The memories end. I had lagged us behind in the moments of remembrance, allowing the wannabes to pull ahead. I have us pick up the pace again moments before they yank skywards. We follow, both of our wings narrowing to compensate. I notice the black smoke with dark blue lightning trailing behind them. Just like us.
The wannabes lead the way, bursting through the clouds covering part of the lands around Canterlot. They twist as they burst out the top, barrel-rolling parallel to the clouds. We follow suit, drawing next to them as we skim the clouds with our hooves.
We barrel-roll-twist back through the clouds, plummeting straight down towards a crowd of spectators. We both pull up just in time, our smoke trails mere feet above the ponies. The wannabes pull ahead again. ‘NO! We can’t be beat! We are the best!’ I convey to the others, leading us to push harder.
But it doesn’t help; the wannabes pull farther ahead as we concentrate on circling back around to the start. We flap our wings harder, faster, making them burn with exertion. Our breath billows in and out hotly. Sweat breaks. And we lose.
They reach the village long before us. They land just outside it amongst a crowd cheering and awing at them. We land a distance away, ears and tails drooping. We have lost. They know the truth about us. Our days are past. Our fall has come.