//------------------------------//
// The Persistence of Memory 
// Story: Sorry We Missed You 
// by Starswirl the Beardless 
//------------------------------//

The long, asymmetrical alcoves, carved directly into the wood of the oaken walls, held an impressive number of books of all colors and sizes, the collection so perfectly organized that even a foal could have found what they were looking for in mere moments. The large windows set into the bark were wide open, allowing the stagnant air outside to mix with the equally stagnant air within. The round wooden table at the center of the room was covered with empty cans of energy drink and empty snack food bags. Buried amongst this mess were a number of books pulled from the nearby shelves, some of which had been fortunate enough to be stacked in semi-neat stacks, while others had been hastily thrown into the pile wherever there was space. Just a short distance away, the mare floated round and round in midair, her brow furrowed and her lips squirming as she slowly paced the circumference of the room.  

Soft, quiet grumbles rumbled up and out of her throat occasionally, typically accompanied by the flexing of her antsy legs. With every circuit she completed, her vocalizations grew more frequent and more intense, and the frustrated grimace on her face became even clearer to see, that is, if there had been anyone else there to see it.  

Every time she passed a certain corner of the room, she hesitantly turned her head to the side, glancing over at the large blackboard that had been placed there. The dark surface of that board had been scrawled from top to bottom in chalk, with the crumbling remnants of those once-lengthy writing implements sitting in the little tray beneath. Amongst the crudely drawn diagrams, the barely legible writing, and the pitiful, if earnest attempts at arithmetic, there hung a collection of five beautiful pieces of jewelry, each one attached to the board with tape. While the polished gold of those four necklaces and one tiara gleamed prettily in the light, the effect was somewhat diminished by the dull, near-colorless gems affixed to them. The mare could only bring herself to gaze upon that board for half a moment before quickly looking away again, reflexively rubbing the ruby-red necklace that hung from her neck.  

After a good many passes, the mare let out a much louder grumble, then allowed herself to fall back to the wooden floor beneath her. She stormed over to the table, where a thick, heavy book had been left open upon its surface. She lowered her gaze to its pages, poring over the tiny text and intricate diagrams that made the ones on the blackboard look like the scribbles of a foal by comparison. For the hundredth time, she attempted to force those unfamiliar words, some of which had more syllables than she had limbs, into her brain, and for the hundredth time found herself wishing that she had paid more attention to subjects other than gym during her schooling years. Despite her most sincere efforts, her academically unpracticed brain was quickly overwhelmed by the seemingly endless stream of squiggly lines on the page, which collided together and piled up in her mind like the cars of a derailed train.  

Just before the intense pressure caused her little head to pop, however, she let out an angry growl and reflexively swiped the book off of the table and onto the floor, along with a number of empty cans, which clattered as they hit the wood. When her head had cooled slightly, she guiltily looked over at the floor where the book had landed, hearing in her head the lecturing voice of the tome's caretaker. She sighed, allowing her head to fall to the table before her, the thunk of her skull against the wood filling the otherwise silent room. She raised her head slightly, then let it fall once again, repeating this process until she had grown numb to the mild pain in her forehead.  

Sighing, she let her head flop to one side, peering down at the book again. A few moments later, she lifted her heavy head from the table and walked over to it, carefully picking up the discarded book and closing it. She looked down at the embossed title that ran along the book's spine, The Complexities of Multiplanar Calculus with Respect to Homogeneous Vector Transducence, tearing her eyes away as her head started to swim again. She reverently placed the book back on the table, if not for her own sake, then for the sake of the one it belonged to.  

She always makes it look so easy. 

The mare looked down at the book, and at the old, worn bookmark decorated with a six-pointed star that sat roughly two-thirds of the way through its many hundreds of pages. She felt a burning shame as she glanced at a nearby clock and realized that she had been at it for hours, but hadn't even been able to make it through the introduction. If the book her friend had been reading that morning was of any importance, then she would never know, not even if she had a thousand years to find out.  

Sighing, she glanced back over at the blackboard, studying the various scribbles and occasional doodles she had filled it with. Despite her being the one who had written it all there, even she had difficulty trying to make heads or tails of it, a fact which infuriated her even more. She didn't understand why it was all so confusing; she had done exactly what the little purple unicorn had done all of the many times she had explained one of her plans to her friends. For some reason, her friend's blackboard illustrations had always made whatever challenge they had faced seem so simple, so straightforward, so easy, but as the mare stared at the tangled web of arbitrarily drawn arrows and meaningless lists of promising-sounding words, she began to think that she would never be able to comprehend the situation she had been thrust into, much less remedy it.  

The mare hung her head, closing her tired eyes. “I wish she was here,” she said. “I wish they were all here.”

It had all seemed so simple in her head: go to the library, read some books, draw some pictures on the blackboard, then take off to confront whatever magical baddie was threatening Equestria that week, a formula that had always proven effective before. A sickening feeling of nauseous shame came over her as she realized the flaw in her plan: in the past, whenever she and her friends had been called on to save the day, it had always been them reading those books; it had always been them coming up with those well-thought-out solutions. Meanwhile, she had sat on the sidelines, making a token effort of helping while she waited for her friends to come up with the answer. Of course, she had never had any problem rushing off to give the problem a taste of her hooves afterwards, all while acting like the brave hero she knew she was.  

As she stood there, staring her own inadequacy in the face, her own incompetence, her own weakness, she felt anything but heroic. She felt that, if there was anybody deserving of a firm hoof to the face, it was her.  

