//------------------------------//
// Additional Research: O Fortuna, pt. 1 
// Story: The Stranger and Her Friend 
// by TheUrbanMoose 
//------------------------------//

Twilight took a great deal of pleasure in the organization of her workspace. She treated it like an interactive work of art, and came to know, appreciate, and love it more deeply than any painting or sculpture. Each one was just a little bit different, but her favorite was by far the study in her own library.

She enjoyed a fine oak table, made from the very tree it was housed in, smooth and finished, arranged to be perfectly square with the architecture around it. Atop it sat perfectly squared books, next to a stack of perfectly squared papers, next to three perfectly squared quills. Sometimes, the last quill would be slightly crooked towards the parchment, if she was feeling spontaneous. She would nudge it askew, ever-so-gently, and giggle at the result.

Thus it was currently arranged, glowing in the evening sunlight streaming through the library windows, sitting proudly and perfectly organized. It stood as a beacon of civility, like the flag of a conqueror claiming this spot in the name of order. It filled Twilight with pride; if workspaces were works of art, hers was a masterpiece.

In an instant, she set two hooves on the table, and swept it all away.

“No, no, no!”

Spike dodged away and covered his head as papers went flying in every direction and books came crashing to the ground.

“What the hay, Twilight?” he protested, stomping a foot on the floor. “I spent, like, an hour organizing that for you!”

Twilight, frantically shuffling through the papers and books still on the table, barely seemed to hear him. “Where is it? Where is it? Spike, where is it?”

“C’mon Twilight, you’ve asked me that a million times now! I don’t know!” Spike pulled the sharp end of an errant quill out of his scaly hide, grumbling and flicking it away. “Is this envelope really that important?”

Suddenly, Twilight stopped. “It’s not an envelope, it’s a thin box,” she said evenly. She then wheeled away from the table to face her assistant, papers flying as she flung her hooves into the air above him. “And it’s extremely important! It’s the most important thing in Equestria! In the world!”

“Why is-”

“It is the, most, important, thing, ever! And I’ve lost it!”

Twilight drew closer, taking a step towards Spike on every syllable until her face was inches away from his.

He merely rolled his eyes. “I’ll say.”

Without warning, Twilight’s form was replaced with a burst of crackling purple sparks, vanishing as she teleported to the second floor of the library.

“If it’s so important,” Spike shouted up the stairs, “why can’t you remember where you put it?”

There was another sudden pop directly behind him. He jumped in surprise, and pivoted on his heels to see a very upset Twilight.

“I do remember where I put it!” She raced over to her now completely disorganized work desk. “I put it right here!” she said, pointing to a specific spot. “And now, a few days later, it’s just… just gone! Poof! Vanished!”

Spike raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, which only served to make her more frustrated. He may have doubted her, but she knew she had set it on her desk. A royal chariot had taken her home a few days ago, and the first thing she did was put it there. After allowing herself some hours for a well-deserved and much needed nap, she rose from her bed, not completely rejuvenated but very eager to research, beginning, of course, with the princess’s letters.

It never happened. She had been in Ponyville four whole days, but not once did she get the chance. Seemingly all at once, her friends were besieged by a multitude of problems, all of which deserved her attention. How could she have known that Applejack would need help fending off a stray timberwolf? Or that Rainbow Dash’s mane would suddenly and inexplicably lose all its color? Or that Fluttershy would find Cerberus’s puppy, and try to care for it? Or that Pinkie Pie would turn invisible, for no apparent reason?

All of these matters, and more, kept her from studying the most important research project in the world. The climax of it all came when Spike had informed her of a letter he received from the princess. Apparently, Celestia was able to clear up some time just for the two of them, and had scheduled an appointment for that very night. A chariot would depart for her soon.

Surprising herself, Twilight realized she would have preferred not to go. There were still so many things that needed double-checking, so many points that needed to be studied. Still, she knew chances like this did not come very often, and so she decided she would indeed go. Besides, it would be rude to decline an invitation from the princess herself.

Not that Celestia had necessarily asked her. She had simply assumed her student would jump at the chance, and rightfully so. In any other circumstance, she would have.

Nevertheless, Twilight packed her things and put them by the door, leaving only a few books, three quills, some ink, some parchment, and of course, the princess’s box unpacked. It would be two hours before the chariot arrived, and she figured she could at least read the letters in that time, and maybe even take some notes on them.

Only, to her surprise and utter horror, the box was nowhere to be found.

The next two hours had been spent frantically searching for it, with zero success.

“Listen, I don’t know where it went, but we need to find it. So stop standing around and help me look!” Once again, she vanished in a shower of sparks.

“Twilight,” Spike called, a note of complaint edging into his voice. “We’ve scoured this place from top to bottom. Can’t we take a break?”

“No!” Twilight shouted from the top of the stairway, retreating to search her bedroom for the sixth time.

Spike climbed the stairs after her, watching as she dug around in a nearby closet. “What about when the royal chariot gets here?”

“No, not even when the…” She stopped, slightly withdrawing her head from the closet. “Well, I am not going to waste the princess’s time by being tardy. But the chariot won’t be here for another-”

“The chariot’s here.”

Twilight stood straight up, nearly jumping in surprise. “What?!”

She turned around to see Spike standing near her bedroom window, motioning towards it with his thumb. Twilight teleported, popping into existence right in front of Spike and nearly knocking him off his feet. Sure enough, a gleaming golden chariot drawn by four royal guard pegasi was touching down in front of her library.

Her eyes seemed to bulge at the sight. She quickly retreated from the window, putting her back flat against the wall next to it as if she were hiding. Her chest heaved in and out as she took deep, panicking breaths.

“Don’t you think you’re overrea-”

A sudden knock on the door elicited a frightened squeak from Twilight.

Spike shook his head. “I’ll get it.”

He ran out of the room and down the stairs. Twilight stayed where she was, slowly sliding down the wall and collapsing to the ground. “Ohhhhh…” she moaned. “What am I going to do, what am I going to do?”

Her mind came up with a dozen courses of action, each less viable than the last. She shifted to her belly, putting her forehead to the ground and covering herself with her hooves. “If the princess finds out I took it…”

“What’s inside this box, anyways?”

Twilight looked up and saw Spike standing in front of her.

“Where are the guards?” she asked.

“Outside, loading your stuff.” He cast a thoughtful glance back down the stairs. “It’s probably gonna take them a while.”

She lowered her head back to the floor, again covering it with her hooves. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “Letters. Letters that belong to the princess. And a small chain necklace with a jeweled, sword-shaped charm on the end. Also probably hers.”

“Really? That’s it? So the princess is missing some of her mail. Big deal.” Spike shrugged. “And I saw the necklace when you opened the box, Twilight, before you left. It was kind of… I dunno, small, I guess. Princess Celestia has way better jewelry than that, she’ll never miss it!”

