//------------------------------// // SEPTEMBER // Story: Radiowaves // by mushroompone //------------------------------// Dirt and pine needles crunched softly under Night Glider’s hooves as she trotted through the forest, trailmarkers long behind her. Her breath, though wheezing gently, kept a steady pace with her strides. The air here was invigorating. Crisp and sharp with the memory of smoke and flame, but still welcome. Still bright. Or maybe it was the lightness of her chest that made it all feel so much better. Being here as a tourist was different than being here as a lookout. There were plenty of other things that were different, of course, but Night Glider noted the distinct lack of ownership she had for this place now. Before, she had felt a sort of possession—or, at the very least, overwhelming responsibility. A formless anxiety which joined her other formless anxieties in a dark cloud, always hanging over her head. But the sky was slowly clearing. Now, she only felt the coolness of the coming fall. She slowed, coming to a stop at the crest of the next hill. She reached back with the intent to fumble about in her saddlebags, but found her eyes locked on the scene before her: the edge of the fire's wrath. The forest was damaged. There was no denying that. But the damage was harder to see than one would think. The greenery was largely gone, but it had been so high in the first place that it made little difference to everything at eye-level. The resulting bareness of the trees let more sunlight reach the forest floor than ever could have before, even in the dead of winter, and so brought a tremendous lightness to the place. In the day, at least. Night Glider, however, preferred the dark—always had, always would. The sun was slipping down beneath the horizon as she looked out on the skeleton of the woods she'd spent her summer watching, and she honestly thought they looked much the same as they had five months previous. But looking wasn't the same as being. Night Glider knew this all too well. She nodded to the damaged part of the woods, acknowledging it without needing to submit to it, and returned to fumble with her saddlebags once more. After a moment of pawing through discarded granola bags and travel-sized tubes of various ointments and salves, Night's hoof closed around the letter. She pulled it out, smoothed it carefully against a nearby boulder, and read it once more: Dear Night Glider, I hope this isn't too weird, but it's been a few days since you were replaced as lookout and I'm going out of my mind with worry. Maybe it's the mom in me. I truly wish I was better at letter-writing (it seems like a neat thing to be good at), but this is probably the hardest thing I've had to do since… maybe childbirth. And, even though I’m trying to write something to my daughter every day, I honestly don’t think I’ve gotten any better at it. Just kidding. But not really. The tail end of the summer is barely dragging by without you here. I feel like we lost four whole months in the blink of an eye, and yet September has lasted about six years all on its own. If you get this letter, I would really, really appreciate a letter in return—maybe a visit, too? Just kidding. But not really. I tucked a spare radio under the big boulder near the heart-shaped carving (I've also included a map because I know how twisty it can get back there). If you can, come back and give me a call. I just want to know you're okay. With love, Clear Sky With love. Night held the letter to her chest for a moment. If there was one thing she missed, it was that tiny vibration of the radio as it sat there, almost purring, while Sky talked with her into the night.  The letter did not physically purr in the same way, but Night swore she could feel something when she held it against her heart. On the back of the letter was a hoof-drawn map, though Night had perhaps overestimated its usefulness; Sky had neglected including any landmarks, however small, and instead drew a crude approximation of the trails in pencil. Somewhere off in the white void was an x, also labeled 'here ish?' in a hasty scribble. Night tucked the letter away in her saddlebag. Muscle memory would have to do. She took off at a light canter, allowing the familiarity of the well-worn path to guide her. The lovers had settled for quite a while in this part of the woods, and so it was a frequent stop for listening in on those forgotten conversations. Night found herself hoping, once again, that their voices would disrupt her travel (despite her distinct lack of radio). It, too, was a familiar feeling. It reminded Night of the way she had spent snowy mornings listening hard for the radio to call a snow day. Her private hopes were interrupted by the flash of a familiar orange arrow—the one she had painted earlier this summer. It was already starting to fade. It was obvious why, of course. The fire had taken its shelter away, and it was now exposed to the elements. Rain and sun and all manner of other things. The responsibility reared up, and Night found herself wishing she had a can of spray paint on her. Not your job anymore, she reminded herself. She knelt down in the dirt and reached under the boulder with one hoof. The underside of the rock was cold and clammy, like a turtle's belly, and the plastic casing of the radio stood out to her instantly. She pulled it out. Same old yellow. Before she could even think of what she wanted to say, she had pressed the button, and stuttered out a meek "h-hey!" She released the button and smacked herself on the forehead with the tiny radio. Stupid. A long silence. She smacked her head again, just for good measure. Then— "Night!" It made her jump. Then it made her smile. And, before she knew it, she was laughing. "Is that really you?!" Sky shouted. "Ever since I sent that letter I've just been waiting and—I kept the lines clear especially for you! I didn't want even the tiniest chance that I'd miss even one word!" She held the button, trying to conjure more, but seemed completely overtaken by her excitement.  