Looking back up at the board, she grunted in frustration, then advanced towards it. She reached up and swiftly yanked down the jewelry, then turned away again, pushing the senseless scribbles out of her mind. After all, they weren't what was important; it was those Elements that were important, those five beautiful jewels, and the five amazing mares they belonged to.  

Walking back to the table, she carefully cleared a space amongst the garbage, then laid the Elements down upon it. She stared down at them, poring over every inch of their shining surfaces, as if she expected to find the answers all written there upon the gold. Unfortunately, those answers did not come to her, not even as the stared deeply into those dull, gray gems. Her frustration quickly resurfacing, she angrily pounded her hooves upon the table, sending a tremor through the wood that knocked over several cans and some of the precariously positioned books. After taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she deflated, lowering her head to the wood before her.  

“It's no use,” she whispered. “I'm never gonna figure this out. I'm never gonna fix this. Not without them.”

She felt the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, clamping her eyes shut until the feeling had passed.

“If I could just...talk to them...any of them,” she said.  

She sighed, looking around at the mess she had made of the once-immaculate library. Despite her dour mood, a slight smile came to her face as she imagined what the local librarian would have said upon seeing the room in that state.  

“Rainbow Dash,” she said, doing her best impression of that persnickety little pony, “how many times have I told you not to leave your trash lying around the library?”

She chuckled softly, and her smile widened ever so slightly.  

“Oh, lighten up, Twi,” she said in her usual tone, “Spike'll get it.”

She looked around the room, half-expecting to see the little purple dragon dutifully tidying up the mess, as was his wont. Of course, she saw no one, just the detritus of a long, fruitless session of brainstorming. Her smile fading, she stood and slowly made her way around, picking up fallen cans and empty snack containers and placing them back on the table.  

While she did this, she noticed a book that she had left propped open on the table earlier. The stamp of her hooves must have knocked it over, however, as the book now lied awkwardly atop the short stack of books next to it, its open pages pressed against the one on top. She absentmindedly reached for the book, intending to close it and add it to the stack, but as she raised it up, something about it made her pause. She couldn't say what it was, but something about the clean, straight edge of its dark blue cover struck her as strangely familiar. She slowly lowered the open book back down onto the stack, positioning it neatly to form a sort of roof for the little book-house. As she pulled back her hooves, she realized where she had seen that perfect line of blue before. She chuckled softly as she reached over and grabbed the golden tiara sitting nearby, then carefully arranged it atop the book, completing the picture. She couldn't help but smile as she looked down at the stack, even such a crude representation managing to evoke the treasured memories buried deep in her heart.  

“Sorry about the mess,” said the mare.  

The books, of course, did not respond, and so the mare was forced to lend them her own voice.  

“It's alright, Rainbow,” said the books. “Just remember to put all of those cans in the right bin. You know how important it is to properly sort your recyclables...or do you need a refresher?”

“No, no, no, I'm good,” said the mare, smiling and waving her hooves dismissively.  

That little unicorn had already forced her to sit through a long, mind-numbingly boring lecture about Equestria's recycling system before, and the mare had no desire to relive that experience. Consequently, she quickly made her way around the room, collecting the cans and putting them in the appropriate bin, getting the other garbage into the trash, and even tidying up the books. In no time at all, the fastest mare in Equestria had returned the library to something resembling a respectable state. She smiled a proud smile as she surveyed her work, reveling in the feeling of having actually accomplished something, however minor. As she turned her head and looked back at the blackboard, however, that feeling of warm pride quickly vanished again.  

Her confusion and frustration, temporarily forgotten, quickly returned to the forefront of her mind, accompanied by the sting of self-hatred as she realized how easily she had slipped into procrastination. Steeling herself, she forced her legs to carry her over to the board. She stared up at her scribbles, trying to follow the train of thought that had inspired them, but quickly realized that said thought did not exist, only a jumbled collection of desperate hopes and hollow imitations of ponies much smarter than her. She sighed, turning away from the depressing surface of that board.  

Her mood lightened slightly as she looked back at the neat little stack of books on the table, a tiny island of familiarity amidst a sea of fear and uncertainty.  

“You wouldn't happen to have any ideas of how to fix this, would you?” the mare asked.

A few silent moments later, the books spoke again, the mare giving them the same clear, confident voice she had earlier. “Well...not at the moment,” they said, “but I'm sure that if we put our heads together, work hard, and maybe do a little bit of research, we'll be able to come up with a solution in no time at all!”

The mare chuckled, grateful that at least one of them had confidence in their abilities. 

“You know,” she said, “you're right. With your brains and my awesomeness, we'll have this whole mess figured out in ten seconds flat!”

Losing herself in the moment, the mare hopped back into the air and excitedly zipped about the room.  

“So what do you think we're up against?” she said, shadowboxing with the imaginary foes that surrounded her. “Is it some kinda monster? Or maybe some freaky magic accident? Or do you think Discord managed to get out again? I was thinking it was him, but...I don't know anymore. I mean, look at the Elements! Even he couldn't do that to them...right?”

The mare paused, looking down at the books, which sat silently on the table nearby. Her brief flare of bravado quickly diminished, before being snuffed out entirely. She lowered to the floor once again, then approached the table.  

“I...I don't know,” said the books.  

The mare sighed. “What do you mean, you don't know?” she asked, her tone indicating that she already knew the answer.  

