//------------------------------// // 12 - The Logistics of Isolation // Story: Death Valley // by Rambling Writer //------------------------------// Amanita was stirred from her slumber by the sound of someone coughing. Sharing magic last night had been tiring in a way she’d never felt before, so she wasn’t surprised that other ponies also weren’t feeling a hundred percent. But they’d managed to learn a lot, even if no one could do much yet. Foal steps. Her head was swimming with a stroke that meant she wouldn’t be getting any further rest. She half-stumbled out of bed, pulled on her furs, and squinted out the window and up. The sky was red, turning to blue, as the sun rose outside Midwich. Licking her lips to get them wet, she meandered down the staircase to the common room. There were still a few ponies there, including a pair at the bar; once Amanita took a seat on the opposite end as them, they got up and went to a far corner. Cabin was standing at the middle of the bar, watching her intently. “Mornin’,” she grunted. “Morning,” Amanita mumbled back. Silence. Amanita blinked a few times and managed to focus on Cabin’s horn. Somehow, after their search, the thief and their room being broken into had completely slipped her mind. Better or worse than the alternative, being hyper-aware that the place she was sleeping in had been robbed? Her brain couldn’t muster up an argument in either direction. “Ye’ll need tae tell me if’n ye want arythin’,” grunted Cabin. “I don’t,” said Amanita. “Not yet.” She rubbed at her eyes. The throbbing in her head was going down, but that meant her tiredness was coming to bear, and it was too late for her to go back up and get any rest. “Unless you’ve got coffee.” She didn’t drink it much herself, but it seemed to wake other ponies up. Even if there was a caffeine addiction running rampant through the country that no one seemed willing to admit. “Got what?” “Never mind.” She didn’t like the smell, anyway, so the taste probably wouldn’t be much better. Cabin grunted. Amanita raised her head and looked at the menu. The menu that seemed to be ninety percent whiskey. Would Cabin serve her whiskey right now if she asked? Probably. But it was a terrible idea for a multitude of reasons. She was about to slouch forward again when she noticed something else: the prices. And that got her thinking just enough to push away some of her tiredness. “Um. Cabin?” Grunt. “You don’t use scrip here?” One of Cabin’s ears twitched as she looked up. “What?” “You’ve been taking our money. Our actual coins. You use bits and not some company token?” “Sure,” she grunted. “Why wouldnae we?” Amanita shrugged, making some vague mumble. “Don’t need to keep cash on hoof. Not much to spend money on. Overcharging at the company store.” Wait, why had she said that last one? Cabin’s ears went down, and they went down fast. Her subsequent inhale and exhale sounded like the cycling of a blast furnace, and when she spoke again, her enunciation was sharp. “Ye’re new here,” she said, “so I’ll let it slide. But ken this: His Grace Tallbush is honest. Everypony he pays, he pays fairly. Everypony he charges, he charges fairly. If he were a king, he’d be a right fine one. And if’n ye say elsewise, yer sleepin’ in the streets tonight.” Where she probably wouldn’t survive until morning. For a duke and company oligarch this far from Canterlot law, Tallbush must’ve been the epitome of a stand-up guy. Or maybe Cabin was in cahoots with him. Either way, Amanita just said, “Sorry, didn’t know.” “And now ye dae,” grunted Cabin. “Dinnae disremember it.” Someone coughed and Bitterroot came ambling down the stairs. She loped across the room and plonked on the seat next to Amanita. “Morning,” she said. Cough. “You feeling alright?” Amanita asked. “Fine, fine,” croaked Bitterroot. “Morning throat. It’ll go away in an hour.” Cough. “So what’s for breakfast?” It wasn’t long before Code and Charcoal were down as well. Breakfast was quick and uneventful, and the moment they were done, Code stood up. “Refresh my memory. Charcoal, you were having a meeting here with Midwinter and Carnelian today, yes?” “Yeah,” Charcoal said with a nod. “About the plumbing. Whether they use spells or potions or something else. I’ve actually got a list of questions I was planning on asking them.” “Good. That sounds like something I ought to sit in on. Amanita, would you mind checking up on the geothaumometers?” “No, I can do that.” Of course, why wouldn’t she be able to? Just walk up to one, take all the relevant measurements, repeat. Easy. (…She really hoped she hadn’t just jinxed herself.) “Should I go through the whole procedure on them? Triangulation, measuring, all that?” “Yes, thank you. I can’t say if they’ll be done just yet, but they should finish before noon.” “Mind if I tag along? I need something to take up the day,” Bitterroot said. “Don’t,” Amanita said flatly. “It’ll be boring.” Even more than you’d expect. When you were taking measurements from a geothaumometer, there wasn’t much to do besides look at gauges and write numbers. “C’mon, examining some magic machinery? Can’t be that dull. You can explain it to me.” “Do you have a bachelor’s in arcane theory?” “…No.” “Then no, I can’t explain it to you. You’d just be sitting around watching me write things on a scroll.” “As opposed to talking about plumbing?” “There’s actually quite a lot of pegasus magic in plumbing,” Charcoal piped up. “Working with water and cleanness… The same sort of stuff that goes into making cloudstone. If you didn’t clean it beforehoof, you’d be picking up a tiny little bit of dirt every time you touched something. And you’ve gotta keep it clean of the dust it picks up…” “Pegasus magic?” asked Bitterroot. “In… plumbing.” Charcoal cocked her head. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? It depends on how it’s used, and it’s not always the most-used form of magic, but sure, you can use it for that.” “…What degree do I need to sit in on plumbing?” “None, I think. I understood it, and I don’t even know what pegasus magic feels like!” Bitterroot glanced at Code. “Do you mind?” “You can sit in if you wish,” said Code. “I can’t imagine why, but I don’t think you’ll get in the way.” “Then I’ll stick around.” Amanita pushed herself to her hooves. “I’ll get the map, and then I’ll be going,” she said. Although right before she headed up, she noticed that Bitterroot gave her an extra look. Probably nothing. Right now, she had geothaumometers to analyze. And a new frame of mind to get into. Bitterroot started kicking herself almost the moment Amanita was out of the inn. It’d been a perfect opportunity to get some time alone with Amanita, with little chance of being interrupted and a nice long time before any of that changed. They could talk things out, see how Amanita was doing. It was the reason Bitterroot had decided to come here, after all. And then Amanita had gotten intense with saying “no”. Bitterroot knew that tone, where Amanita wouldn’t let go of an idea. Not wanting to talk about her past with Circe. Thinking she’d be useless to the Guard once another necromancer came around. And now, treating taking measurements as boring. Unless she was hiding something. Of course, Amanita was the sort of mare who, once she’d decided that she needed to get away from a lich, had dropped a mine on that lich’s head and bolted across the Frozen North with minimal supplies. Sometimes, she did things… bigly. It was possible that analyzing geothaumometers really was that incredibly boring. Maybe Bitterroot should’ve pushed. Maybe she shouldn’t’ve. Ah, well, too late now. There was a chance she could squeeze out an excuse later and get involved anyway. For the moment, though, she was lounging around in the common room of the Watering Hole, wondering if she really wanted to take a look at plumbing. It sounded kinda interesting, admittedly, but not necessarily that interesting. “What time did Midwinter and Carnelian say they’d arrive, again?” she asked Charcoal. “They, uh, didn’t,” Charcoal said. “Just in the morning. I don’t think I’ve even seen a clock around here… They probably don’t need them. I know the Grove didn’t. It’s like, what’s the point? There’s not a lot of people around, and you don’t even need to worry about trains, since there’s only one train that runs on that track… Yeah. Not worth it, really.” “It can make waiting a bit of a pain, though.” “…Yeah.” Luckily, right then, the door banged open, letting the frigid winds of Midwich curl their way in. Midwinter the season entered the building, followed by Midwinter the pony and Carnelian the sullen pony. Midwinter shook some snow from her mane and said, “I do hope we weren’t keeping you waiting.” “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” said Code. Midwinter and Carnelian looked at Bitterroot for a moment before Midwinter said, “Come along. The setup’s downstairs.” Cabin let them into the back; down a narrow staircase below ground was a large, low room. Sputtering light gems that probably needed to have an arcanist look at them illuminated a messy mishmash of whiskey barrels, food, various miscellaneous supplies for the Watering Cave, and whiskey barrels. Down here was everything the inn needed, kept out of the way of company. Midwinter and Carnelian wound their way through like they were used to labyrinthine rooms; Bitterroot and the others took quite a bit longer. Bitterroot could tell when Charcoal because of the way her hornlight reddened slightly and she let out another low string of words that technically weren’t curses but foals oughtn’t hear anyway. Eventually, they pulled their way out and into what felt like a cubby: a small area right in the corner of the room clear of most other barrels and junk. Something that looked like a water heater was standing along one of the walls, while the other hosted an array of piping and rune-carved wooden blocks that Bitterroot was sure would make her feathers curl if she looked at them too long. The second she saw the pipes, Charcoal’s ears went up. “Ooo,” she