Night cleared her throat. "Yeah, it's me," she replied, a little hint of laughter sneaking through. "It's you!" Sky replied. "I knew it! I knew you'd come back! I have to—hold on!" The line went dead. Night chuckled to herself, then sat down against the boulder and waited patiently for Sky to pick back up. She tried to imagine what she might be doing, but came up empty. Her voice cut through a moment later: "Tell me everything!" Along with quite a bit of clattering. Night said down a bit lower. "Uh. Everything, huh?" No response. Playing games. "Well… I dunno, I don't remember a ton," she said. "From the fire. The doctors told me I'd inhaled a lot of smoke and conked out, so… go figure, I guess." She paused, waiting for a comment. None came. "They took me to a hospital nearby and, um… well, the doctors were trying to figure out why I hadn't flown out. I guess they thought I'd hurt something," she explained. "It's kind of a haze, but they managed to drag it all out of me. Wasn't pretty. But I'm doing some physical therapy and… and therapy therapy. Which is new for me." She allowed herself to slide all the way off the boulder and onto the ground, sprawled out on her back. "I haven't been going super long, but I'm pretty sure it's helping," she said. "Still haven't done any flying yet. I'll get there, though." Night placed the radio on her chest and released the button, waiting for more from Sky. "I'm really proud of you," she said with a bit of effort. "Sorry. Out of breath." Night arched a brow. "Why the hay are you out of breath you weirdo?" "Just keep going!" Sky instructed, her voice bright. "I'm listening!" Night sighed, a bit in confusion and a bit from the familiar comfort of said confusion. "I dunno what to say. It's only been a month, Sky," she said. "I haven't done much." She dug one hoof in her ear after a sudden itch. "Oh! I read that book!" Night suddenly remembered. "The one you recommended—the mystery!" A pause. "Passion of a Heist?!" Sky shouted. "You read it? Did you love it?!" Night guffawed. "Clearly not as much as you," she said. "But… yeah. It kept me company while I was in the hospital. Almost like you were still there with me, y'know?" It just sort of slipped out. As soon as it was out, Night wanted desperately to shove it back in. She bit down hard on her lip and smacked the radio against her forehead again, as if she could knock the regret out of her brain. Stupid. Stupid. And then there was a sound. A sort of a pop. The perfect sound of a cork flying from the mouth of a champagne bottle, followed by a much more literal sparkling than that of the bubbly carbonation.  She felt it, too. A twisting of the air. A pressure drop. A teleportation. The sounds of the forest rushed in afterwards, filling a silence that Night hadn’t even noticed. “It kept you company?” It’s hard to describe what it’s like to get to know someone exclusively via radio waves. Their voice is carried in soft, fuzzy lilts, the kind that makes hairs stand on end. Everything between the button presses a complete and total mystery. To know someone that way, and then to hear their voice so clearly… To hear the way the warmth was still there, buried in the throatiness of her words. To hear the way air rushed out of her nose in surprise.  It was like suddenly seeing the world in color. Night Glider shot up, still clutching the radio to her chest with a fervor she couldn’t logically explain, and was met with another explosion of life in color. Clear Sky was, in a word, beautiful. Beautiful in a gentle way. A subtle, simple way. A grounded way. She wasn’t tall. Night had pictured her tall, but she was really only an inch or two taller than the pegasus. Her mane hung in a thick, puffy curtain beside her face—not quite silken enough to have a shimmer, and yet the sunlight illuminated a halo of deep pink surrounding it. Her eyebrows had a funny angle, but a welcoming one. Her lips curled up at the ends, even as she stood with her mouth slightly agape. She had a snout that turned up at the end. She had ears that were just a bit too small. And… she did have nice pasterns. Night Glider’s hoof flew to her own face, suddenly aware that Sky was looking her over in much the same way. She smirked at that. Reflexively. “Hey,” she said. Night blinked. “Hi.” “You look—” “—different than how I thought,” Night finished for her. “I like it,” they said together. They stared at one another a moment longer. Just taking it all in. Night broke the silence with a small chuckle. “I think it’s gonna take me a while.” Sky frowned. “A while to do what?” “To match the face to the voice,” she replied, getting to her hooves. “And the voice to the… the things.” Sky made a face. Something between a pained wince and an embarrassed smile. “Sorry,” Night apologized, looking down at the ground. “We shouldn’t talk about the things anymore.” “What? Of course not!” Before Night knew it, Sky had rushed in and grabbed her hoof. Her gaze was dragged up from the ground, and the mares’ eyes met—truly met—for the very first time. “I was wrong,” she said firmly, though that ghost of a smile still lingered on her lips. “We can’t just keep distracting ourselves and running away from things.” Night swallowed. She looked at Sky, just barely up at her, and saw the face of the thing she had run to, even if she hadn’t known it. “But…” Night cleared her throat. “What if I… kinda liked the distractions?” She smiled. A wonderful, secretive smile. And she laughed. She laughed the laugh that Night had always thought she’d been laughing, the one between the messages, the one she’d hid so she wasn’t too vulnerable to the stranger on the radio. She pulled Night in closer, so their noses were practically touching, and she said, “that’s the great thing about us: I think we can have it both ways.” The radios lay neglected in the dirt between the mares' hooves as they embraced, silent at last.