“Rainbow...you know I'm not really here...right?” said the books, speaking in a soft, comforting tone. “I'm just...in your head. I don't know any more about what's going on than you do.”

The mare lowered her head to the table and closed her eyes.  

“Yeah,” she said. “I know. I know.”

For several long moments, she stayed like that, listening to the sound of her breaths, the only sound that pierced that haunting silence.  

“What am I doing?” the mare said softly.

After several more moments, she opened her eyes and looked across the table towards the books.  

“Twilight?” she said.

“Yes, Rainbow?” said the books.  

A pause.  

“Don't leave,” said the mare, her voice trembling. “Please don't leave.”

Another pause.

“I won't,” said the books firmly. “I won't leave you. We'll get through this...together. I promise.”

The mare sniffled, her lips stretching into a small smile.  

“Thank you,” she said.  

For a brief moment, the mare forgot all about the silence.  

“So...about the blackboard,” said the books.

The mare chuckled, looking back over at the board.  

“Yeah...I, uh...yeah,” she said, scratching the back of her head.

“Why don't we go ahead and...start fresh?” said the books in a diplomatic tone.  

“Good idea,” said the mare.  

Approaching the blackboard, she grabbed an eraser and proceeded to wipe it clean of her misguided markings. With every long sweep of the eraser, a huge swath of the board was returned to its former, empty state. As she watched the clutter on the board slowly disappear, she could feel the clutter in her mind vanish as well, the swirling storm of confusion growing smaller and smaller. When the mare finally set the eraser down and looked up at the empty canvas before her, she sighed in relief, feeling that great weight lifted off of her shoulders.  

She slowly turned and looked back at the books, giving them a smile.  

“So...where do we start?” she said.

“Well, as much as I'd love to just dive into this hornfirst and start making some lists, I think you and I are going to need a few more hooves to help us,” said the books. “It might take us a while to start getting some ideas down and...you look like you could use a break.”

The mare scoffed confidently at this. “Are you kidding?” she said, flexing her powerful wings. “I'm fine, really! But...I guess...getting some more help wouldn't be a bad idea.”

“I know just the ponies for the job,” said the books.  

The mare smiled. “Yeah,” she said, “me too.”





A series of sharp clacks pierced the air as the chalk was repeatedly pressed against the surface of the blackboard, each followed by a soft scraping noise as the chalk was drawn along, leaving a trail of bright white behind it. Those trails sloped and curved, gradually forming into letters, which in turn, came together to create words. Words joined together with one another, sometimes in sentences, other times in bullet point lists, but always forming some sort of coherent message, some idea to be gleaned by an attentive reader.  

When the last letter had been carefully written onto that canvas, the sound of chalk was replaced with the sound of hoofsteps, the mare taking a step back to examine her work. She pored over the board from top to bottom, taking in the words, the numbers, and the images that had been rendered on its surface. While undeniably cluttered with all of that information, the board flowed like the waters of the river just outside of town: cleanly, deliberately, and easily enough for even a mare such as her to deal with. Her eyes passed over those words and figures as effortlessly as the ideas they conveyed passed into her head, those pieces coming together like bricks to construct a tall, strong tower, from the top of which she could see and understand everything going on around her.  

Nodding her head in approval, she set down the chalk, then turned to look behind her. “Well, what do you guys think?” she said.

Before her, in the center of the room, sat the same old wooden table, with a few new cans, snack containers, and some scattered books sitting on it. A number of other objects sat amongst those study materials, however; it was these that the mare set her hopeful gaze on. A small stack of books, topped with an open book resting with its pages down, and a golden tiara atop that. An old wicker basket filled with ripe, juicy apples, the necklace nestled within them bearing a gemstone carved in those fruits' likeness. A tall, thick spool of silken thread, shining like the golden necklace with the four-pointed diamond wrapped around it. A bright pink party balloon that would have floated to the ceiling if its string had not been tied to a necklace decorated with its own balloon. Finally, an adorable little birdhouse painted in soft, pastel colors, as dainty and fragile as the butterfly on the necklace attached to it with twine.  

The mare's mood sank as the room remained silent. She sighed, looking away. “You think it's a stupid idea, don't you?” she said.

“Rainbow,” said the books, “it's not a stupid idea. It's just...a bit impractical...don't you think?”

“Yeah,” said the apples, speaking in a thick rural drawl. “I mean, it ain't like I'm against a good bit of hard work, but...this seems like a bit much for us to handle...or, for you to handle.”

“You think I can't do it?” said the mare, her voice tinged with emotional exhaustion.

“Darling,” said the thread, speaking in a posh, elegant manner, “it's not that we don't think you can do it. It's just that...we don't want to make you go through all of that. There must be another way, surely.”

“Maybe it would be best if we took a break,” said the books. “We've been at this for hours, and we're all tired. We might be able to come up with a better plan after we've had some rest.”

“Great idea!” said the balloon, its tone as bubbly and perky as always. “I'll run over to Sugarcube Corner and get us some tea and cookies! What kind do you girls want? We got snickerdoodles, peanut butter, chocolate chip, double chocolate chip, triple chocolate chip...”

A frustrated grunt from the mare silenced the room. “No!” she said firmly. “We can't take a break now! We finally have a plan! We've got to get out there and do it!”

A moment of awkward silence passed, then the books sighed. “Rainbow...please,” they said, their voice dripping with sympathy. “Even if I were more confident about your plan, I wouldn't want you to get started right now, not in the state you're in. I mean, when's the last time you slept? And have you had anything to eat today besides chips and energy drinks?”