“No, you don’t understand!” Twilight said, rising to her hooves and starting to pace. “Those letters were likely very personal! Losing those is like… like losing somepony’s diary! And who knows what that necklace is, or what it means to her!”

“So why did you steal them?”

“Borrowed. I borrowed them.”

“If losing these letters is like losing somepony’s diary, isn’t reading them like that too?”

“That’s not the point!” Twlight continued pacing in a tight circle. “Oh… Ohhh… I meant to return them…”

“And now you can’t.”

She stopped and cast an angry scowl at her assistant. It quickly petered out, however, losing intensity until it was no more than a despairing grimace. Spike saw Twilight’s lip quiver and her eyes moisten before she turned her head away.

“Twilight…” Spike walked closer to her, tilting his head and wearing a concerned frown. “How about this? I’ll keep looking while you travel to Canterlot. If I find them, I’ll send them to you with dragonfire.”

Twilight was silent. Eventually, she sniffed, rubbed at her nose with a hoof, and then turned back towards him. Her eyes were wide, and her lips pursed.

“Will that get you to calm down?” Spike asked.

She closed her eyes, took a moment to compose herself, and nodded. “Mm hmm.” Stooping down to her assistant’s level, she grabbed in him in a comfortable hug. “Thank you, Spike.”

Behind her back, he smiled. “Yeah, yeah.” After a few seconds, they broke apart.

“Um, I think the chariot is waiting for you,” Spike said, standing on his toes and looking over Twilight’s shoulder at the window behind her.

She glanced over to see the royal chariot loaded with all of her luggage. She turned back, and cleared her throat. “Okay. Please, Spike, I really need you to try. These letters are-”

“Important, I know.”

“Extremely important.”

“I know.”

There was another knock on the door.

“Coming!” Twilight shouted down the stairs. She began to walk towards the exit with Spike trailing close behind. “Keep the library in order while I’m gone, and please… find that box.”

“I’ll do my best. Maybe somepony took it by accident when they came to check out a book. I’ll ask around town.”

Twilight nodded. Together, they reached the door.

“Okay, well, I’ll be in Canterlot until morning, so…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, Spike. Take care of yourself!”

“You too, Twilight. You’ve hardly gotten any sleep this past week so… try and take it easy, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, telekinetically pulling the door open. “I won’t overwork myself.”

With one last farewell, they waved goodbye, and she walked out of the library, closing the door behind her. As it shut, both Twilight and Spike were thinking very similar thoughts.

Yeah, right.


**********


Twilight Sparkle arrived at Celestia’s study right on time, if ‘on time’ meant half an hour early, which was exactly what she preferred. It gave her plenty of time to set up her workspace in a true Twilight fashion; books and notes were placed in meticulous relation to each other, making cross-referencing quick and easy. Quills, parchment, ink, extra parchment, and extra ink were all within reach. She allowed herself plenty of space to work and, of course, everything was perfectly squared.

She had planned what the arrangement would be prior to her arrival, and so the setup only took fifteen minutes – a near-record time. After that, she sat complacently at her writing desk, idly reviewing her notes and waiting for her teacher to enter.

Fifteen minutes went by, and the princess did not show up. Fifteen more minutes went by. Still no sign of her. Another fifteen minutes came and passed, and then another.

Twilight frowned. Their tea was getting cold. Steam had long since ceased to rise from the spout.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

Twilight nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard a voice behind her. She raised her head off of her desk, and…

Wait, did I fall asleep?

She dabbed at a tiny pool of dribble that stained an otherwise fresh sheet of parchment.

I fell asleep.

Her gaze swiveled over to the nearby grandfather clock. It was two hours past sunset, two hours past their appointment. One hour she had been sleeping.

“Miss?”

Twilight shook herself awake, and turned towards the voice. Standing in the entrance was one of the palace’s royal guards.

She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “Yes?”

“I have a message. Regretfully, Princess Celestia has been caught up in some last minute, emergency affairs. She sends her deepest apologies, and has expressed that you may either stay and wait, or depart home and… catch up on some sleep.”

Catch up on sleep, Twilight thought. That’s the princess, alright.

“How much longer would it be?”

The guard indecisively bobbed his head back and forth, turning to somepony outside of the room and asking the same question. After a moment, he turned back.

“One hour, perhaps longer.”

It did not take long for Twilight to decide. “I’ll wait.”

The guard nodded. “I will let her know.” Excusing himself, he backed out of the room, and closed the door.

One hour was not too long, Twilight decided. Perhaps in the meantime, she could entertain herself with independent research. She stood from her stool, and browsed over her cart of materials. Maybe she would study from one of her books, review her notes, or-

Behind her, there was a sudden whoosh of air, paired with the faint noise of crackling fire. A green light briefly lit up the room. It was all closely followed by a hollow thump, before the room again fell silent.

For a long time, Twilight did not dare to turn around. She closed her eyes.

“Please, please, please, please…” she whispered to herself. Slowly, and with her eyes still closed, she faced her desk.

“Please be…”

She opened her eyes.

“…‘The Pony Sutra’.”

Twilight blinked.

“What?”

Without warning, another flash of green fire appeared directly in front of her. She yelped in surprise, backpedaling a ways as another item dropped onto the writing desk.

Once she realized what it was, she immediately retraced her steps.

“The princess’s letters!”

Sure enough, a thin, unassuming paper box sat atop the desk. Twilight reached out and grabbed the lid, tossing it away to inspect the contents inside. She nearly cried tears of joy. The letters were all there. On top of them all sat a note from Spike. She opened it up, and read, never having quite so enjoyed the little dragon’s excellent calligraphy as she did now.



Twilight,

I did like I said, and asked around town for the letters. Turns out, Pinkie Pie had them. I guess she thought they were for checking out? She didn’t argue when I asked for them back. Said they were “very enlightening, and usually it’s not really [her] thing,” but now she wants to know how it ends.



“Aw, he remembers how to bracket explanatory material. I’ll have to remember to reward him for tha-”

She paused. Her eyes quickly scanned over the paragraph again.

“Pinkie Pie read these? Before me?” She shook her head, and read it again. “Pinkie read Princess Celestia’s personal letters? Before me?”

Twilight continued reading, but not before resolving to have a talk with Pinkie about what exactly was available for loan from a library, and what was not.



I’m not going to read them. Too tired. I tried to make them appear behind you, so that maybe the princess won’t see. Hope it worked.

The necklace was still in there, too, but I can’t send it. It’s too solid to burn, and I think I’ll only end up charring it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe until you get back.

Your #1 assistant,

Spike



Further down the page, a hastily scribbled note had been added.



P.S. I accidentally sneezed, and sent you a book. Not sure which one. Sorry. Pick up some medicine on your way back, I think I caught a cold.



