Anchor Foal II: Return Of The Cringe

by Estee


Designated Catbird Fight

Time could be regarded as an irreplaceable resource, and... Fleur had been trying to talk herself out of that perspective. It was something else which had the cottage battling against her, because hours spent away from it were precious indeed. No trip into town was ever wasted, and so Fleur had planned to pursue a number of activities before returning to the grounds. She just hadn't been planning to start quite so early.

There were things she had to do, and there was also a certain degree of difficulty in retaining focus on any of them.

She wanted to think. That was what time away from the cottage offered her: the opportunity for her mind to be at work without interruption, distraction, emergencies, and chicken coops which possessed the capacity for time travel because there was no other way for them to have become that filthy when she'd just cleaned them two days ago. And her meeting with Rainbow had provided her with a number of new things to consider.

But she also had to run her errands. Pick up purchases, talk to ponies during lesser meetings, and move around town as if everything was... normal. And she also had to do so while appearing as if she wasn't distracted by a cascade of inner half-thoughts, all of which seemed to keep breaking up against the unexpectedly rocky shore of normal interaction.

And she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Observed. Possibly followed.

For anypony who possessed Fleur's level of appearance, it was a sensation which could easily become part of the background music for their life. The former escort recognized that ponies watched her. Truly close observation was usually either the result of envy or a number of puzzle pieces having abruptly acquired the light glow of dream, and when it came to being followed -- well, some of the best views were available from the rear. And there were situations where she expected to pull in an audience: in fact, on those rare occasions when she used the full palette of cosmetics and reached her peak, she felt somewhat insulted when she didn't get attention.

(Fortunately, her talent allowed her to pick out those whose natural interests never would have focused upon her, and that mitigated the offense somewhat. However, a number of the others were simply that jealous.)

But it wasn't always a situation to enjoy. Her talent allowed her to know when such attention was the result of sexual interest, and so it also told her when that intent was being directed by somepony she needed to avoid. There were times when she simply wanted to be by herself for a while: unheeded, almost anonymous -- and naturally, those were the moments when that sensation would flare. And to simply pick up on when she was being observed, to have those little strands of fur prickling near the base of her mane -- that could potentially serve as a vital alert, and it still wasn't necessarily something which a Protoceran could take pride in. That was a sense possessed by a prey species.

And she couldn't shake it off.

After a while, she activated her talent. It didn't take long to gauge the interests around her, while comparing some of the results to the great gallery of assembled puzzles within her mind allowed her to pick out several of Ponyville's latest arrivals. This was followed by some strategic changes to her walking pattern, which naturally included multiple shifts from her hips. Things which made the fabric of the dress dance, offering glimpses just before the half-shimmering material slipped back into place. The enticement of brief reveals and a rhythm which made the arrival of the next forever uncertain, forcing the observer's attention to focus on her alone. Instead of, just by way of example, where they'd originally been going and if anything was now in the way.

It was somewhat like having a semi-retired athlete stepping onto the hoofball field to see just how much they truly had left. Fleur didn't even have to look at the results: she simply allowed her body to execute near-automatic skills, then tallied up the resulting crashes on audio. She felt the sheer total explained a lot.

The unicorn shut down her talent again. But she kept her eyes open and her ears rotating. There were times when she looked up at the sky, found nothing except a still-thickening layer of dark clouds, and blamed Rainbow for making her paranoid.

But the sensation was still there...


There was some shopping. Her saddlebags rapidly acquired mass, and it felt as if her dress was doing the same. Fully overcast, with grey light and muggy air: a situation for which most of the settled zone tended to blame the weather coordinator --

-- and that was something else which kept distracting her: wondering how the Canterlot meeting was going, and if there was anything Fleur could have said to prepare the pegasus for it --

-- but Rainbow just made sure the schedule was executed, if not always on time. The proper thing to do was blaming the Bureau. And possibly Rarity, because the fabric seemed to be picking up water weight.

Fleur's route took her past the library, and she absently noted the healing scars within the bark. A flicker of memory combined with a low, too-distinct half wail coming from within kept her outside. The shelves were currently being weeded of unread books in anticipation of a remaindered sale, and Spike's current job was to get his sister through the trauma with most of her sanity intact. It wasn't something which could be casually interrupted.