“Please get some rest,” said the thread. “We're...we're worried about you.”

“Well, you're not the only one whose worried!” the mare snapped in a much angrier tone than she had intended. After a moment, she realized this, and guiltily turned away. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just...”

The mare paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I can't sit around here any longer,” she said. “I just...can't. Every minute we spend here is another minute that...something could be happening to you...something could be...taking you further away. I just can't stand it. I want to...I want...” She fell silent as she tried to fight off the sobs that threatened to sneak up her throat.  

A soft, gentle voice fluttered into her ear as she wrestled with herself. “Rainbow,” it said.  

The mare sniffled, then turned to look at the birdhouse.  

“We want to see you again too,” said the birdhouse, audibly holding back its own tears. “We want to be with you again...so, so much. That's why...that's why we worry about you. We don't want you to...push yourself too far. If something happened to you...I don't think I could bear it.”  

Those words had a sobering effect on the mare, who instantly wrestled her emotions back under control. She approached the table, lowering her head and gently resting it against the roof of the birdhouse.  

“I'm sorry,” the mare said softly. “I...I don't mean to worry you. That's the last thing I want.”

The mare stayed like that for a few moments, her shaky breaths gradually returning to normal.

“Rainbow?” said the books.

The mare looked over at the books.

“Do you...really think this is the right thing to do?” asked the books.

The mare sighed, moving over to stand before the books.  

“I mean...what else can I do?” she said. “You said it yourself: I can't do magic. Even if I could find some spell in one one these books that could help...it wouldn't make a difference. We've got nothing...no clues, no leads...unless you want to reopen the Discord discussion...”

“No,” said the books. “It can't be him. The princess used some of the most advanced magic I've ever seen on that statue. Those spells couldn't have failed! If it's like you said, and they were still in place, then...it must have been something else that got him out...something...more powerful.”

The mare tried to ignore the chill that ran up her spine upon hearing those words.  

“Then...there's nothing else to do,” she said. “I could waste more time trying to read all these books, or...I could just get out there and...do it the old-fashioned way. If nothing else...I might be able to find something that will help.”

“Do you really think you can do that?” asked the thread. “Just...search the entirety of Equestria?”

“Forget findin' a needle in a haystack,” said the apples. “This is more like...findin' a needle in a hay mountain!”

“I know, I know!” said the mare. “I know how much work it'll be. I know how long it'll take. But...I'm willing to do it. I'll do whatever it takes to...to find you.”

Her words hung on the air, her grave tone making it perfectly clear just how serious her pledge was.  

“Rainbow?” said the balloon.

The mare turned to look at it.  

“You better find us quick,” the balloon said, “'cause when you do...I'm gonna throw you the biggest 'Thank-You-For-Finding-Us-And-Saving-All-Of-Equestria' party ever!”

The mare chuckled as the lighthearted comment instantly released the tension in her weary heart.  

“Thanks, Pinkie,” she said. “I will.”

“After you get some rest, of course,” said the books. “And don't tell me you can't sleep. I know how good you are at napping.”

“Twilight...” said the mare.

“C'mon now, sugarcube,” said the apples. “You know she's right. You ain't gonna be any good to anypony if you fall asleep and drop right outta the sky.”

“That only happened once!” said the mare.

“Please, Rainbow,” said the birdhouse. “For us?”

The mare looked over at the birdhouse, preparing to spout off another objection, but couldn't find the words to deny that sweet, caring soul.

She sighed in defeat. “Fine,” she said. “I'll take a powernap. But the second I wake up, I'm heading out,  alright?”

“You mean we are heading out,” said the thread. “We're not about to let you go gallivanting all over Equestria on your own.”

“Yeah!” said the balloon. “We'll make a road trip out of it! Well, technically it'll be a sky trip, since you'll be flying, but same difference.”

“We're with you, Rainbow,” said the books. “I have my concerns, but if you really want to do this...we'll stay with you till the end.”

The mare stood in stunned silence, until at last a shaky smile appeared on her lips and a warm teardrop leaked from one of her misty eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching up and wiping the tear away. “Thanks, you guys.”

“You're quite welcome,” said the thread. “Now, off to bed with you!”

The mare chuckled, turning towards the stairs that led to the upper levels of the library.  

“Um...” she began, pausing and turning back to look at the books. “You don't mind if I...?”

“Not at all,” said the books.  

“Thanks,” said the mare as she fluttered back into the air. “Well...see you later, I guess.”

“See you later,” the books replied as the mare turned and slowly flew up the stairs. “We'll be waiting for you.”





The mare felt the soft caress of wind on her cheeks and on the delicate feathers of her wings as she flew, soaring high above the rolling plains beneath her. Disappointingly, that wind was solely the product of her impressive speed as she cut through the air like a knife, and would have fallen still the instant that she did. What made said lack of atmospheric activity even more disappointing, and even worrying, was the matter of where she was headed.  

She was so high above her beloved homeland that, were she to gaze down upon the little villages she passed over, she would have seen those humble homes as being no bigger than grains of rice. Her gaze, however, was directed upwards, high above those little houses, high above the hills, high above even the tall mountain to which clung the gleaming spires of Canterlot. High above her, a gradually expanding spot of cloudy white on a backdrop of blue, was the only city in the world that had ever looked down upon that illustrious seat of power from which ruled Equestria's royals, a fact which its proud residents had always been quick to remind their more grounded peers of.  

