//------------------------------//
// Further Up, Further In 
// Story: Sorry We Missed You 
// by Starswirl the Beardless 
//------------------------------//

The old brass door handle clicked softly as it was turned, and the thick wooden door it was set into squeaked as it was slowly pushed open. Beyond that door was a familiar room with bookshelves carved directly into its wooden walls and wide windows that offered a glimpse of the bright, blue sky and the leafy boughs overhead. A round, wooden table sat in the center of the room, every inch of its surface covered by the messy pile of books, papers, empty cans, and other assorted items that lay upon it. The rest of that room was similarly cluttered; sheets of scribbled parchment hung from the walls wherever there was room, as well as a number of large maps that had been scrawled with various symbols and notes. The floor was carpeted with books, crumpled pieces of paper, broken writing implements, assorted pieces of clothing, and various pieces of garbage. A large pile of canned, dried, and otherwise preserved food sat in a corner next to a number of large water jugs. In another corner sat a large blackboard, its dark surface appearing almost white for the thick coating of scribbles that covered it.  

Into this room walked a mare, her worn, dirty hooves stepping sluggishly, lifelessly even, over the threshold and across the floor. Books were carelessly brushed aside and cans were crushed by those hooves, which made no effort to avoid the obstacles. Four legs stretched upwards from those hooves; those powerful limbs had once boasted picturesque, well-sculpted muscles, but now, those twigs were nothing but hard, rugged sinew with rough, weather-worn skin stretched taut over them. A thin, bony body sat atop those legs, the distinctive ridges of ribs visible beneath its sky-blue coat. A set of purple saddlebags clung to that body, their fabric worn, scratched, and faded. Just above those bags were folded a set of battered wings, most of their once-fluffy feathers now matted, broken, or outright missing.  

The mare's rainbow-colored tail swished as she lazily kicked the door closed behind her, its once-vibrant hairs now ratty and covered with a dozen different kinds of dirt. Her mane was in a similar state; what's more, those long, flowing locks had been cut short, their edges rough and uneven, as if cut by an untrained hoof. That choppy hair framed a face so hard and lifeless that its features might as well have been carved from stone. Bags the size of cloud banks hung beneath eyes that stared straight ahead for miles, seeing everything and nothing. Out of place on that disheveled form, the only thing of beauty it boasted, was the golden necklace that bore the ruby-red gem carved in the shape of a lightning bolt.

As she crossed the room, the soft sounds of her hoofsteps echoing throughout that dead quiet, the mare reflexively reached down and loosened the strap of her saddlebags. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, she sent those bags sliding down her body, carefully depositing them onto the floor behind her, then immediately resumed her stride.  

“Home again, home again,” came the voice of a pink party balloon from within those bags. Despite her clear attempt at cheer, her awkward, unsure tone only had the opposite effect.  

The mare approached a large map hanging on the wall nearby, standing before it and raising her heavy head to look up at it. Countless miles of land and sea were stretched across its surface, ranging from tall, snow-capped mountains in the north down to vast sandy deserts and thick jungles in the south. There were bright, green grasslands, as well as low, rolling hills. There were ancient forests, and even more ancient mountains. There were a thousand dots for a thousand towns, not a one overlooked, be it a tiny hamlet tucked away in the untamed wilderness, or the grandest of metropolises whose buildings scraped the heavens. The land rendered upon that map had been sectioned off by pen-drawn lines into a hundred smaller areas of roughly equal size. In each one of those sections, a large “X” had been drawn...all but one.  

Reaching out, the mare took hold of a nearby pen, then raised it to the map, lifting it as slowly as if it were a lead weight. When the pen's tip finally reached its destination, she slowly dragged it across the paper, leaving the final “X” in its wake.  

The pen fell from her shaky grasp as her head fell forward, colliding with the hard wall behind the map with a dull thud. The mare closed her eyes, standing as still and as silent as a statue.  

“Rainbow?” came the voice of a basket of juicy, red apples. “Sugarcube? Why don't you...come and get some food in you.” When the mare made no sign that she had heard, the apples spoke again. “Please?”

“I'm fine,” came the rough, dusty voice of the mare, her stiff lips forcing the words out.  

“Rainbow, please,” said a tall spool of luxurious silken thread. “You promised us you'd eat something when we got back. You...you've hardly been eating as it is.”

“I eat enough,” said the mare.

“Rainbow,” said a stack of books in a half-pitying, half-lecturing tone. “Come on. You need to eat, and you need to rest, and I mean really rest. Once you're in good shape again, once you're ready, then we can...then we can talk. We can talk about...where we go from here.”

The mare opened her eyes, then raised her head, looking back up at the map. Her eyes pored over the paper, taking in the glaring pen marks that covered every inch of land it depicted...almost every inch, that is.

A few moments later, the mare finally spoke again. “I'll eat,” she said, “and I'll sleep...but there's no need to talk. As soon as I'm ready...we're heading out again.”

A moment of stunned silence followed.

“Wha...you...heading out?” said the thread. “B-But...darling, you...”

“T-The map, Rainbow,” said a pretty little birdhouse. “It's...there's nowhere left to...”

“Rainbow,” said the books sternly, “you said we'd talk about this when the time came. You promised us. We've stuck by you all this time because we believe in you...and we wanted to give you your chance. You wanted to look, so...we helped you look...but we're done now. It's time for us to move on and...try something else.”

“No,” said the mare flatly.  

