I can’t sleep. I rested for a little while, but sleep refuses to come to me. I feel an incomprehensible pang of illness in my stomach… And a larger such pang in my heart. I remove the fluffy blanket the purple one provided to me, and slip out the door, heading for the front of the castle again. Opening that door, I move outside into the cool night’s air.
Sure enough, there’s a large cart just outside. No doubt the magician’s. I do not wish to disturb her, but it would be a nice spot to set myself, so carefully, I float up and settle myself lightly on the top of the cart, two of my feelers drifting over the edge. I have never had problems with altitude sickness, but sometimes it is nice to settle myself on a solid object. A feeling of sturdiness the air fails to provide.
My parents said it’s because I was born with a very high buoyancy quotient… I used to have issues settling myself like this. Sometimes I would invert myself, and rest my body on the ceiling instead. My parents…
The pain in my heart and stomach grows larger, and I fail to stifle a pained whimper. Not a loud noise, by any means, but given my proximity to the magician’s cart…
“Who’s there…?” I hear her voice, shock mixing with grogginess.
I try not to make a sound, but I hear hoofsteps. Then, she exits the cart, looking around wearily. Is she used to having to defend her cart from the animals here?
Given that she’s already awake, I lean forward, and give a small trill to get her attention.
She looks up immediately. “Hugs the Ceiling?” She asks, “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I try to whistle. I’ve given up hope that any of these ponies will understand my verbal ticks, but it’s too dark to sign anything.
She just tilts her head a bit. “Is something wrong?” She asks.
What I have most noticed about the magician is how sharply she perceives things, when not bogged down by her own emotional investment. When she was seeking to prove herself to the other ponies, she was borderline stupid. After she took confidence in herself, however, she became very smart. These ponies amaze me with all the ways they can be dumb.
Despite her tiredness, she still perceives me very well. She is the closest to understanding my verbal ticks, even if she does not actually understand the words at all. Regardless, I look down and give a small nod, with an affirmative whistle.
She groggily climbs the ladder on the side of the cart, sitting next to me. “You cannot sleep,” She supposes.
I nod a bit and sidle closer to her.
“Why can you not sleep?” The magician asks.
There’s no easy way to pantomime this, so I instead sign out, “Pain.”
“You’re in pain…” The magician’s voice turns very concerned very quickly, “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head. I know I’m not suffering any injuries; we have a very defined sense of self, and any injury would perturb that.
“Where does it hurt?” The magician asks gently.
I bob a bit away and lightly point my feelers to my chest and belly.
The magician thinks for a long moment. “And you do not know where the pain is coming from?” She asks.
I nod and let out a small trill.
The magician visibly bites her lip. “Well… You are lost, you feel pain in your chest, and you know you are not hurt,” She reasons, “Trixie believes you might be homesick.”
Homesick? I have never encountered ‘homesick’ before. I scoot closer to her, and tilt my head, trilling curiously.
A gentle smile grows across her face. “Homesick is when you miss home so much, that you feel sick,” She explains simply, “You think about seeing your home and family again.”
My eyes widen a bit. It makes sense. I’ve been lost in this odd place for weeks. I fervently nod to her diagnosis, signing out the word to record it for myself properly: “Homesick.”
The magician gently pulls me closer, my body lightly bumping against hers. “Tell Trixie about your home. It will hurt at first, but then you will find peace; like making a hard apology.”
I fully commit to sitting lightly on her back, resting my head on hers. Her mane is silky, and comfortable; most of these ponies have very comfortable manes. I hope they do not mind me perching on them.
I don’t feel like signing a lot, so I decide to tell my story through pantomiming with my feelers. I gesture vaguely out to the sky.
“You lived in the stars above…” The magician begins interpreting.
I motion a ring.
“...On a ring, among the stars…”
Still drawing a ring with one feeler, I motion towards it with my other feelers.
“...Something visited those rings…”
I grab one of my feelers with another, pulling it away.
“...You were taken…”
I mimic the motion of a bird flapping its wings.
“...By a bird?” The magician asks.
I shake my head, signing out, “Ship,” To clarify.
The magician nodded. “You lived on a ring, in the stars, when you were taken by a star ship that visited the ring…” She pieces.
I nod and trill sorrowfully. That was the last time I saw my parents, or most of my friends. I don’t like thinking about that ship.
“You do not want to share anymore,” The magician says, “That’s okay. Trixie can guess being taken wasn’t good.”
I nod a little and whine softly, holding her a bit tighter. Embracing someone is an odd sensation, but a pleasant one. I get many such feelings I do not fully understand, but for once, this is a nice one. It makes the pain shrink.
The magician looks up at me. “On the ring, you had a family, yes?” She asks.
I nod, and split one of my feelers into three.
“Three family members,” The magician reads.
I sign, “Parents.”
“You had three parents,” She corrects.
I nod a bit, and sign out their names: “Likes to Bounce”, “Carries Too Far”, and “Freely Glides”.
The magician smiles a bit at these names; an endeared smile, not a mocking one. “They sound lovely,” She says gently.
She has no idea. I just let out a small, wistful whistle.
“Trixie did not know her parents very well,” The magician admits, “But she still misses them, sometimes. It is healthy, even though it hurts.”
I listen to her intently.
“It reminds us of where we came from, and ensures we don’t forget,” Trixie explains.
Gently, I sign: “Wisdom.”
The magician gives a small chuckle. “Wisdom is for old ponies. Trixie is not old enough for wisdom yet,” She explains.
She is wrong, but I join her in laughing. I do not have the proper organs to laugh, but repeated short whistles seem to carry the point across.
“You are very forgiving,” The magician eventually says, “Trixie thanks you for that.”
I hold her a little tighter, nestling my head into her mane proper and whistling contently.
The magician snickers. “You are not using Trixie as a bed, are you?” She asks.
I let out a small, affirmative whistle, letting my eyes close. The magician is nice; I know I’m safe.
The last thing I hear as I drift off is her chuckling at me. The pain is gone, and thus, sleep comes easy.
Thank you, magician.