When she'd been a filly, Sunny had thought the wind was trying to teach her how to fly.
Maretime Bay wasn't just a coastal city. One border spread out along the true shoreline, defined by beach and cliffs and the boardwalk. And... well, Sunny didn't know for certain because her total city experience count had recently changed totals from 'one' to 'three' and none of the others were anywhere near this close to the ocean, but... she felt that living right up against the edge of the waves gave the weather a turn towards the dramatic.
This even applied to relative lack of weather. On a clear day, you couldn't find a clearer, more intense blue version of sky. Or rather, you couldn't find anything better among a sample size of 'two more', and she was sort of hoping it was going to hold up for a while because she wanted her home to retain something special --
-- dramatic weather. Storms blew in quickly, either hitting hard and fast or lingering for what could easily turn into several days. If there was snow, then it was going to potentially pile up to hip height and somehow, just shoving it all into the ocean wasn't regarded as a real possibility. Sea breezes whipped up out of nowhere, changed angles based on whims or careful consideration for a maximum number of lost hats. And when it came to actual wind? That could turn into blasts of force. The more constant versions turned into atmospheric walls, where walking against the push for ten minutes could leave somepony just as exhausted as if they've been galloping for three hours. And when it came to gusts...
As a filly, it had felt so simple. She'd gone up to the metal railings at the seaward edge of the boardwalk. Watched the tips of the waves closely, searching for those signs of an incoming gust. And if she spotted one -- quickly turn her body, going parallel to the rails because she was small and needed to give the wind as much to push upon as possible: her flank offered some improvement over sternum or buttocks.
And then she would jump. Straight up.
If her timing was just right -- if the gust reached her during those scant fractional moments when she was in the air...
It was a push, really. Her body would be shoved, sent a little further inland. Closer to safety. (She'd had dreams about jumping when the wind was blowing towards the water. Soaring over the sea.) And just about anypony could get more distance on a deliberate leap in any given direction, but... there was something special about letting the wind take over. Moving through the air, when you didn't have full control...
A filly had thought the wind was trying to teach her how to fly.
Sunny had grown up. The world had changed, and... she was responsible for quite a bit of that. There were three cities which were fully aware of her role in events and because numerous ponies still preferred the way things had been and felt responsible=fault, the Brighthouse got mail every day. Very little of it had a real return address, and she'd been told not to open any until Hitch finished checking it for traps.
Changes. One of the more conventional had rendered an earth pony filly into a mare. And then something which had never happened before -- at least not in that exact fashion -- had ultimately taught her that the adult still couldn't truly fly. Not of her own will, not whenever she wished.
There were ways in which being an activist was very much about control -- but most of those centered around granting it to others. Teaching them about the big ideas: the ones which said that things didn't need to remain this way forever, and they could seize the reins on their own lives. But some ponies hadn't wanted that, which was part of why Sunny had also gone through about thirty email addresses and kept inheriting Pipp's most recently-discarded Besties. The royal security detail was still trying to find a means of permanently encrypting everypony's phones.
Sunny had learned about flight. The real thing. And in doing so, she'd discovered it was ultimately about control. Something she lacked. A quality which was half-tangible in both presence and absence, like phantom wings.
The world had changed. And in doing so, it had made Sunny into somepony who didn't understand herself.
It was winter, and had she been alone at the seaside railing which blocked off the cliffs, along with being ten -- all right, five -- years younger, she would have tried the jump already.
But there was company.
"This is very different," Izzy decided, curiously staring out over the top rail at gust-crested waves and roiling grey skies. "Sunny, is there supposed to be snow today?"
She considered the forecast. "Not today. Maybe by tomorrow. And the day after that..." She sighed, and the whole of the soft exhalation was blown back into her fur. "It's not so much a forecast as a threat, Izzy. It's just a question of when it starts, and how much we get."
I should have put something on. A jacket, at the very least.
But the native wanted to show off to the newcomer...
The tall unicorn nodded, and the wind turned long curtains of wavy mane hair into backwards-streaming semaphore flags. "I just wanted to ask."
Sunny nodded back.
"Will you open the smoothie stand tomorrow?" Izzy asked. "To get some sales in before the snow starts."
"I don't know." She'd worked the morning shift, because there were always ponies who hit the boardwalk as the sun was coming up: those who trotted along the planks for their daily exercise, along with that part of the population which was effectively addicted to the sight of waves. And she hadn't bothered with smoothies, because it was winter and stirring almond milk into a hot chocolate blend was just about the only way to make anypony pause in front of the trailer. But then the wind had truly arisen, it had become too cold for even hot chocolate and once the gusts had chased everypony back to their homes... she'd shut the trailer down.
A question arose. When she was keeping Izzy company, they often did. The unicorn existed as a question mark on four legs. A few of the created daily queries would inevitably center on sanity.
"Different how?"
"The wind isn't getting broken up," Izzy promptly replied. "Anything this strong coming through Bridlewood has to deal with the trunks, and it sort of scatters everything. Close to the ground, anyway. You'll get a lot of old branches coming down, especially the high ones. So it's a good idea not to stand too close to the trees for shelter, or you could get hit in the head. And then you might not remember why you were trying to take shelter in the first place. So you keep standing there, wondering why your head is hurting. Then more branches come down. After a few more hits, you might not remember Bridlewood." She paused. "We could always tell when someone reached that point. The concussions made them much too happy."
"Oh," was pretty the default response to any extended Izzy speech.
"And there's salt in the air here," the unicorn thoughtfully went on. "And waves. And I feel like there would usually be seagulls, but it's too windy for them right now. I didn't know what an ocean winter was like, Sunny. Just a forest one. So I wanted to see. With company, in case anything had to be explained." Placidly, "I need to have things explained a lot. Just about as often as ponies ask me to explain things. That's balance. So thank you for keeping me company. And listening to questions."