“What? No?” said the books. “But...Rainbow, there's...there's nowhere left! There's nowhere left to look! See for yourself! You've been over every inch of Equestria! You've been to places I've never even heard of! Where could you possibly want to go now?”

The mare didn't answer, at least not with words. Instead, she tore a blank piece of paper from a nearby notebook, grabbed a piece of tape, then fluttered up into the air. She flew up to the very top of that tall map, up where the colorful lands of Equestria ended, and an endless expanse of snow, ice, and stormy mountains continued on, only cut off by the edge of the paper. The mare pressed the blank sheet against the wall above the map, then taped it in place, adding countless uncharted miles to the map and Celestia knows how many days of searching to her self-appointed task.

The thread gasped as soon as she realized what the mare was planning. “Rainbow, no!” she exclaimed. “You can't!”

“Why not?” said the mare as she floated back down to the floor.  

“Do we really need to tell you why that's a horrible idea?” asked the books.

The mare shot an annoyed look at her friends, but did not reply. She crossed over to the table at the center of the room, then dug through the pile of books to find the one she sought. When she had found the book on Equestrian geography, she pulled it close and began rifling through its pages.

Seeing that the mare was not going to respond, the books continued. “The Frozen North is...is...a wasteland!” she said. “There's nothing up there except ice and snow!”

“You said there were creatures that lived up there,” the mare said, not taking her eyes from her book.

“Well, yeah,” the books admitted, “but only in a tiny sliver of the region just north of Equestria! Beyond that it's...uninhabitable. Nothing lives up there. Nothing could...survive up there.”

“The storms are gone,” said the mare, willfully ignoring the implications of the books' comment.  

It wasn't a lie; the legendary snowstorms that had blanketed the region since the time of the founding of Equestria had all but disappeared, vanished as completely as every other breeze in that still, empty world. She had noticed it when she had searched the northernmost areas of Equestria, but she had not brought it up with her friends before then.

“Even if the storms are gone,” said the books, “it's still too cold up there for you to deal with! It's the coldest place in the world, for goodness sake! Every expedition that's ever tried to explore the region has confirmed it: it's just too cold for ponies to survive up there, even without taking the storms into account.”

“If they made it up there, then I could,” said the mare.

“Every one of those expeditions had at least a dozen ponies,” said the books. “They had the best explorers, the best survivalists, the best minds in Equestria behind them, and they just barely made it back...and some didn't make it back at all.”

Those words sent a chill up the mare's spine, despite her earlier bravado.

“You can't do this, Rainbow,” said the books. “You know you can't.”

“I have to,” said the mare.  

“Do you want to freeze to death!?!” shouted the books.

“Maybe!” snapped the mare unthinkingly. “Er...no! I don't know!”

The mare angrily stomped away from the table, away from her friends. She stopped after a few paces, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.  

“Twilight,” she said, “I have to do this. I have to do this because...what else is there? Where else can I go? What else can I do?”

A long silence filled the room, interrupted only by the pounding of the mare's heart and the rhythm of her increasingly shaky breaths.  

“You could stop,” said the books, her tone gentle, without anger or judgment.   

The mare's eyes flew open, and she swiftly turned, giving the books a confused look.  

“Wha— ” the mare began.

“You could stop,” repeated the books. “You could stop this...all of this. Stop fighting. Stop trying to fix things. Stop forcing yourself to do things you know you can't do.”

The mare closed her mouth and hung her head. “I can't do that,” she said softly.

“Yes, you can,” said the books.

“How?” said the mare, looking back to her friends with desperation in her eyes. “How could I just...give up like that? Give up on Equestria, give up on everypony, give up on you! And how could you even think that I would?”

The mare stood there, her chest heaving, her limbs quivering, and her eyes boring a hole through her saddlebags.  

Eventually, the books spoke again. “Because you already have,” she said.

The mare's eyes slowly widened. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but found her tongue as limp and useless as a sack of moldy hay.  

“You're a smart mare, Rainbow,” said the books. “You know the truth. You knew it a long time ago. You just need to accept it.”

The mare's breaths quickened, and her mouth suddenly felt very dry. She turned around, and clamped her eyes shut.  

“Accept what?” she asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.  

“Accept...that we're gone,” said the books. “We're gone...and there's nothing you can do about it.”

The mare felt the sniffles work their way up her throat, leaking out of her nose. She felt the tears welling up behind her eyelids, threatening to break through. She felt her heart, that weary little heart worn down by a thousand sorrows, finally break, crumbling to a fine dust that fell at her hooves.  

No.

The mare threw back her head, parted her lips, and let loose a bellow stronger and fiercer than any storm that had ever raged over that world.  

“No!”

Her lungs burned by the time she had finished emptying them, yet she ignored the pain, immediately refilling them and continuing.

“No, no, no! No!”

The mare flew forward in a blind rage, throwing herself against the nearby wall and pounding her hooves against it.  

“No, no, no, no, no, no!”

Books rattled in their places as the tremendous impacts of those hooves shook those heavy oaken walls.  

“No, no!”

She tore herself from the wall and rushed towards the heavy table at the room's center. A powerful kick sent that heavy slab of wood flying towards the opposite wall, scattering the mess covering its surface. The table broke as it collided with the wall, then fell to the floor beneath.  

“No!”

The blackboard was next. She cracked it in two, its lifeless halves clattering to the floor.

“No, no, no, no!”

She threw herself about, stamping and kicking her way through the clutter that covered the floor.  

“No!”

