Dawn broke over a vast white landscape, and the morning stillness was soon shattered by the giggling of foals as they frolicked in the snow; while the adults worked hard to clear it away from the streets and carry on with their daily lives.
But in the shelter of Steamer's house, far from sharing in the festive joy of the ponies around her, poor Hornette was feeling depressed. Her head injury had healed over nicely, but the loss of Locomotion's present still preyed on her mind. She plodded wearily into the kitchen, barely taking any notice of Steamer.
“Good morning, Hornette,” he said gently. “Feeling better?”
Hornette sighed heavily. “No,” she mumbled, reaching into the fridge for some milk. She didn't feel much like talking right now, and almost felt annoyed at Steamer for rubbing salt into her wound, even though he didn't mean it. What was so good about this morning anyway, she griped inwardly?
“I heard about your accident yesterday,” Steamer went on tentatively. “Must've been a real punch in the gut for you.”
“Yeah,” replied Hornette flatly.
“I'm truly sorry about the model. And after all that hard work too.”
Hornette paused, feeling a small tear trickling down her cheek.
“Do you want a hug?” asked Steamer, holding out an arm.
That did it for the young changeling. Gingerly, she wandered over to him and wrapped her own arms around his withers, letting even more tears loose, but without even the faintest sob. “It was so beautiful, Mr Steamer,” she lamented. “If only you could've seen it for yourself.”
“Mmm, I can imagine,” murmured Steamer thoughtfully. The Claud Hoofingtons had been around long before his time, but he and his nephew had plenty of pictures of them in their early days, before their native Great Eastern Railway was absorbed into the Pennsylhaynia Railroad, and subsequently Equestrian National Railways. They looked so stunning in their original royal blue livery – probably one of the reasons why Locomotion had been so taken by them from an early age.
“It was going to be the best present of all,” sniffed Hornette glumly, “and I just had to go and ruin it.” She sighed again and loosened her grip; “Loco doesn't deserve such a clumsy marefriend as me.”
Steamer pulled back, aghast. “How can you possibly say that?!” he protested. “Why, you're the best thing that's ever happened to him!”
“But what kind of a marefriend works so hard on a present only to destroy it at the last moment?”
“Well, if it comes to that, what kind of marefriend bullies herself over a simple accident?” retorted Steamer. “I know you feel bad about the model, but it's not the end of the world,” he added, softening his voice again. “These things can be replaced, given time – it's you yourself that can't. You could make a Hearth's Warming present fit for a king, and Loco still wouldn't be disappointed if you never gave it to him, because you're the only present he could ever ask for – and don't you forget it, Hornette.”
The young changeling blinked. “You reckon?”
“Oh, I know it,” asserted Steamer. “He's never been happier since you became an item.” He placed a hoof under her chin. “Come on now – you wouldn't want him to come home and see you all miserable, would you?”
Only then did Hornette manage a small, shaky smile. “No...I suppose he wouldn't,” she conceded, and leaned in for another hug – which was promptly interrupted by a frantic rapping at the front door.
“What the hay...?” Steamer hastily broke the hug and galloped over to the door to see what was the matter. Reasoning that it was probably nothing to do with her, Hornette turned back to the counter and poured out some of the milk; but barely took a sip before she heard a horrified exclamation from the hallway, followed by urgent voices. The moment she stepped out to investigate, Steamer turned to her with fear evident in his eyes. “There's an emergency at the shed,” he stated tersely. “The Flying Mistletoe still hasn't returned yet, and the main line is blocked over the Buckskin Mountains.”
“The Flying Mistletoe?!” Hornette went pale. “But...but that's Loco's train!”
“Exactly!” continued Steamer. “They've no idea where he is; the telephone lines were severed during last night's storm. There's every chance he and John are snowbound somewhere between here and Delamare. I'm needed on shed immediately to help find him.”
In an instant, all thoughts of Hearth's Warming presents vanished from Hornette's mind. With her coltfriend and several other helpless souls lost in a snowy wilderness, she could no longer feel sorry for herself – if those poor ponies weren't rescued, their families would be even more distraught, and so would she. Nopony should have to cope with this kind of tragedy on Hearth's Warming. Steeling her resolve, she ripped the bandage from her head and grabbed her coat from the rack. “I'm coming with you, Mr Steamer,” she declared bravely. “You railway ponies will need all the help you can get.”