said, darting up to the wall to squint at one of the blocks. “That’s neat, that’s… Yeah, that’s good.” Carnelian smirked. “You see?” she said. “I told you. You didn’t need to worry about our spells working.” “That’s not what you said,” Charcoal replied disinterestedly, “you said-” Before either one could get a snipe in, Code cleared her throat, making a pre-avalanche sound. “Midwinter,” she said, rather loudly. “What, in general, does this do?” “These form the purifying systems for the Watering Cave,” Midwinter said quickly, gesturing at the pipes with a wing. “We’ve charms and spells running through the whole arrangement.” Charcoal ran a hoof along the pipes and very resolutely didn’t look at Carnelian. “You’re very thorough,” she said idly. “Of course,” said Midwinter. “Water’s the only thing everypony needs, young or old or anything else. It’d be quite a shame if it got contaminated.” “Do you use the same bezel- design in every building?” “Indeed. It helps with keeping everything running properly.” “Right, right.” “We’re, uh, awfully far from the river,” Bitterroot said. “How does-” Carnelian let out a snort. “You’re not very bright, are you?” she muttered. “Not when it comes to plumbing, no.” “We do not get the water,” Midwinter said tightly, “from the river.” She fired a quick glare at Carnelian, who twitched her ears and took a step back. “There are wells beneath the town that we pump water up from, and we can melt snow quickly if it comes tae that.” Charcoal was still inspecting the pipework. “There’s something like a reservation, right? …Reservoir, reservoir.” “Could you speak properly, please?” asked Carnelian. “It’s aggravating when you-” Charcoal snapped to look at her so quickly Bitterroot half-expected to hear the crack of a sonic boom and the air around her grew hazy, but Midwinter stepped in and quickly diverted her attention. “Yes, there’s a reservoir. In fact, we…” The talk trailed on, mostly led by Charcoal. Bitterroot hung around in the back. Why had she decided this would be more interesting than geothaumometers, again? Something about pegasus magic. Every now and then, she heard something interesting, although she never had anything to connect it to. Eventually, she just gave up and slunk her way back upstairs. Maybe whatever she heard about pegasus magic would be engaging, but she couldn’t bring herself to wait that long. The plumbing was just boring. Thank Celestia she didn’t need to force herself to stick with it. She sat back down at the bar, earning a look from Cabin. “Turns out, infrastructure can be boring,” Bitterroot said. She grinned crookedly. “Who knew?” Cabin grunted. “You can ignore me. I’m not ordering anything.” Cabin grunted. Bitterroot looked down at the bartop, tracing the whorls and swirls with her eyes. What was she doing here, really? Waiting around just to see if a friend fell to pieces. When that friend wasn’t even aware of why she was here. Why hadn’t she told Amanita? She was an adult, she deserved to know. Bitterroot slipped into stakeout mode as she thought and time slipped away like water in a river. She rolled her thoughts back and forth, forth and back, around and around, doing her best to consider every angle. …Okay. Next time she had a decent moment to talk with Amanita, she’d tell her. And then… Well. She didn’t know. But it’d be something. She was rattled from her fugue by Carnelian coming back up. “Four waters,” she promptly said to Cabin. “We’re mighty busy.” Cabin nodded and set to it. Carnelian glanced over at Bitterroot and smirked. “Too much for you, hmm?” Shrug. “Guess so. Didn’t understand much.” Carnelian snorted. “You know little pegasus magic, do you?” “I helped manage the weather when I was younger,” Bitterroot said. “Several decades ago. As a teenager. Over the summer. Twice.” “That kirin down there?” Carnelian pointed at the floor. “She knows more than you. What kind of pegasus do you think you are?” Bitterroot’s voice had been sanded down to near-total flatness. “Oh no, people know more than me, aaaaaaaa.” She wiggled her hooves in mock anxiety. “Remember, I’m not really with them officially. Just a hanger-on. I’ve got no specialties they need.” Carnelian frowned, like she’d expected some other response. She opened her mouth, closed it. Said nothing. Cabin put a tray of cups filled with water in front of her. No response. “Look,” Bitterroot continued, flaring her wings slightly, “I don’t use a lot of magic in my life, forgive me if your knowledge set is different than mine.” Carnelian continued to say nothing. Then, without another word, she picked up the tray of cups and trotted back downstairs. Cabin gave her a Look as she departed, then looked at Bitterroot and shrugged. Bitterroot shrugged back. Whatever Carnelian was thinking, that was none of her business. Although… Her throat was still a bit scratchy. “Could I get some water, too?” She was on her third cup when Code came back up from the basement, looking slightly rattled. Bitterroot sat up straight and asked, “Something