Her hooves found the wall again, the same wall where the marked map hung, glaring down at her. She grasped its edge, and with a single motion, ripped the map in half from side to side. As she did, one of her hooves slipped on an unfortunately placed book, sending her toppling down towards the floor. She didn't realize what was happening until a split second before her head collided with the hard wood beneath her.  

Pain arced through her body like a bolt of lightning, only slightly less painful than that which had already consumed her broken heart. She lay there, her body quivering and her exclamations finally stifled by shuddering breaths and grunts of pain. The half of the map still attached to the wall fell off, floating through the air before coming to land on top of her, covering her face.  

The mare clamped her eyes shut in a fruitless attempt to hold back the tears that ran like a river down her cheeks. Her sobs flowed just as freely, mixing with her grunts and her whispered pleas to form a sound truly harrowing to listen to.

“No...no...no...”

She cried. She cried for her home. She cried for her family. She cried for her friends. Most of all, she cried for herself, the little lost mare who was well and truly alone in that big, empty world.  





Above, the sky of that eternal morning, a plane of blue that expanded outwards in all directions for as far as the eye could see. Below, another plane of blue, almost as far-reaching, but of a much darker shade, its surface shining as the sun's rays kissed it. That plane stretched out to the horizon far in the distance, but as it came closer, it ended at the spot where it met a strip of white sand. The border between that blue and white was as solid and still as if it were carved from stone. It did not wax or wane, did not advance or recede, did not move even an inch. It was as lifeless as the rest of that vast expanse of blue water that had once been called the sea.

A short ways up, on a little grassy ledge in a rocky cliff face halfway between the sky above and the sea below, sat the mare. She stared out towards the horizon, at the exact spot where those two planes of blue met, as if trying to see the infinitesimal line separating them. As she sat there on her perch, she was as quiet and still as everything else in that chilling landscape, the only signs that life still flowed through her veins being the subtle rise and fall of her chest and the occasional blink of her heavy eyelids.  

Behind her, off to the side a bit, lay a set of empty saddlebags. Carefully arranged on the grass before those bags were their former contents: a prettily painted birdhouse, a basket of apples, a spool of fine thread, a brightly colored balloon, and a stack of old books. Each item was adorned with the piece of golden jewelry it had been given long ago, the gems set into those pieces still as dull and greyish as they had been then. Those once-beautiful artifacts paled in comparison to their counterpart hanging from the mare's neck, that necklace's gem still as red as it had ever been.

“So...Rainbow Dash,” said the balloon, “you wanna...play twenty questions? I promise I'll choose something easy this time. Or...we could do charades. Or I spy. What do you say?”

The silence continued, the mare giving no sign that she had heard.  

“Pinkie,” said the thread, her tone tinged with sorrowful resignation.

The balloon sighed. “I know,” she said, “but we have to try something. I can't stand seeing her like this.”

“What can we do though?” said the apples. “What's it gonna take to get through to her?”

“I don't know,” said the birdhouse, her voice trembling, “but I really wish I did. I don't know if I can take another day of this. I...I just want so badly to help her.”

“We all do,” said the books firmly. “Seeing her like this...it hurts me as much as it hurts you. I wish there were something we could do, but...I'm starting to think that...maybe we've already done too much.”

“What ever do you mean?” said the thread.

“You know what I mean,” said the books. “You know why we're here...why we're still here. We've done all we can to help her, but...now she needs to help herself...and I think we're getting in the way of that. I think...there's only one more thing we can do for her.”

A long pause followed.

“You're right,” said the thread softly. “You're absolutely right. It's...what she needs, I'm afraid.”

“Consarn it,” grumbled the apples. “I'd give my left hoof for another way, but...I reckon you're right.”

“Oh...if this is what it takes to put a smile on her face again,” said the balloon, “then...okay.”

A moment of expectant silence passed.  

“Fluttershy?” said the books in a gentle tone.

The sound of soft sniffling filled the air. “I...I don't know if I can...” said the birdhouse.

“Fluttershy,” said the books. “Trust me. It's time.”

The sniffling continued for a moment more, then slowly faded away. “Alright,” said the birdhouse. “Alright.”

Another moment of silence passed, the dreaded calm before the storm.

“Rainbow Dash,” said the books.

The mare said nothing.

“I know you can hear me,” said the books, doing her best to keep her voice from trembling. “If you don't want to talk...fine...but listen to me.”

The mare said nothing.  

The books took a deep breath to steady herself, then spoke again. “We're leaving,” she said.

The mare's ears, drooping low atop her head, suddenly perked up.

“We're leaving,” said the books, “and...we're not coming back. I hate to do this; we hate to do this...but it's what we have to do. We've stayed with you so long because...because we love you...and we love being with you...but not like this. It hurts me so much to see you like this, to just sit here and watch you waste away...and it's hurting you too. You might not believe it, but it is. I want you to be happy Rainbow; I want that more than anything...so do all of us. I wish you wanted it too. I wish you wanted something more than just sitting here, day after day. Maybe if you did...things would be different. If you did...maybe we could help you...but as it stands...we're just holding you back. That's why we're—”

“I want...” came the weak whisper of the only voice that had not yet spoken.  

The books paused, unsure of what she had heard. “Rainbow?” she said.

As the mare's friends looked upon her, they noticed her statuesque form trembling almost imperceptibly.

“I want...to be happy,” said the mare.  

Slowly, the mare turned her head, looking back over her shoulder at her friends. Her lips trembled, and her cheeks were wet with fresh tears.  