She didn't actually go into the candy shop. Caramel saw her through the glass, took his break on the spot, and came outside for a few minutes. She stood with him within the half-sea of near-liquid air, talking about his dating prospects for a while. One more set of problems she couldn't solve.

The discussion didn't last all that long. Bon-Bon was keeping an eye on both the proceedings and the clock from within. Hoof-tapping was a typical sign of somepony suggesting that the discussion needed to be wrapped up. Having it come from an earth pony with that much raw strength had a way of making chocolates, display cases, the front door, and select portions of the awning dance. And once Caramel had been tap-vibrated back inside, Bon-Bon came out, and...

Fleur retreated quickly. There were still things to do, and it was best to make a hasty escape from any onslaught of excess chocolate. As it was, her saddlebags were starting to run out of room.

(Bon-Bon had come out. So had Caramel. Fleur didn't go into the shop too often. She didn't need the sweets, and... there were times when she could hear soft singing from the back rooms. Because the foal was young, had to be near her parents at all times, and Lyra would sing the infant to sleep...)

She did everything she had to.

And then she had to go back.


Her thoughts didn't truly begin to sort themselves out until she was about halfway down the path to the cottage, following the new river and its fused bed. A permanent reminder of Fleur's corrosive effect upon the world --

-- she had to think. Before everything else started thinking for her.

Assume Zephyr needs money. He's trying to earn it -- so far. If he's looking for a job which offers the opportunity to steal... Construction sites certainly had piles of stuff sitting around for the potential taking: it was just that all you could hope to make off with was construction supplies. But he hasn't been able to keep a job yet -- that I know of. Just because I saw him get fired from one doesn't mean he won't have two others on different shifts.

She pictured the way Zephyr moved. The minimal effort which went into the quasi-operation of every joint.

One other.
...no others. It's probably been one at a time. Maybe he's charming enough to talk himself in -- somehow -- but he hasn't been able to stay there.

She trotted forward beneath the deep grey sky. The cottage wasn't all that far ahead, and it was a quiet enough day on the client schedule to make coming across somepony on the road into an unlikely event. With any luck -- in other words, with the assistance of that thing she couldn't count on and which mostly existed to work against her -- she would be able to get back without trouble. She certainly didn't have to worry about getting drenched along the way, because the storm wasn't scheduled to arrive until after sunset -- and having spent a good part of the day within the arranged humidity, Fleur was still looking forward to getting inside and wringing out her dress. Figuring out a way to do the same thing with her fur and mane was an ongoing process.

And when it comes to things which are just going to stay...

I should have thought about it. How many years it's been since their links first touched. Rainbow doesn't really talk about --

-- and there's an odd concept. (She didn't quite smile.) Things Rainbow doesn't talk about. But if you're going to make out that list -- 'my friends from Cloudsdale' would be somewhere near the top. She talks about her parents, and she loves them.

A few of her teachers and instructors. Mostly the ones she plans on giving zero credit during any awards ceremony.

But when it comes to friends from her birth home -- just about nothing. Gilda may have been her first real connection with anyone her own age. And they made sure they kept in touch. That their links didn't drift apart.

But it wasn't drifting in the end --

-- something was moving through the air. Descending, and it had just reached the level where the sounds produced by beating wings had entered Fleur's hearing range.

She was still within the boundaries of the settled zone. But every settlement was surrounded by the wild. When you were moving away from town and heard powerful wings moving nearby, you looked. You made sure of what you were dealing with, and you got ready to defend.

But she didn't tense, not immediately. Her horn failed to ignite. The sound was too familiar.

Just someone heading home --
-- and felt her own mind kicking itself into a desperate reverse --
-- someone --

Her ears rotated, tried to focus and did so at the same moment she looked up, searching --

-- and the griffon was coming down.

I should have recognized that earlier.
If anypony would know the signs --
-- was I too relaxed?

Was she forgetting?

Gilda's body still looked rough. Part of that likely came from having spent a good part of a day within cloud concealment: Fleur could just spot the fast-closing gap which indicated where the griffon had started the drop, along with quite a bit of road dirt which humidity had rendered into spots of mud within poorly-groomed fur. The tail tuft had fallen in on itself, turning into a small dripping ball of hair. And the feathers... the wings had been recently preened, but every other location on the body was virtually begging for professional care. None of the layers were resting normally. Fleur was starting to wonder if the griffon was getting enough sleep, and a certain dulling of the natural sheen questioned whether she was eating properly.