Cloudsdale. The Flying City. The oldest city in Equestria, older even than Canterlot. The historic home of the noble pegasi, and the birthplace of the winds and rains themselves. A lofty citadel constructed by the finest of the ancient pegasus legion's engineers. A flying fortress so impregnable that it had once been said that it would outlast the fall of Equestria.

The mare hoped that the boasting of her ancestors would prove at least somewhat true, but not for the sake of her people's pride. That city was also her home, her birthplace, and that little mare would have gladly tossed aside every scrap of pride she had in her to see it again, just as she remembered it.

A mild feeling of nostalgic comfort came over her as she saw in her mind those grand, gleaming buildings that could just barely be made out nestled within the bank of clouds high above her. She saw the tall pillars, the ancient amphitheaters, the stadiums that echoed with the screams of fans as they watched their favorite fliers. She saw the thick waterfalls of rainbow that flowed from the city's clouds before dissipating into the air as they fell to earth. She saw the tall chimneys of the weather factory that puffed out beautiful, fluffy clouds to fill the skies. Most importantly of all, she saw the humble little house that had once been the home of a certain not-so-humble filly.

The slight smile on her face and the warmth in her heart soon vanished as she drew closer to the city. No streams of rainbow could be seen falling from those lofty heights. No stream of clouds or current of wind flowed from the factory, rushing off to the far ends of Equestria. No tiny pony-shaped specks could be seen soaring through the skies around it; no sight of her fellow fliers. The mare forced those thoughts from her mind as she flapped her powerful wings harder, lifting herself higher and higher into the heavens.

The journey had never been that difficult before, the mare thought to herself. Of course, she recognized why that was. The pegasi of Cloudsdale, being the clever ponies they were, had always kept a number of powerful air currents strategically positioned around the city, forming a series of invisible highways that out-of-towners like her could use to easily make the ascent. No matter where in Equestria the city floated, those currents were always moved along with it, and always operated twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, even on holidays. On that day, however, the skies around Cloudsdale were as still and stagnant as anywhere else, and so the mare was forced to haul every pound of her weight up to the clouds overhead all on her own.

And not just her own weight, she thought as she looked back over her shoulder. Secured tightly against her flanks were a set of large purple saddlebags, each decorated with a six-pointed star. Those bags had been made strong and sturdy enough to transport even that bulkiest of old tomes, and so had little difficulty holding their current cargo, despite its abnormal nature. While those bags did indeed contain books, they also contained a basket of apples, a spool of thread, a pink balloon, and a little wooden birdhouse. Their weight certainly did not make her gradual ascent any faster, but they undoubtedly made it more bearable.  

“We're almost there,” the mare said.

She waited for a long moment, uncertain if she would receive a reply. She was just about to turn her head back around when she heard a familiar soft voice.  

“Rainbow,” said the birdhouse.  

The mare fixed her gaze on her saddlebags once again.  

“Yeah?” she said.

“Please hurry,” said the birdhouse.  

The mare slowly turned her head, looking back up at the city above her. Her features hardened, her muscles tensed, and her wings flapped hard, carrying that lost little mare back home.





The whisper-quiet sound of her own flapping wings was the only noise that reached the mare's ears as she slowly floated along the cloudy streets of that beautiful city. Where once there would have been the laughter of fillies and colts at play, the low hum of the crowds at the forum, or the rhythmic churning of machinery at the nearby weather factory, there was now nothing. She could hear those old, familiar sounds perfectly in her mind, just not in those sharp ears of hers, which strained to detect even the slightest trace of them.  

One would think that the mare would have been used to the silence. One would think that, by that point, she would have grown numb to the horrible feeling of emptiness she felt, one which perfectly reflected the emptiness of those streets, those buildings, those homes. And yet, it took all of her strength, all of her willpower to harden her heart and press onward, slowly but surely making her way through the city.  

As painful as the massive, rusty railroad spike being driven further into the last of her desperate hopes was, however, the mare's primary concerns were not with herself, nor even with the ponies who should have been happily making their way through those empty skies on that bright, sunny morning.

“Fluttershy?” said the mare softly. “You doin' alright?”

The birdhouse sniffled. “I'm...I'm alright,” it lied.

Ahead of her, off to the right of the main thoroughfare that ran the length of the city, stood the tall, circular form of the Cloudiseum, just where it had always been. The mare unconsciously veered towards it, passing under its long shadow a short time later. She continued onward, passing through the massive columns that supported the structure, quickly making her way through to the stands inside. As she emerged into the sunlight once more, she gazed out at the huge circular arena. While that masterwork of ancient pegasus architecture was capable of seating tens of thousands of spectators, the mare had seen it empty before, typically in the wee hours of the morning when she would go there to train, but as she looked out at those empty seats then, the sight struck her much differently than it ever had before. She closed her eyes tightly, choosing to look at the backs of her eyelids over those empty seats.  

It hadn't even been that long since she had last been there; the memories were still fresh in her mind. She reached out for those memories, those feelings, and those sensations, happily losing herself in them. As her mind wandered further from reality, distancing itself from that horrible emptiness, the silence was gradually replaced with the raucous cheering of a small army of spectators, each one of them stomping their hooves, shouting the name of their favorite competitor, or merely screaming like madponies. She smelled the distinctive scent of stadium food, of popcorn, cotton candy, and hot, delicious hayburgers. She felt the intense heat of the midday sun on her skin, and the beads of nervous sweat trickling down her face. Her lips slowly stretched into a smile as she fell further and further into her reverie, growing wide indeed by the time she finally opened her eyes again.