“I want to be happy,” she said, her voice barely more than the whistle of warm air past her lips.

Her eyes clamped shut as the first sobs made their way up her throat. She bowed her head, allowing it to fall down and come to rest on the grass beside her.  

“I just...” she began, speaking through her choking sobs. “I just...want things to be how they used to be. I want Equestria back. I want my family back. I want you back. I need you back.”

The mare sobbed to herself for a long while, shedding the last few tears she had in her worn body.

“No, you don't,” said the books softly. “Rainbow...look at me. Look at me.”

It took a few moments, but eventually, the mare was able to lift her heavy head and force her sopping eyes open to look back at her friend.  

“You don't need us,” said the books. “You don't need us to be happy.”

“Yes, I do!” said the mare, her voice cracking from the force of the exclamation.

“No, you don't,” said the books. “You keep telling yourself that...but it's just not true.”

The mare's head fell again, and a new wave of tears flowed.

“Rainbow...do you really want to be happy again?” said the books.

The mare's mouth was full of sobs, so she merely nodded.  

“Then you know what you have to do,” said the books. “You have to move on.”

The mare shook her head. “No!” she managed to force out.  

“Yes,” said the books. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life here...here in this big, empty world...alone?”

The mare gulped down cool air to soothe herself while shaking her head.  

“Then you have to move on,” said the books. “Move on from this place. Move on from this world. Move on from us. That's the only way you'll ever be happy again.”

The mare managed to calm her trembling lips enough to speak once again. “I...I can't,” she said. “I just can't.”

A moment of silence passed.  

“Rainbow,” said the books, “you are the most stubborn mare I've ever met...and I love you for that. We love you for that. You're such a fighter. You hate to lose...and you hate to give up. Even after all this time...you're still holding on...holding on to Equestria, holding on to everypony you love. You truly deserve that necklace...but...even the most loyal ponies need to take care of themselves.”

When the mare's sobs had diminished to shuddering breaths, she opened her eyes and looked back at her friend.  

“Do you remember the day we met?” said the books.  

The mare reached back into her memories, seeing that long-gone day as if it had happened just the day before. For the first time in a long time, the mare's lips stretched into a small smile.  

“I remember how frustrated I was on that day,” said the books. “I remember how anxious I was...how afraid I was...and how happy I was. I didn't realize it at the time, but...that was the best day of my life. Getting to meet you...to meet all of you...that was the best thing that's ever happened to me. And every day since then...I've been happy...thanks to you...thanks to them...thanks to everypony I've met, everywhere I've gone, and every beautiful moment I've been fortunate enough to experience.  

“That's what I want for you, Rainbow. I want every day of the rest of your life to be filled with happiness. I want you meet new people, meet new friends, and make each other as happy as we've made each other. I want you to see new places, do new things, and enjoy everything your life has to offer. I want you to find a new home...wherever that might be.”

“Twilight,” said the mare, slowly gathering her thoughts, “you...you want me to just...forget about it...all of it...forget about you?”

“No!” said the books immediately. “Don't forget. Never forget...because I'm not going to forget either. I'm going to remember every precious moment we ever spent together. I'm going to cherish every day I got to spend here in this world...with all of you. I'm going to remember...but I'm not going to let it hold me back...just like you shouldn't let it hold you back. You have a wonderful, beautiful life, and I'm so grateful that I got to be a part of it...if only for a little while. That life doesn't end here...not if you don't want it to.”

“I...I don't want it to,” said the mare. “I really don't...but...why? Why does it have to be this way? Why do I have to leave you...leave everything? Why can't things just...stay the same?”

“Rainbow...you know why,” said the books. “Things change. Every day brings something different. On some days, we get to meet our best friends. On other days...we have to say goodbye to those friends. I never used to think about that...think about the day I would have to say goodbye to you. I don't think you did either. Some ponies are lucky...they get to see those days coming...and do what they can to prepare for them. For other ponies...those days are as sudden as a knock on the door. Not everyone's ready for it when it happens...but it still has to happen.”

For a long while, no one spoke. The mare sat there, her head bowed, her face blank, her eyes staring unseeingly at the ground beside her.  

“What do I do?” said the mare at last.  

“Close your eyes,” said the books.  

The mare obeyed.

“I want you to think about everything you love about this world,” said the books. “Think about your home. Think about your family. Think about your friends.”

The mare did as she was told, and her mind was suddenly filled with countless images, countless sensations, countless feelings both joyous and painful. She felt the wind on her face, she smelled the scent of grass, she saw the brilliant light of the sun. She felt the strong embrace of her father, as well as the tender warmth of her mother. She saw the smiles of her friends, heard their laughter, felt their hooves on hers. She brought it all before her, everything and everyone that she would never see, never experience again.  

It hurt her so much.

“Now,” said the books, “gather it all up. Take all of it, every scrap, and take it deep within you.”

The mare gathered up that mountain of memories on her back, almost buckling under the sheer weight of them all.  

“Take it into your heart,” said the books. “Take it to the deepest place inside of you, where you'll always be able to find it.”

The mare found that place deep inside of her, a tender spot at the center of her being, a spot as safe and secure as the strongest of vaults.

“Put it there...all of it,” said the books. “Close the door, and lock it with a key...so that you'll never lose a single bit of it.”

The mare's face contorted with strain as she forced a lifetime's worth of love, of hate, of happiness, of sorrow, and a thousand other things into that vault. She took hold of its great, heavy door, then slowly pushed against it. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing quickened as she struggled against its weight, throwing herself against it with all her might. Slowly but surely, the door swung closed, a single soft click sounding as it was finally shut.  

