the jagged top edge of the canvas. A paintbrush, bristles still wet with the solution, was placed on the easel’s tray.  “Still...it is better than nothing,” the speaker admitted. “The other half can be retrieved in time.”  Caballeron briefly considered speaking but thought better of it. He heard a hoof running through the notes on the nearby table. “Did you at least find the time spell?”  “Y-yes, my lord,” Caballeron gasped out. “Doctor Papyrus and I managed to translate most of the instructions. It...it appears that in order for the spell to work, we will require prisms carved of amberclaw.” The stallion grunted. “A rare mineral from Thrussia. Acquiring it will be difficult, and carving it more so…”  “S-señor…” Caballeron gulped. “If I may...I know that amberclaw is sold to the Royal Academy in Canterlot for their studies. It is shipped through Ponyville. If you allow us, we may be able to get it for you.”  Caballeron felt the glare burning into him and shuddered, acutely aware of the weight of the guillotine blade over his neck.  “Do what you need to do, doctor,” the leader finally said. "Get our amberclaw." “Y-yes, señor. Gracias, señor,” Caballeron gasped out, relief flooding over him as his neck was pulled off the block. He looked up to meet the shaded eyes glaring down at him.  “But first,” the snarling voice cut him off. “You need to be taught a lesson.”  Caballeron felt his heart drop into his churning stomach.  “I can forgive mistakes. I can forgive failures,” the master growled. “But for you to make a critical error such as this, that costs us this greatly. There must be consequences for that.”  The hissing of a chain was all the warning that Caballeron got. Something yanked his hind hooves out from under him and he grunted as his chin hit the ground. He skidded back like a fish on a reel, scrabbling for anything to grab, gasping in panic.  “No, no!” Caballeron gasped, looking over his shoulder to behold his captor. The red eyes glittered; Caballeron had a brief impression that he was smiling beneath the mask.  He started screaming even before the needle went into his arm.  Coin Toss shuddered, shifting in his chair.   “Three of them,” he muttered, staring at the table in front of him instead of at his interrogators. “All of them wearing gas masks. Earth ponies. One of them, huge bastard, spoke with a Trottish accent; another had a fedora on.”  From the other side of the bars, Strider flipped through his folder, then pulled out three photographs. “These guys?” he asked, sliding them across the table.  Coin glanced at them, then turned away and nodded. “Aye. That’s them.”  “Rogue, Withers, and Biff,” Strider listed them off, stifling a yawn as he did so. “Caballeron’s oldest henchponies. And you’ve met Tight Security and Doctor Papyrus.”  “They took the painting out of the chest,” Coin Toss continued, his voice barely audible. “The big one...pulled out a knife and came for me. I saw him coming and...I guess I just decided that I wasn’t gonna die pissing myself like that. “I can’t say why I went for the painting, but I just did,” he continued. “Maybe I thought I could still barter my way out of this. Grabbed it and pulled. When it tore, I sprinted up the stairs and out the front door. Doctor caught me partway out. If your boys hadn’t arrived right then, I’d be dead now.”  He shifted in his seat and swallowed. “Dead like all my mates…” His clover-green eyes became even duller, staring forward like he was looking through the floor and into the dark ground beneath.  “Coin,” Phillip said quietly. “I’ve been dosed by that gas, too. Don’t blame yourself.”  “I don’t,” Coin growled, looking up for the first time. His eyes met Phillip’s, full of pain and rage. “I blame the freak.” He leaned in close to Phil, his body still trembling; the chains of the hoofcuffs securing his forelegs rattled in a quiet symphony of subdued fear. “You find him, Finder. You find that bastard.”  Phillip nodded coolly and stood, leading Strider out of the room. The door closed and locked behind them, leaving the Mareish Mob boss on his own in the interrogation room. He sat with his head in his cuffed hooves, every breath coming slow and heavy. Outside, Daring Do and Captain Hewn Oak both stared at their prisoner through the tinted mirror. Oak sighed, stroking one of the beads on his rosary marked with Cadenza’s crystalline heart cutie mark.  “A heretic serpent he may be, but he and his fellows did not deserve this fate,” he intoned.  “I’m just glad that he’s in a cell now,” Daring grumbled as Phillip and Strider rejoined them.  “Now, let us review where we stand,” Captain Oak stated. “We have half of the painting; our foes have taken the other half, for whatever sinister purposes they desire, and General Fire has already returned the cursed Kyaltratek to Canterlot, where the Princesses will keep it under even tighter lock than before. Winged Key is dead, having sewn the crops of his sin, but we have rescued Rough Diamond and Coin Toss. Further, we have recovered the mirror that they were using to traverse between this city and their den.”  “But not before they smashed the mirror on their side so we can’t get through,” Strider pointed out. “And then moved their cloudhouse somewhere else.”  “If nothing else, we have slowed them down,” Oak pointed out. “‘A flower does not bloom in one day. Tend to your garden day by day and your progress will be rewarded.’ Celestia 7:36.”  “Yeah, well, I don’t have a green hoof,” Daring grunted.  “Any progress counts,” Phillip grunts. “Gonna see what Suunkii found on the painting.”  “A sound idea,” Oak nodded, following the others down the hall to the stairs.  They reached the basement and followed the tinny strains of a brass quartet playing Hearth’s Warming carols over the radio to the laboratory. Doctor Suunkii was currently bending over a table, carefully adding a golden powder to a squat beaker filled with a pale blue liquid. Several emptied jars stood on a nearby drying rack, traces of a similarly colored liquid still clinging to the glass, glinting in the late morning sunlight that streamed in from the windows.  “I have successfully analyzed the sample of paint that you brought back from Doctor Caballeron’s hideout, Phillip Finder,” Suunkii announced as they entered, stirring the paste. “It is composed of water mixed with gold flakes, ground unicorn horn, and sap from a starfall tree.”  “So, not something you can get from a local crafts shop,” Daring commented.  “Most certainly not,” Suunkii replied, completing his stirring of the solution. “I have been testing variations of this compound on the fragment of the painting that you recovered. I believe I am close to finding the one that will reveal the secrets of Artiste Fou.” He dipped a small paintbrush into the semi-transparent liquid and turned to the easel next to him, which bore the upper half of the painting that Coin had retrieved. He carefully drew the brush along the bottom corner, over the mirror.  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the colors began to fade away, revealing an image behind the paint: a rough scrawl of a tree against the yellowed canvas.  “The fortune of the alicorns smiles upon us,” Oak declared as Suunkii began to carefully paint over the rest of the canvas. The artwork faded away, revealing the secret message behind it.  “A map,” Daring said out loud, observing the drawings of hills, rivers, and clusters of trees. A dotted line wove its way through the woods, ending at what looked like a cluster of treehouses.  “What are those among the treehouses there?” Oak asked, pointing to the small stick figures amidst the strange city.  Phillip squinted at the canvas. “Look like zebra,” he commented.  “An interesting choice for a landmark,” Suunkii mused. “I have heard of legends of a settlement of zebra in the land that is now the Everfree Forest, but if it existed, it was lost centuries ago, certainly long before Artiste Fou was born.”  “There’s a lot more out there than we think, doctor,” Oak said.  “Too right,” Phillip agreed. “Knowing our luck,” Daring commented. “It can’t be anything good.”  “I…” Rough Diamond shook her head and idly rubbed at her face, scratching at the patch over where her right eye used to be, the skin beneath it red and puffy. An IV tube carried a transparent mixture of fluids, antibiotics, and painkiller potions into her arm.  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember much.” She winced. “And what I do remember, I don’t want to remember.”  “I understand,” Flash said, reaching out to squeeze the young unicorn’s hoof. He and Red were sitting next to the mare’s hospital bed, the sun filtering through the snow-coated window behind them. “Please let us know if you remember anything else.”  