Steamer pondered for a moment, and finally nodded. “Alright then,” he conceded grimly. “I'll try and talk it through with Max when we get on shed. Come along now, we haven't much time.” Secretly, he couldn't help smiling at the sudden change in Hornette's demeanour. The way she had been talking earlier, it was as if she had completely lost her festive spirit; and now it was back with a vengeance, filling her with determination that those marooned passengers and their crew (and her own beau, to boot) would still get a happy Hearth's Warming. And so, as soon as they were fully kitted out, he hastily scribbled a note, tacked it under the door knocker, and both pony and changeling galloped away towards the depot...
Barely a few minutes later, Firelli and Surfie came round the corner with Sweetie-Belle, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom. The five mares still felt bad for Hornette after her accident, and wanted to try and cheer her up somehow.
“Poor Hornette,” murmured Sweetie-Belle, who had only just heard about it from Apple Bloom that morning. “It sure is a shame about her model train.”
“I'll say,” put in Surfie. “She was so torn apart when she saw what was left you wouldn't believe it.”
“Well, maybe a few mince pies and a round of Railroad Baron should pick her up – if Loco hasn't already done so,” said Firelli optimistically.
Apple Bloom, on the other hoof, didn't say anything. She had remained unusually stolid the whole time, only occasionally pitching in with a nod or a hum of agreement.
Scootaloo was quick to notice this “Not very talkative today, are you?” she remarked casually.
“Just thinkin', that's all,” muttered Apple Bloom.
Surfie raised an eyebrow. “What about?”
But Apple Bloom just shrugged and ignored the question. The others tactfully decided not to press any further; whatever was on her mind, she would probably tell them about it once they had settled down in Steamer's living room.
Just as they were passing through the front gate, however, Firelli noticed that something was amiss. All the curtains were still drawn, and there wasn't even a light on inside. “That's odd,” she remarked. “Surely they should be up by now.”
“Well, they did get to bed kinda late,” Surfie pointed out, “and it is Uncle Steamer's rest day today. They're probably just having a lie-in.”
“Yeah, but at eleven o'clock in the morning?” answered Firelli doubtfully. “I'd have thought at least Loco would be up and about.”
“Maybe he ain't even home yet,” suggested Scootaloo. “I'd better go aloft and have a look.”
But before she could take off, Sweetie-Belle noticed something else. “Look!” she squeaked, pointing to the porch. “There's a note pinned to the front door.”
Firelli trotted over to investigate. Pulling the pin away and holding up the note with her left wing, she read its contents out loud;
To anypony who comes knocking,
Nopony home. Flying Mistletoe reported missing, presumed snowbound. Have gone with Hornette and staff at Ponyville MPD to search and rescue.
Signed
Steamer
The scarlet Pegasus' eyes widened with fear. “Oh no!” she gasped under her breath.
“The Flying Mistletoe?” repeated Apple Bloom, finally breaking her stoic facade. “Ain't that the train that Loco was meant ta be workin'?”
“It sure is,” affirmed Surfie. “It should've arrived here at about half-ten last night. That can only mean one thing – trouble!”
“They're gonna need help then,” said Scootaloo. “I'll go tell Rainbow Dash, see if she and Soarin and I can seek them out.”
“No, Scootaloo!” Firelli quickly pulled herself together enough to take control. “Leave it to me – I've overflown the route hundreds of times during flight camp, and I know it like the front of my hoof. I may not be much of an endurance flyer, but I've a better chance of finding them.”
Scootaloo hesitated for a moment. “Well...okay – but I'm coming as your wing-mare in case you do conk out.”
“That's settled then! Surfie, go on back to Mum and Dad and tell them what's going on,” ordered Firelli. “I'll alert Uncle Steamer as soon as I find them,” and both she and Scootaloo took off at once.
“Out of the question!”
“Now just a minute, Max...,” began Steamer.
“You know perfectly well, Steamer,” interrupted Max sharply, “that we can't allow joyriders on our snowplough trains – it's against the rules!”
“But that's my nephew out there! And who said anything about joyriding?!” said Steamer indignantly. “The whole reason I brought Hornette with me was so that she could help us clear the snow!”
“Yes, I know that, Steamer, but Hornette isn't even insured by the company!” insisted Max. “I can't afford to risk lives other than those of our employees, and that includes changelings!”
“You're already risking lives by refusing her help! It could take ages to reach that train, and by then, more than half of them will have frozen to death! With Hornette and her magic, we could get there quicker, and those passengers can get home safely!”
“Look, for the last time...”