The mare shuddered, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She sat there panting, feeling the absence of the weight that she had been carrying with her ever since she had woken up on that never-ending morning. In place of that weight, she felt, deep down inside of her, a gentle warmth that filled her chilled, empty heart, granting it a strength that it had not felt in a long time. With her heart full, and her mind empty of the countless sorrows that had been lingering there, the mare opened her eyes, and looked upon that world again.  

“Well done,” said the books, a smile in her voice. “I knew you could do it.”

The mare marveled at the incredible feeling of freedom she felt. For so long, she had lived with the iron shackles of grief weighing her down; all of that was gone now. She could still recall it, of course, still feel the echoes of that pain lingering within her, but it was dull, muted, and masked by the love that had birthed that grief in the first place. She could feel those feelings deep within her, but they no longer filled her mind, clouding her thoughts and keeping her trapped in her past. Now, she was free to look beyond that, to her present, and to her future.

She smiled...and she laughed. It was only the faintest of chuckles, but it was a greater mirth than she had felt in a long time indeed. As she laughed, she brought her stiff limbs out from underneath her, planting her hooves on the ground and slowly standing. Her legs wobbled beneath her, but after a few tricky moments, she managed to get up on her hooves again, raising herself to her full height. She looked out at the horizon as her laughter faded away, its warmth melting back into her heart.  

“Twilight,” she said, slowly turning around to face her friends. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me,” said the books. “It was you. It was all you.”

The mare raised a hoof and placed it against her chest, feeling her heartbeat.  

“Hold onto it,” said the books. “That way...it'll go with you wherever you go. You'll have it all with you...and you'll never lose it.”

The mare took a deep breath, then released it. “I will,” she said.

“Good,” said the books.  

The mare looked down at her friends, realizing that she suddenly had all the freedom in the world, but had no idea what to do with it.

“So...what happens now?” she said.

“That depends,” said the books. “Are you ready to go?”

The mare raised her head, looking up at the big, blue sky above her. She looked at the sun, whose familiar warmth no longer made her feel uneasy. She looked down at the earth, the rocks, and the grass beneath her hooves. She looked out at the water, and looked out at the horizon, wondering what lay beyond it.  

“Yeah,” she said. “I'm ready.”

“In that case,” said the books, “I think...it's time we wrapped things up.”

The mare turned back to her friends, a puzzled look on her face.  

“What do you mean?” she said.  

“Turn around,” said the books. “See for yourself.”

Hesitantly, the mare turned, staring confusedly out at the water she had just been looking at. She looked left, she looked right, and she looked up, but could not see whatever it was her friend was referring to. It was not until she looked down that she saw it.  

Far below her, down at the bottom of the rocky cliff side, she could clearly see the white sand of the beach being slowly covered by the advancing edge of the water. Her heart skipped a beat, the mare thinking for a moment that the movement was the beginnings of a wave, but she quickly realized that that was not the case. The water advanced, it rose up the beach, but it did not recede again. It was no wave that was coming, but rather a single, continuous rising of the sea, only noticeable from the land it swallowed up.  

“T-Twilight!” said the mare, glancing back at her friends. “T-The water...it's...”

“It's alright, Rainbow,” said the books calmly. “Fly further up. Fly further in.”

The mare looked back down at the water, which had already consumed the entirety of the beach. The water level rose steadily, but swiftly, making its way up the cliffs towards her. By her reckoning, it would reach her within a minute, but she didn't feel like sticking around to see for herself.  

As quick as lightning, the mare went to her friends, gathered them all up in her saddlebags, then slung her bags across her back. As soon as they were securely fastened, the mare spread her wings and launched herself into the air with a powerful flap. She did as her friend said, flying further up and further inland, soon reaching the top of the sloping cliffs and coming down to rest on the edge. She didn't linger there long, however, as a quick look back down showed that the water was still rising at a worrying rate.  

“Twilight?” she said.

“Further up,” said the books. “Further in.”

The mare tore her gaze away from the water, looking back at the light forest that began just a short distance away from the cliff. She took a deep breath, spread her wings, then took off into the air once again. Within seconds, she had reached the treeline, the mare soaring swiftly over the dark green foliage beneath her. She flew on for a few moments, then came to a stop in midair, hovering in place. For a second, she hesitated, then slowly turned to look behind her.  

She saw the forest stretching out beneath her for a ways, and in the distance, she could just make out the edge of the cliffs. For a few long moments, that was all she saw. Soon enough, however, she heard the low, wet gurgle of water rushing over rock, and saw the sea rise up over the edge, spilling over it and onto the land beyond it.  

“Further up,” said the books. “Further in.”

The mare's heart pounded against her chest, and her breaths came faster and heavier, but she did as she was told. She turned tail and flew as fast as lightning away from the coast, heading towards the heartland of Equestria. Miles and miles of forest swept by her, those ancient trees blending into a thick, green blanket as she rose higher and higher. No matter how high she flew, however, she could not escape the deep roaring sound behind her that grew steadily louder with every passing moment. She continued to fly, even as her anxious heart compelled her to glance back over her shoulder.

A great plane of blue swept over the land, led by a tremendous, rolling wave bigger than any she had ever seen or heard of. It towered over even the tallest of those enormous trees beneath her, swallowing them up as easily as one would swallow a sunflower seed. It stretched out left and right as far as her eyes could see, slowly filling up her entire field of view with blue as it approached. All the while, that great beast continued to sound its call, the horrible noise of crashing water, snapping trees, and cracking rock filling her ears like the boom of a hundred thunderclaps.  