Sunny smiled. "It's okay..."
Too cold for a casual walk, or even an intense trot: they were the only ponies within sight of the railing. But not too chill to stare out at the sea.
Not too cold to fly.
Except that she couldn't. Not just because she wanted to. Not with the effect under her full control.
Which scenario was the worst? To exist as somepony who could never fly -- but that was okay, because nopony else could either. Or to know there were others who had that capacity, but you could do things they couldn't and it all sort of balanced out...
...or to know that you could fly. Sometimes. For a little while. And to not fully understand how.
Sunny reared up, planted her forehooves on the railing, and stared out at the sea. Izzy, who was standing on her left, immediately matched her.
"Are there any old stories about winter?" the craftsmare asked. "Legends? Like the ones your dad tried to find?"
Old stories...
If the legend were just as true as the half-captured, partially-disrupted images, then there had been at least one other pony who might have understood what Sunny was going through. But from everything her father had said, Twilight Sparkle had been several levels of genius. (None of them were social.) And Sunny... was not.
She hesitated. "There's a few. Nothing which every last pony in the Bay believes." Another pause. "There's probably at least one where I was the only pony who ever believed it, because I more or less made it up on the spot. The one about windigos..."
Sunny blinked. Turned her head, staring at Izzy, and found only pure curiosity looking back.
That was one of the things about the unicorn. It wasn't that Izzy spoke without thinking: it was more that nearly every thought was immediately vocalized. She talked about whatever was on her mind and somehow, that had a way of making others do the same. It was almost a sort of magic...
Or maybe it truly was magic. Who could tell?
"What's a windigo?" Izzy innocently asked.
Sunny explained. The wind picked up.
"Oh," the unicorn decided. "So what was your legend? The one you made in your head."
"I thought..." And stopped.
Yes, it was definitely getting colder: moving her head into a position for looking straight down would probably find a few pieces of ice in the tiny tidal pools right next to the cliffs.
"Sunny?"
It just wasn't so cold that the rising heat of old embarrassment couldn't fail to burn.
"I thought that for a fourth of the year, the windigos remembered that none of us were together any more. And got really mad." She sighed. "Then they gave us the rest of the year to do something about it. And then they got mad again, because we hadn't. Sometimes I thought, when the Bay got into a real deep freeze, that -- we'd reached the end of their patience. There weren't going to be any more chances, and we'd just..."
She loved her father.
She missed him.
She was waiting for the day when his absence no longer hurt. She'd been waiting for years, and that day still hadn't come.
But Sunny did occasionally acknowledge that he'd inadvertently put some really weird thoughts in her head.
Right next to the ideas.
Big ones.
A large violet hoof gently rubbed against her left shoulder.
"Sometimes it's nice to be wrong," Izzy observed.
Sunny nodded. Exhaled, and they both went back to watching the waves.
"I found a new spell yesterday," the unicorn casually announced.
Sunny's ears went straight up, and the wind did its best to turn them into kites. "Really? What does it do?"
"It goes into my button drawer," Izzy merrily explained. "And then it sorts everything out by color! Or by size." She paused. "Or by both at once, if it I want it. I tried number of holes, because I've got some buttons with two, some with four, and there's always that one with seven. I don't know how I got that. I think it came with the cabinet. Anyway, it'll sort things by whatever I want them sorted by. And I'll probably try it on something other than buttons soon, just to test the range."
"...oh," felt as if it was struggling to contain most of the disappointment. And that spell was still more control than Sunny possessed.
"I'm not going to use it much," the unicorn decided. "Unless there's a deadline. Rummaging helps me come up with ideas, because you never know what's going to get turned over to the surface." Thoughtfully, "Also, when I sort a lot of buttons, I can get so many sticking to the bottom of my hooves that I wind up walking on buttons. Or sliding. It's gliding if I get a really smooth surface and push off just right, which really doesn't mean Bridlewood unless I'm in my house and the floor is clean. It's easier here. It's like skating, Sunny, only without wheels. I think you might like that. Maybe we could try it together -- Sunny?"
Who'd been fully listening, and had even reached the point where she could imagine making the attempt at Izzy's side --
"What?"
A little too casually, "Your flanks are glowing."
-- but part of her mind had been on something else.
"It's really more like throwing off sparks," Izzy added. "Like the wings are trying to appear, but they don't remember how. It hasn't reached your forehead yet. And I thought I should tell you that because it's really hard to see your own forehead. Even when there isn't a horn in the way -- and the sparks are gone." Powerful shoulders tossed off a railing-elevated shrug. "What were you thinking about? To make them come?"
Sunny's head went down. (The tidal pools were exceptionally deep, and filled with white foam from the breakers.) With Izzy, you had to be honest, and not just because it was one of the old virtues. Izzy had an extremely open mind: one which was forever searching for things to fill it up. Bad things could happen when that kind of curiosity latched onto a lie.
"Gliding," she admitted. "Gliding into skating into jumps, and then -- flight." And then, because Izzy was her friend, "I always think about flying when the wind comes off the ocean like this. I always have..."
She forced herself to look up, and found herself gazing into huge, perfectly innocent magenta eyes. Something which was now happening from a distance of about half a hoofwidth, because nothing about Izzy understood personal space.
"Really?" the unicorn asked. "Why?"
And because Izzy was her friend, Sunny said all of it.
Izzy listened. She was good at that. She could even stay quiet while she was listening. But...
...Twilight Sparkle. Sunny's father had gathered so many legends about that mare, some of which couldn't possibly be true. But he'd written down everything, and... there was one passage in particular which Sunny had refused to believe could ever be true of Equestria's long-lost ruler. It just happened to apply perfectly to Izzy.
