//------------------------------//
// Pleading & Request 
// Story: Asterism's Parable of the River 
// by gloamish 
//------------------------------//

Canterlot Castle was a place of sunshine, even more so than the rolling meadows of Equestria where ponies played in the light. White and gold cascaded and reflected the light all around, caressed and brushed and turned around again by marble like a hapless stallion at a masquerade. True indoors was a rare thing in its halls — it was as much shades and promenades as rooms and hallways, four walls being a rarity when three and the day's broadside would suffice. While it possessed quarters and cellars which were necessarily closed off, even they were shot through with sunbeams from tall windows and skylights. It was built to genuflect in the glory of the day, and every one of the extensive meetings with diplomats, nobles, and the Princess was taken in the sun.

The pianissimo beat of a filly's trot on marble was not exactly a new sound to the castle. Foals often trotted through in herds on field trips from the various schools in the city and beyond, but the maids who cast from room to room in their work had to push down their natural instinct for this particular rendition, because a lone filly typically meant a lost filly, strayed from her tour group and usually already either sobbing with confusion or getting into the linens.

This filly was not crying, lost, or even alone. She was Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia's personal protégé, and she was accompanied by the Princess herself, whose ethereal passage made as much noise as she wished, which for the moment was none. This silence was more than made up for by the filly's enthusiastic questioning, which could be heard echoing down any adjacent hallway.

"How big is the castle, Princess?"

"Smaller than you might think, as a matter of fact," the Princess answered with her usual grace and patience. "The throne room, a couple ballrooms, a few staterooms, five meeting halls, six dining halls, and various quarters for the maids, guards, and myself... Oh, and the cellars, and the towers, and of course the hallways and staircases connecting it all..."

"It feels really big..." Twilight huffed in response.

Princess Celestia glanced down at the filly doing her best to keep up with her reduced pace. "Oh, I'm sorry, Twilight. I know it's all scaled for... well, me, not a filly. Would you like me to walk more slowly?"

"No!" yelped Twilight, a look of horror on her face. "No, Princess, I don't want to slow you down! Your legs are just so much longer than mine," she said, looking down at her stubby appendages as they carried her onwards. "When are you going to teach me to teleport?"

Again, there was silence apart from Twilight's hoofsteps.

It wouldn't do for Celestia to reject Twilight's question outright, as audacious as it seemed. From what she knew of the filly, she was very sensitive to rejection. She suspected the disaster that ended her entrance exam was partially due to the state she'd been left in after a perceived failure — to shut down any questions outright could close her student off to her. But Twilight had an analytical mind, so every answer only seemed to precede another question. Celestia minded it less than she thought she would.

Finally, Celestia looked down at the filly traipsing alongside her, meeting her expectant look. "Pardon?"

"I'm ready!" Twilight exclaimed, her enthusiasm bubbling over in a steady acceleration that Celestia had to move at quarter-speed to keep pace with. "I know the constituent stars for the safe, standardized version! I even studied the history, right down to the five-star wish originally discovered by Crowflight!"

"And what are the standard version's stars?" Celestia asked, hedging with a pop quiz.

"an-Nasl and ar-Risha!" Twilight supplied, bright-eyed. "an-Nasl links where you are and where you want to go... and then ar-Risha pulls you through!"

"And how many wishes have you practiced with each of them?" Celestia pressed, finding her angle. She could scare Twilight with the hazards of amateur teleportation (which mostly consisted of height-related hazards most pegasus fillies had already navigated by this age), but she no longer considered fear a useful teacher. It did not answer questions, only suppressed them... and led the asker to seek answers elsewhere.

Still, Twilight wilted. "None... I've felt for an-Nasl, but... it's weird," Twilight said, wrinkling her nose. "Like it's there, but also not? Or like I only have half of it. Moonbeam just skips over the feel of it and goes right to the hard stuff... But you can teach me! I'm your student, aren't I?"

"Yes, and I am your teacher," Celestia replied, meeting Twilight's eyes to push down the memory of a cyan contrast from not so long ago. "I took you on so that you may learn control, first and foremost. It is not yet time to explore new power." She shifted her gaze back ahead. "Besides, what use do you have for teleportation? Most only learn it to navigate hazardous environments, as in rescue work." Which wouldn't be suitable for Twilight at her age, regardless of how precious she'd look in a fire brigade uniform.