wrong?” “Yes,” Code said. “They’ve switched to graywater and waste management.” She wasn’t even in the same room and Bitterroot’s wings were already curling. “I would’ve thought you could’ve handled it,” she said. “High Ritualist and all.” “I can handle anything I need to, but if I don’t need to, I don’t see why I should have to,” Code said shamelessly. “I like most of my work, but by no means all of it.” “Heh. Yeah.” “In the meantime, I need to find Tallbush. I’d to get access to the mines so we can look at the ley line in there. I don’t suppose I could convince you to come with me? I could use the extra set of eyes.” Bitterroot thought about Amanita, down by the geothaumometers, and telling her the truth. She couldn’t have done that much work yet, right? They hadn’t been downstairs long. Interrupting her at this point would be like interrupting her just as she got started. “Eh, sure. I don’t have much else going on.” “That’s one way to put it.” Code clicked her tongue and jerked her head towards the door. “Come. Tallbush might be at the town hall.” It was dark, making it hard to see. Amanita’s breath was misting in front of her, making it hard to see. And every now and then, a frigid wind would blow up through Midwich from the north, causing her to squint to protect her eyes and making it hard to see. Amanita would be very happy once she was out of Midwich. The blue sky above seemed to be taunting her. She walked down the road towards the treeline. It was quieter than it’d been any of the other days — no foals playing nearby, no lumberjacks working the trees. Just the crunch of snow beneath her hooves, the wind howling through the forest, and the creaking of branches. Lovely. She pulled her furs tighter around her. Fortunately, the geothaumometers were far enough away from Midwich Forest that Amanita didn’t need to constantly stay on the alert. The first one was close to the road, even. It stood out from the dark as Amanita approached it, its crystalline reservoirs glowing slightly. Still up. Promising. When she got closer, she could feel the hum of the shock circle. More promising. She tried poking it. Bzzt. Just as strong as it’d been yesterday. Animals hadn’t interfered with it, at least. Amanita crouched down to inspect the reservoirs. None of them were full just yet, but getting there. Another hour or two ought to do it, at least for this one. The pendulum was still swinging steadily, in defiance of the wind and gravity. Checking the other geothaumometers: start by heading east or heading west? …East. It felt right for some reason. As she headed east, all the other geothaumometers Amanita checked showed similar results: intact, undisturbed, still a little ways from completion. She didn’t bother turning around once she hit the eastern valley wall; she’d probably see the same results on the western side. She had some time to kill. (Sadly, time was one of the things she couldn’t resurrect.) Settling in for a wait, Amanita boosted the light from her horn to get a better look at her surroundings. She was near one of Tratonmane’s farms, where the villagers were growing… some sort of grain. She took a closer look. Oats. Mmm, oats. Still, it was strange, sitting there in the dark with snow beneath her hooves and the cold biting at her neck while also looking at something as delicious as oats growing just fine. More evidence of the ley line. She was tempted to take a nibble, just to see if they still tasted good, but that wouldn’t be nice. (Did it count as stealing? Probably.) …And while she was thinking of the ley line… She took a seat not too far from the geothaumometer and closed her eyes. What had Charcoal said again? Deep breath in, deep breath out. She let her control over her awareness slacken and spread as she stopped paying attention to time. Her sensation, suspended in her magic, began trickling into the dirt, bit by bit and thought by thought. There it was. The ley line. All the power Circe had told her about, and yet so much more, all that Circe had told her to ignore. It was tiring, eking out little more than subsistence living, day by day. It was satisfying, constantly spitting in the face of hardship, day by day. It was the chill of a focused wind that had had every last ember of warmth rise out of it long ago. It was the warmth of a stove when you stepped into home after a long day. It was dark, Midwich’s cliffs suppressing the sun almost interminably. It was bright, the illuminated walls shining ethereally down on the valley floor as the sun slowly inched towards its zenith. It was nowhere else in the world. It was Tratonmane. And it was overwhelming. Amanita was able to surf the flow at first, but its waves tried to both pull her in and cast her out. The nape of her neck itched like someone was aware of her. Something roiled in the dirt, and before she knew it, she was picking herself off the ground and wiping snow off her face. Still, it was something. Sensation, memory… Valuable things to get from a ley line. She was learning! She’d