"So you're worried because you can't make yourself fly when you want to," Izzy compassionately summarized. "Or any of the rest of the alicorn stuff. Because it's been all this time and you still don't really have control."
Sunny miserably nodded.
Izzy's horn instantly ignited.
Hornlight projected forward. A corona of pale heliotrope was now completely surrounding Sunny's body, making it tingle as if the whole of her form was falling asleep. And her hind hooves began to part from the boardwalk.
"Izzy, what -- ?"
"Hush!" the unicorn cautioned. "I'm trying to concentrate!" And now Sunny's forehooves were off the railing, she was being lifted fully clear over the ground and being sent over the railing --
-- as with what had to be that utter lie about Twilight Sparkle, a focused Izzy was an excellent listener. Or at least, the words went in.
Strange things could happen to them after that.
"You're holding me out over the cliff!" Just in case Izzy had somehow missed that part, because it was Izzy and you honestly never knew. "Over the water! The drop is --"
"-- I know!" Izzy panted. "And it's not easy!" The corona's glow intensified. "You're heavier than you look, you know that? You're not lazy and the only fishy smell comes from the ocean -- oh, that's probably why unicorns started saying it, because of where you live! -- but the part about 'bones of stone' could still be true!"
"IZZY --"
"-- it's funny, isn't it? I can't lift myself. I've tried." Almost meditatively, which was almost impressive with the sweat starting to spring up in her coat, "I can lift something I'm standing on. Or in, like with the box. But not myself, by myself. Trying makes my brain hurt. And it can't be the weight, because I'm bigger than you and when I was in the box, heavier. But I can lift you. And do you know what that is?"
Instantly, with hooves flailing in the air and little bits of shed hair falling to the bottom of the half-tangible light bubble, "A REALLY BAD IDEA --"
Most of the wind was getting through the hornlight. Most, but not all.
"-- it's called Fight Or Flight! Because your body is having a fear response!" In the tones of inscrutable wisdom, "Unicorns know all about fear, because growing up in Bridlewood is about having everypony try to make you afraid. All the time, of everything. But especially mayonnaise. Anyway, you don't want to fight me --" with instant concern "-- do you?"
Sunny's ears were flat against her skull. Her tail twisted against itself.
I'm thinking it over --
"Let's say you don't," Izzy accidentally lied. "So when you're afraid and you can't fight, you want to run! That's the flight part! Only for pegasi, it's more literal. So you're afraid because you're in the air and sort of hovering over the sea, not high enough that falling would hurt because we both know the water's deep in this part. You know that because you grew up here, and I know because you got me out in the boat during the summer. But it's still going to be cold, Sunny, so cold that nopony wants to go in except for maybe that Polar Bear Club somepony mentioned and also, what's a polar bear -- oh, that can wait! Anyway, you don't want to fall! So your wings are going to appear and catch the wind, just like you always dreamed --"
"-- THEY AREN'T COMPLETELY SOLID! I DON'T THINK THEY CAN CATCH ANYTHING! I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW THEY WORK --"
Brightly, "-- and you'll fly! Because your body doesn't have any other choice! Okay -- now!"
Nothing happened.
"Now?" Izzy tried again as sweat-saturated head fur began to send drops down into her eyes.
The nothing, having found a groove, settled in for a long stay.
"IZZY --"
"-- I've got it! I know why it isn't working!"
Sunny blinked.
She thinks of things. Nearly everypony else treats it as insanity, but it's just a creative mind lashing out in all directions and sometimes, she hits a target...
"...you do?"
"Yeah! It's not working because you know there's no danger! The threat of getting wet and cold isn't real, because you know I'd never drop you!"
"Right," Sunny quickly said. "Of course! Because you'd never drop me. That's why it's not working. So just bring me back over the railing --"
"-- so I should actually do that."
The hornlight winked out.
"See? You didn't get hurt."
Sunny didn't say a word.
"And I lifted you out of the ocean," Izzy added. "Even when you're sort of heavy. More than you really should be. But maybe you didn't know? It's not like the unicorns knew we were tall until we saw how short everypony else was."
She didn't need to speak. She was dripping all over the boardwalk. The sound of pattering substituted nicely for language.
"The water doesn't help with the weight," the unicorn observed. "Maybe that's why it's called water weight."
Additionally, the near-violent shivering produced from being absolutely soaked to the skin while standing in a winter wind was rapidly reaching the point where the vibrations would start to create sonics. So really, actual cursing was unnecessary. Also, Izzy was her friend and as long as Sunny concentrated on that fact instead of something sensible, like how close the unicorn was and how easy it would be for an earth pony body to drop into a charge...
"But I don't want to bring you inside until the water's gone," Izzy decided. "Not because you'll soak things. Because getting rid of the water should help some of the cold. And then you'll have to get wet again, only with hot water. To get rid of the salt. Remember when you told me that after I fell out of the boat?"
She is my friend.
My friend.
She was the only unicorn brave enough to come here. Because she wanted things to be different.
Killing her would be wrong.
"So how do we get rid of the water?" Izzy asked the world. "Quickly!" And then, with that thoughtfulness which could change the world and was only incidentally terrifying, "I wonder if magic could comb it out?"
And before Sunny could move, the horn ignited again, sent light brushing against her fur...
Izzy frowned.
"That's weird," she said, and lifted the projection into Sunny's view: a glowing flattened rectangle of nothing -- which now had tiny streams of water flowing around the outer borders. A half-dozen miniature rivers fed by a riot of mutating tributaries, all moving across light. "Don't you think that's weird --"
"IZZY!"
The unicorn froze.