Twilight broke into a huge grin. Spike really was her number one assistant. She made a note to pick up more than just medicine upon her return.

Setting Spike’s note aside, she dug into the box itself. To her surprise, the letters seemed like they had been put into order by Pinkie Pie, and did not seem any worse for wear. Twilight had half expected them to be covered in cake frosting; this was just impressive.

Without truly reading them, she took a quick inventory. It actually seemed to be one cohesive message, with several pages only being continuations of the first, all of them in the same hoofwriting that must have been Lucky Break’s. A few were different, however, in both calligraphy and message. These ones, she realized, were from Celestia herself. All in all, there were only two continuous messages. Perhaps one was in response to the other?

Reasoning that she read letters from the princess all the time, Twilight shuffled the papers together, and began reading the words of Lucky. They were weathered, aged, and used old Equestrian characters, which were familiar enough to be read, but different enough to make it difficult. And, to be honest, Lucky’s hoofwriting seemed to be fairly poor. None of it deterred Twilight in the slightest. Indeed, the first two words were enough to completely draw her in.

“Dear Celestia…”


**********


I received your letter. Carried on the wind, it fell, quite literally, into my hooves.

Do you think I was guided to it? Did you think I was destined to find it? Because I thought I made it clear, that isn’t how it works. Tyche has never been so indecisive, nor has my gift been so undefined as to address pitifully vague petitions like, “please, let it all be okay.” Which is, I assure you, the one and only thing I can stand to think right now.

So maybe it was the gods themselves. Maybe the stories we both thought to be exaggerated are true, and maybe they favor you above the common pony. Maybe, because they knew it might help you, because they knew I might help you, they led me to your letter. Then again, if that were true, perhaps you wouldn’t be walking headlong into what we both know is probably a trap. What we both know is certainly a death sentence.

And whether or not it will ultimately help you remains to be seen, but know this: I have been swayed. Take that how you will.

I realize you may not receive this while it still carries relevance. Or, more likely, you shall never receive it at all. Not before you die, not before I die, not before the whole Maiden’s Battalion is swept into utter ruin. But if nothing else, you made one tactically sound decision: you left me behind with Cotton. I am reminded of something she said to me once. “Better to die an optimist than live a pessimist.” Sounds a bit odd for our little inventor, doesn’t it? Only she could come up with something that simultaneously gloomy and cheerful. Yet, it’s probably true.

And so, the Maiden’s soldiers will die like optimists, just as they always have, and I will write as though you are reading the words over my shoulder. How I wish you were.

I don’t know if you’re angry with me, but if you were, it would be rightfully so. There’s so much to be angry about. I’m angry too. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her for doing what she did. You know who I mean, and I know you understand.

That doesn’t make my actions and words any more justified. Normally, I would never expect for you to forgive me, but in the face of what just happened, I know you are not that type. Grudges are heavy things, I know; and you seem light as a feather.

However, at the risk of appearing pretentious for too boldly assuming, allow me to formally ask. Celestia, forgive me. I am sorry. For everything.

In your letter, you asked me what it must have been like. The question was vague, maybe intentionally so. “It” could have referred to any number of things. My foalhood? My gift? The battalion at its formation? Or my time serving with its old commander?

Perhaps it was just idle wondering on your part, but it provoked me to thought and remembrance. I’ve told you bits and pieces about my life before, but maybe if I put it on paper, it will become more real. And maybe, if you have all the details, you’ll come to understand why I acted the way I did.

Forgive the poor penmanship. The transport I ride in is moving quite quickly. It bumps and lurches often. 

As a foal, I was born and raised in Ponyville; you know this. Before the war came to Equestria, my life was quiet, and that was the way I liked it. I didn’t even yearn for adventure, like most little colts do. I was quite content to let things be how they were. My father was a blacksmith, my elder brother was his apprentice, and I knew someday I would be just like them. Back then, my worries were small and simple, like trying to gain the approval of my more adventurous brother, or trying to impress the subject of my silly foalhood infatuation.

All of that ended. When the Hieyuman army was defeated, the hordes attacked Equestria. Many beasts slipped past our own army, which was still young and amateur. They wandered into civil territory, leaderless and lost. Ponyville was a frontier town at the time, but we had only heard rumors about the war. I had never seen a monster, and barely knew what a hieyuman was. Why would I? To us, it was only inconsequential news of distant goings-on.

I was only eight years old when the war became much more than that.


**********


“I don’t wanna!”

“C’mon, just do it!”

“No!”

A small, grey-coated, orange-maned colt stood atop a rocky cliff, inches away from the edge. Below him was the lake, its surface relatively undisturbed, save for the dozen or so earth-tribe colts and fillies thrashing playfully in the water. Three of them, all colts, were treading water near the base of the cliff, looking up at him.

“Jump in! The water’s fine!”

He shuffled a few inches forward, and peered over the edge. The cliff face was on a slight forward incline. A pony would have to jump far enough out to reach the water; otherwise, they would simply hit the cliff, scraping against it as they tumbled the whole way down. The others thought he could make it – he was not so sure. Even if he could, twenty feet was a long ways to fall, especially for a colt who was not the strongest swimmer. The distance seemed to multiply infinitely as he thought about the drop. Briefly, his eyes closed, and his left shoulder seemed to spasm. He clutched at it with a hoof, rolling it in its socket.

“No!” he repeated.

A different voice called out this time. “What are you, a chicken?”

“I’m not a chicken!”

“Rummy’s a chicken, Rummy’s a chicken!” one called out in a sing-song voice. Another joined in. “Rummy’s a chicken!”

“Hey, knock it off guys.”

They fell quiet. He did not see who it was, but he undoubtedly recognized the voice.

There was a small silence before one of them spoke again. “Sorry.” He watched the pair of colts swimming further away from the cliff to join their other friends.


**********


They called me “Rummy.” I can’t quite remember how that came to be, but I think it had something to do with the phrase “rum luck”. Bad luck. It was a dumb nickname, but there have been worse.


**********


One of them stayed behind. Rummy watched the third colt swim to the edge of the lake, clamber out onto the rocky shore, and gallop out of sight. In another minute, he reappeared behind him, bursting through a thick line of foliage and approaching the edge of the cliff. A few feet away, he slowed to a stop.

“Hey.”

Rummy turned to face him. “Hey.”

His coat was a light, fading green; it always reminded him of the color of tall, drying grass. His mane was a similar shade to his own, though it was closer to yellow than it was orange. Their manes and tails were cut in a very similar manner, messy, but short and manageable. They were less likely to get caught in the forge fires that way.