need to do something about the time, though, see if she could speed it up. It was a shame she was only getting a sense of what Tratonmane felt like after the line had already shifted. Poking into it more would require guesswork. But, hey, she had time to guess. She wiggled her haunches into a slightly more comfortable position and closed her eyes again. Her magic spread her awareness again, back into the soil and frost. There was clearly a sense of place, so maybe she just had to look for the things that didn’t make sense with the place she knew? She let the line run beneath her senses and waited, like dipping a hoof in the water as you floated down a lazy river. If something felt odd, she’d notice it. She didn’t know how long she was waiting, but something stirred through her. Prickly, sharp, the thorns of a rose concealed in a fern. Promising. But where did it come from? Amanita sat and kept wai- “Ehm. Ma’am?” Amanita opened her eyes. An earth pony with a chlorophyllic palette, hooves thicker around than her neck, and breath like a chimney was looking at her with some cross of mild worry and supreme unconcern. From the way the bottoms of her legs were soaked, she’d been outside a while. Farmer, maybe? “You’un alright?” asked the pony. “Uh, yeah, just feeling the ley line,” Amanita said quickly. “Part of the study. I, I’m not in your way, am I? I can move.” One of the pony’s ears flicked. “Nay, ye’re fine.” She didn’t stop staring, though. Once she was no longer meditating, Amanita was aware of a crick in her back and stiffness in her joints (probably signs she’d been doing it wrong). With a groan, she stretched, her back bending like a reverse arch as she kneaded the snow beneath her hooves. She could almost hear her cartilage popping. How long had she been sitting there? Long enough that sunlight was hitting the ground on the opposite side of the valley, at least. Hours. “Are these plants yours?” she asked, mostly to break the silence. “Ech.” The pony shrugged. “In and about. I’s the pony who takes care of ’em, aryways.” “And they only get sunlight for a few hours a day, right?” The farmer looked at Amanita. She looked at the walls of Midwich. She looked at Amanita again, and it was a miracle she wasn’t looking at Amanita with a “you cannot seriously be asking me this” expression painted all across her face. “Aye,” she said not quite flatly. “I’ve heard even-” Amanita groaned as she straightened one of her rear legs. “I’ve heard even earth pony magic struggles in these environments. You’ve harnessed the power of the ley line really well, to be growing this many oats.” She’d seen it while traveling with Circe; villages trying to be self-sufficient could struggle to grow half as many crops as Tratonmane. “…Aye,” said the farmer. “Our foremothers were right fine teachers.” By now, Amanita had worked most of the soreness from her limbs. After giving her leg one last roll, she offered her hoof. “I’m Amanita.” For maybe a fraction of an instant, the farmer looked suspicious. Then the instant passed and she shook. “Rutabaga.” “Pleased to meet you.” On a whim, she added, “You probably know the ley line better than any of the ritualists. Have you felt any changes in it in the past… moon?” And the silence lasted just long enough for Amanita to notice it. She immediately zeroed in on Rutabaga’s body language. She was still, her ears were stiff, and her tail was flicking. And were her eyes a bit wide? But before Amanita could make any guesses, Rutabaga shrugged and either looked up the valley or away from Amanita. “I reckon so. ’Tis… I canne say what is the problem.” “It just feels off?” supplied Amanita. “Aye. But I’m nae help tae ye.” One of Rutabaga’s ears twitched. “Pleasure tae strike up wi’ ye, but I must needs tae be at the greenhouses.” And she was trotting off into the dark. Amanita watched her depart. Convenient excuse to leave or genuine reason to leave? Or genuine reason that provided convenient excuse? She’d seemed surprised at the question… but why? Or was she considering her answer to hide some skeleton in her closet? (And why had Amanita just given her a reason like “it feels off”? Stupid.) She could bring it up with Code later. Right now, the geothaumometer needed rechecking. Especially since, as the reservoirs showed, it had finally gone completely through its cycle. Amanita applied a slight amount of magic to disperse the shock circle, then leaned in close to check the gauges on each reservoir. Nothing seemed abnormal. She jotted down the readings. Meanwhile, the pendulum was still swinging and its edges were now glowing. Pulling out the map of where they’d placed each geothaumometer, Amanita found the first one. Which direction was the pendulum swinging in? She inspected the planisphere. Compass, protractor, straightedge, and the reading was marked on the map. The next geothaumometer went in much the same way. So did the next one and the next one. Amanita was halfway across the valley floor when another shape came out of the darkness from