Sunny's left foreleg briefly lifted, and a frustrated hoof slammed into the boardwalk. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
The craftsmare gave the question some visible thought.
"No," she finally, almost passively said. "I don't."
"...what?"
"And that's why I do things," Izzy added. "Because I don't know."
Sunny's jaw dropped.
"Nopony does," Izzy peacefully continued. "It's magic. It's too new. Nopony understands it. So we're mostly learning by doing things. Or failing. And right now, I know you need to be dried off. So I'm trying to do that." Thoughtfully, "Do those Polar Bear Club ponies keep dryers anywhere close to the boardwalk? For after the dips? And also, because this came up earlier: what's a polar bear?"
The second drying session of the day was taking a while. Pacing back and forth helped spread the heat from the Brighthouse's bathroom wall vents across her fur, but the total length of the track had to be kept rather short.
She nearly stepped on a comb. This was a hazard of hosting Pipp, because the younger princess still believed that she lived in a world where somepony else would pick up after her and had yet to fully learn that the name given to 'somepony else' was now 'Pipp'.
Nopony knows what they're doing. Not when it comes to magic, not when we're all starting from scratch.
Nopony.
We're all just -- doing things. And then trying to work out what happened. Or how to do it again or, a lot of the time, how to make it stop.
She had once lived in a structure filled with memories, regrets, loss, and a lot of hard-gathered parentally-written pages. (Nopony else had believed the words.) And when it had just been her in the old building, with just about nopony ever visiting because Argyle's crazy daughter was best avoided... she'd spent most of her time in thinking.
We're all out here on our own.
Sunny didn't consider herself to be anything close to a genius. She often wished to be smarter, but -- it was a desire which ignored the true issue. It wasn't about how much she could think of, or the scope of the notions.
We shouldn't have to be.
When it came to her intellect, there was a single category in which the activist went beyond mere levels of genius. She could semi-regularly execute one of the greatest feats of sapience.
So we won't.
Sunny dealt with the BIG ideas. And that meant she could think of the first thing.
Not anymore.
And Sunny, who wanted to believe the best of just about everypony, tended to act on her ideas while following a rather familiar model.
1. Do something!
2. ...
3. Harmony.
She was capable of spotting what potentially needed to be done. She was sure of what the goal was meant to be. The middle part was generally supposed to more or less work itself out.
Her previous truly BIG idea had been along the rough lines of 'What if we all just tried to get along again?' and the ripples of that one were spreading out to cover the planet. 'Consequences', being something which kicked in from the second entry on down, could take a while to resolve.
As with Twilight Sparkle before her, Sunny possessed a very special sort of mind. The kind which could change the world.
But I'm going to need a little help with this one
By incredible lack of coincidence, it was also the sort which frequently needed somepony to save her from herself.
She found him in the sheriff's office, because it was the Second Age Of Unity and despite the fact that he could carry his phone anywhere, Hitch preferred to wait for the next disaster in a central location.
Sunny had previously discovered him sleeping while spread out across a non-mattress of three open file cabinet drawers. The precinct building's miniature kitchen was now filled with his favorite plates, added to a selection of modified drinking mugs for infants.
She... wasn't sure how often he went home any more...
But it did mean she knew where to look for him. And she fully understood that for this Idea, she was going to need help.
He'd been alone in the office when she'd entered. (If you didn't count the parade of those with Second Age related complaints, he'd been alone for nearly a year.) Behind the desk, looking about as tired as he'd been for -- a while. And he'd pushed several mounds of splotchy paperwork aside -- followed by tilting his head towards a closed door on the right, bringing a forehoof up just under his jaw and then slowly shifting the keratin until it blocked his mouth.
She'd understood immediately: Sparky in the next room, asleep. Working single parents often had trouble arranging for their foals, and... dragonsitters were exceptionally hard to come by. They could talk, but he was asking her to keep the volume low.
Sunny claimed the bench on the other side of the bench. (For the sake of tradition alone, she could have claimed what was effectively her cell -- squatter's rights -- but she hated talking to him through the bars.) And then she softly guided him through the first part of her day.
He listened. Or rather, his ears were lofted and turned in her direction. There had been a lot of reasons why they'd broken up, and one of them was because Sunny had become convinced that there were two canals in each stallion ear. The first led to 'I truly heard you' and the second presumably had an exit somewhere near the back so it could vent alongside the rest of the unwanted gas. He'd gotten better about using the primary (she hoped it was the primary) since the Second Age had begun, but...
She needed help. And now that he was no longer trying to arrest her on a weekly basis in the name of helping the world -- a.k.a. 'Maretime Bay and anything we can see from here'...
"Don't tell me you want to press charges against Izzy," Hitch quietly said -- and then added a small, weary smile. "Please don't. I mean, I'll understand if you do, because the water gets cold this time of year and there's an argument to be made for assault. But most of what I do in talking ponies out of bringing cases against her --"
Sunny blinked. "Ponies are trying to --"
His right forehoof scraped across the surface of the ink-stained desk. "-- she can be loud, she doesn't think the same way as just about anypony else -- the rest of Bridlewood included -- and there are times when that confuses ponies. Scares them. Scared ponies wind up asking the law to make their fear go away. It's like Posey asking to see a store manager, only for the entire city." He sighed. "All things considered, we're really lucky she ran into you first. Sunny, I've mostly been getting ponies out of here by telling them she doesn't understand and I'll talk to her about it. And to Izzy's credit, she never makes the same mistake twice. But if one pony finally demands an arrest, it's going to trigger a very long line."
How close are we to...
No. She could keep Izzy out of court. She just had to explain things. A lot.
Sunny forced a smile. "No charges. But she got me thinking --"
"-- oh, good," Hitch dryly determined. "We've just hit the most dangerous phrase in the language. Thinking about what?"