Rough sniffled, rubbing tears from her sole remaining eye. “F-fuck, I...I can’t believe that Winged is dead,” she whimpered. “I j-just…”  “Diamond,” Flash said calmly, keeping his hoof atop hers. “I’m not gonna say that I know how you feel, or that it’s all gonna be okay. But I am gonna say that you’re not alone. Not if you don’t want to be. You should reach out to ponies who can help you. I can give you a number for a grief counselor if you want.”  Rough Diamond stared blankly at the wall for several moments, then nodded numbly. “I’d like that,” she mumbled, tears falling from her eye.   “Good,” Flash smiled at her, pulling out a business card and laying it on the table next to her bed. “We’re just a phone call away if you need us.”  “Thank you,” Diamond said with a feeble smile as the two detectives exited.  Red sighed once they were out of view, rubbing at his darkened eyes. “You think she stands a chance?” he asked his partner.  “We got her out of there alive,” Flash said. “Even when life completely shits on you, that doesn’t mean you have to just give up; that’s what my mom proved to me after the accident. She has a chance to come back from this that she wouldn’t have had otherwise.”  Red glanced at Flash and half-smiled. “You know, if I were slightly more of an asshole than I already am, I’d call you naive.”  “At least I’ve had a positive influence on you,” Flash grinned back at him. A moment later, his smile faded and turned into a large yawn.  “Yeah, same,” Red agreed.  Twilight approached, her eyes wide and alert as she stared at the lab report that she was holding in her magic.  “Ugh. Does she ever sleep?” Red grumbled.  “I got Rough Diamond’s blood report here,” Twilight declared as she approached the duo, not lifting her eyes from the documents. “She was given the Doctor’s toxin, but it’s very diluted.” She scowled at the report. “Epinephrine, psilocin, monoamine oxidase inhibitors...yes, these all match up with Phillip and Daring’s sample. But…” She glared at one underlined entry on the report.  “Unknown organic compounds: 78%” “What is that?” Twilight scowled.  “I’m sure you and Doctor Suunkii will figure it out,” Flash reassured her, patting her on the shoulder.  Twilight took a breath, then looked up with a smile that was far, far too wide and accompanied by eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh, I’m sure I will,” she said. “It’s not like this is a dangerous poison being used by one of the most dangerous assassins in the world! Not like he’s here. In our hometown. Right now! Ha! No pressure at all! No--”  “Twilight,” Flash cut her off. “You’re going Twilinanas again.”  “What?!” Twilight protested. “I am not going Twilinanas! Who told you about that?” she added with a growl.  “Shining and Cadance. During our visit to the Crystal Empire,” Flash replied calmly.  “Twilinanas?” Red said to himself.  “Well, I am not being Twilinanas!” Twilight protested.  Both pegasi raised an eyebrow at her. “Okay, fine, maybe a little,” Twilight admitted, flattening her ears.  “I have an idea,” Red suggested. “If you can identify as many of those components as you can, you think you can find some way to identify or track them?”  “I might…” Twilight said.  “The Industry Kings have to be the ones smuggling it in for him,” Red stated. “If we can find the pipeline, we can trace it back. We might even get a sample of it for you.”  “I’ll work on it,” Twilight nodded brightly.  “Good,” Red nodded. “We’re going to find that bastard, guys.”  “Hopefully before he finds us,” Flash said with a slightly nervous chuckle.  Two cold glares answered him. “Just...trying to lighten the mood,” Flash explained through a forced grin.  Red shook his head. “Don’t go into standup, Sentry,” he said, turning away. “Twilinanas,” he repeated to himself with a dry chuckle.  Flash puffed out a breath and followed his partner, draping a wing over Twilight’s shoulders. She nestled up against him as they trotted down the hallway, resting her head on his shoulder with a contented little sigh. He smiled softly, leaning over to plant a kiss on her forehead.  “It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered to Twilight.  