Their bodies were very similarly built, and the profiles of their faces likewise. One appeared to be a few years older than the other, and though they were both still just colts, the elder had already earned his cutie mark, a blacksmith’s hammer inlaid with a four-leaf clover. At first glance, an onlooker might guess they were family. They would be right.

“You okay, Rummy?”

He half-heartedly shrugged, putting up his bravest façade of nonchalance. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He paused. “Your friends are jerk-heads, Strike. I’ll never be that mean to ponies.”


**********


Back then, even if I hadn’t had a nickname, nopony would have called me “Lucky”. It would have been too confusing. My brother was called Lucky Strike, and my father, Lucky Chance. My mother, Karma, was the only one lacking the “family name”.


**********


“They aren’t jerk-heads, Rummy.” Lucky Strike walked closer towards his brother. “They were just having a bit of fun is all. They didn’t mean it. They’re gone now, anyways.”

Rummy turned his head, and saw the other colts and fillies swimming in a group a small distance away, shouting as they played keep away with a buoyant red ball. They were all older than him. Well, all but one.

“It really isn’t that scary, you know.”

“Strike!” Rummy looked back at his brother in distress. “I don’t wanna!”

“Are you sure? It’s easy, really. We can jump together if you want.”

Rummy shook his head vigorously back and forth. “Nuh-uh. No.”

“Why not?”

His gaze strayed away, plastering his eyes ashamedly to the ground. The upper part of his left arm seemed to seize up. He unconsciously rolled his shoulder. “I dunno. I have a bad feeling.”

“You’re scared?” Strike laughed, and placed himself next to his brother, hanging a hoof around his back. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fear. You just gotta confront it!”

“I’m not scared!” Rummy protested, pushing the hoof off of his back. In doing so, he lost his balance and stumbled away. One of his hooves slipped off the side of the cliff, and his voice broke as he yelped in alarm. For a terrifying moment, he hovered precariously over the edge, frantically swinging his arms until Strike caught him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back to safety.

“Y’okay?”

Rummy quickly shook his head up and down. He was rapidly panting, and his eyes were full of what was undoubtedly fear.

“Calm down, brother, you’re fine.” Strike looked back at the lake. After a few seconds, he crouched a bit to his brother’s height, and pointed towards it with a hoof. “Look over there. You see who that is?”

Composing himself, Rummy pushed Strike’s hoof away, shaking his head and snorting with contempt. “I know who it is.”

“Who is it, then?”

“Stop it, Strike.”

He gave a sly, half-smile. “Help me out, I can’t see that well,” he teased. “Who is that over there?”

Rummy gave an exasperated, groaning sigh. “It’s Daylight, okay?” He grabbed his brother’s hoof and pushed it to the ground. “Now would you stop it?”

Sure enough, a small distance away, a young earth pony filly played in the water, just as confidently as all of her older friends, or perhaps even more so. Though she was soaking wet, the light purple of her flowing mane was could be easily seen. Similarly, the fading light yellow of her coat was as clear as day.


**********


There was always something about her, like you could see her from any distance, no matter what was in the way. Rain, snow, fog, smoke, foliage – none of it seemed to dim her form. Even if she was out of sight, some ponies claimed to have simply felt where she was, comforted by the knowledge that she was still with them on the battlefield. I may have been one of them.


**********


“I’ll bet if you jumped, she would be really impressed.”

“Strike…” He sighed and plopped onto his haunches. “Why do you think I’m even up here?”

“Ha!” Strike pointed at him as if catching him in a lie. “See, you’re not a chicken, you took the first step! Now you just have to take a few more, and…” Strike motioned off of the edge with a hoof, whistling as he pantomimed his brother sailing through the air and hitting the water. “…ploop! Easy as pie.”

Rummy was silent, looking at his hooves in contemplation.

“She did it, you know. And she’s even a year younger than you!”

“I know.” He looked up, and looked towards her. “It doesn’t even matter anymore. Everypony’s done with the cliff. She won’t even see me.”

A slow, scheming smile spread across Strike’s features. “Sure she will.”

Rummy tilted his head, looking at his brother with a raised eyebrow. It was not until Strike cupped his hooves around his mouth that he knew what he was doing.

“No don’t-!”

“Hey! Daylight! Over here!” He put waved his hooves wildly in the air. “Hey!”

“Stop it!” Rummy pleaded, tugging down on his brother’s arm.

“He-eeeeey! Watch this!”

“Shut up, you poo-headed-”

“Oh!” Strike interjected. “Looks like I caught her attention.”

Rummy looked at the group of colts and fillies, and to his horror, Daylight was indeed looking their way, as were a few others. Strike grinned hugely, and waved at her. She returned the favor, giving an odd smile back.

Her gaze turned slightly. Across the distance, Rummy could practically feel their eyes locking. She smiled at him, too.

He broke contact immediately, and glared at his brother. “Strike…!” he muttered, craning his head, flinching away from the attention.

“What?” he answered innocently. “Oh look, on the east shore. It’s her mum. Darn, she probably has to go.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Rummy asked frantically, gripping his brother by the fur on his chest and shaking him.

“What do you think, dummy? Jump!” He nodded towards the opposite shore, where an adult pony walked along the banks towards them. “She’ll be here in, like, twenty seconds. If you’re gonna do it, do it now.”

“But I can’t!” He released Strike’s fur, and turned away with wide, fearful eyes. By accident, he once again made eye contact with Daylight, who was still looking towards him. Unprepared, he gave a nervous smile and a tiny wave. She returned the gesture with a similarly small greeting.

“Sure you can! We’ll do it on three. Ready?” Forcibly handling him, Strike pulled Rummy to all fours and faced him towards the cliff.

“One…”

Rummy shook his head. “Wait, I-”

“Twothree!” Without warning, Strike galloped forward. Caught off guard, Rummy pursued him towards the edge.

“Wait!” Rummy called, but there was no stopping his momentum. Strike gave an exuberant laugh as he jumped from the cliff, tucking into ball and performing a backflip. He reached the water and landed with a dive. Rummy, however, skidded to a stop, sliding across the rock and just barely reaching the edge.

Everything seemed to go silent. Pebbles pushed forward by his hooves tumbled down the steep rocky incline. A gentle wind whistled by him, ruffling through his mane. The slightest movement of his shifting hooves caused a soft clop that seemed to echo. He peered over the edge, watching his brother resurface, taking a gasp of air and shaking his mane dry, then motioning for him to jump.

Rummy swallowed. He set his four hooves squarely on the ground, and took a deep breath, and then another. He backed up. Gathering every last ounce of pith and conviction he had, he began to will himself forward. He took one step forward, then another, and another. Daylight’s mother was getting closer. He rolled his achy shoulder.

Without actually having built any momentum, he reached the edge of the cliff, again simply standing there and peering over. He looked at Daylight, who was still there, just watching him. He looked at Lucky Strike, who he realized was cheering him on. Finally, he coiled all his energy into his legs, crouched into a jumping stance, and…

I can’t do it.