Around her, filling those countless seats, sat an equally countless number of ponies, still cheering at the spectacle before them. She looked around at them, taking in the smiles on their own faces, the commemorative clothing that adorned their bodies, and the bright sparkles in their eyes. Her eyes wandered up and down the stands, slowly scanning the circumference of the stadium, until at last they came to the section she had been looking for. In a certain row of seats in a certain section of the stadium sat a certain quartet of very familiar mares, all of whom were enjoying the activities with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Suddenly, the cheering of the crowd diminished, and the mare saw a lone pegasus leave the stadium and return to the locker room. The applause immediately surged once more, however, as the booming voice of the announcer heralded the entrance of two more ponies, who quickly emerged from the same locker room. The mare could see them as clear as day, despite them being so far away. She could see that little blue pegasus with the rainbow mane slink her way out, her near-crippling anxiety slathered all over her face. At the same time, she saw the lovely unicorn follow along just behind her, proudly flapping those colorful, dainty wings of hers.  

She watched as the events played out before her, just as they had on that day. She watched the two mares perform for the assembled crowds, one elegantly, one pathetically. She watched the embarrassing failures of the pegasus, as well as the mesmerizing beauty of the unicorn. She then watched as that proud unicorn flew too close to the sun, and those pretty little wings of hers were burnt up in the heat. She heard her long, drawn-out scream as she plummeted down through the nonexistent floor of the stadium, down towards the ground miles below. She watched as first those heroic Wonderbolts sprung into action to save her, and then, that nervous little pegasus. She heard the boom as loud as thunder, then watched as the sky overhead was painted in all the colors of the rainbow.

The mare chuckled softly, feeling in her blood the adrenaline those memories evoked, and also the incredible sense of euphoria.  

“You remember that, Rarity?” she said, looking back at her saddlebags.

The thread chuckled awkwardly. “Well, yes, I...erm...yes, I do,” it said, its blush audible in its voice.  

The mare chuckled, the soothing warmth of that amazing moment having supplanted all else in her heart. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling, savoring every instant of that unforgettable experience. Then, after taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes again.

She looked out at the empty seats around her. She listened to the silence that hung in the air. She felt the unnerving chill in her heart as her memories faded away, leaving her alone in that big, empty world once more. She sighed, then unfurled her wings, quickly turning and flying away.  





The mare looked up at the humble little two-story house before her, taking in the gleaming white columns, the cloudy embellishments, and the wavy, fluid edges typical of pegasus architecture. She peered through the many wide windows set into its outer walls, but could see no movement within. She looked down at the fluffy cloud-lawn beneath her hooves, which was as neatly trimmed as always. She gazed upwards at the arch of rainbow that sat above the front door, giving off a soft, multicolored light.  

She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Rainbow?” said the books. “You...don't need to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” said the mare. “I...I have to know.”

“Rainbow,” said the apples, “we're with you.”

The mare's lips stretched into a smile. “Thanks, AJ,” she said.

She opened her eyes, looking up at the front door and slowly advancing towards it. She walked up the front steps and stopped before the familiar old doorway. Instinctively, she reached out for the door handle, but stopped herself just before her hoof met the polished metal. She hesitated for a moment, then slowly raised her hoof to the center of the door, placing a few firm knocks upon its surface. The sound seemed as loud as thunder in that quiet, both to her, and as she hoped, to the ones within.  

She waited for a moment. Then she waited for a minute. Then she waited for another. She might have waited there for an entire week had she not heard a familiar voice call out to her, although not the one she was hoping to hear.

“Rainbow...” said the thread.

The mare sighed, forcing herself to lift her hoof to the handle and slowly open the door. She waited for a moment as the door swung inward, looking in at the little suburban home beyond it. A few tentative steps later, she was inside, her gaze meandering over the familiar walls, the familiar cloud-furniture, and the familiar knickknacks. She couldn't help but smile as she looked at those old porcelain figurines of Equestria's most radiant princess that sat on the shelf in the living room. She had never been able to understand why the mare of that house had spent so much time collecting such tacky things.  

Her smile faded as she remembered the face of that wonderful mare. Turning to look deeper into the house, she opened her mouth and took a breath, as if preparing to speak, but no words pierced that silence. She gulped, then tried again, willing her useless lips and tongue to form the sounds she desired. After another difficult moment had passed, she managed to summon forth her voice once again.

“Mom?” said the mare softly. She tried again, louder this time, realizing how quietly she had spoken. “Mom? D-Dad?”

Her words echoed throughout the house, running down those hallways, up the stairs, and into every room beneath that cloudy roof. She waited, her ears flickering back and forth, straining to hear anything, be it the step of a hoof, the flap of a wing, or even the falling of a single feather. After several long moments of disappointing silence, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again.  

Adjacent to the living room was a quaint little kitchen, which the mare quickly made her way to. That room proved to be as empty as the last one, however, with no ponies either sitting at the comfy little breakfast nook or standing at the counter preparing food. Seeing it in that state, seeing it so utterly devoid of activity, or even the traces of activity, struck her in a way that few other things she had seen on that long, painful day had.  