"Well, I won't have to walk everywhere anymore!" She stuck out a hoof, gesturing to the length of the promenade, and no doubt hinting at how much time it would save to be able to teleport from one end to the other with such a clear sightline.

That brought a few things to mind. First, it was not an 'if' but a 'when' to Twilight — what would happen if she was told she would never teleport? Worse, Twilight planned to use magic to circumvent the work of 'common ponies', which could be a symptom of indolence or, worse, egotism. Lastly, the filly before her thought herself capable of teleportation, a dyadic wish only registered by the tenth percentile of astrologists. Most unicorns typically learned it well into adulthood, save the rare few with a teleportation-related cutie mark.

Then again, given what Twilight's cutie mark was, Celestia wasn't sure she was wrong.

There were other issues. The curious filly was hard enough to keep track of already (so long as she wasn't muzzle-deep in a book), and she wasn't her responsibility alone, either. But her student wouldn't be satiated by empty promises of "later" or "when you're older." Celestia needed something concrete, a plan she could follow.

She thought of her own experience with the wish. It wasn't one she used often, for good reason: if certain clipboard-wielding ponies found out how quickly she could get from point A (Auditorium) to point B (Balcony), all her schedules would shrink like dresses in the wash. Even if little Twilight didn't like them, her constitutionals from appointment to appointment were essential to her ongoing sanity.

"Princess, wait for me!"

Celestia startled, then looked behind her to see Twilight at a distant bend in the hallway, galloping in an attempt to catch up with her. Chiding herself internally, she turned and sat on her haunches to wait. She had thought her habit of getting lost in thought and losing her forced little pony pace broken, but...

Actually, she'd certainly seen her seneschal, Sheaf, puffing around the yard with the cadets in the pre-dawn hours at least twice recently.

That memory hung alongside the hurrying filly, and she felt embarrassed once again at how the fabric of the world seemed to give beneath her, despite centuries of effort to the contrary. Even her student hurried faster rather than being reassured by her patience. She was so lost in her petty shame that she didn't even notice at first when Twilight got tangled in her hooves and pitched forward, landing on the carpet with an 'oof'.

Pulling herself up, Celestia trotted to meet her student. "Are you alright, Twilight?" she asked, leaning down so their heads were level.

Twilight was sitting on her haunches, looking down at her right foreleg with fascination. "I scraped my knee," she stated. Then, as blood welled up from the wound, tears followed from her eyes. "I sc—scraped my knee..." she repeated, voice wavering, looking up at Celestia with watery eyes. It was then, in those wide, vulnerable eyes, that she remembered when she'd first seen Twilight, before the fateful exam that nearly sundered her castle with overflowing wishes.

It had been the nine-hundred and eightieth Summer Sun Celebration, a rare occasion on which she'd held it in Canterlot rather than visiting another city. Raising the sun in front of her little ponies made her a little uncomfortable, but the look in the eyes of the purple-indigo filly in the front row struck her as different. Adoration and appreciation were par for the course, but Twilight Sparkle had looked at her with awe.

Where other ponies looked and saw their Princess raising the sun, a simple fact of nature, it felt as if Twilight saw the work of a pony. As if she could see far into the past, gazing at the adolescent blank-flank who had toiled and cried and begged with the cracked gray eggshell of the world, pleaded to heave open the gate of life and bring the dawn of the age of ponies. Somehow, that filly had known the simple fact that all others denied: Celestia had earned her cutie mark, just like anypony else.

Sniffling pulled her back into the present, back into the view of those same eyes. "I want mom..." whined the only pony who had truly seen Celestia in centuries, and so she remembered her duty.

Closing her eyes, she rolled her neck and felt for the soothing glow of al-Ruba. Finding it, she pulled and found the dull pulse of Twilight's pain. She entwined its power with al-Udhrah's, then guided it to the red wound and felt it fade. A mouthkerchief kept folded in her petral was unfolded and found its way to Twilight, wiping away the blood that remained. The filly winced instinctively at the touch, but then her eyes widened when there was no pain.

Unfettered by curiosity, Twilight's pout returned. "... Mom usually kisses it better..." she mumbled, not looking up from the carpet where her blood marred the royal yellow. Celestia smiled, reveling in the simple ways of fillies. Leaning down in obligement, she

remembered.

Adoration, praises, verse

Private chambers swathed with silks, light and voices both like dripping honey

Parades and festivals and a temple

full of golden tapestries.