It didn't affect the tiercel's flight. The descent was fast, smooth, powerful -- and visibly aimed to pass over Fleur.

She's going to land in front of me. Deduction, instinct, and experience speaking as one. That's the visible path. But don't trust it.

Ignite my horn now and it'll show I see her as a threat, when I'm not supposed to know who she is. Keep it dark.

(Fluttershy didn't want Fleur to start anything.)

But if she folds her wings when she's directly over me and tries for the plummet slam, I can get my field up in time to wreck her trajectory --

-- it wasn't necessary. The griffon smoothly maintained the path, passing well above Fleur -- then casually turned in midair, just before starting the last part of the controlled drop.

Paws and talons touched down upon the road.

Paws first. She favors weight over edge. At least to start.

They were four body lengths apart. Facing each other, and Fleur had to look down into the great golden eyes -- and she had to watch the eyes, because the inflexible beak put most of the expressions into the upper half of the face.

It was normal, when you grew up in Protocera. You knew that understanding what a griffon was feeling meant not just tracking body posture, but putting so much focus onto those eyes. And you accepted that.

But you also remembered that their magic was focused through their gaze. And when you had an angry one...

She's just staring at me. Waiting to see what I do.
-- what's the lie on my dress? Are my hips --

-- Fleur instinctively began to shift, trying to rearrange the fabric --

"-- don't bother," the griffon announced, and everything about the eyes smirked. "I saw it already. Back in town, when you were -- I don't know. Showing off?"

...Sundammit felt rather understated.

"For your audience." The left foreleg came up, and the tiercel made a brief show of inspecting the chipped talons. "And maybe I would have thought you just had some relatives across the border, but... you move differently when you're not with ponies, did you know that? You almost move right. But you were doing a pretty good job back there." The paw dropped back into the moist dirt. "You looked just like one of the weaklings. It must be a natural talent." With a soft, insincere laugh, "Not the mark talent, though. Not when you've got a classic icon for acies..."

And this, Fleur's too-calm thoughts offered, is why I wore so many dresses when I was going past the Aviary.

What happens when she sees me, Rainbow? Identification. Exposure. Possibly exposure through exposure, because I just had to show off. She saw the dress shift, and then she watched me move. I relaxed too much...

"Unless it's insight on how to be weak," the tiercel casually decided. "And that's why you came here. To fit in."

Which was followed by a shrug.

"You're not talking," the griffon noted. "Which is why I've been using Equestrian."

"Your accent is good," Fleur steadily offered. It was. The beak hardly clacked at all.

"Yours is better," didn't emerge as a compliment. "Native. You sound just like prey."

There's no point in hiding. Not now. She won't believe any lies, and there's nopony around to hear any of this.

Fleur took a breath. Her lips stiffened.

"Putasti me igitur oblitum me loqui?"

The griffon stared at her. Fleur braced --

"Pretty good!" There was still no humor in the laugh. "So you haven't forgotten how to talk! And if you remember that --"

The tail lashed. Drops of moisture were flung away from the soaked tuft, and the next words were spat.

"-- then you should remember the formalities. Mutual introductions. Because as Solomon Short would say, that's just just common courtesy."

The tiercel hadn't quoted the whole of it.

"Always feel free to give out your name. It's just common courtesy to have someone know exactly who's about to destroy them."

But Solomon understood that it can work in two directions.

...it's been muggy all day, and now I'm about to get mugged.

...as long as I stay alert.
As long as I stay focused.
As long as I'm not afraid...

"Courtesies," the unicorn agreed. "Fleur Dis Lee."

The golden eyes narrowed under the weight of doubt.

"Really?"

"It's what's on the Herdbook Registry's paperwork," Fleur technically didn't lie. "Birth certificate, if you want the usual description. And you are...?"

The weight of the air.
The dress.
The saddlebags.
Remember the saddlebags.

Immediately, "Gilda Griffon."

Fleur allowed the upper half of her face to smirk.