She didn’t reply verbally, smiling back up at him instead. That was enough to convince Flash that he had told her the truth. The typewriter let out its salvo of clicks and clacks, the carriage making its rapid commute across the machine, leaving letters in its wake. The rhythm was finally interrupted by a sharp ding, then a low shuffling as the writer pushed the carriage back to the right.  Daring Do frowned at the latest chapter of Compass Rose and the Tower of Terror. In this chapter, the treasure hunter had just triggered one of the titular tower’s many traps, a poison dart mechanism.  Compass stared at the little object in her hoof. It wasn’t a mosquito like she’d thought. It was a dark little blade, the poison on the dart’s head glimmering her headlamp.  She suddenly felt like an anaconda had wrapped itself around her chest, crushing her ribs like a vise; fire replaced the air in her lungs and she started gasping in panic. Venomous pain spread across her limb, every muscle contracting so tight that she felt like the tendons might snap.  The cold floor struck Compass Rose’s face as she toppled over, the lens of her headlamp cracking from the impact. The light flickered, illuminating the carving of the Ahuizotl on the wall. The snarling face glared at her through the darkness, as if mocking her plight.  It suddenly occurred to Compass Rose through the pain and panic that this might be the last thing she saw. The cut on Daring’s face suddenly flared with pain and she hissed, reaching up to stroke her face as her heart suddenly leaped into her throat, pounding so hard that she thought it might jump right out of her.  Daring Do’s hoof went for the totem around her neck, stroking the cold carved face of Awely-Awely. Her breath started to slow as she wrested control of her emotions, closing her eyes to calm herself.  From outside came the sound of a saxophone, practicing freeform scales. The music rolled over Daring like a comforting blanket, allowing her muscles to relax as the stress left her. She acknowledged the fear in her gut, observing its furious, impotent writhing like a specimen on a microscope slide, then let it go with an exhalation, watching as it slowly shrank down to a minor tension far beneath her skin.  Opening her eyes, she looked out the window. Lit faintly by the glow of the false Hearth’s Warming tree in the corner of the room, Phillip was sitting on the railing of the back porch, caressing his saxophone as he summoned the music from the brass instrument. His eyes, however, kept scanning the darkened skies, ears flicking at every sound.  An owl hooted overhead. Phillip jumped slightly, looking around, then glancing back inside to look at his wife. After a moment, he sighed and put the reed back into his mouth, resuming his practice.  The chiming of the doorbell caught Daring’s attention. She rose from the chair and proceeded down the hall, pausing to retrieve her pistol from the hanging rack, strapping it tight to her hoof. Taking a breath, she paused next to the door, pushing aside the curtains on the window.  A yellow unicorn with graying blue hair stood on the porch, her long purple scarf flapping in the wind. The tension in Daring’s body evaporated and she unlocked the door. “Joy,” she greeted the mare outside.  “Blessings, Daring,” Joyful Sound smiled, her unseeing eyes rising towards Daring’s face. “How are you?”  “Could be better, Pastor,” Daring admitted, stepping aside to allow her entry. Joy’s cane tapped against the floor as she entered.  Daring glanced up and down the street as Joy passed her. The street was empty save for the snow, glistening beneath the glow of the streetlamps and the strings of multicolored lights hanging from every eave. Daring closed and locked the door behind them.  “Flash told me of your encounter with the Doctor’s pet,” Joy said with a concerned frown as Daring hung the .38 Filly Special back up on the wall. “Praise the Mother that you lived.”  “Yeah,” Daring sighed.  “I hear music,” Joy said, cocking her ear. “Is Phillip outside?”  “Yeah, c’mon,” Daring said, leading the pastor towards the back door and opening it for her.  Phillip paused his practice as Joy strode out onto the porch. “Joy. What’re you doing here?”  “I can’t just visit my friends?” Joy smiled at him, striding across the porch until her cane thumped against the railing, then carefully turning to sit down upon it. Daring brushed aside some snow and sat down on Phillip’s other side.  