…he froze.

The seconds passed, and Daylight’s mother called her to the edge of the lake. Her attention on him broke, and she swam to the side, shaking the water out of her fur and trotting away and out of sight. 

Below, his brother put a disappointed hoof over his face. Rummy watched him swim to the side and climb out, heading for the quick path that lead up to the cliff. By the time he got there, Rummy was was lying flat on his belly, clinging to the edge of the cliff with all four hooves. His shoulder was noticeably trembling.

Lucky Strike sighed. “C’mon, Rummy. Let’s go home.”


**********


So I wasn’t exactly the bravest colt around. In fact, truth be told, I was a proper coward. I never did anything remotely dangerous unless I was practically forced into it.

When I was a colt, I had a nervous tic. Truthfully, I still have it. You’ve seen it before. But back then, before I had it under control, it was much worse. It would happen at seemingly random times, but especially when I was scared. It was embarrassing, but looking back on it, it wasn’t all bad. My brother stood up for me more times than I could count. He was the brave one.

The doctors thought it was some kind of disorder of the mind, an innate proneness to mild seizure. Everypony else agreed. I half-knew that they were wrong.

With the tics and twitches came feelings. Usually, they weren’t anything defined; my shoulder was aching, and to this day, I’m still not sure what that meant. The feelings were most often as vague as “good” or “bad”. Whenever I was about to do something potentially dangerous, I felt “bad”. It sounds like basic fear, I know, and that’s what I almost thought it was. It’s more than that, though. Different. Those feelings made me scared, to be sure, but they in themselves were more along the lines of… “Impulsive self-preservation” is the best I can come up with, though even that is not entirely accurate. In any case, it was enough to paralyze me.

I was only a colt, though. Who was I to say they were wrong?


**********


The two walked down the forest path in relative silence. Rummy trailed behind his brother, kicking at rocks along the ground. He tried to think of something to say, but the only thing he felt was sorry, for himself for his brother. Finally, he decided to simply voice that.

“I’m sorry, Strike.”

They did not slow down, and he did not immediately respond. Strike idly picked a leaf off of a tree in passing, not even looking at it before tossing it to the wind.

“What for?”

“For not jumping.”

Strike gave a humorless chuckle, though it was not unkind. “Don’t be sorry for me. Be sorry for you. There’s just some things you gotta do, Rummy, even if they’re scary. Some things are more important than your own self. That’s what dad says, anyways.” He grinned and looked back, viewing Rummy out of the corner of his eye. “Impressing your special somepony is one of those things!”

“She’s not my special somepony,” Rummy muttered, huffing indignantly. A moment passed. “Are you sure you don’t mind walking home with me? Don’t you wanna keep swimming?”

“Nah. I got bored of swimming, anyways.”


**********


My brother understood my ‘condition’. I had told him everything I knew about it, feelings and all. Maybe he didn’t understand completely, but he knew enough to care. He knew enough to take one of his only days off at the forge to spend with his weak little brother, and to walk him home when he was feeling bad.


**********


The lake was about half an hour’s walk from the town square of Ponyville, though that was hardly indicative of everypony’s journey. In the spread out, loosely organized layout of the rural town, the distance and time varied wildly depending on where a pony lived; some walked as long as two hours just to get to the lake, and for others, the trip was much shorter. There was even a logger who kept his cabin on the shore. His children could swim whenever they wanted.

The forest surrounding the lake was small, and it did not take long for them to exit it. They talked about small, inconsequential things on the way. Strike was particularly excited about the sword he was making. Even though they both helped out with the family blacksmithing business, it had taken much convincing for their father to allow the venture. Eventually, he was made to reason that a “stallion” of twelve years was finally old enough to produce his very own work. Of course, taken by stories of knights and dragons, Strike had elected to craft the sword of his dreams. It was his very first completely independent project, and tonight, it would be finished. He had but to engrave a personal symbol into the blade or hilt, and Strike’s sword would be ready for action.

Rummy was content to walk and listen, nodding and laughing at the right moments, occasionally contributing to the conversation to keep it moving. He adored his older brother. Strike was strong, both in body and spirit. He was a natural-born leader. The kids would always do what he said, hanging on his word and seeking his approval. He was skilled at the family trade, too; Rummy knew very little about swords, but in his opinion, the metalwork was excellent.

Rummy found himself unconsciously attracted to strong spirits, perhaps because he lacked that strength himself. He found it captivating, watching ponies like his brother work and interact. He did not particularly wish the same strength upon himself; he simply enjoyed in the presence of somepony who knew what they were doing. Rummy was a follower, not a leader, and that was okay with him.

Not many ponies lived in Ponyville, and as such, there were not many foals his age. Perhaps it was good, then, that he did not mind being on the tail end of things, tagging along with his brother and his group of older friends. Then again, Daylight was the complete opposite. Despite her youth, she was the only other pony who outshined his brother in terms of force of personality. Daylight was not afraid to take charge, Daylight was not afraid to be the center of attention. Or rather, she was simply never afraid; she jumped off that cliff many times over before Rummy had ever considered it. In fact, she was the one that proved it was safe. The foals had stood gathered at the top, postulating that it probably was, and that they probably could do it, but none of them would. Not until Daylight had arrived to the scene, heard of their hesitations, and galloped straight to the edge as fast as her little legs would carry her. Rummy remembered taking a still-framed mental picture of her in midair with the other colts and fillies looking on in awe, and it summed up everything about her. Daylight was strong, brave, daring, spirited…

“Hey!”

Rummy blinked, and shook his head. “Hm?”

“You in there?” Strike asked, rapping on his brother’s forehead with a hoof.

“Oh… yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

They began to enter Ponyville’s main square, walking past businesses and small homes. It was evening, with the sun only just beginning its long descent to the horizon, but some shops were beginning to close up. Ponyville was never terribly busy, and if anypony needed supplies, they usually got them earlier. The farmers awoke before the sun even rose to tend to their crops, and thus, so did everypony else.

“Nothin’. You just kinda dozed off there.” Strike smiled, nudging Rummy’s side. “Dreaming about a certain filly again, were we?”

“No! I wasn’t!” Rummy protested, nudging his brother back, harder.

“Yeah-huh, you were.” Strike returned the nudge with a push.

“Nuh-uh, I wasn’t!” Rummy pushed back.

“Yeah-huh!” Strike shoved him.

“Nuh-uh!” He came galloping back and flung himself over his brother’s neck in a tackle. Strike was able to keep his balance, but only just. Rummy fell off, and rolled back to his hooves. They both looked at each other, and giggled.

“You should go talk to her,” Strike said after they resumed walking. “She’s real friendly, if you get to know her.”