"That's nice," she calmly decided. "Now what's your real name?" And before the beak could fully open, "Because we both know that game, don't we? I'll buy 'Gilda', at least as a translation. But 'Griffon'? Species surnames are for the ones who don't want to be identified. Who avoid responsibility." And felt her own eyes narrow. "It's fine for when you're trying to get away with a prank. But it doesn't work here. Not for this." Her left forehoof ground against the road. "Who are you?"

The griffon didn't blink. Brown wings failed to shift. But the tail vibrated, and the voice nearly trembled from the effort required to push back the surge of anger.

"Auratui Incitatio," the tiercel half-hissed.

Fleur counted off three seconds, as the wet air seemed to boil between them. Finally nodded. "So 'Gilda' is close enough."

But I don't know 'Incitatio'. Not as a ranch brand. And there's a lot of ranches in Protocera, too many to know them all -- but not recognizing yours tells me that you didn't live anywhere near my family. And you're not from one of the famous ones.

"Close enough," Gilda softly agreed. "You can use it, if speaking normally is just too much work. So now we've introduced ourselves. You know what comes next. Terms."

The tiercel took one step forward. The tail lashed, left to right, and both wings flared to their full span.

Fleur didn't move.

"I'll give you mine," Gilda told her, and talons gouged their way through near-mud. "You don't have to come up with anything. Since you're not going to win."

"And what are the terms?" Fleur quietly asked.

The tones were stark. Level. Matter-of-fact. Utterly controlled. "Stay away from Rainbow."

"She's my friend," the unicorn softly said.

"She's got enough friends," the tiercel decided. "Too many. She could stand to lose a few. You walk away from her, and you stay away."

Almost peacefully, "Or?"

The golden eyes narrowed again.

"My link above yours," Gilda stated. "There isn't any 'or'. You leave."

Get ready.
I don't know how strong she is.
But I've been through this before.
I know what happens next.
She's going to ask me a question.

"All I've heard are terms," Fleur calmly announced. "I can see someone trying to rattle a chain. But I don't hear anything moving. I can't feel a shift."

She saw the golden eyes shoot open, almost felt something rising behind them as claws and talons raked the dirt. And the unicorn, choosing moment and insult, took a single tranquil hoofstep forward.

"Terms, and terms alone. Noise. So where did the tantrum start?" the Protoceran placidly asked. "Is it so far away that nothing reaches me? Where is your link, Auratui?"

The griffon looked at her. And on the outside, that was all it was. Gold focused upon light purple. Direct eye contact, as the talons tried to bring forth blood from the road.

The magic went past the irises, through the pupils, and stabbed deep into Fleur's mind.

There was a question...


What does it feel like?

The unicorn has been through it so many times. Too many of the gangs used the magic during initiations, and not all of them said what they wanted to see from the test. They would bring out their strongest, who would look at her. And then...

There is a question. It goes into your mind, then shoves it aside and starts looking for the soul. The query forces pressure against every aspect of personality, and perhaps that's why things distort for a time. Because there's always an effect, even if you win. The exact reaction for the victorious is species-based. Pegasi who emerge intact will spend some time favoring instinct over thought, which means a triumphant Rainbow might be somewhat hard to distinguish --

--- did Gilda ever do this to her friend?

The unicorn doesn't know, and she can't truly think about it right now. The question is everywhere and everything, it's within her and trying to hollow her out and it wants an answer. Because it's always the same question, and sometimes the gangs are looking for the ones who will lose. It's about domination, and how much control can you truly exert over those who resist?

There is a question, and it is the whole of Auratui Incitatio being projected into another soul. It's force of personality and raw willpower and anger, oh, there's anger here. It makes the question burn. The golden eyes become the world, and the world wants to know who this unicorn is. How strong she is or rather, how weak. It wishes to know one thing, one only, and it demands an answer.

Are you predator or prey?

Prey will give in. Do anything to make it stop.

Within the soul, things twist. Distort for a time, because there's always an effect.

But the unicorn has been asked this question before.

I am whichever hurts you more.

The magic asks a question.

It doesn't always get the answer it likes.


The golden eyes blinked.

"...what?" Gilda whispered as brown wings had all of their joints go loose. "What did you --"

Fleur felt herself smile.