Celestia! Celestia! O, Celestia!

Shining sun of all the world!

A forgotten shadow roused from her chambers, the full moon, hung high in the sky, deep blues and purples and blacks slashed across the runny pink of a miscarried dawn, all of it, pressing down like a hoof on her chest, a weight as familiar as her petral, her own sister, her only sister, traded away for empty adoration and meaningless praise—

A dark, deep forest, leagues away, where she was awaited.

She drew back, not a sudden jerk but the practiced motion of a thousand years. "I'm afraid she's not here, Twilight Sparkle. Can you walk?"

Twilight looked down, sniffed once more, then gathered herself. "... Yes, Princess." Yes, that was how it should be. Princess and subject. Mentor and student. Any closer, and...

They continued down the hallway toward the pavilion, accompanied by birdsong and sunshine. Celestia decided that, today, honesty was the best policy. "Is it so bad, Twilight Sparkle, to spend a little time getting somewhere?" To stall a while, to tarry in a moment? To delay the inevitable?

"Yes!" she whined. "I could still be in the library, reading, or in the tower! Reading!"

Celestia gazed out the window to hide her little smile. "Not everything can be learned in books, my student."

"Well, why don't they just write that stuff down?" Twilight grumbled in response.

"Not everything can be written down. Poetry, for example, is an attempt to fit feelings to the page, but poets are always straining against the limits of language."

Her ears pressed down, as if she wanted to block out the mere idea of artistry. "That's feelings, though."

"Your mother, Twilight Velvet. She loves you very much, doesn't she?" Celestia had certainly heard the mare gush enough about her daughter to know she wasn't misstepping.

"Bunches and bunches," Twilight said, striking a proud pose. It quickly fell apart into confusion. "... But why's that matter?"

"Do you know that to be true because she said so? Or do you feel it?"

"... The second one. 'Mom loves me' isn't an ax—... an axis."

"Axiom," Celestia supplied.

"An axiom. It's a... theory, based on a lot of little things. Like she tucks me in. And cuts my toast into guards so I can dip it."

"Then when she tells you she loves you, do you trot through all the evidence in your head? Or do you just... feel it?"

"I guess I... If I just read that she loved me, it wouldn't be the same..." Twilight mumbled.

"And here we are," Celestia announced as they arrived at the door to the tower where they took their lessons. Twilight practically bounced out of her moroseness, bounding into the large room. As always, she spun in a circle with a clatter of hooves, taking in all the bookshelves piled right to the tower's distant apex, excitement plain on her face just as it was the first time she'd entered.

Celestia paused at the threshold. Twilight reacted so well to honesty — the filly had already developed a distaste for the intricacies and deceptions of social interaction, especially in Canterlotian society. Once again, Celestia put off breaking the news that her student would have to learn them. "Twilight, I enjoy our walks."

"... Really?" Twilight asked, tearing her gaze away from the books to look at Celestia.

"Absolutely."

Twilight stared at her for a few more moments, then turned back to the shelves. Just when Celestia was about to retrieve the wooden blocks they used for sway practice, Twilight spoke up: "... I... guess I can wait a little longer to learn to teleport. If it's for you, Princess."

Celestia smiled down at her student. "Thank you, Twilight. Waiting is an excellent skill to learn." She shifted her gaze from the blocks to the books that caught Twilight's eye. "Before we get into the day's exercises with sway... Perhaps we can do a little reading, hm?"

The resulting squeal of delight bounced off the high walls, knocking a patrolling pegasus off-course.



Twilight Sparkle's home filled Celestia with a certain longing. She'd often take meetings with citizens like this, visiting them in their own homes rather than inviting them into the inevitably-intimidating castle. Receiving a Princess was an honor, and inviting her into their homes left them feeling gracious and open. The experience on her part, however, varied: she'd lost count of the number of vacuous manors she'd taken tea in, in rooms that felt like they had been built for the occasion and would be demolished soon afterwards.

This kitchen was nothing like that. By the sink, a few dishes lay in a drying rack, in no hurry on their journey to the cabinets. Above those, a broad window looked out on a cozy garden fenced off from the street by rose bushes. A large oak kept it pleasantly shaded in the summer sun. Inside, memorabilia were scattered across the walls: newspapers with Twilight's stories and awards Night Light had received, some of them personally bestowed by Celestia. A small stack of papers sat on the floor beside the table, the top one showing a drawing of Celestia's own cutie mark in crayon.