“And you know her?” Rummy demanded.

They rounded a corner. Fortune’s Forge was in sight, smoke billowing out of the furnace’s chimney. Apparently, their father was still working. A client, the town’s sheriff, exited the building, calling back a quick ‘thanks again’ before trotting off. Next to the forge stood the Lucky family home, a modest, multi-roomed wooden building that was either a small house, or a large cabin.

“Well, I’ve said more than ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’.”

Rummy sighed. “I never should have told you.”

“What? About your crush?” He laughed. “It’s okay, I won’t say anything. But you should at least go meet her. Introduce yourself. Maybe we can try cliff jumping tomorrow.”

Rummy rolled his eyes, but smiled. The two reached their home, and entered. Immediately visible was their mother, Karma, standing at a wood-burning stove, boiling and stirring a pot of something. Potato soup, Rummy hoped. Their mother was an earth pony, just like nearly everypony else in the town, with a burnt yellow coat and a fiery red mane. She glanced back at them.

“Hi, boys.”

“Hi, mum.”
“Hello, mum.”

“Have fun at the lake?”

“Yeah, it was great!”
“It was okay.”

“Mm, good,” Karma replied, not appearing too invested in their responses, distracted by trying to keep the pot from boiling over. “Stay close, supper will be ready in a little bit.”

“Okay!”
“Okay, mum.”

They both started off towards the room they jointly shared, but were stopped when they heard the door open a second time. They turned around to see their father, Lucky Chance, step through the doorway, still wearing a dirty blacksmith’s apron covered in tools and pockets. His coat was a very light grey, and his mane, a very light orange. Rummy actually looked quite like him, albeit on a much darker scale.

“Hey boys. Hello, darling.”

“Hi, dad.”
“Hi, daddy.”

“Hello, dear.” Karma left her spot near the stove to greet her husband, giving him a quick peck on the lips before retrieving some food item from the cupboard to the left of him.

Chance frowned. “That’s it?” Karma rolled her eyes and stepped away, only to let out a girlish giggle when she was drawn back in by the blacksmith’s arm. Rummy shuffled uncomfortably in place, his gaze straying sheepishly towards the ceiling, while Strike simply covered his eyes as their parents met in a deeper kiss. Soon, at the behest of Strike’s exaggerated gagging, they broke apart.

Karma lightly laughed. “You got me all dirty,” she said, looking at the front of her coat. Some soot from the blacksmith’s apron had indeed rubbed off.

Chance opened his mouth, but was cut off by Lucky Strike, as he jumped in between the two to stop any further sickening interaction.

“Dad!” he shouted, too loudly. “Did you get the new engraving tools?”

Chance kept a straight face. “Strike, you know I’m not done in there, yet...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Strike said, waving his words away with a hoof. “But you have them, right?”

Chance paused. “Maybe.”

Strike excitedly glanced back at Rummy, who was already wearing a huge grin. They exchanged a conspiratorial look before he turned back.

“Can I use them?”

Their father’s face was impassive. He stared down at his son, seeming to draw out the moment. Eventually, Strike knew he was overplaying the drama of it.

“Da-aaaaad!” he complained.

Finally, he allowed a smile to his face; it was small, but hinted at more than he was showing. “Yes. After dinner!” he added, taking a step back to avoid Strike’s wild celebration. Rummy joined in, excited for him. They jumped in a circle around each other, whooping for joy.

Karma raised an amused eyebrow at her sons. She stepped around them to address her husband.

“I know you’re not done next door. Did you want some soup?”

“Nah, not yet. Thanks, though.” He stepped forward, and spoke a little louder, catching the attention of his celebrating sons. “Sheriff Shiner dropped by, asked if I would do him a favor.”


**********


The sheriff and my father were always doing each other favors. They grew up together one generation ago in Ponyville, and from what I heard, they were the best of friends. Usually, my father would fix things of his, or even craft new weapons, not that there was much crime around Ponyville to begin with. This time, however, the favor was unlike anything he had ever asked of him. It was not unique, uncommon, or even noteworthy in any way. It was certainly not something to fret over. Not for him, at least.

You see, the sheriff had two daughters. One of them was


**********


“Daylight and her sister here are just going to stay over for a small while.”

Strike ceased his jubilations, and looked curiously at the door. Rummy, caught by surprise mid-jump, crashed into a wall and tumbled to the floor.

Lucky Chance stepped aside, and sure enough, much to Rummy’s delight and utter horror, Daylight stepped inside the doorway. She looked all around her, curiously taking in the sights of their home. Carried in a saddlebag at her side was her sister, a newborn foal, less than a year old, who was fast asleep. Her coat and mane were two faded shades of blue.

“The sheriff is looking into some strange reports over by the lake. ‘Parrantly, a colt’s gone missing. You boys didn’t see anything up there, did you?” Chance said, addressing his sons. Strike shook his head. Rummy brought himself upright, and then did not move at all.

“Mmm,” he grunted. “Well, he’s there, and the missus is on some important errands. You wouldn’t mind making a little extra soup, would you, dear?”

“Already did.” Karma removed a large wooden stirring spoon from the pot, and gave it a taste. “In fact, it’s done right now! Would you care for some soup, honey?” Karma said, addressing their guest.

Daylight nodded her head politely. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Thank you, dear.” Lucky Chance turned, and waved a casual farewell. “I’ll be next door.”


**********


That was the last time I ever saw my father.


**********


“Well? Don’t be rude, boys, say ‘hello’ to our guests.”

“Hiya, Daylight!”
“…H-hello…”

“Hello.” She lightly waved, careful not to disturb her sleeping sister. “I saw your trick at the lake, Strike. Very impressive.”

Strike grinned with playfully inflated pride. “Thanks! You weren’t so bad yourself!”

Rummy wanted nothing more than to pull a mask over his face and magically become one with the scenery. Of course, that was not what happened. His heart skipped a beat as she turned to him.

“And you’re… Break, right?”

“Uhhh, no… I mean yes!” he nearly shouted. Daylight put a hoof to her lips, shushing him to be quiet, and pointing at the baby. “S-sorry… yes, I am. Lucky Break. But most ponies call me Rummy.”

“Oh, I remember. You were at the top of that cliff, right? Just before I had to go?”

He could not bear to speak. Averting his eyes, he ashamedly nodded instead.

“Rummy…” Her eyes darted to the corner of her head. “Break… Rummy, Breaky, Breaky… Break. Hmmm.” She contemplated for another moment before speaking again. “Uh-huh.”

Rummy blinked. “Uh-huh…?”

“I like your real name better,” she said simply. “Lucky Break.”

Rummy blinked, surprised. He liked his real name better, too. Not that he would have ever admitted it to anypony. He lacked the conviction to give himself a new title, especially not when ‘Rummy’ had stuck so well.