She arced her neck, leaned forward on the bench as much as she dared. "Nopony knows what they're doing, Hitch. Not when it comes to magic. I'm sure there's unicorns mastering personal spells, but -- that's personal. It's not spreading. With earth ponies -- have you seen anypony really comparing notes? Testing? Zipp's tried basic flight classes, but... it's not enough." And with the bright, near-musical, slightly-muted-for-dragon tones which indicated brilliance, "We need a school. For magic."
He was -- looking at her.
Hitch had multiple ways of looking at Sunny. There was the one labeled 'You are my foalhood friend, and I am still going to lock you up': it had seen a period of extensive use. They'd been through a period of 'Fine, you are in fact attractive and maybe if we're dating, I can get you under control': that expression had basically been doomed from the start. 'We're better off as friends' had been galloping for a while now, with no signs of slowing down.
This was a Look. She wasn't sure how to categorize it, but the capital seemed mandatory.
Maybe he hasn't worked out why I'm here. Hitch wasn't anywhere close to being stupid --but he did have issues in dealing with anything which required change. Recognizing a need for the new.
He's had a rough year.
This will make it better.
"But a real school means going the full route," Sunny added. "This can't be outdoor sessions in the park, especially at this time of year. We're going to need a building. At least one. And the City Council doesn't always listen to me, especially when I can't..."
She concentrated. Sparks of light rained down from her forehead, momentarily blocked her vision. Nothing else happened.
"...when I can't," the mare ruefully finished. "And... I don't want them to only be listening because I did. Not after the last time."
His silence felt... odd. The tips of his ears were twitching slightly, but the tail was motionless...
"As sheriff," Sunny went on, "you've got more influence than I do. More reliably, anyway. And I thought if we went in together, we could ask to use something. Maybe one of the speculation warehouses." She frowned. "I still don't know why those were built five years back. Where did they think new businesses were going to move in from? -- okay, well, now, but they're way too big for the little shops we've been getting! Or we could just move the studios out of Canterlogic and convert that to --"
He raised that right forehoof: wait. Slowly lowered it, and then stood up.
It took him longer than it should have to get off the bench. His movements were stiff, and he moved like a pony who was forcing himself through half-treacle air: both were signs that he was short on sleep. But he eventually got to a drawer, sorted through the contents, and came back with a rolled-up scroll in his mouth. Dropped it to the desk, climbed back onto his bench, and let his forehooves spread it flat.
Sunny looked down. It was one of the new maps: something which showed Maretime Bay, Bridlewood, and Zephyr Heights in very rough relation to each other. For some reason, the cartographers had been having a lot of trouble in getting the exact distances down --
"Choose one," Hitch peacefully, softly said.
She kept looking. "You don't think we should put the school here?" Sunny asked. "There's going to be that much resistance from the Council? I guess we could try one of the others, but there's been the most initial population mixing here --"
The stallion's tones were utterly calm. Reasonable. Controlled. And he looked down at her, because he'd had to rear up in order to pin the map and that meant he was looking down...
"Choose which city we're going to lose."
She was on her hooves in an instant, and didn't remember having moved. It didn't matter. She still had to stare up at him, projecting her sudden anger towards that odd calm and there was no phantom hornlight lancing forth to go with the abrupt rage, something which could make his control go away --
"HITCH --"
"-- sleeping dragon," he softly cut her off.
She glared at the stallion. He reared up a little more, allowed the map to roll shut, and then resumed his position on the bench.
"We need this," Sunny angrily-if-quietly declared. "You're going right for the worst, just like you always do with anything new, just like you've going to do forever --"
"-- new," Hitch interrupted. "No. I don't think it is. The basic idea, anyway." He slowly shook his head, raised a foreleg just long enough to push the map aside. "Sunny, I need you to tell me something. The sort of thing which only you could tell me. About the old days."
The anger found itself in near-instant contention with the combined forces of Sunny's eternal desire to defend her father's work and an activist's need to lecture, then rather sensibly found a quiet corner at the back of her brain and decided to simmer out the wait.
"Oh?" asked several kinds of temporary eagerness. "What exactly did you want to --"
"Schools," Hitch narrowed down. "Did they have them?"
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, obviously there were basic educational facilities --"
"-- obviously," he quietly said.
"-- and under Princess Twilight, they expanded on that. My dad said there was a School Of Friendship at one point -- Hitch?" Because his expression had just gone strange --
"A school," he slowly semi-repeated, "which taught ponies how to be friends?"
"It was mostly for the other species --"
Something about his eyes had just gone cold.
"Creating a school to teach friendship," the stallion slowly said, "suggests one of two things. The first is that those other species were so self-involved, sociopathic, and utterly alien as to be incapable of understanding it on their own -- meaning that the school was meant to try and alter the course for a world largely populated by sapient monsters -- or that the ancient ponies were themselves so supremely, monstrously egotistical as to believe that they, and they alone, understood what friendship was. And they had to apply their definition to everyp -- no, everyone else. In spite of what those other species might have believed, recognized, or wanted."
And Sunny, trapped under the weight of chill words, could say nothing at all.
"I hope we find those other species," Hitch quietly told her. "So we can find out what kind of new problems we're dealing with. Or -- so we can finally apologize. Schools of magic, Sunny. Were there any?"
The "...yes," took far longer than it should.
"How many?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "There was at least one in the capital, for gifted unicorns --"
"-- oh," Hitch tonelessly said. "Elitism. What a surprise. Go on."