“Further up,” said the books, her voice sounding out as clear as day through the cacophony. “Further in.”

The mare forced herself to look away from the encroaching water, turning her gaze forward, but that did not prevent her from hearing it. She flapped her wings faster and faster, desperately fleeing from it, but that horrible sound never left her. To her sensitive ears, ears that had been trapped in a world of silence for what felt like an eternity, it was indisputably the loudest thing she had ever heard.  

The beautiful Equestrian countryside stretched out beneath her, but she could not see it, so quickly did those fields, those mountains, and those cozy little villages zip past her. She didn't know how fast she was flying, she didn't know how much ground she had covered, she didn't know how long ago she had been perched on that little ledge on the cliff. That time passed to her like a dream, the mare aware only of the burning of her weary muscles, the throbbing of her heart, and the deafening roar of the water behind her. It wasn't until she saw that little collection of old wooden buildings nestled in its familiar grassy spot next to the river in the distance that she finally woke up again.

She rushed to meet it, and soon found herself floating in midair high above the little town that had given her so many wonderful memories over the years. Even with those houses and shops as small to her eyes as match heads, she had no trouble recognizing those familiar haunts: the bakery, the dress shop, the old, red barn, the cozy little cottage, and the tall oak tree at the center of it all. In spite of everything, she smiled, and had the sudden urge to fly down towards that town, to feel its earth beneath her hooves, to flutter down those familiar streets once again. She would not get that chance, as her brief moment of nostalgia was drowned out by the unending roar of water from behind.

Turning around, the mare gazed back at it, her heart skipping a beat as she beheld its sheer enormity. The wave had continued to grow as the sea had continued to rise, easily swelling to a hundred times its previous size. It was as tall as skyscraper, as tall as a mountain, as tall as the sky! Even far in the distance, the mare could sense its incredible power; she could feel it's crushing weight on her skin, feel its chill in her bones, and hear its terrible roar fill her ears. Such a climactic force, she realized, nothing could withstand.

She looked back down at her home far below, those little homes seeming like ants sitting in the path of a rampaging dragon. In her mind, she knew what was coming; she could see it as clear as day. Still, she couldn't help but frantically look around, as if hoping to find some miraculous solution lying there waiting for her. She did not find what she was looking for, but what she did see as she gazed out at the world around her made her forget all about any sort of hopeless rescue attempt.  

Behind her, in the opposite direction of the great wave she had been fleeing, she saw a long, thick line of blue rising up over the horizon, a blue as awesome and powerful as the one in front of her. It too was still far in the distance, but she could see it rushing towards her, devouring the land just as greedily as its twin. As it raced to meet her, that wave cried out loudly, joining the other in a two-part harmony of destruction that battered her ears from both directions.  

“Twilight!” said the mare, frantically looking back and forth between them. “Twilight!”

“Further up,” said the books calmly. “Further in.”

The mare looked around confusedly, first at the wave to her left, then the wave to her right, then at the little town far beneath her. It wasn't until she turned her gaze to the heavens that her confusion vanished. High overhead, higher even than the crests of those titanic walls of water, was a little tuft of cloud. It was far above her, yet she immediately recognized its familiar shape, not even stopping to wonder how it had managed to float so high up. With a flap of her wings, she was off, shooting straight up into the air, leaving the world below behind.

Higher and higher she climbed, using every last bit of strength she had left in her to reach that cloudy refuge. All the while, she heard the approach of the waves, their roars not diminishing even as she put distance between them and herself. The cloud overhead grew steadily larger as she drew closer to it, changing from a speck to a large, healthy swath strong enough to bear the burden it carried. No waterfalls of liquid rainbow poured over its edges, but she didn't care; she was just happy to see her home again, see it for the first time since she had left it in search of the little tortoise she loved so much.  

It took what felt like forever to reach it, and the mare almost thought that her wings would give out before she did, but eventually, she managed to haul herself up and over the edge of the cloud. She threw herself down onto its plush, poofy surface, taking a moment to catch her breath before raising her head and looking up at the cozy little cloud-house before her. It was just as she remembered it, its swooping swirls, its tall columns, its wide windows, and that same old door all being right where they ought to be.  

She did not give herself long to enjoy the familiar sight, the mare soon standing and walking to the edge of her little cloud. She gasped as she looked down over the edge and saw what remained of the world she had left behind. Far below, two vast planes of blue rushed to meet each other, one from the east, and one from the west, each one stretching out to the north and south as far as her eyes could see. Between them lay a single strip of green and brown, a strip that shrunk with every passing second. Right in the middle of that green, right under her hooves, sat her home, patiently awaiting its fate.  

She didn't know what to do. She didn't know what she could do. Stupefied as she was, all she could manage was to watch helplessly as those roiling waves grew closer, and listen as their thunderous peal grew louder. They were only ten miles apart now. Five miles now. Four. Three. Two. One.  

Zero.

The sky itself quaked as countless trillions of gallons of water slammed together, their immeasurable force enough to almost knock the mare off of her cloud. The world below exploded into a frothing sea of white foam as the two sides met, each one climbing higher and higher in an effort to outdo its rival. If the sight of that terrifying, awe-inspiring spectacle wasn't enough, the sound of it was enough to stagger the poor mare. She covered her ears and clamped her eyes shut as she was subjected to that horrible roaring, sloshing, sucking sound that filled every inch of air in that sky. It sounded as if the world were being torn apart.  