She had so many memories in that room, so many precious moments and unforgettable experiences, ones which she saw clearly as she closed her eyes. She heard the soft noise of the oven as it warmed a carrot-and-cauliflower casserole for the evening meal, and smelled the delicious aroma it gave off. She heard the sharp, rhythmic sound of a knife against a cutting board as it chopped up fresh vegetables. Then, she heard the gentle, feminine tones of a pony humming a half-remembered tune to themselves. The mare opened her eyes, and looked upon that kitchen again.

She looked at the mare who stood at that counter, happily chopping away without a care in the world. She looked at her short orange mane and tail, at those big, fluffy wings made for snuggling, and at the little freckles on her cheeks. She looked at the soft smile on her lips, and the loving warmth in her eyes, a warmth which she felt in her own heart as soon as she laid eyes upon her. She felt her lips tremble and her breaths grow shaky as she watched the other mare at her work, relishing every second of the sight. Part of her wanted to charge forward and embrace her, hold her tight and never let go, but somepony else beat her to it.  

Behind her, she heard the sound of the front door opening, then quickly slamming shut again.  

“Mom, I'm home!” came a familiar girlish voice.  

She watched the mare at the counter quickly set down her knife and look over towards the door, her smile widening and a bright sparkle appearing in her eye. A moment later, she saw a little filly, no more than half her age, rush into the kitchen, her rainbow-colored mane and tail swishing behind her.  

“And how was my little Dashie today?” said the mother as she stepped away from the counter.  

In one smooth motion, the mother stretched out her hooves towards the filly, who eagerly leapt into her embrace.  

“Great!” said the filly excitedly. “Oh, you shoulda been there, Mom! Today at recess, I...I finally did it! I finally did a double barrel roll! Oh, but Fluttershy was so scared. She kept telling me not to do it, but I did it! I did it! You should seen the looks on those colts' faces!”

As the filly eagerly recounted her accomplishments, the mother held her tighter and gently nuzzled her mane.  

“That's my number one flier!” the mother chuckled. “I'm so proud of you.”

The mare watched the two ponies' embrace, feeling its softness and warmth against her own skin. Her lips trembled, and she felt the moisture welling up in her eyes. She wanted so much for that moment to continue, to stay there in that warm, cozy kitchen forever, but when she closed her eyes to stifle her tears, she snuffed out that beautiful moment as well. When she opened her eyes and looked out at that kitchen again, the filly was gone, the mother was gone, and that warmth was gone, leaving a chill in its wake.  

The mare turned and left the kitchen while she still had the strength to do so. She passed through the living room, soon reaching the spiral staircase that led up to the second floor of the house. She placed her hoof down on the first step, then paused, taking a deep breath before continuing her journey upwards. The familiar creaks of the wooden steps kept her company on that long, lonely ascent, until at last she stepped onto the landing at the top and looked down the second-floor hallway. She stopped there, waiting, although she wasn't sure for what.  

“Mom?” she called out. “Dad?”

Whatever it was that she was waiting for, it didn't come. The mare clenched her jaw, summoned her strength, then forced her stiff legs to carry her forwards.  

She could have walked that path blindfolded, and had, in fact, done so on at least one misguided occasion, yet she chose to keep her eyes open. Because of this, she had no difficulty seeing the extensive collection of photographs that decorated the walls, each one positioned with as much love and care as the finest works of art in the most luxurious of galleries. The images she saw varied in size, composition, quality, and professionalism, but despite this, there was one element that every one of them shared, one theme that unified that impressive display.  

The mare couldn't help but smile as she looked upon that familiar mane of rainbow hair, that familiar lightning-bolt-shaped cutie mark, and that familiar pair of big, bright eyes. Sometimes that mane was tangled and messy, sometimes it was as clean and coiffed as a doting mother could have gotten it. Sometimes that cutie mark was obscured by wisps of cloud, or covered by thick winter clothing so obnoxious that she cringed to look upon it. Those eyes, however, burned with the same passion, the same spirit, the same youthful energy in every one of those pictures, whether they were on the face of a newborn foal, or on a face that she had seen in her bathroom mirror that morning.  

Those pictures led the mare around a corner, and eventually, to the doorway of the master bedroom. She stopped in front of it, turning to face it head-on. That door had once seemed so big to her, an obstacle so insurmountable that she could not have hoped to tackle it unaided. She had not felt that way in a long time; she hadn't felt so small, so weak, so powerless in many long years, but she did then. As she stood there, staring at that humble slab of wood, she found herself as incapable of reaching out and opening it as she would have been of lifting a mountain and hurling it into the sea. That intense sensation of paralysis was strange to the fully-grown mare, but one which she was not altogether unfamiliar with. She could remember another time she had stood before that door, feeling then just as she did now.

The mare closed her eyes and reached out for that memory, and soon, the silence was pierced by the sound of tiny sobs emanating from a tiny throat. She opened her eyes again and looked down at the little rainbow-maned filly who sat at her hooves. She saw the onesie pajamas decorated with little rainbows that she wore, and saw the old, worn stuffed animal she clutched tightly to her chest. She saw the trembling of the filly's lips and saw the moisture of fresh tears in her eyes as she stared up at the door.

Luckily for both mare and filly, they did not have to wait long for the aid they sought. The mare heard clearly the sound of somepony rolling out of a cloud-bed from beyond the door. She heard the sound of slow, heavy hoofsteps approaching, then heard the turning of the door handle. She saw the door slowly swing inwards, revealing the tall, muscled stallion with the rainbow mane and five-o-clock shadow who stood beyond it. She watched as the pajama-clad stallion raised a hoof to his groggy eyes to wipe the sleep from them, then confusedly looked down at the filly.  