“Mr Pressure...”
“Not now, Hornette,” said Max dismissively, and turned his attention back to Steamer. “Look, I know you're concerned for your nephew...
“And Hornette's coltfriend, need I remind you?!”
“...but there is no way that I'm making a needless sacrifice just because...”
But before Max could finish, Hornette lost control of herself and yelled out loud, “WILL YOU TWO STOP ARGUING!!!!”
Both stallions stared at the young changeling, stunned into silence.
“I'm...sorry to interrupt like this,” said Hornette, lowering her voice, “but you must understand, Mr Pressure – I've already come close to losing Loco once, and there's no way I can stand to lose him a second time; nor can I bear the thought of how many ponies must be fearing for their own loved ones. If they don't return home alive...I don't even want to think how their friends and families will feel.” She looked up at the dark brown stallion with pleading puppy eyes full of genuine despair. “I know I'm not a company employee, but please – I implore you – at least give me a chance.”
For once, Max was at a complete loss for words. He had dealt with plenty of distressed ponies whose loved ones had either been lost to or injured in an accident before, particularly the one at Horse Junction several years ago; but none could compare to this young changeling. Not only was she scared for his youngest employee, whom she loved so dearly, but she was willing to risk everything for the sake of everyone on the train, regardless of who they were and how well she knew them. Even if he did obey the rules, he felt somehow that he would end up living to regret it.
Sensing that he had his superintendent cornered, Steamer played his trump card and stared Max directly in the eye. “Now you listen to me, Pressure,” he threatened, “my nephew is stranded out there somewhere with more than two-hundred passengers and fifty crew. He means a lot to me, Fair Isle and Optic Strand, and everything to Hornette. Leave her behind if you will, but I'm holding you personally responsible if anything happens to him.”
“Now hang on, Steamer old pal...”
“DON'T STEAMER OLD PAL ME!!” thundered Steamer. “Hornette is our only hope of reaching them in time! If you refuse her and we find we're too late, you can have my resignation effective immediately – and I'll personally see to it that you're discharged for your misjudgement! Do I make myself clear?!”
Max paused...and nodded gravely. “Yes...I suppose you've more than made your case,” he said gravely. “I still don't think Head Office will approve – but then again,” he added before Steamer could argue any further, “rules were made to be broken.”
“So...does that mean...?”
“Yes, Hornette, you can come along – but only as long as you do as you're told and don't put yourself in any danger,” warned Max. “I doubt Loco would want you hurt any more than you would want to lose him.”
“Thank you, Mr Pressure,” said Hornette gratefully. “You won't regret it, I promise you. And thank you, Mr Steamer, for standing up for me.”
“No problem,” smiled Steamer with satisfaction. “I guess that makes up for my failing to do so three months ago.”
“Okay, you two,” ordered Max, “let's get to it. Get the 602 ready, Steamer. Hornette, you go with him – I'll join you as soon as I've gathered the rescue crews together.”
“Yes, sir!” Without more ado, Steamer and Hornette dashed off to their allotted engine, where Promontory was already building up steam for the long, hard slog towards the stranded train.
Outside, another engine collected two huge snowploughs from a nearby siding; each one resembling an ordinary box van with a wedge built into one end, and a crew compartment big enough to carry several ponies and their tools. Max kept a close eye on the operation, bellowing out orders as track gangers and rescue workers scrambled into the ploughs, while Steamer moved the 602 into place at the head of the train. Soon, the four rescue engines were coupled together, with an extra coach full of gangers in the middle of the train and a plough at each end.
After a final check that all was ready, Max joined Hornette, Steamer and Promontory in the 602's cab – with bad news. “Seems we're in for a harder job than we thought,” he said to Steamer. “I've just had Trottingham on the phone; they say their rotary snowplough's broken down and can't come to help us.”
“Well,” remarked Steamer, almost triumphantly, “just as well I've brought Hornette along then, isn't it?”
Max smiled wryly. “I can't believe I'm saying it, but it sure is,” he conceded. His brow furrowed with concern as he turned to the young changeling; “All the same, Hornette, I'm aware you're kinda susceptible to frostbite and the like, so if you change your mind...”
“Nothing doing, Mr Pressure,” replied Hornette boldly. “As long as Loco's in trouble, I'm not going to let a little thing like snow get to me. Where you guys lead, I'll follow!”
“That's my girl!” encouraged Steamer proudly.
