//------------------------------//
// Three 
// Story: Salmon Run 
// by mushroompone 
//------------------------------//

The migration was international news.

On every radio station. In every newspaper. The only thing non-pegasi felt they could talk about, as roving flocks blotted out the very sun. The only thing on anyone's mind.

Night Glider had no way of knowing this, though.

At one point, an intrepid reporter had taken his hot air balloon up into the sky, looking to speak with a few pegasi.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his balloon carried along with the flock. "Excuse me? Miss? Where are you all going?"

Night Glider shook her head. "I-I dunno, okay?!" she spat back. "We just—we're just—ask somepony else!"

It was hard not to be afraid.

Everyone in the flock held with an almost deadly silence, their fear roaring wordlessly through the air between them. The sun beat on their backs without much cloud cover. The sky itself seemed to be closing in on them.

Night Glider, however, had more reason to fear than most.

She had once vowed never to blindly follow the flock again. Had sworn to herself that she would never allow another to puppet her thoughts and feelings.

And yet

here she was

flying into oblivion and uncertainty

guided only by her restless wings

and the will of the flock.

She remembered spotting Rainbow Dash leading the flock at one point.

Perhaps she was always leading. That would make sense. She was a leader, after all. Natural-born.

Night Glider wanted to flag her down and speak with her. Rainbow Dash had seen it all. She must have some insight. She must have something.

But she saw the way her eyes drooped. The way her wings beat lazily up and down, devoid of purpose and confidence. 

She decided it was best to leave her alone.

Other pegasi said hello now and then.

"Doing alright?" they'd ask, as if anyone could answer that honestly.

Night Glider would nod. "Sure. Doing fine." And she'd look at this unexpected visitor with her own drooping eyes. "You?"

They would shrug. "Fine, I guess. Where you from?"

"Desert."

"Huh."

"You?"

"Manehattan."

A lot of the pegasi in her flock were from Manehattan. Guess that was just a quirk of geography and population and maybe a little luck.

"That's cool."

"Guess so."

And a long silence.

"Fly safe, okay?"

They'd nod. "You, too."