“Thanks!” he replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I really like your name, too! Daylight is a great name.”

From the time Daylight had walked into the room, Strike was nearly bursting into laughter at the exchange. Finally, after grinning and giving a small, snorting laugh through his teeth, he composed himself.

“You should have seen him at the cliffs, Daylight,” he said, wrapping his arm around his little brother. “Jumped the second you weren’t looking. It was amazing!”

“What? I never-”

Strike cut him off with a swift elbow to the ribs.

“Oh, I’m sorry I missed it,” Daylight lamented. “Maybe you can show me next time, Lucky Break?”

Rummy stopped a small fit of coughing and froze. His heart skipped yet another beat. He inexplicably liked it when she said his name. It felt good; it meant validation, that yes, he did exist in Daylight’s eyes. Plus, it simply sounded nice. Maybe  she would say it again.

“What was that?” he asked, feigning not to have heard.

“Maybe you can show me next time?”

Ah, well, it was a valiant effort. “Er, yeah! Definitely! Maybe tomorrow, we can-”

Mid-sentence, Rummy stopped.


**********


I’ve told you about my gift before. It’s called “Luck”. Or, at least, some ponies were presumptuous enough to call it that. I rather dislike the moniker. It implies something different than what it actually is, and, as you can see, it’s annoyingly similar to my own name. But Clover calls it “directed extrasensory guidance”, which rolls off the tongue about as easily as sandpaper on a summer’s day, and the Maiden’s soldiers tried to call it “lucky-sense”, which I absolutely forbid. Eventually, somepony started calling it “Luck”, and the name stuck.

Clover told me once that Luck is an extraordinary ability, with, and I quote, ‘cosmic implications we cannot even begin to understand.’ I don’t know if I would say that, but it is pretty handy for staying alive. However, even I will concede that it is far more complicated than meets the eye.

A very basic definition of Luck is this: it helps me achieve my goals.

I choose a goal, something I want to have happen. Then, through the grace of Tyche, or whatever else you’d like to attribute it to, I get impulses, urges to take certain actions. If I follow these impulses, and if the goal is possible and its conclusion in the somewhat near future, the chances of my success are greatly elevated. So the problem then becomes not how to achieve success, but what you define success to be, and what goals you choose to pursue.

I am reminded of the saying, “Be careful what you wish for, it might come true.”

However, a weak-willed, eight year old colt doesn’t have any goals. Not anything concrete, nothing he can actually focus on and pursue. Left unchecked, Luck will always revert back to the most basic goal of all, nature’s first and foremost prerogative. To survive.

In addition, if the impulses are left unchecked, or if you lose control (and let’s be honest, I sometimes do), they become not just mental urges, but actual, physical tics. Ignored by all but the subconscious, certain impulses affect certain parts of the body. It’s strange, I know. Clover once told me about a stallion she met, the only other pony she had ever seen with Luck. He was old, too old to be a soldier. Apparently, he had lived his entire life with this gift, and instead of mastering it, he simply discovered what each and every twitch and spasm meant for all the parts of his body. Impressive, really.

At the time, I knew none of this. I was beginning to suspect my tics meant something more, but I was eight years old in a frontier farming community. We had a single teacher for the entire town, a unicorn hailing from the civilized west; one schoolhouse where everypony went to learn reading, writing, and basic arithmetic. Of course nopony knew the greater, “cosmological” implications of my condition.

This is why I wasn’t the only one who was frightened at what happened next.


**********


Strike smiled. Wasn’t it just like his brother to lose himself in a fantasy, when the object of it was standing before him? Nevertheless, Daylight seemed to find it amusing in an odd sort of way, giggling at his distant expression. If she could tolerate that, Strike thought, then they were absolutely meant for each other.

But the silence dragged on, and his brother refused to snap back to reality. Daylight’s smile was fading. His own was already gone. Something was wrong, he knew it. 

Rummy was not simply still; he was literally completely motionless, like a thing made of stone. His knees were locked, his legs were stiff, and his neck was rigid and unmoving. His mouth still hung open, paused in the middle of a yet to be spoken word. Most disturbingly of all, however, were his eyes; they were dilated and distant, looking at Daylight, but not really looking at her.

Strike was the first to speak. “Rummy? Brother? Are you okay?”

And then, Rummy shook. It was not small, and it certainly was not natural. His whole body was taken by a violent shivering, as if he were suddenly very cold; except no natural bodily mechanic had ever looked quite like this. It looked as though every single one of his muscles expanded and contracted in desynchronized, disorderly chaos, making him tremble in a full-bodied seizure, until it looked as though he might have been leaving the ground, so great was his motion.

After only a few seconds, it stopped.

His mother had seen the occurrence, and after the initial shock had closed the gap between them, trying to grab hold of her son and steady him. Rummy pushed her advances away.

“I’m fine, mum,” he said, shooing her arms away from him. She stopped, but did not step back. Rummy hung his head, breathing heavily.

“Are you… okay?”

Rummy looked up to see Daylight looking at him, a mix of caution and concern in her expression. One of her hooves was lifted, and to Rummy’s dismay, he could not tell if she intended to step forward or back. 

In fact, as he looked around, he saw that everypony was looking at him. Strike, with that calm, poised expression that he knew meant he was ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice. His mother, with creeping worry etched into every inch of her expression. If Daylight’s sister was awake, she would probably be looking at him, too. He hated all the attention.

He quickly stifled his breathing. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He tried to sound nonchalant, as if it were an everyday occurrence. “That was a doozy.” He laughed nervously. Nopony else did. “So, about tomorrow…”

His words were caught in his throat, and he started shaking again, this time, more uncontrollably than before. Rummy immediately collapsed to the floor, continuously convulsing in place.

He knew it was his tics, the infernal things. He felt the familiar motions and emotions; except this time, they were all happening at once. It was more than a minor annoyance. He was absolutely terrified.

“M-mum…” he managed to say.

She was already at his side, trying to hold and steady him. When he did not stop, she only did what she could to prevent him from hurting himself.

“Strike, why don’t you take Daylight to see your new sword, okay?” she suggested without looking at him. Her tone would have been sounded calm, had she not said it so quickly.

He complied immediately. “Okay.” Strike ushered Daylight out of the door. “C’mon, I wanna show you something. It’s really cool, c’mon.” Despite his words, he was not leading, but rather forcing her to move, however gently. Her hooves were only grudgingly shifted out of place, but eventually, she was corralled out of the door, taking one last distressed look before she exited. Strike, with nopony forcing him, did the same, and for longer. Eventually, though, the door closed, and Karma and her shaking son were left alone.