She huddled there, clinging to herself and her cloud, riding out the waves of sound that slammed against her. Her ears were battered, those noises leaving an echo within them that continued to reverberate through her skull, even as they themselves slowly began to fade. The mare didn't know how long she lay like that, weathering that storm; all she knew is that, eventually, the ringing in her ears and the huffs and puffs of her own breaths were the only sounds that she could hear. She tentatively uncovered her ears and opened her eyes, looking around at her cloud for a moment. When she saw that everything was where it had been before, she summoned her courage, gulped, then lowered her gaze over the edge once again.

She stared unblinkingly at the plane of blue beneath her, a single endless sea that stretched out to the horizon in every direction. As she watched it, she saw its surface flex and flow, the aftershocks of the calamitous collision that had birthed it sending small waves rolling east and west. Seconds ticked by, then minutes, maybe even hours; she didn't know. The mare watched silently as those waves were slowly absorbed back into the greater mass and the surface of that sea calmed, eventually growing as still as stone.  

The mare sat back on her haunches, looking out at the world of blue that surrounded her. Blue below, blue above, and her, sitting on her little perch halfway between them.  

“It's gone,” she whispered. “It's all gone.”

“Is it?” came the voice of the books.

The mare lowered her head, and a moment later, raised a hoof to her chest. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the steady beat of her heart, and the warmth that still enveloped it. From that familiar warmth flowed feelings, sensations, even memories. She saw in her minds eye a whole rainbow of colors, not just blue. She saw bright green grass and the warm yellow of straw. She saw juicy, red apples and vibrant purple wildflowers. She saw all of this, just as she saw a thousand other things, saw them as clearly as if they were right before her face. She felt it all as if she were clasping it in her hooves. She knew it all as well as she knew herself.  

“No,” the mare whispered. “It's not.”

The mare opened her eyes, staring out at the horizon for a long moment. Reaching behind her, she carefully removed her saddlebags, setting them down on the cloud beside her and opening them. A few moments later, she was looking upon the familiar forms of her friends, the five of them dutifully sitting beside her, watching over the mare they loved so much. She smiled down at them, and they smiled back.

“You've had a long day,” said the books, “but it's time for this day to end.”

The mare was about to ask what her friend meant, but before she could speak, she noticed something that stilled her tongue. The spool of thread, the basket of apples, the books, all of them, they all cast shadows down onto the fluffy white surface of the cloud beside them. She didn't notice it at first, but as she focused her gaze on those shadows, she saw clearly that they were moving, slowly shrinking, receding into the forms that cast them. Her own shadow had begun to vanish as well, sneaking back underneath her as she sat there. As realization seeped into her weary mind, the mare slowly turned her head and gazed up at the sky.  

Hanging there above her head, higher than she ever could have flown, was the sun...and it was moving. It was strange that, of all the things she had seen that day, that bizarre, unending day, that the mere movement of the sun, something she had witnessed thousands of times before, would be the most shocking thing to her eyes. The mare sat there, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, watching as that light floated westward across the sky, moving swiftly, but steadily. In less than a minute, it had reached its midday zenith, banishing the shadows of the mare and her friends. It did not pause there, however, as it immediately began its descent towards the western horizon. She watched it as it neared its final destination, watched as the sky above her was painted red and orange, and the great sea beneath her shone. She watched it as it leaned down to kiss the sea, then slowly slipped beneath the horizon line. She watched as it shone down its warm, beautiful light onto that world one last time, before it too was swallowed up by the sea. She continued to watch, not budging until the last traces of red had faded, and the blackness of night had covered the sky.  

Finally, she tore her gaze from the horizon, looking up at the darkness above. She saw the stars clearly, those familiar sparkles burning as brightly as ever, shining their pale light down on her. It took her a moment to realize what was missing from the picture: the moon. She combed that starry sky, but could detect no trace of it, not even the shadowy form of a new moon. The stars alone decorated the blanket of night, but that would not be so for long.  

As the mare watched, a single star abandoned its post, slowly floating down towards the horizon. It rapidly gained speed as it fell, that shooting star hurtling out of the sky faster than anything she had ever seen. It quickly reached the edge of the sky, the mare expecting it to pass beyond that border without ceremony. She was surprised to see that, just a split second after it finally vanished, a flash of light appeared in the sky just above the horizon, looking like the spark of a distant firework. A few moments later, the mare's sensitive ears detected a faint sizzling sound echoing through the air, like the sound of a hot brand immersed in water.  

The mare had no time to ponder this, as she quickly noticed another of the countless stars overhead falling as well. She saw one, then two, then five, then a dozen, then a hundred of them, each one of those shooting stars plummeting towards the horizon via the shortest route. As each one sank below the horizon, it too sent up a faint spark that lit up the sky for a brief moment, and sent out its sizzling, cracking cry that eventually made its way to the mare's ears. She sat there, gaping at the awe-inspiring spectacle before her, at the constant rain of stars from the sky, at the ring of flaring lights that circled the world, and the soft, gentle symphony of sizzles.  

How long it lasted, she couldn't have said, only that it did not last forever. Those stars were many, but they were not infinite, and before long, the last of their number had abandoned its home in the sky and begun its descent. She watched it as it fell, rushing to join its fellows wherever they had gone. She watched it cross the horizon, and watched it add its light to the show. She watched as that light, and all of the other lingering sparkles that danced along the horizon, slowly faded away. She listened as the sizzles and crackles in her ear grew quieter, then stopped completely, leaving her in silence once more.