Around the table sat Celestia, Twilight Velvet, and Night Light. Twilight had had the forethought to furnish Celestia with an appropriately-sized cushion, and the two parents each sat on their own, forehooves propped on the table. A pot of tea and three cups were arrayed atop it as well, and Twilight was pouring tea. In the other room, Twilight Sparkle was eating sandwiches with her brother, Shining Armor. As always with Twilight, 'eating sandwiches' wasn't quite an accurate summary of her actual activity, which was reading with a side of eating.

"Twilight is an exceptional student," Celestia said. "Her voraciousness in learning is enviable, her veraciousness in character admirable." Twilight Velvet and Night Light were two ponies one didn't have to mince vocabulary around; Twilight the younger was exactly the product she'd expect from a union of journalist and scholar. Unfortunately, she'd also inherited her mother's bluntness and her father's reclusiveness. "But I wonder about her friendships."

"I'm sure there's nothing to be worried about, Celestia," Night Light said.

"That's the issue," Celestia said, turning to the azure stallion. "She has no friendships to worry about."

His gaze slid away from hers. "Well, as you know, Twilight is... asocial, like us—"

"Antisocial is the word, Night Light," Celestia said, cutting him off with a curtness only reserved for those close to her. "And yes, she's certainly inherited that trait."

It was a familiar argument — their words, oft repeated, fit comfortably into the grooves they'd dug. As with any time-worn thing, whether it be a bedraggled doll, a tooth-worn tool, or her own self, she couldn't help her fondness for it.

And it wasn't as if Celestia was wrong. She'd worked with Night Light for two decades as he'd risen through the ranks of the Astronomer's Guild, and only learned in Twilight's entrance exam that he had not only a wife, but two foals as well. He wasn't a furtive pony, but he certainly wasn't a forthcoming one, either. Even his wife, who was naturally the more assertive of the two, kept her social circle small with the discerning quality-over-quantity approach of an accomplished journalist.

It made her worry for their daughter and her future. What lessons could she teach the filly, beyond the magic she was so desperate to learn? What twists and turns would she have to be guided away from? Which obstacles would she need help getting over, and which would be best to let her tackle alone? Perhaps Cadence...

Three centuries ago, her seneschal Scintillation had suggested bonsai as a hobby. Celestia found it a little fast-paced for her liking.

Twilight's... asociality had been a problem she'd suspected since meeting the filly. She'd confirmed it many times since, and had circled around the subject often in her monthly progress meetings with her parents. She'd tackled it head-on several times, delicately at first, but each time was met with the same defenses. Twilight Velvet insisted that there was no forcing friendship and that some fillies, herself included, were mares before they found their peers. Night Light hemmed and hawed and, in the end, said that she wasn't unhappy, so there wasn't a problem.

This time, however, she seemed to get through to him. Unable to stand the sight of his drooping ears, she brushed a primary under his chin, raising his gaze to meet hers. "You should come for dinner at the castle soon. I hardly see you since your promotion, I can count in one round the times I've seen your wife, and I only learned you have a son because I check the enrolment registry for the cadets every now and again."

Night Light smiled. "Sorry, Princess. I'm getting older — ever since we had Shining and then Sparkle, the years just blow by."

"Yes, I can relate to that, at least." Nine hundred and eighty-five. "But connecting with others keeps us in the present, neither slipping into the future nor being dragged back into the past. That's precisely what I want for Twilight Sparkle."

Night Light drooped even more. "I'm... I didn't think we were raising her that badly, or... robbing her of a happy life."

Retracing her conversational steps, Celestia realized just what she'd done: she'd forced both ponies into a position of contrition before asking them a favor. She silently cursed herself and prepared a retreat. "No, Night Light, I am sorry. Your social proclivities are your business. If it wasn't so incompatible with my station, I would likely take my own sojourns away from ponies at times. Twilight is young and very focused, she'll surely start to be curious about other ponies soon."

Night Light perked up, but Twilight remained stoic and watchful, her eyes not leaving Celestia, her mouth hidden behind the rim of her teacup.

"I digress," Celestia said. "I came here today to discuss her magical curriculum, not her social one."

"Please can I learn to teleport?!"

All three adults turned to look at the door to the living room. The filly in question was practically vibrating with energy, to the point Celestia found herself wondering what Twilight Velvet put in her sandwiches.

