//------------------------------// // And lo, I beheld a little, red wagon. // Story: Mort Takes a Holiday // by AnonymousMaterials //------------------------------// The trees and bushes around Mort melded into brown and green blurs as he flew over the ground at high speeds. His hooves had not once touched the ground since he fled Sugarcube Corner, and he phased through any and all obstacles in his path. All notions of keeping up appearances had evaporated. All that mattered was putting distance between him and Twilight Sparkle. He finally slowed to a stop after what felt like hours, though he knew only a few minutes had passed at most. In that time he had passed the limits of Ponyville proper, and was now somewhere east of town. He was in one of the forests that surrounded it, with no obvious beaten paths that he could detect. Which meant that ponies rarely, if ever, wandered out here. It was probably for the best. He had only made himself intangible enough to move through solid materials, but not so much he would be invisible as well. If any ponies were out, they might have seen a cloaked pony glide through trees and shrubberies. He didn't feel like explaining that to them. He didn't feel like seeing any pony at the moment, really. “Darn it...” His eyes caught a pebble on the ground. He recalled how ponies would sometimes kick, buck, or stomp things when they were frustrated. He wasn't sure how assaulting inanimate objects would help them, but at the moment he was willing to try anything. He kicked at the small pebble, watching it phase through his hoof. Grumbling, Mort became tangible and tried again, kicking harder this time. Before he could even touch the pebble, however, his hoof caught his cloak, and he went sprawling chin-first into the dirt. Mort lay there for some time, unmoving. He glanced up, seeing the sun directly overhead. Judging by its position, it was probably close to noon. It struck him that he hadn't even been in Ponyville for three hours. Less than an hour on average for each pony, and he had already goofed up on over half of them. He kept replaying the events of the party over and over again, seeing himself stumble and the cake engulf Twilight and Spike. Numerous what-ifs and maybes paraded around each memory, pointing out all the things he could have done to avoid his current predicament. The good news was that the frustration was gone now. The bad news was that it had been crowded out by self-pity and general gloominess. It was bad enough to have Twilight get a cake dropped on her, but it had also happened while everypony in town was watching. He probably embarrassed her on top of everything else. Maybe even Pinkie Pie too, since she was the one hosting the party. With him gone, the other ponies might choose to be upset with her instead. Just thinking of Pinkie Pie made him feel ill. He hurt her! Shades weren't ever supposed to hurt living creatures, no matter what they were or what they were doing. Pinkie was easily one of the sweetest and most innocent ponies Mort had ever seen, and he had her bouncing off the walls in pain. He probably even drew blood. Moaning miserably, he broadened his senses, and soon the air around him was a spectrum of rays and waves of energy. The visible light was mixed in with infrared and ultraviolet light, which traveled alongside weak x-rays and radio waves. It all danced in front of him as it was absorbed and reflected by leaf, bark, stone, grass, air, and his own body. He felt the life that tingled in the grass below him, and the remnants of it in the leaves that floated by in the wind. Sometimes if he experienced the world like this, it would cheer him up if he was feeling down. He was always amazed at how so many natural systems could work in tandem with each other, and create something as beautiful as the world he walked. Unfortunately, even with all his natural senses opened up, he couldn't stop thinking about what happened. He looked into the sun, recalling how ponies had believed (and some still do) that when one prayed to the sun, the words could be heard by Celestia herself. It wasn't true, of course. Celestia had actually spent some years trying to squash the myth, iterating to ponies that what they could say in a prayer could just as easily be written down in a letter, or even spoken to her personally. That said, he considered it pretty irrational when a pony started to talk to the sun, as if expecting Celestia to answer them, like he saw all the time. Or like he was doing just now. “So...things haven't been going too smoothly,” he said, finding himself pausing as if a reply was forthcoming. “I-I mean it's not them or anything, it's me. Every time it seems like things are going my way, I somehow mess everything up. And it's always little things I could have done, you know? If I never dropped my amulet, Rarity wouldn't have needed to come in to return. Or if I hadn't asked for an encore, Fluttershy's animals wouldn't have seen me and gone berserk. (Not that I blame them for going berserk, of course.) And if I had just been a little more careful at Sugarcube Corner...” He sighed again, absently tracing a circle into the grass with his free hoof. “I really wish I could talk to you or Luna right now. I need help...” “What about me, my shade?” “Oh, I don't know,” he murmured. “Thanasia's really smart, but I need somepony who really understands Twilight and her friends. Thanasia doesn't know ponies...very...” Once it clicked that someone had actually spoken, he only had to turn his head around to see the ashen alicorn standing behind him. Mort shouted and shot to his hooves, spun around, got tangled, then untangled himself, and finally did a clumsy salute. “M-mistress! Ma'am! Lady! W-what