Darkness surrounded her. Above, below, left, right, north, south, east, and west, there was nothing but a single, unbroken, unending void. She peered out into that darkness, straining to see even the slightest trace of anything, but found nothing. Her world, for all intents and purposes, consisted solely of she herself, her friends, and a tiny area around her, an area which she quickly realized was still illuminated, albeit by a light no brighter than that of a candle. She looked around, searching for whatever could be casting that light, and traced it back to the golden necklace wrapped around her neck. The small red gem set into that necklace was shining with the faintest light she had ever seen, but in that world of unending blackness, it was as bright as the sun itself. The mare took in her surroundings in that feeble light, its radius extending only a few yards away from where she sat. She saw the cloud beneath her, saw her friends still sitting beside her, and a short ways away, at the very edge of the light, she could see the faint outline of her front door.  

“Rainbow,” said the books. “It's time.”

The mare looked down at her friends, then back up at the door. She hesitated, then took a tentative step towards it. This step was followed by another, and another, and soon, she had made her way over to the familiar portal, poring over its surface as if for the first time. She looked down at her door handle, its polished surface shining in the light of her necklace. She slowly raised a hoof, placed it on the handle, and gave it a turn.  

It was locked.  

“Rainbow,” said the books.

The mare turned, looking back at her friends, their forms just visible at the far edge of the light. She stepped away from the door, walking back over to them.

“It's time for us to say goodbye,” said the books.  

The mare looked around at them, at the balloon, at the thread, at the apples, at the birdhouse, and at the books, the ones who had been her companions throughout that whole painful ordeal.  

“Can't you...can't you come with me?” said the mare.  

“It's your door, Rainbow,” said the books. “You're the one who has to open it...you and only you.”

The mare glanced back at the door, then back at her friends. She took slow, steady breaths to stifle the sobs brewing in her throat.  

“Will I ever see you again?” said the mare.  

All was silent for a long moment.  

“Yes,” said the books. “You'll see us every day...and every night.”

“You'll see us when you wake up in the mornin',” said the apples, “and when you go to bed in the evenin'.”

“You'll see us when you're happy,” said the balloon, “and when you're sad.”

“You'll see us when you love,” said the thread, “and when you hate.”

“You'll see us when you're with friends,” said the birdhouse, “and when you're all alone.”

Tears leaked from the mare's clenched-shut eyes, her lips trembled, and her breaths came in short sniffles and shaky sobs. She forced her eyes open again, looking down at her friends.  

“I'm gonna miss you,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper. “I'm gonna miss you so much.”

“We're going to miss you too,” said the books, her tears audible in her voice.   

The mare quickly reached down and pulled the five of them close to her, wrapping them in a tight embrace. She sobbed loudly as she nuzzled them, the sound traveling to the far edges of that empty world. That sound was soon joined by those of more trembling voices, each one whispering a myriad of parting words as they added their sobs and sniffles to hers. Pledges to love, to remember, and to cherish filled the mare's ears, and filled her aching heart.  

When she had cried her final tear and choked out her final sob, the mare opened her misty eyes, looking down at her friends. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she slowly, carefully, reverently even, lowered them back down onto the cloud before her. She looked around at all of them, taking one last look at the most important mares in her life. She looked at the golden jewelry each of them wore, five pieces of one set, five parts of a single whole...only missing the sixth.  

The mare lowered her gaze to the necklace she wore, then slowly reached back and unclasped it from her neck. She held it before her, staring long and hard into the glowing red gem it bore, before finally lowering it down to the cloud. She laid it there, right next to its fellows, and left it, ensuring that those six would never be parted.

“Goodbye,” said the mare.

“Goodbye,” said the balloon.

“Goodbye,” said the thread.

“Goodbye,” said the apples.

“Goodbye,” said the birdhouse.  

“Goodbye,” said the books, and spoke no more.

The mare looked down at them, unwilling to tear her eyes away, even as she felt the chill of that silent, empty world close in around her. She couldn't feel that chill, she couldn't hear that silence, and she couldn't see that emptiness, for they were all drowned out by the feel of soft, warm bodies embracing her, the sound of laughter and loving words, and the sight of smiles on familiar faces.  

She carried those sensations, those beautiful, priceless feelings with her in her heart, in her mind, and in every last fiber of her being. She carried them with her as she rose to her hooves, then forced her body to turn. She carried them with her as she slowly advanced towards her door, letting the faint light guide her to it. She carried them with her as she stood before it, then raised a hoof to the handle. She carried them with her as she grasped that handle, turned it, then pushed the door open.

The mare reflexively winced as the door opened and a flood of bright white light spilled out of it, momentarily blinding her. As her eyes slowly adjusted, she gazed into that light, her eyes and her mouth opening wide in awe at what she saw. A strange feeling of serenity came over her as she looked into that light and felt its warm caress on her skin. That feeling only increased as her hooves slowly moved, stepping over that threshold one at a time, carrying the mare through the door, and into the world beyond.  

A few moments later, that door swung closed again, its light vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Before it lay that tiny little world within a sea of nothingness, lit only by the faint light of a little red gem. As the seconds passed, however, even that light faded, the world shrinking around it as it grew smaller and weaker. That light shrunk until all that remained was that little red gem surrounded by a sea of black. As that red faded, turning dull and grayish, that light, the last light of that world, was finally snuffed out.