"-- and a college of some sort for the pegasi. I think that might have had something to do with the legends about weather control." A little more quickly, "Obviously the earth ponies didn't have their own facility, not if we're the first generation to have magic at all. But the point is that there were schools, Hitch." Which meant it was time to go directly for his weak spot. "Having schools is traditional, and you of all ponies should respect --"
"Schools which passed on the lore of generations," the stallion broke in.
"Yes! And we can --"
He stood up again, still far too slowly. Began to pace behind the desk.
Sunny was starting to feel rather irritated. (The anger quickly formed an alliance with the frustrated lecturing urge, then went back for more notes.) "Hitch, I'm trying to explain why we need this. I don't need to be talking to a moving target. The first requirement for a school is the need for knowledge, and we obviously have --"
"-- you're wrong."
She was starting to wonder if her best option was to match his movements. Pace from her side of the desk. "Because it's new? It isn't."
"Because..." He stopped pacing, and the aqua tail lashed once. "Sunny, I'm about to ask you to do something which you have trouble with. I need you to listen."
"I always --"
"The fact that there's a unicorn present in Maretime Bay," the sheriff passively countered, "is proof that you don't. And that's not the argument we're having, because that shouldn't be an argument at all. I want to tell you a few things about modern magic." His lips twisted into the world's most awkward smile, "And just to get the worst out of the way, we're going to start with Rule Four."
Sunny felt herself frowning. She didn't like it.
"Maretime Bay regulations," she tried. She'd been arrested enough times to know something more than the basics. "Section Four is littering --"
"Rule Four," Hitch corrected. "It's online culture. Pipp had to teach it to me." He didn't quite smile. "While wearing a very awkward expression, because she's younger than I am and she didn't like having to educate somepony who was so ancient."
"Meaning anypony at least one second older than she is," Sunny correctly defined. "So what's Rule Four?"
"'If it exists'," Hitch casually quoted, "'it will be used for sex'."
Sunny hadn't truly recognized the moment when she'd initially left the bench. She was rather more aware of her buttocks hitting the floor.
"...um," she managed and, in the rather placid face of her former partner in the ritual which had mutually sacrificed their virginity, stopped right there.
"I get to track a lot of this," the sheriff passively told her. "Because when there's an emergency, I'm one of the first ponies called. Even when the exact nature of that emergency means they should have tried somepony else first. But it means I'm up to date on a few things you might have missed. Like the emergency room visit numbers. They've been getting quite a few unicorns. Mostly adolescents. If we're going to pretend towards discretion here, then let's say that they've mostly been coming in for three reasons. The first is excessive force, the second is lousy aim, and you get to three through the usual route. Which is one plus two."
"Um," Sunny repeated, because she'd just pictured it and really wanted to stop.
"Earth ponies..." Hitch mercilessly went on. "Personally, I'm already sick of hearing ducks discuss their sex lives. You still don't want the details. But for the ponies themselves... there's a lot of food which is supposed to have aphrodisiac qualities, right? Some of it is plant-based. So we've had ponies growing their own. They make giant versions and eat too much. Or they try to make a normal-sized fruit with a concentrated dose inside. Either way, there's been a lot of vomiting. For the lucky ones. And with pegasi... let's just say we've had them turning up in odd locations. Which are mostly elevated. And when they've found, they're in even odder positions. Especially for the ones who crashed together and became, shall we say, jammed."
"Um."
He didn't look at her. He simply went back to pacing.
"And I wish that was the worst of it," Hitch told her. "There's websites springing up everywhere. Some of them are weak con jobs. That old gimmick which nopony could ever get rid of? Well, it's not battery-powered any more: it works by magic. Makes for an easier sale, at least until the included batteries run dry and the buyer finally spots where the compartment was sealed over. But we've also got ponies trying to compare notes. This is what they've learned, this is what they can do and how you can do it if you just follow the same steps."
"But we need that --" emerged as actual words, and so represented an improvement.
"And wherever you've got that kind of discussion," Hitch continued, "you get the liars. The ones who are boasting about things they've never managed, or just want to see how many ponies they can trick into following in their hoofsteps. For that moment when none of it works, or when somepony gets hurt. There was an arrest in Bridlewood last week for that last one, and the colt was laughing right up until the moment they put him in the hoofcuffs." He slowly shook his head. "And apparently strapped some sort of metal cone onto his head, to stop him from using magic. Alphabittle had an ancient one. The only one. But it worked, when a ball didn't. They're going to need more, and we're going to need at least ten."
Her breaths seemed to be skipping half-beats. She was definitely losing some of the inhales.
"That's worst in Zephyr Heights, though," he added. "For the online problems, since they've got the strongest setup there. Here's how you do this loop, and this is how you don't pull up in time." The stallion paused. "Or, for the ones who were trying the double pony version, pull out. But Queen Haven is trying to keep the weather control experiments from getting started because for some reason, the city with the most technology really doesn't need stray lightning going all over the place and apparently Pipp tried something early on --"
"-- which means she needs a school!" Sunny protested. "A place to work it all out --"
"A place to work things out," Hitch corrected, "isn't a school. You investigate new things and make discoveries in a lab."
"But that can be part of --"
"-- and then we've got the unicorns again," he broke in. "That's a whole new set of problems."
"How can that be --"
His face changed. Features shifted into a gentle, warm smile. Amber eyes went wide, took on extra innocence, and his voice aimed for a higher pitch.
"Frosty shivers!"
I just lost the exhales.
So I'm not breathing.
"I've been thinking," Hitch casually told her. "About something called cultural divergence. How much we've all changed over the centuries. There's traditions and beliefs out there which I never thought I'd see. But there's proof that we started from a common base, right? Things which survived, even if we aren't all doing them the same way any more. Like celebrating the appearance of a mark. We've all got our own versions of Nightmare Night. And I've been wondering, Sunny -- do unicorn actors also think it's bad luck to wish each other good luck before a performance? Because they're superstitious enough to believe everything else, and if a dozen of them simultaneously tell the mare lead to 'Crack a hoof'...!"