brings you here?” “Well, I wanted to see what 'progress' you were making since we last spoke,” she said, slowly approaching him as she folded her wings. “Were you...talking to the sun just now?” “Um...yes,” he answered, doing his best to hide his face behind his hood. She titled her head to one side, scrutinizing him. “You do realize that Celestia can't actually—” “Yes,” he said, feeling more embarrassed by the moment. “I...see. Well, so long as you understand...” The two of them stood there, an awkward silence separating them. Thanasia looked down on him, her expression betraying nothing. She could be thinking anything, and Mort hadn't a clue what it might be. “Um, how much did you hear just now?” he asked. “That depends,” she said. “Did you mention anything before going into how things weren't 'smooth' at the moment?” “Not...really,” he admitted. “Ah,” she said, nodding her head. “In that case, I heard everything.” Mort hung his head. He wanted to sink into the earth. Maybe take a gander at the molten core. Thanasia cleared her throat. “Well,” she started, “I realize I may not be either of the princesses, but I'm sure I can still offer at least a little insight. So, is there anything you wish to...discuss?” Mort didn't say anything. He kept his eyes averted, a dozen thoughts swimming in his mind. Thanasia couldn't have chosen a worst possible time to check in on him. Not that he would tell her that, of course. Guilt started to gnaw at him from the inside. He hadn't even considered what Thanasia would do if she found out about what happened. Though he knew perfectly well the rules that shades had to abide to, he had never actually wondered about the consequences if one broke them. He had never done so (until today, that is), and none of the shades he knew of had ever broke them either. It just didn't strike him as something to ever worry about. Oh, how he missed those innocent times already... He glanced up, and saw that Thanasia was still look at him patiently. Was it possible she knew already, and was waiting for him to confess? Aside from its namesake, the town had a number of different creatures. It wouldn't be implausible for a shade to be in the vicinity, gathering all the dirty details... Or maybe she really didn't know. She might not have received any data yet from nearby shades, or perhaps the events didn't even register for her. Maybe the consequences weren't significant enough get her attention. Maybe if he kept quiet... Thanasia sighed. “Very well, if that's how you feel, then—” “I'M SORRY!” Thanasia cringed, her ears pining back from the outburst. “E-excuse me?” “I'm sorry!” he yelled, covering his face in shame. “I swear it was an accident! I didn't mean to! I'd do it all over again if I could! I'm sorry, Thanasia! I'm so, so sorry!” He collapsed to the ground, shaking so hard in fear that his bones rattled. Thanasia look at him incredulously. “Calm yourself, Mort! What is this is all about?” He gulped. “I...I hurt somepony!” He hid underneath his hood again, bracing himself for the worst. Moments passed, and still nothing happened. No condemnation, or reproach. No sound at all, in fact. Not even a gritting of teeth. He risked peeking out from under his hooves, and saw her just staring at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?” she asked him. So she really hadn't know. Well, it was too late to go back now. “I-I was at Sugarcube Corner a little while ago, a-and we were playing this game...” Her eyes showed a glimmer of recognition. “Oh, that. Do you mean what happened with that pink pony?” The almost-casual tone befuddled him. “Y-yeah. I had a pin, you see—” “A pin like this?” Thanasia's horn glowed, and in the air between them she conjured an image of the pin, in all its half-inch glory. He nodded. “Uh-huh, and I...I...” “Stuck it in the pony's fattiest and virtually least vital area?” He was struck by how dismissive she sounded. “Y-yes...?” Thanasia sighed. “Mort, I believe you may be overreacting.” Mort gaped at her. “Overreacting? I broke the oldest and most important commandment! You said yourself we can never, ever hurt a living creature!” “I remember my own rules, my shade,” she said. “However...” “However?” Thanasia hesitated. To Mort, her silence almost seemed embarrassed. Finally she said, “Well, when I formulated that particular commandment, I meant that I did not want shades lashing out with malicious intent, or causing incidents that result in grievous harm. This, however...” She examined the conjured pin a moment longer, then let it dissipate. “I'm not going to get upset over an 'injury' that's barely on par with a paper cut.” “But...but...” Mort should have felt relieved. Ecstatic, even, but some part of him wouldn't let him go. Perhaps it was some sense of duty or guilt that kept him talking. “I...I still hurt her.” “Did you mean to hurt her?” He shook his head so hard that his bones rattled. “Of course not! Never in a thousand years! A million years! A—” “Yes, I understand,” she cut in. She steepled her forehooves, considering him. “My shade, you've served me faithfully and reliably for thousands of years. This 'incident' only occurred due to very specific circumstances that I doubt will be repeating themselves in the future. Pinkie Pie will likely heal before the day is out, and any ponies knocked over from the ensuring chaos won't even have bruises. If I should fault you for anything, it would just be for intentionally blinding yourself, but all things considered, I hesitate to do even that.” Mort's forehooves fidgeted anxiously. “So...you're not going to punish me?” “Why?” she asked. “What happened today obviously distressed you significantly, and I don't doubt you'll be more careful in the future. Punishing you now would serve no purpose.” “Oh...well, when you put it like that...” Mort breathed a sigh of relief, giggling nervously. It was like an enormous weight had been lifted from. “Wow, I...gosh, I feel so much better! I-I mean, obviously, I still feel kinda bad about what happened and I'm going to make sure it never happens again, but when I saw you, I was really scared for a moment!” “Yes, I notice that a lot...” “Huh?” “Nothing,” she said, getting back up. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?” “Well, now that you mention it...” He got up himself, dusting his cloak off. He had been reluctant discussing anything with Thanasia, because she hadn't liked this idea in the first place, but just now she had incredibly pleasant. Maybe she could help out after all. “I think some of the ponies are going to be upset with me. I don't know for sure yet, but I think it's sorta possible at this point.” “Very possible,” she deadpanned. Mort cringed. “Yeah. So...how do you think I should make it up to them? Would a regular apology work? Should I find a gift? I got a couple souvenirs from way back they might like. I'm sure there's a ring or two, and I know Rarity will like those. I'm sure I could find something for everypony else.” Thanasia stared at him silently for a moment. “Do you want to know what I think, Mort?” “Uh huh,” he said, nodding eagerly. “I think you should leave.” Mort looked at her blankly. “Like...leave them a letter? Leave them a gift?” “No,” she said, her tone taking a hard edge. “I mean leave Ponyville, before anything else happens. Forget all about this.” Mort coughed nervously. “O-okay, do you have any other ideas that don't involve me leaving?” “Mort,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “since you've come here it seems to be one accident after another. You admitted yourself that things have been going poorly.” “I said things have not been going smoothly. Things could still even out by the end!” She raised a skeptical brow. “And if they don't?” “They will,” he insisted. She frowned. “That's not good enough.” “Look, I promise I'll be extra careful! I'll make sure none of the other ponies—” “I'm not worried about them, Mort! They're probably safer around you than with their own flesh and blood!” “Then what's the problem?” He hadn't noticed it until then, but his voice was getting louder, almost to the level of a shout. “The problem,” she said quietly, “is that you've come close to showing your true nature several times, and if not for freak chance, you would've been revealed already. What do you think will happen when they realize the truth?” “Well...well we don't really know, do we?!” Mort couldn't explain where the sudden heat he felt was coming from, but he couldn't stop it if he tried. In some ways it was scary, but also somehow liberating. “Maybe it wouldn't be so bad!” Thanasia stared at him, a stunned expression on her face. “Excuse me?” “I don't like this,” he said, gesturing at himself. “I don't like pretending I'm somepony I'm not! I don't like hiding things from them, or-or having to twist everything I say so it doesn't sound suspicious! I can't even start a conversation without feeling like I'm walking on egg shells! Maybe...maybe if I got them together and just explained everything later...” “Mort, even you can't be that naive,” she said coolly. “Do you really believe these ponies would want to be near you if they knew the truth?” “Why not?” he demanded. “Luna was Nightmare Moon, but they're perfectly fine with her! They know she's not a bad pony, and personally, I don't think I'm a bad pony either! I just need to show them that!” “Except you're not a pony.” Now Thanasia's voice was rising. “You're a shade, and a constant reminder of their own mortality. They'd be terrified of you!” “Not if they gave me a chance!” he shot back. “Which they won't give!” “Celestia and Luna—” “Are immortal, and almost never have to worry about dying!” Thanasia's hoof came down, stomping the ground. “Do you think they would be friends with you otherwise?!” Mort's metaphorical heart stopped. The statement echoed in his head, overriding every other thought he had. It seemed the only thing that existed in the world was him and those words. His skeletal system shuddered, almost losing its shape. “Why would...how could you even...” He looked away from her, his body quivering. The hot feeling from before had fizzled and was replaced with something icy and hard. It was a dreadful and familiar feeling, one he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. A hoof touched his shoulder. “Mort, are you—” He twisted away and fixed her with what he could only assume was a piercing stare. “You don't know anything,” he whispered with a quaking voice. Thanasia looked at him in stunned silence. Without waiting for a response, he spun around on his hooves and stormed away from her. “Mort!” He ignored her. He went into an intangible state, and an instant later became invisible. While it couldn't hide him from Thanasia, he believed it was the thought that count. “Mort, come back here this instant!” He pressed on, moving into the forest, fighting an instinctual response to turn around and run back. He just couldn't look at her. Not after saying something like that. Thanasia had been insensitive before, but Mort had never considered that she had ever crossed a line. Until now, that was. He kept moving, putting more distance between them. He could just barely make out one word from her: “Stupid.” He clenched his jaw and continued to walk. It was another minute before he finally relented and looked behind him, confirming that Thanasia was gone. He extended his senses as far as they would go, but could not pick up any trace of the alicorn. Where