It was only a few more seconds before Rummy stopped, but the trauma was far from over. Cradled on the ground in his mother’s arms, he shivered, this time of his own volition. Traumatized tears were not far behind. He sobbed, and Karma pulled him tight, quietly telling him everything was okay. And really, it was; he was unharmed, sheltered, and in the arms of somepony who loved him. It did not seem to stifle the primal fear he had just experienced; the fear of his own body. 

Half an hour later, he had finally calmed to the point stillness, reduced to sad, distressed sniffles. The first thing he said came as a surprise to his mother.

“Do you think she hates me?”

Karma, still curled on the ground and comforting her son, tilted her head. However, she did not let her tone show anything but motherly love.

“Do I think who hates you?”

“D-daylight.” Rummy sniffled, and his voice wavered. “I’m too quiet. I shake all the time. I’ll bet she hates me.”

“Hate is a strong word, dear,” Karma gently said. “Nopony hates you.”

It was a moment before he spoke. He looked up to his mother, whose head was above his own. “Really?” he quietly murmured.

“Of course, Rummy. I love you, your father loves you, and your brother loves you.” 

His unsure eyes were still searching hers. She added, “And Daylight is a reasonable filly. Your condition is nothing to be ashamed of. We love you for you, and any true friends you happen make will be the same. They see what’s on the inside.” She poked his chest. He sniffled, and looked down at her hoof.

Next door, Rummy could hear a set of metallic chinks alongside his father’s. Strike was working on something.

“You’re a good pony, Lucky Break. You’re the good guy,” she said, drawing on her knowledge of stories and fantasy. “You just keep being the good guy, and only the bad guys will ever hate you. And we don’t care how they feel about us, huh?”

Karma gave him another squeeze. He was quiet for a long time.

“Okay,” he said, meekly nodding.

“Okay?” his mother confirmed.

He nodded again, and then fell silent, resting his chin on his mother’s hoof.

He was not sure how many minutes had passed, but eventually, Rummy wordlessly crawled out of his mother’s embrace, and sat at the table. He did not ask for anything, but his mother brought him a bowl of soup and a spoon, giving him a comforting pat on the back. She returned to her chores, but never went too far away.

Fifteen minutes later, Strike and Daylight reentered the room. Rummy still sat at the dinner table, sipping at a hot bowl of soup. He glanced back. They were chatting conversationally, Strike carrying his sword in a sheath hanging at his side. When they saw him watching them, their conversation ceased. Rummy sullenly went back to his soup without a word.

They exchanged a worried glance. Karma put out two extra bowls and ushered them to the table, bidding them to eat. They did, and there was little noise, save for the quiet clinking of silverware.

Nopony said anything, but Rummy knew what they were all thinking. Strike kept shooting him concerned glances, and though Daylight was courteous enough not to react, he could tell she was wondering about him, too.

Eventually, Strike broke the silence, trying to draw attention away from his brother and towards himself. “Hey Rummy,” he said, drawing his sword. His brother did not look up. “Hey, I carved a symbol into the blade of my sword. Daylight helped me. Look. Rummy, look. A clover.”

Rummy glanced as minimally as he could, and sure enough, a four-leaf clover had been chiseled into the base of the blade near the hilt. He sighed. He was supposed to be the helper.

“Put that away, Lucky Strike,” their mother chided. “No weapons at the table.”

He sheathed it, still looking at his brother. “Pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah,” Rummy muttered half-heartedly. He idly stirred his soup around with a spoon.

Karma spoke up. “I’m going next door to bring your father some soup. Seems he’s forgotten to eat again. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t you be swinging that thing around, you hear?” she said, pointing to the sword.

Strike looked at her, and nodded. “Yes, mum.”

“And take care of your brother,” she added, lowering her voice a little, though Rummy could still hear her.

“Okay, mum.”

Karma cast one last glance at Rummy, expression filled with worry born of love. Eventually, she walked out of the door, bowl of soup in hoof.


**********


That was the last time I ever saw my mother.


**********


“So, Lucky Break,” Daylight started. Regardless of his attempted apathy, Rummy’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you want to go to the lake tomorrow?”

It took a moment for him to respond. He slowly looked up. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” she said. “That sounds like fun, right?”

Rummy’s first thought was that his brother had put her up to it. His second was the desperate hope that he had not told her anything else. And yet, it sounded sincere…

“Unless you don’t want to.”

That immediately brought him back. “No, no!” He saw her give a disappointed frown, and shook his head. “I mean yes, that does sound like fun.”

“Okay. Good! Tomorrow, then.” She smiled, and he smiled back. He still was not a very good swimmer, and he still did not know if he could jump the cliff, but if this was what his ‘episode’ had led to, then he was quite alright with it.


**********


Except that wasn’t what it led to. I’ve only had seizures like that three times over the course of my entire life, and each of them meant something different. I can never really be sure what exactly they had in common, but I suppose I can guess. Each of them led to me getting injured, each led to me fighting for my life in some way; but those situations have happened countless times since. Perhaps it was simply this: that something I never expected to happen was going to happen. Something big.

I’ve seen many things in my years, and I must be honest, it’s quite hard to surprise me anymore. Ponies can act in complete reversals of their normal behavior, becoming absolved or damned in the blink of an eye. Situations can be salvaged or lost with the most minor of actions. Too many unicorns have pulled too many spells out of nowhere in front of my eyes; magic, I have come to accept, can do pretty much anything until proven otherwise. Trust me, it’s easier to think about that way.

Back then, there was no way my child self could have expected any of this to happen. However, to tell the truth, if I were living back then as I am now, with my jaded wisdom and world-weary eyes, I would have been just as overwhelmed. There was absolutely no expecting it.

I may not have known what my tics meant, but everything that happened next gave me my first true glimpse of understanding.


**********


“I’m bored.” Strike pushed his empty bowl further out onto the table.

“Me too,” Daylight said, doing the same.

“Uh, yeah. I’m bored too.” Rummy pushed his bowl away from him.

Strike looked around, until his gaze rested upon the sword hilt jutting out from the sheath at his side. “I’m gonna go try out my new sword.”

“I’m coming with,” Daylight said, standing up and stepping back from the table.

Taken by surprise, Rummy frowned, degrees less enthusiastic than the others. “Uh… didn’t mom say no swinging that around?”

“She said no weapons at the table.” Strike grinned. “I won’t be swinging at the table, dummy!”

He was unconvinced. “What about your sister, Daylight?” he said, turning to her.

“She’s right here.” Daylight patted her carrier saddlebag reassuringly. Humorously, even though she was sleeping, the baby hiccupped when patted, smacking her lips and sighing as she fell back into dormancy. “She’s a pretty deep sleeper, I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s still light, and we won’t go very far, only just to the little grove out back.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

For Rummy, that settled it. “I wanna come!” he said, scrambling to get away from the table too.


**********


I often wonder what would have happened had I decided to stay put.


**********