There was something hollow within her: a temporary void only, produced by power shoving things aside during the search. She knew how to fill it.

You started with me.

"I reject your terms," the Protoceran announced. "Is it my turn now?"

So let's finish it.

Her horn ignited.

The first flare of glow, added to a quick shift of hips and shoulders, was more than enough to get her dress off: she wanted full freedom of movement available and Rarity had rather considerately designed for Fleur's former profession. The saddlebags, however, were lifted clear of her body, the lids came open as energy delved within and Fleur decided that the griffon hadn't been eating enough lately.

Small dark objects rose from the now-falling containers, and the fusillade flew directly towards Gilda.

The griffon, reeling from the shock of loss, couldn't dodge in time. The chocolates pelted her. Several bounced. A few hit with enough force to sting. But enough of them went for her eyes to force the lids closed and at the moment that happened, Fleur's corona surged to a double.

Her field surged forward, surrounded Gilda's body and pressed down.

The traveler dropped. One more shove put the griffon on her side. And the one free wing pushed against the glow, hind legs raked and talons tried to get through, but Fleur was advancing now and the griffon was surrounded, fighting back and Fleur could feel the degree of physical strength behind the attempts to escape, measured that against her own capabilities...

The unicorn could levitate herself: something which self-evidently meant she had the mass manipulation required for lifting a pony body. The griffon wasn't that much heavier. But it still took a double corona. The effort required to keep Gilda confined wasn't something which Fleur could keep up forever. Pushing back against near-constant resistance would bring her effective duration down to a few minutes.

Fleur knew that. She currently was having some trouble in caring about it.

"I hope you fly better than you dominari," the unicorn quietly said. The griffon simply tried to kick again.

One thought and the vibrations start.
Your feathers shake away from your wings. Capillaries rupture. Bones break themselves.
One. Thought.

A dark, intrusive fantasy. The means by which the brain performed a self-test for sanity. Nothing more.

"I never did favor slower workings," the unicorn softly told her fallen opponent. "I was always a fast-caster to start with. So being tilted away from anything which requires deep concentration, careful planning -- that doesn't really matter to me, Gilda. Ever. And since you attacked first, everything happening now qualifies as self-defense."

"Nopony knows I did anything," Gilda half-panted: Fleur had allowed the beak that much freedom of movement. "The ponies can pick up traces of your magic on my body. Not the other way around --"

The unicorn, much to her own surprise, very nearly laughed. "How long have you been away from home? Going after those with no experience, who might not understand what's happening at all? We're right next to Canterlot, Gilda! The Aviary is right there, and so is the embassy. If I go to the police --" which would mark her second attempt to use the law for her own benefit in the same moon, and that was a strange thought indeed "-- they'll bring in an expert. Someone from home. They'll find your traces. And then I can have you charged with assault."

Maybe.
They'd have to believe Gilda went first.
No witnesses.
If she thinks about that...
Just keep going.

She looked down at the tiercel, and failed to picture the frightened grifflet hiding under a bunk. It was all helpless fury, pure rage, and Fleur had to keep her concentration going, needed to focus on the field and make sure the bubble was tight.

"I can keep your eyes shut for a good long time," the unicorn stated. "Or I could blindfold you right now."

The feathered shudder of revulsion was both visible and, thanks to the closely-pressed field, tangible.

Which means ripping up the dress, but...

Keep an eye on those talons. They're more flexible than normal: if she gets loose before we settle this, they could put some strange angles on the strikes. Don't get too close. Keep my field going.

"And carry you to the police station." Which I can't do. Tow an improvised sled, maybe. Dress stretched between two sticks? "Or," Fleur softly offered, "I could just cast something else."

Gilda stopped moving.

And that's why unicorns can be terrifying. Because telekinesis is the only uniting factor.
You know I'm strong enough to hold you. But that's all you know.
Any horn.
Any field.
Any spell.
You can't be sure.
Should I roar at you? I remember how to speak that way too.

"But it's my turn," the immigrant reminded the traveler. "So, since I won -- here are my terms. You leave."

Just leave. You've been stopped. It's what you do.

"...no..." just barely wafted up from the ground. It was harder to speak when one side of the beak was being pressed against the dirt.