"Shining? Did Twilight eat her sandwich?" Twilight Velvet called, leaning over to look into the other room.

"Please can I learn to teleport?"Twilight asked again, recommencing the campaign that began a premature lunch.

"Yes ma'am! I mean, yes mom!" came their son's voice from the other room, half-muffled by sandwich. Celestia realized that the young colt was hiding from her. She would have to check in on the guard school and make sure they weren't printing intimidating posters of her likeness again. More likely, they just selected for a certain amount of admiration.

"I'm thinking of an advancement in Twilight's curriculum," Celestia said, turning to Twilight Velvet. "While her sway exercises have been and will be instrument in her development, we risk understimulation. Conjugate wishes will help her understand not just the stars themselves, but the relationships between them. It's a complex wish, and I admit it's a little early for her to—"

"If it's so early, why are you even thinking of teaching it to our daughter?" Twilight Velvet interrupted, her teacup clinking against her saucer.

Simultaneously, the little voice they'd both tuned out came back into focus as it stepped up another octave. "Please can I learn to teleport? Please can I learn to teleport? Please can I learn to teleport?"

Celestia smiled tiredly. "As a teacher, it is my duty to indulge my student's curiosity." Seeing the steel in Twilight Velvet's eyes, she added, "And as her ward, it is my duty to ensure my charge's safety. I fear that without guidance, she will simply teach herself, which would be far more dangerous."

"You imagine that our daughter, a filly of twelve, could teach herself teleportation?" Twilight Velvet asked, skeptical.

Celestia and Night Light looked at each other, then back at her.

"Twilight Velvet," Celestia began, "as you know, many unicorns go their entire life making only the simplest wishes. Even here in Canterlot, most only know one or two conjugate wishes, typically dyads consisting of two stars used together, most often involving that unicorn's patron star. Teleportation is one such dyad. Even the most advanced wishes known to our astrologists only involve five parts." She looked down at her teacup, swirling around the single mouthful of tea left.

Celestia looked Twilight Velvet in the eye. "On the day she earned her mark, your daughter made, among others, a twelve-part wish. One whose mechanics my scholars still do not fully understand a year after the fact."

Celestia was glad that Twilight the younger was too preoccupied to see her mother's face as the mask of concern cracked and revealed the fear hidden beneath — fear she suspected had been lurking there ever since her brief stint as agave tequilana. "Night Light, could you take Twilight out in the garden?" Twilight Velvet asked, her voice only trembling a little.

Night Light, to his credit, did so immediately, gently but insistently nudging the still-needling younger Twilight until her scholastic requests were cut off by the closing door.

The two mares, one mother and one Princess, were left in silence. Celestia let it steep until finally, Twilight Velvet lifted her chin to meet her gaze. "... No."

"... Pardon?"

"No, you may not teach my daughter to teleport," Velvet repeated, and the slight tremor in her hinds gave Celestia an inkling as to why.

She placed her teacup on its saucer without a sound. "May I ask why not?"

"... Because she's only a filly," the not-yet Bearer of Magic's mother murmured, eyes cast down again. "You are responsible for all of us, of course, and I'm grateful, but... Twilight is special." Her voice cracked, hinting at the intensity of the emotions beneath. "I know that to her this has been the greatest year of her life. But, to us..." She trailed off, focus drifting toward the window above the kitchen sink.

Outside, her husband was boosting their scrabbling daughter up the grand oak tree in their backyard, one she'd surely climbed at least a hundred times. A well-loved and oft-repaired swing hung from one branch, swaying in the breeze as if remembering all the times her son must have pushed Twilight in it, higher and higher. She forced her gaze back down to the grain of the dining table. "Was there ever a time you weren't meant for great things, Princess?"

Celestia thought back to the roiling chaos of the world she'd been born into. She remembered the stories of her sister being born: how she had been so silent that they only knew she was alive by her flowing tears, and herself: how she had raised her head to the stars like she could pull them down. She thought of how her parents had held them both close, knowing they were the last of their kind, lucky enough to be conceived moments before the second sundering, years after that of earth, years before that of sky.

After them, across the city, was the first pegasus. She could learn neither the dances nor the wishes of her parents, and they wept, for her and for themselves. Shortly, they were not alone in their mourning.

"... No. I don't believe there ever was."

Twilight Velvet sighed. "I'm in denial, I suppose. My little Sparkle must be the same way. Last time we hired a foalsitter, we came home to him bored out of his mind and her sitting in exactly the same place we left her, still reading. I just..." She trailed off.