The trio sat in silence for a moment save for the low wind that made the strings of lights running through the branches of the cherry tree in the backyard sway, the rainbow array splashed across the snow.  Daring looked up at the stars twinkling overhead, partially hidden by the passing clouds. She recognized Orion, with blue-white Rigel and pale red Betelgeuse winking down at them as they passed.  A moment later, the clouds passed over the hunter, hiding him from view. Daring sighed.  “What’s on your mind tonight?” Joy asked.  “Is it me, or did this not feel like a win?” Daring said aloud.  Phillip let out a small grunt of agreement, his face falling into severe lines.  “Yet on the other hoof,” Joyful Sound cut in. “You rescued two ponies from certain death. And you are all still alive and here.”  Daring half-smiled. “Right. Silver lining.”  They were silent for a little longer, then Phillip spoke. “Joy?”  “Hmm?” she replied.  “I never asked, but…” Phillip hesitated, clearly struggling to come up with a way to form his thoughts into words. “How did you find your faith?”  Joy cocked her head at him for a moment, then shifted in place.  “After the accident, I...was in for a long struggle,” Joy admitted. “I thought that my life was over; I would alternate between deep depression and fits of anger at the driver that hit me, at the doctors, at the Mother for doing this to me. I’m...not proud of who I was back then. I thought that my blindness was what defined me now, that all of my dreams of being a singer were gone, that I was now a burden on my family. “Eventually it became clear that I was never going to be able to see again, and I was forced to accept that,” Joy continued. “And I realized that I could either let that define me or learn to live with it and try to move on. So for the first time, I started praying to the Holy Mother not to give me my sight back, but for the strength to accept what happened. “And I found it,” she smiled. “It took a long time, and there were a lot of rough patches, but I was able to move on from the accident. I accepted that it wasn’t anypony’s fault--this wasn’t punishment or some kind of test to make me stronger. It was just part of life. I reconnected with my family and found a new job as the pastor of the church. And here I am now.”  Phillip let out a breath. “Not really the praying type,” he said. “Doesn’t make sense how you can pray to some god and then things are supposed to get better.”  “The prayer itself isn’t what’s important,” Joy said. “The Holy Mother isn’t some genie that gives us what we want if we say the right words. No amount of praying was ever going to give me my sight back. I prayed because it changed me. Because it allowed me to open myself up to grieve, to let others in. Because the Mother gave me what I really needed: strength.”  Daring shifted in place as she processed these words, then let out a breath through her pursed lips. “So how do we start?” she asked.  “You need to understand that faith isn’t a thing that you can just get,” Joy explained. “It’s a verb.” Daring raised an eyebrow. “The dictionary might disagree with you on that.”  Joy chuckled again. “What I mean is that faith is a transformation. A journey, guided by the six stars of honesty, loyalty, generosity, kindness, hope, and friendship. And it can be difficult at times. There will be times when we struggle with doubt, with fear, with selfishness and hopelessness.”  She reached out and took Daring and Phillip’s hooves. Her touch was soothingly warm despite the cold air.  “But faith is about remembering, every day, through all the struggle, that you are loved,” she continued, her smiling eyes somehow making contact with both of theirs. “That even in the darkest of times, there is still light. It is about reaching out, every day. To something higher than yourself. To others. To yourselves.”  Daring pondered her words for several moments, then looked up at the sky. The clouds had moved on and the stars were all winking down at them. She smiled and extended a wing around Phillip’s shoulders, pulling him close. He leaned in and nestled his head against hers, briefly pressing his lips against her warm forehead.  Daring Do’s hoof went to the totem around her neck and she smiled in contentment. Thank you, she whispered.  Polaris winked at her in reply.