Still not breathing.
I should fix this. Fast.
"We don't know what they can do," Hitch told her. "Neither do they. None of us do. Ponies are experimenting, on their own. And we don't have to stop at ponies, because I've got Sparky and I'm convinced his magic has a safeguard. Something which prevents him from turning a parental figure into a partition because if he didn't? Every adult dragon would be dead."
I just saw your face.
How long have you been thinking about that?
Hoping you're right, when hope is all you have?
And you love him anyway --
"But with us?" He reared up, just long enough to let his forehooves slam back into the floor. "Every pony is a mobile, living laboratory. We've got ponies trying everything, Sunny, and -- what if the weather stuff is real, and a pegasus whips up a hurricane? A unicorn discovers that one spell which stops a heart? How about if an earth pony is working with medicinal herbs, and manages to change how that plant works? Or creates pollen which the entire world is allergic to, turns every mushroom poisonous --"
"-- we don't know if that's possible!"
Words also required breath. Further improvement.
"We don't know that it isn't," he countered, and the pacing resumed. "Because we are the wild card. Every earth pony. All of the ancient secrets for the pegasi and unicorns could be rediscovered, and we still wouldn't know what our own limits are. And then there's the rest of the world, every animal and rock and plant, and I'm not sure you've noticed because I'm pretty sure she hasn't picked up on the pattern, but every time Pipp tries to mix up a new hoof rub or mane tonic..."
Sunny winced.
"This wouldn't be a school, Sunny," he told her. "Individual investigations, the little discoveries and horrors -- we're trying to deal with those. One at a time. Putting out the smaller fires, and some of those have been real ones. But if you gather all of those experiments together in a single place, you get a laboratory. One where none of the scientists really know what they're doing, and nopony's figured out how to make the safeties work."
Which was when he stopped pacing again. Looked directly at her, with those unblinking eyes.
"You're building a bomb. And the more ponies you assemble, the bigger the final explosion is going to be. I suppose we could try to put it out in the wild, minimize the damage, but -- you wanted to use a building. So one more time, Sunny." And his voice was soft. "Which city did you want to lose?
They looked at each other from across the eternal gap, foalhood friends and ex-lovers and... whatever the return of magic had made them. And after a time, Sunny found words.
"We need something," she told him. "You know that."
"I can't argue," he replied. "But it can't be a school. We don't have the most basic requirement. And... I've always told you that you can't tear apart a system without having something to put in its place." Not without irony, "So naturally, you wound up doing that anyway. And we're building the new system, day by day -- but right now, it doesn't have a place for a school. Not without making things that much harder to hold together."
"The basic requirement for a school," Sunny quietly argued, "is ponies who need to learn. And you're worst-casing, Hitch. You always do this. With everything and everypony --"
She frequently made him angry. Upset. Frustrated. That winter day marked the first time she'd created raw offense.
"-- not everypony," he told her. "Just everything. There's a difference."
"Hitch --"
He began to trot around the desk. Closing the gap.
"I'm in law enforcement," Hitch offered a soft reminder. "And as much as you've been on the receiving end... I still don't feel like you understand how that works. Constantly assuming the worst of the whole population is how the job destroys ponies. You stop seeing individuals, Sunny. Just criminals who haven't been caught yet. But... doing the same for a situation is how you keep those ponies alive."
She did something which was still so hard for her. Held still, and made herself listen.
"Sunny --" and this smile was warm "-- you have one of the most special talents I've ever seen, something too important to be confined by a mark. You can come up with the crucial ideas, the first ideas, and you do it when nopony else can. We need education in magic. I'm not arguing that. But for today, a school doesn't work. I don't think it's going to work tomorrow, either. And -- I don't know what does."
She had one more argument. She knew she did, and it was based in definition. But she had to hold it back for a little while. There was something else to settle.
"You hadn't told me any of this. About what's been going on."
"It's law enforcement details," Hitch noted. "You're generally not interested. Most of what you did with the law was argue about not having actually broken it. Followed by saying it wasn't fair anyway. And you've had a lot of other things to deal with." A triple nod: one towards each flank, with the last aimed at her forehead. "Too many --"
"-- too many," she softly informed him, "is what you're dealing with. Hitch -- when was the last time you went home?"
He almost smiled.
"I try to go back once a week. To look at the mortgage documents. It helps me estimate how much I could get if I sold the place and moved in here."
He was close enough to touch, and so her right forehoof gently rubbed his sternum. "You need to rest --"
"-- Bridlewood has a sort of citizen's brigade," he told her. "I'm still trying to figure out how that works, but -- it does. Zephyr Heights is the real deal. Multiple precincts, a couple of hundred officers." And with all of the weariness dropping into his voice, "Maretime Bay? Is me. You wanted the Council to give you a building, Sunny? I can't even get a replacement deputy. They leaned into the tourism angle, more than anything else. Making Canterlogic into a studio lets them broadcast advertising. Everything they're spending is about getting ponies to come here, and -- 'We have effective law enforcement' isn't it. So I'm doing what I can. Until they wake up. And I almost don't want them to, because it'll take something big --"
In open desperation, because she could feel his breathing now and it was so ragged, "-- we need to help you, all of us can try to help --"
This time, he did smile.
"If you want to help? Don't cause so many problems. And maybe stop Pipp once in a while. In advance."
"Hitch --"
It was a very soft laugh. "Sunny, you're the only mare I know who can make out the things which are too big to see. And I love that about you. Still. But you don't do consequences. And... that's my job. You have to think of the first thing. I'm the one who gets to deal with everything that comes with it. From it. So -- don't give me as much work. If you can." He tossed off a light shrug. "I won't ask for a promise, because I'm pretty sure you can't keep it. I know you a little too well there. But... try."