"You leave, Gilda." A little closer now, while keeping well out of prospective talon range. "Get out of Ponyville. Don't come back unless Rainbow invites you, and then you leave me alone --"

"-- no."

It had been a statement.

Fleur stared at the traveler.

"My link over yours," she said.

The griffon, in body, was far from home.
The traveler's next words questioned the location of the mind.

"So what?"

Fleur's concentration nearly faltered. Her field started to go slack, she focused, forced herself to hold on as spoken words did what the thwarted question never could.

"You think your link is above mine because you won a fight?" Gilda furiously demanded. "One fight? You don't know what I can do! What I'm willing to --" Ribs heaved, and the one free wing pushed again. "-- I can win the next time! Every time after! Your link is choking rust, because the chain only means something if I WANT it to! Any chain with you in it --"

There had been a void within Fleur: something unnatural, produced by the intrusion of a query. It would have normally healed over the course of a night, and it had just been filled.

She stood close to the fallen griffon, possibly fallen in just about every way which could exist. Looked down at angry, darting eyes. Felt the vacuum within seal around the chill new presence.

Linkless.

Horror was cold.

Fleur's anger vanished.

Her voice softened. The field did not. She had to keep her grip. One bad moment...

"How long have you been out of the chain?"

"Chain you." Gilda panted, and a lion's rage clawed at glow. "Chain you in Tartarus --"

"-- how long have you been away from home, Gilda? When was the last time you were part of a community? How many moons since you've even seen another griffon?" Talons and claws, linkless... "Forget the police. We're going to the Aviary --"

Another push, and the headache began to build near the base of the horn. "-- I'm in charge, I'm in charge of my own life, no one can just tell me to --"

Urgently, trying to get through to whatever might remain, "-- is Rainbow your last link? Do you need her to rebuild?"

And there was a moment when the griffon stopped moving.

"I need -- I need --"

The tail stopped trying to lash, began to sway. The one free wing curled at the tip.

Fleur stared.

Her talent activated, surged forth, and gathered in the pieces which confirmed what she already knew.

"Gilda, she doesn't feel that way! You have to --"

"SHUT UP!"

The roar echoed through the forest, bounced off the river and shook new leaves as the raw decibels made the fast-building pain of magical overextension surge. The field flickered --

-- Gilda pushed, and glow shattered. Sparkles fell into the dirt, dimmed into nothing. And then the griffon was upright, Fleur was struggling to keep her horn lit and she couldn't lift that much mass again, she would have to attack more directly, go for the flight feathers or bend a talon too far back --

-- brown wings flared to their full span. All four legs pushed, jumped.

The vertical ascent took seconds. A fleeing form punctured the clouds, took white and brown behind the thick grey.

Fleur held still for five endless minutes. Waiting.

Nothing happened. There was no second attack, no renewed attempt to conquer what had been falsely perceived as prey.

Gilda was gone.


After a while, Fleur began to test herself. Small rocks were levitated, sent into brief orbits of tree trunks. Once the unicorn determined she'd retained some capacity, she put the dress back on and rebalanced the saddlebags.

You almost quoted Solomon Short. I wonder if you ever read the full book. If you'd remember this one.

"If you want to know where a chain broke, look for the shards in the heart."

She'd been prepared to abandon the expended chocolates, but a very soft-spoken memory reminded her of how they could make some animals sick. It meant she lost some time to flinging the wasted sweets into the river.

Linkless --

-- no. She couldn't be sure. It was possible that Gilda was just exercising defiance in a place where only one had been able to call her out. Extended adolescence. Or perhaps eternal --

-- if I can get her to the Aviary --

Fleur had never actually seen a linkless griffon before. She'd merely heard enough stories to bring back all of the dread.

If she is out, then she might resist going back into the chain. It would mean she wasn't fully in charge. She'd have to let herself be wrong.

...she's floundering.
How did she lose her place?
Is Rainbow her last link?
And the puzzle...

"If I told her something was going too far, or felt kind of weird --"

Freshly-acquired pieces were now dripping with context.

You've never actually had sex with her. There was at least one makeout session, years ago. Possibly on a dare. But she asked you to stop, because it felt kind of weird. And you did -- but it didn't change how you felt. Still feel.

I was wondering about the nature of the relationship. On both sides.