Tratonmane. “Amanita,” said Varnish, nodding to her. She gave him a quick token nod in return as she took readings from the planisphere. “Varnish. Do you need me for something?” “No,” he said. For once, he didn’t sound surly. “Just making sure you’re safe. We don’t want some wolf eating you.” Amanita didn’t think she was that defenseless, but she still said, “Thanks.” Jot jot, angle angle, sketch sketch. She tried to avoid looking at where the pendulum lines were converging, but it was hard to miss that they were coming together near the mine. That could mean a lot of things; Amanita tried to keep all those things out of her head. She could make assumptions when she had all the data. They were about halfway to the next geothaumometer when Varnish cleared his throat and began, “That, ah, charm you cast. On the bear.” Amanita set her jaw as her heart rate jumped slightly. This again? Were they going to just keep pestering her? Maybe it'd have been better if she’d never touched the bear. “Did you make it?” Varnish asked. “I’ve never seen a spell quite like that before.” After the instant of back-and-forth that was all she could spare, Amanita said, “Yeah.” Being the idiot she was, she’d already talked about developing it with Midwinter. There was no better way to attract attention than to change your story. “How’d you do it? It’d warm my blood to be able to cast magic like that.” “I-it’s, y’know, advanced magical research,” Amanita said. She tried to say it casually, nonchalantly, but her own roiling emotions meant her tongue tripped over itself and some of her words came out as a stutter. “Very, very academic. A, a lot of the magic’s only been developed in the last few years, s-so it’s, y’know, probably not known here.” Varnish’s ears folded backward so fast it felt like the tips ought to make whipcrack sounds. “Listen,” he snarled, “if you’re saying-” “I’m saying your magic and mine’s probably developed in different directions,” Amanita said quickly. “Y-you’ve been separate from the colleges in Canterlot for, what, three hundred years? And your magic’s developed in a different direction. We, Canterlot doesn’t even know sharing magic. It’s, your advanced and my advanced are two different advances.” “Hmph.” They headed further west. Amanita ticked off another geothaumometer. The lines on her map were converging, and- “So how’d you start?” It took Amanita a few moments to shift back into the mode Varnish wanted. “The- The bear spell?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Yes. Your ideas, your principles, your-” “It’s complicated,” Amanita said bluntly. “I don’t think I could explain it to you out here.” Which, in spite of her secret, was absolutely true; it was a complicated work of magic. “Can you explain your… your foundation?” Varnish didn’t quite growl. “I’m just asking about your-” “Okay,” said Amanita sharply. “The key is, in Rachis’s Recall Rigmarole, you set the memory factor to infinity, because death is one of the most noteworthy parts of a body’s existence. Does that make sense?” One of Varnish’s ears went down and he blinked. Twice. “…No.” “Then I can’t begin to explain it to you,” said Amanita. “That’s the foundation of it. And before you complain, no amount of complaining can change the facts: you don’t know enough for me to explain this to you. Look, I’m busy, find me later if you want to talk about it.” Varnish might’ve said something. Amanita ignored him. With every step she took westward, she got a little bit closer to daylight. At the very least, she could handle unreasonable requests better when she wasn’t squinting through the gloom. Finally, she reached the edge of the valley’s shadow. As she walked into the sunlight, Amanita blinked. After spending so long in the dark, the light practically hurt and she wanted to shy away from it. But it was better for her, literally and metaphorically. She breathed deeply as she let her hornlight go. She’d felt sore in the past, when she’d tried to use more magic than she was able to, but she’d never felt anything like this ache. But the light meant it was easier to take readings from the geothaumometers, and the last few blazed past. The reservoir readings didn’t mean much to Amanita at the moment, but the triangulating… It was actually kind of astounding how closely the lines converged on each other. Amanita had assumed the intersections would be spread over a wide range, but this region was relatively tight — the size of a small house, maybe. Once Amanita had oriented herself and placed the node in real space, there was only one clear conclusion: as expected, the source of the ley line was in the mine. Code would be happy with the simplicity, at least. Maybe Charcoal, too. But mines were mines, some of the most dangerous places in Equestria. The Tratonmanians might not let the crew in, for their own safety. Or maybe that’d be their excuse for keeping them out. Shaking her head, Amanita crumpled up her maps and strolled past the farm in the light, whistling a light and bouncy tune.