And then the stallion sighed.
"You should head out," he told her. "I've given you a lot to think about."
She didn't quite get up.
"When do you think about all of this? Like the 'crack a hoof' part?"
"I'm a single parent who works in a sheriff's office with no backup," Hitch told her. "The good news is that I was probably going to be up anyway. Go back to the Brighthouse, Sunny. Before the next call comes in."
Sunny stood, turned. Began to trot towards the door.
"Get some sleep."
"Get a dozen unicorns to say it at the same time and maybe I will. Whether I want to or not." He paused. "And warn Izzy about the 'crack a hoof' thing? She can pass it on."
Her left foreleg went up, ready to nudge the door open. Paused, and she turned back.
"You're wrong about the basic requirement for a school," she said, "It's ponies who need, and want, to learn. Maybe if we just scattered the students --"
"-- a laboratory," Hitch cut in, and did so as the aqua tail slumped, "is about discovery of the new. Right now, the world is a research facility. A school is for passing on what's already known. And when you look at it that way, Sunny -- what's the most basic requirement?"
Which was when she finally saw it coming, and her blood turned into frozen fire.
"...somepony who already knows what to do," Sunny whispered. "A teacher."
"There's not much which can be done for us," Hitch reminded her. "For earth ponies, because our magic is too new. But when it comes to unicorns and pegasi... who's the qualified instructor? The only one we know of, in the entire world?"
"...Opaline."
It was exhaustion which dipped his head.
"Yeah," he said. "Please don't go asking her. She doesn't need the leverage. And when it comes to thinking about the consequences... I'd like to sleep sometime."
It was a cold night, and the snow would probably arrive before morning. But it was a colder topic, and it had put them outside the Brighthouse. Looking out across a cloudy Maretime Bay night, where the glow of windows tried to substitute for stars.
Sunny was sitting between two unicorns, both of whom had just been briefed. The larger bodies gave off a fair amount of heat. Frustration added an extra fraction of a degree.
"Most of what she tells me," Misty finally said, "is about how she can do magic and I can't. The rest was about how to use whatever enchanted item she'd given me, and she didn't exactly give out much. Sunny, she didn't use as much magic in front of me as you might think. Not until recently, because..."
She stopped. Winced, and tilted her head until self-loathing was hidden behind a manefall of tight ringlets.
"Because she didn't have the dragonfire," Sunny softly said. "Misty, it's okay. Sparky's okay now. Please look at me..."
It took nearly a minute, along with some awkward encouragement from Izzy. But eventually, a snout emerged, followed by watering eyes.
"I saw a few things," Misty eventually continued. "Some of them made my horn feel a little weird. But all I can tell you is what I saw. Not how to do it myself, or stop it, or -- anything, Sunny. I don't know. I've learned more real things about magic just from trying things out here, and -- I can't do that when I'm in the castle. At all. Because if she feels magic which isn't hers, if she knows..."
"Don't." And the dark, serious word had come from Izzy. "Only here, Misty. Unless you have to run."
The lost filly nodded. Sunny stared out into the cold night.
"Come a little closer?" she asked both unicorns.
"Are you that cold?" Izzy asked. "Because I can put my mane over you. Like a blanket. Misty can get the other side --"
"It's cold," she admitted. "But I just want the company."
"What if your wings pop out?" the craftsmare teased. "They do sort of push things when they show up. Like whole trailers."
"They won't." She felt sure of that much.
Misty looked awkward again, which was more or less the current default. "I... don't really know how to keep anypony company..."
"You just have to be here."
The other two mares shifted inwards. Mane-based blankets were quickly proven ineffective.
"Better?" Izzy asked.
"Yes. And..." She took a breath, felt the warmth at her sides. "...I'm not mad at you. For earlier. It might have worked."
"You mean you're not mad any more," Izzy corrected. "Because you were mad."
A little too quickly, "Izzy --"
"-- it's okay," the craftsmare said. "I do things. Some of them made ponies mad. I try not to do those again." She looked up at the stars. "Some of them brought me here. I'm trying to keep those going."
And then they were just silent for a while. Three mares existing as a combined declaration of life, warring against the cold.
But some of the chill came from inside.
I don't have control.
I don't understand myself any more.
I don't understand the world.
Because it's so much bigger than I thought. Than I imagined. The old system was destroyed, and all we've seen is a fraction of what could exist in its place.
There's so much further to go...
She was capable of having the big ideas. Spotting aspects of the picture which everypony else was too close to see. But she wasn't good with consequences.
Control required education, even if that wasn't quite at the stage of being placed in a school. And no matter what Hitch might long for -- life needed change.
"Misty?"
"Am I too close? I can back off a little --"
"-- could you tell us about what you saw her do? All the little things on up, and whatever working enchantments were still around."
The temperature dropped that much more.
"...I can try. But it won't mean anything for learning how to do it. For me or either of you --"
"-- but it's a little more warning," Sunny told her. "About what she might try. Please?"
It was a cold night, with chill gusts. And if there were windigos behind any of it, then it was obvious that they still didn't fully approve. The ponies were, in so many ways, back at the beginning, and... there was a long way to go.
When I was a filly, I thought the wind was trying to teach me how to fly...
Maybe it was just trying to teach me to go find warmth.
There were three mares huddled together against the cold. Two unicorns, and Sunny was almost sure that she was still an earth pony. And as Misty spoke, the only qualified teacher providing a vital lesson about their opponent, there were ways in which the world grew colder.
But they huddled together. And their hearts were warm.