“Good lass,” put in Max. “Alright, Steamer – we're ready as soon as you get the green eye.”
“Okay, Max!” Right on cue, as Steamer leaned out of the cab, the signal arm lifted skywards. He released the brakes, wound the reverser into full forward, and opened the regulator; and with steam bursting from their drain cocks, the four engines lumbered out of the yard, gathering speed as they passed through the station throat and onto the open line.
The light of the morning sun reflected off a fresh layer of snow, rousing Locomotion from a troubled sleep. All he could hear was the crackling of the now diminished fire, and as he peered out of the cab window, he was relieved to see that the weather had calmed. “Thank Celestia for that,” he murmured.
“Say what?” mumbled John, himself on the verge of nodding off.
“Well, good news and bad news,” said Locomotion, pointing outside. “The bad news is, the moving parts are probably seizing up now; but the good news is that the storm's passed. Means we can have a go at digging some of this snow away.”
John rubbed his eyes groggily. “Gee whizz, so it has. You think we might get her out before another one comes?”
“Can't hurt to try. If we can at least keep the outside motion clear, it'll be less likely to freeze.”
“Well, I'll give it my best shot – but you'd better stay here and keep an eye on that fire,” advised John wisely. “We wouldn't want your arm to seize up too.”
“I've no intention of doing it physically. I'm a unicorn, remember?” Locomotion lit up his horn to prove his point. “Anyway, many hooves and horns make light work,” he added, retrieving another shovel from the tender cupboard.
“Hmm...fair enough,” decided John. “Right, then I'll take one side, and you can take the other.”
Wrapping up as warmly as they could, both ponies got out and began to delve away at the deep, thick drift. But while the wind had dropped, and the risk of another avalanche with it, the snow was still falling. No matter how much they dug, they couldn't seem to clear it away quickly enough; and when at last they did reach the moving parts, they found to their dismay that they had already frozen over. In the end, they were forced to retreat back to the cab as the frosty air began to sap their energy.
Locomotion sighed heavily as he climbed back on board. “Well, that went smoothly, didn't it?” he grumbled sarcastically.
“It sure was a good try,” observed John glumly. “I guess the two of us alone just weren't enough.”
“So now we're back to Square One,” muttered Locomotion. “Just sitting around, waiting for the fire to go out and the blinking Windigoes to come in and claim us – unless the snowplough teams beat them to it, that is.” He gazed out of the window again in defeat, thinking longingly of home, Hearth's Warming, but most of all Hornette. The poor changeling was probably eating her heart out she was so afraid for him. “Heaven help us,” he finished despairingly.
Little could he have known, of course, that help was indeed on its way; and that high up in the heavens, Scootaloo and Firelli were anxiously scanning the area for his train. The snow made it hard to identify the route, but true to her word, Firelli still managed to find her way, and within fifteen minutes of leaving Ponyville, they could just make out the rainbow trails of Winsome Falls in the distance.
Finally, as they glided over a ledge cut into the hillside, Scootaloo spotted a thin column of grey smoke. Beneath it stood a huge green engine, simmering mournfully with its wheels surrounded by thick snow. “There they are!” she crowed. “I can see him!”
Firelli followed Scootaloo's gaze, and was overwhelmed with relief when, very faintly, she spotted the headboard bearing the train's name. “Whew!” she sighed. “At least they're alright – for now.”
“What do we do? Dive in and fly Loco home?”
“No chance, Scoot. It's over fifty miles away as the Pegasus flies – we'd never be able to carry him that far, even between us,” said Firelli grimly. Deep down, she wanted nothing more than to come into land and tell her brother what was going on; but the snow was falling so heavily that she knew she might not be able to take off again. “There's only one thing we can do, and that's fly straight home and let Uncle Steamer know where he is.”
“Right!” With that, the two Pegasi banked sharply round and flew back the way they came.
It wasn't long before they came upon another four columns of smoke and steam, much thicker and heavier than the last, just outside Ponyville Central Station. Swooping down low, Firelli drew alongside the 602's cab until she had matched the engines' speed, and shouted to its occupants as loudly as she could. “Hornette! Uncle Steamer!”
“Elli? What is it?”
“We've found Loco!” called Firelli. “He's stranded about a mile short of Mallerstang Signalbox!”
“Great! Thanks, Elli – we'll take it from here!” Steamer waved back as a weary Firelli climbed back into the air for the last few miles of her homeward flight. Hang in there, Loco old sport, he thought as they forged ahead, we're coming!