Celestia gave her an encouraging smile. "You've raised a wonderful daughter, Twilight Velvet. I cannot speak for Harmony's design, but I have faith she'll do great things."

"That's just it." A quiet releasing of breath. "I can't really say no, can I? It's like trying to sway the sun. As you said, even if you didn't teach her, she'd teach herself." She took another sip of tea.  "... She's such an incredible learner. But... Around the time I had Shining, my mother told me that mothers need to be needed, maybe more than their fillies need them." She looked down, eyes hidden behind her bangs. "It's like she's already outgrown me."

Celestia raised a hoof and placed it on Twilight Velvet's shoulder, careful to keep her actual weight off the much smaller pony. "She still needs you. While she is a prodigy in magic, she's still only a filly in every other respect. She needs love as much as any other, and there's nopony who can provide it better than her family."

Velvet's eyes flicked downward and her mouth pressed into a neutral line. Celestia recognized it as the expression of a pony making a concentrated effort to contain something ugly inside herself. "You're right, Princess. Thank you." Twilight Velvet was looking out the window again, her expression controlled. "She really does adore you, you know."

Celestia followed Twilight's gaze and saw her daughter there, framed by the oak's boughs, high enough to worry if Night Light wasn't standing diligently below. She was looking directly back with wide eyes, caught. Celestia gave her a smile, as she always did when she caught her student staring, and Twilight glanced away with embarrassment showing on her cheeks.

The Princess allowed a possible future to trot through her mind. Twilight Sparkle would come in from the garden, full of hope, only to be met with her mentor's refusal. The only world she cared for would be closed off to her for reasons beyond her understanding, leaving her only with dull concentration exercises that inspired nothing. It would grant a few years in her mother's embrace, one she would inevitably squirm out of, filled with resentment. And then...

She shook her head. The despair that had pooled in the impression left by her previous student's departure was still soaked into her mind, but the arrival of Twilight had thrown open the windows. Everything was starting to air out. In the new light, the desperation of her previous plan had struck her. Now, she knew she couldn't afford to lose this new opportunity as she had the last.

The oak's strong branches and the way they supported Twilight brought to mind a little library in Ponyville. She leaned down, across the table, closer to Twilight the elder. "She still needs you, Twilight Velvet. I may be a Princess, but you are her mother. Even after all this time, I miss my own dearly." Twilight Velvet's eyes widened at the concept. "You are irreplaceable."

She sniffled, then nodded. Celestia knew her well enough to tamp down on her desire to walk around the table and embrace her; unlike her daughter, she didn't seem to thrive on external validation. Or, perhaps, like her daughter, she didn't accept validation she didn't feel she'd earned. So, instead, she poured herself another cup of tea, topping up Twilight's cup as well. They sat there, enjoying the aroma for a moment, until the younger mare broke the silence. "You can teach her. Whatever she needs or wants. I trust you."

Celestia frowned, pulling it down like a blind over her relief. "Twilight, I did not come here to coerce you."

Twilight Velvet just blew on her tea, then took a sip. "I know you didn't, and you haven't. I really mean it, Princess. I trust you. You're the steward of the sun, the moon, and Equestria. But more importantly, you're Twilight's... I don't even have a word for it. Not even she does." Velvet glanced at Celestia, watching her out of the corner of one eye. "And I know she's important to you as well... even if I don't yet know entirely why.

"But you didn't ask to advance her curriculum due to her potential. It was because you saw that she wanted to learn, and knew you should involve us in that process. You care about her. You don't just want to foster her power — you want to nurture her passion. How can I possibly deny that? Besides," she chuckled, "have you tried saying no to her before? I think even you would have trouble, Princess."

"I'm sure I would," Celestia replied with a smile. "Thank you, Twilight. I'm sure your daughter will be overjoyed to hear this."

"'Over' is right," Velvet replied with a fond eyeroll. "I swear, she's springy as a deer when she gets excited, and she always does when it comes to astrology. Perhaps we'll get lucky and she'll be as natural a talent in etiquette as she is in magic."

Celestia laughed. "I certainly hope not. It's been a long time since I had a student so young, and so many entrants in my school are taught shame for their youth... The castle staff is already growing fond of her." She sipped her tea. "Speaking of staff, I'd like to recommend a foalsitter that may be able to budge her from her reading spot..."