I understand how pieces can form. There was a moment of kindness, when you needed it most. Then she was there for you. Still there when you began to think about things in other ways. But for her, there's a species barrier. She sees you as her friend. Maybe a sibling...

...another bond. There was a fight, and you put her in a position where she had to choose. How much did that hurt Rainbow? Has she really given up on you?

She may be the last one who can get through. The last link.

Or that could just make everything worse.

She didn't know. She'd never been in this position before, didn't know anyone who'd had to deal with the possible reality of the linkless --

-- Dr. Lorem?
It wouldn't be her specialty. (Fleur was dearly hoping it didn't happen enough for anyone to specialize.) But if anyone would know, she might. Even if she has to contact home.

Linkless.

Something had to be done. And it all started with -- getting back to the cottage.

She didn't have to worry about Gilda having gone there, at least. Because when it came to Rainbow, there had been a fight. Something which had brought forth a final promise, and Gilda hadn't targeted the other Bearers. Wouldn't, unless the very last link shattered.

Fleur disposed of the final filthy chocolate. Forced herself to face the proper direction on the road, and began to trot.

Why would she still be keeping that promise?
Because Fluttershy keeps winning arguments with me, when she shouldn't. And that happens for the same reason Discord allows himself to be bound by Fluttershy's requests.
You allow yourself to be dominated by the one you love.

The green pegasus mare would have understood.


She didn't fully reach a decision until just before the final bridge, at the moment when the birdsong which pretended to welcome her back was joined by that first sighting of the cottage. Both were factors which added a certain degree of urgency. And part of her recognized that it should have been an easy decision to make, but -- she still wasn't used to working with somepony. To having anypony waiting for her to return. Just being there, willing and ready to listen.

(She kept waiting for the moment which would take it all away.)

For those who were less protective of their privacy, carried fewer secrets... for those ponies, it might have been a rather simple conclusion, added to the most basic of plans. But for Fleur, it took serious consideration. Internal effort, added to a direct act of will. And even then, she wanted to second-guess herself, but -- she was committed, and almost felt pride in having been able to recognize the option at all.

She would just wait until she had some time alone with Fluttershy: any veterinary appointment which took them into the examination room would do it, especially as most of the patients weren't capable of directly repeating what they overheard. (Fleur was almost certain that there were no parrots on the day's fairly light schedule and if there were, she would simply have to be very careful about repeating herself.) And then she would let her love know exactly what she'd learned.

It was a decision which chanced adding a giant black slash of ink to the stress tally in Fluttershy's overloaded ledger, and that was part of what made it so hard for Fleur: she didn't want to hurt her mate. But it would potentially gain the benefit of an outside perspective. Because Fleur was the local expert on griffons -- but Fluttershy had known Rainbow for several years. She might have a few ideas on how to proceed there, things Fleur never would have thought of because she lacked the same degree of experience.

And then it would be a matter of reaching Rainbow: something they would likely have to do together for this level of potential emergency. (Hopefully Rainbow would be back from Canterlot soon: it was all too possible that the weather coordinator would decide to destress in the capital.) There could be a stop at the tree: interrupt the weeding, get a crucial flame-sent letter to the Aviary. And when it came to Zephyr...

(There was a pattern, and it would take some time to fully identify. A decision would be under consideration. Or it would have been made, with Fleur simply searching for that chance to act. And then...)

...she could at least tell Fluttershy what she'd seen. That the sibling was trying to find -- well, no: he was definitely finding employment. Keeping it was the challenge. And while Fleur was at it, she needed to ask Fluttershy a potentially vital question. The unicorn didn't know what Zephyr's talent was. Construction was solidly off the list.

A feather on top of -- lifting currents? He's used wind a couple of times. But if that's the case, what would the feather signify?

She was making assumptions. Making guesses, where Fluttershy would know. Fleur just had to ask. And after all of that -- she would have more information. She could start to put it all together, gather in more as needed. Add a constant presence, some hooves-on effort, and control.

She could deal with this. All of it.

The unicorn moved up the path towards the front door, pushing herself through the increasingly-heavy atmosphere. She stopped at the date palm, allowed a forehoof to briefly rest upon transplanted soil. And then she took a breath of half-foreign air, just before she forced herself to open the door.