“Rainbow?” said the stallion. “Was that you knocking? It's the middle of the night. What's going—”

“Dad!” said the filly, her voice trembling. “I...I had a...I had a nightmare.”

The filly visibly strained to hold back her tears, although looked as if she would burst at any moment. The mare looked back up at the father, seeing his wide-awake eyes and his abnormally serious expression. She watched as he quickly stooped down, wrapped his forelegs around the filly, and scooped her up as easily as if she were made of cloud. She watched as the filly immediately buried her face in his neck, his soft flesh muffling the little sobs that flowed forth. She watched the father hold the filly tightly against himself for a moment, gently stroking her mane, then carefully stand and carry her towards the large bed behind him. The mare slipped into the room before a gentle kick from the father closed the door again.

The room was dark, the only light being the few beams of pale moonlight that managed to sneak their way through the window curtains, but the mare could still see the father carrying the filly over to the empty half of the bed. Lying on the other half, her head raised up off of the pillow and a sympathetic, if groggy smile on her lips, was the mother, who watched the two as they approached. As carefully as if he were handling a batch of Hearth's Warming snowflakes, the father slipped back into the bed, laying the filly down right in the middle. The mother grabbed the covers and pulled them up over the others as she and the father snuggled together, pulling the filly into a protective embrace.  

The filly continued to sob quietly as the mother and the father softly shushed her, whispered calming words into her ears, and placed gentle kisses on her head. Eventually, the sobs became shuddering sniffles, then those became heavy breaths, then those grew softer and slower, until they fell into the peaceful rhythm of sleep. The filly's clenched-shut eyes relaxed, and her trembling lips grew still. The mother and the father nuzzled their faces against the filly's head, then closed their eyes as well, following her off into the realm of dreams. Last, but not least, the mare closed her eyes, listening as those three sets of peaceful breaths faded away into silence.  

When she opened her eyes again, the mare was greeted with the bright light of midmorning streaming through the windows. In that light, she could see the bedroom clearly, see the dressers lined with even more framed photographs of a certain filly, see the partially-open closet filled with clothes that only parents would wear, and see the door of the adjacent master bathroom hanging ajar nearby. And then, sitting right in the center of the room, she saw the big, perfectly made bed, its covers stretched taut over the mattress and its pillows propped prettily against the headboard.   

She stared at that bed intently, as if trying to peer straight through it to the wall beyond. She stared at those covers, those pillows, and that cloudy mattress, all of them empty. She stared at that empty bed, sitting in that empty room, at the top of that empty house.  

She didn't notice the first tears until they had already ran down to her chin, didn't feel the first sobs until her body had begun to tremble. By then, it was too late to stop. Her tears swelled to a river, and her heavy sobs sent shivers running down to her hooves. She clamped her eyes shut, and that empty bedroom vanished from her world, but her tears continued to flow.  

Slowly, her trembling legs carried her forward, right up to the foot of that bed. She carefully shrugged off her heavy saddlebags as she climbed up onto it, then carefully crawled upwards. She flopped down right in the middle of that bed, the soft, cool mattress cushioning her trembling body. She awkwardly grabbed at the covers, eventually managing to get them up and over herself. As she settled into that fluffy sanctuary, she pulled the two pillows up against herself, one on each side of her. She held them tightly against herself, staining them with her tears as she rubbed her face into them. Her sobs grew louder as she smelled those familiar scents, one feminine and one masculine, that clung to the fabric.  

“Shhh...it's alright, Dashie,” whispered the mother into her ear. “It's okay.”

“We're here, Dashie,” whispered the father. “You're safe. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

She felt the mother's hoof stroke her mane, and felt her soft lips press against her forehead.  

“Go to sleep now, Dashie,” said the mother. “Just relax...and go to sleep.”

“We'll be right here,” said the father.  

Her heavy sobs gradually became shuddering sniffles, then those became heavy breaths, then those grew softer and slower, until they fell into the peaceful rhythm of sleep. Her clenched-shut eyes relaxed, her trembling lips grew still, and she floated off into the realm of dreams.  





The mare's powerful wings were stretched wide, giving her a slow, controlled descent. Before her, stretching out for countless miles in every direction, were the rolling hills, the thick forests, and the bright grasslands of Equestria. Behind her and above her, the city of Cloudsdale slowly shrank into the distance, soon becoming no more than a tiny white speck on a field of blue.  

The mare didn't watch her hometown gradually vanish, melting into the vast expanse of the sky, however. Her unflinching gaze was directed forwards, towards the far-off horizon, and whatever might lie beyond it.  

Strapped to her flanks, her saddlebags gently swayed to and fro, following her body as it maneuvered back down to earth.  

“Rainbow?” said the balloon.  

The mare didn't reply, the hard line of her lips not budging even a bit.

“Rainbow Dash?” said the birdhouse. “Are you alright?”

After a moment, the mare finally spoke. “I'm fine,” she lied.  

“Rainbow,” said the books, “maybe we should...talk about this.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” said the mare, her tone as serious as her expression. “I'm going to find you. I'm going to find all of you. I don't care how long it takes. I don't care how far I have to go. I'm going to find you...and we're gonna be together again. We will.”

A moment of silence passed.  

“Alright, Rainbow,” said the books. “We'll be right here with you.”