There were only two clients in the waiting area (which was also still the sitting room, and they had to do something about that), both familiar. One was there for grooming, while the other hadn't been on the schedule at all -- but it only took a glance to diagnose the problem as 'skunk'. That particular companion shared in the usual problems of her species: take an animal which was forever on the hunt for food, make them almost terminally nearsighted, and then offer them the company of sapients who had decided that cylinders made good containers for snacks. The narrow skull was usually enough to let Kit get a good way in: the issues generally started when she tried to back out again.

Her pony spotted Fleur. Pink eyes politely skipped over the dirty dress.

"She..." an embarrassed Retinue forced herself to begin.

"I see," Fleur calmly cut in. The earth pony had cut away the far end of the can: the skunk wasn't having any breathing issues. Removing the metal which was stuck near the head was a job for an expert. "We can probably take her next." Which was followed by a glance at Bolt and a lightly-vibrating Shika. "It would just be a few minutes."

"Go ahead," the pegasus offered. "I think this one would appreciate the stall."

Fleur looked down at the trembling ball of fluff, then resolved to get Shika outside before the puppy expressed her fear of scissors in a urinary fashion. (Which wouldn't keep it from happening again during the grooming, but it was best to make sure Shika was low on ammunition.) "Does anyo --"

Her jaw slammed shut.

Anypony.
It's 'anypony'.
They're looking at me --

"Does anypony know when Fluttershy took Jess back?" Fleur said, and felt as if the words had been a little too quick. "And where's Theori?" Tracking the most recent appointment.

"In the bathroom," Bolt offered, and Fleur managed a nod: the cottage, out of necessity, had multiple facilities: the one on the ground floor was available for clients. "I think Jess went back about forty minutes ago --"

The door to the veterinary section opened.

"...and she's finished now," Fluttershy softly announced as the young brown bunny risked a peek out from the shelter of yellow forelegs. "We'll just wait for Theori to come out." Half of a shy smile briefly made itself visible, and then the one uncovered eye focused on Fleur. "Do you need a few minutes to unpack?" Which was followed by a slow intake of breath. "And how did your dress get so dirty?"

"Yes, and I'll tell you later," Fleur promised. You're not going to like this. But you have to know -- and that still doesn't mean I'm going to say it all in front of a sapient audience. "I'll just unload in the kitchen. Then I'll join you at the examination table." After that, the true discussion would begin.

Fluttershy carefully nodded. "..okay. Don't rush. It's just a grooming --" which was when the pegasus spotted the can-headed skunk. "-- or not." With a deep sign, "Oh, Kit... we've talked about this..."

The unicorn managed a smile. Took a hoofstep towards her love, because she needed to reach the kitchen and avoiding the skunk's upcoming lecture was just a side bonus --

-- and in the space between them, the air began to softly glow.

no

It was illumination from nowhere, lumens without a true source, and it made the clients pull back as the light gained both intensity and density, wisps of air coalescing around the brightness as something very much like a fast-collapsing mist --

it's been a moon, please, not now, don't take her away now
i knew it couldn't last but
not another one
not when she might not come back

And she was fighting against her own body, knowing that she couldn't afford to let herself sway or shake or rear up, even when so much of her wanted to back into a corner and find a position from which she could defend herself, panic reactions all, things which were associated with ponies and prey, but the mist was curling in on itself and collapsing --

-- and she couldn't stop it.

She'd been wishing for communications magic, during those long hours of waiting for birds to return from Rainbow's house. And the world had responded with irony and fear, because this was a sending from Celestia. (It was possible to distinguish such magic from Spike's: a different hue to the light, the changed speed of materialization.) That meant a mission, and a mission could be anything from monsters to magic to mayhem to death, there was going to be another mission --

please
at least let me go with her

The clients were pulling back. Their companions, who'd never seen this kind of magic, had responded by scurrying under the nearest furniture: Jess was between Fluttershy's forelegs again, and the pegasus was just -- watching the scroll. Waiting for the arrival of words which could potentially announce crisis and nightmare and the end of lives.

But it was so much worse than that.

The collapsing ball of mist and light moved. Surged towards its target, flashed once, and gravity seized the now-solid results.

The emergency summoning scroll dropped to the floor, and landed in front of Fleur.