ever she was, it was probably miles from him. He wanted desperately to feel happy about that, feel some measure of satisfaction. Looking inside, however, he couldn't find any of that. Even that icy, cold feeling he felt had vanished, to be replaced with...absolutely nothing. Thanasia had been half-right. It was extremely important to keep his real identity under wraps. Celestia and Luna had been some of the nicest ponies all those years ago, but it even took them years to warm up to him. And they weren't mortal... But they liked him in spite of being immortal. Even if their time had been limited, they would have befriended him anyway. Right? Right? He whimpered, trying to stem a sudden tide of misery. Not only were Twilight and the others upset with him, not only was his own creator undoubtedly angry at him, but he was now starting to doubt his ties with the royal sisters. If something didn't change, he was going to be very depressed, very quickly. He stepped onto a beaten path, and made himself solid again. He had to figure out what to do before— And that's when he heard the screams. When he looked to the source, he had just enough time to see it was coming from three fillies. He would've learned more, but by then they had already crashed their scooter and wagon into him. Mort didn't feel any pain, of course, but pain or not, getting run over was still pretty inconvenient. Especially when one's corporeal body was in the form of a skeleton, sans any ligaments or muscles to hold it all together. He handled it about as well as bowling pins handled a bowling ball. For a moment the world turned upside down, and he was aware that some of his limbs had been dislocated and were now flying everywhere. Looking “up”, he saw the fillies speeding by. The one in the scooter was obviously losing control, and her two passengers in the wagon were hugging each other in fright. Another moment later, Mort (what was left of him, anyway) landed on the ground, just in time to see the foals crash noisily into a bundle of tall bushes. The tree behind it shook, and its avian inhabitants took off, tweeting their disgruntlement all the while. Mort stared at the bush, seeing pieces of himself leading up to it. His immediate fear was that the foals would soon step out, see the bones, and realize that they had dismembered a walking skeleton. If they simply ran away, then he could just wait until they were out of sight before pulling himself together and getting out of there. The adults would laugh off their story as just their imagination, and if they came back and saw him gone, they'd hopefully forget all about it. Worst case scenario, he'd become an urban legend. Now, if they actually walked over to him, there would be problems. He could still feel the medallion around his neck, for one thing. While he was quite relieved he hadn't lost it, the foals would definitely notice it. If they went back to Ponyville—they would have to, since it's the only town for many miles—and reported that little tidbit, it would raise a number of uncomfortable questions. Especially if the amulet was still working and making him look like a thin-faced, pale stallion. Then again, he could also just make himself invisible before they came out... Mort suddenly realized that during all these musings, he hadn't seen a hint of movement. In fact, he could barely make out any noises from the bush at all. This instilled him with a much more terrible fear. “Oh no.” He attempted to stand, but found he couldn't do it with one leg. He felt for his limbs, willing them to all come back to him. As they flew towards him, he was already floating towards the crash, putting himself back together a few pieces at a time. Ribs, femurs, and vertebrae all reattached themselves. “Hey, are you girls okay?” By the time he reached the tree, nearly all of him had been recovered and put back together, but his appearance was one of the last things on his mind. “Please, say something!” He waited for any sign of life. Any moment now, he thought, Thanasia was going to reappear and reap the fillies. Then they were going to look at him with big, teary eyes, asking why he had to surprise them like that and get them all killed. Then Thanasia would regard him with complete and utter disdain, say that this is what she meant about “hurting” ponies, tell him what a total screw up he was, and then Celestia and Luna would find out, and they would hate him, and then he'd be all alone for all of eternity and— “Ow!” The universal declaration of pain snapped Mort from his thoughts, and he saw the bushes shake as something began to climb out. A surge of relief flowed through Mort. “Oh thank goodness, you're okay! For a moment I thought that—” A helmeted head had popped out of the bushes, and Mort lost his voice when he saw his right foreleg balanced on top of it. The helmet had been pushed so far down that its owner, an orange pegasus filly, had her eyes completely covered. “W-who said that? Why can't I see anything?!” The filly twisted her head left and right, and somehow Mort's limb continued to hold a precarious balance. Before saying anything else, Mort swiped the limb and hastily reattached it. “It's okay, just give me a moment to...” Mort's horn glowed, and he grasped the helmet with an aura of magic. He gave it a few tugs, and managed to pop it off the filly's head. The filly shook her head, trying to get rid of the stars in her vision. She looked at Mort with dazed, unfocused eyes, rummaging a hoof through a cerise mane. When her eyes stopped spinning and focused on him, she let out a frightened squeak. “Who you talkin' to, Scootaloo?” Another pair of heads popped out of the bushes, this time neither of them balancing pieces of him. To his heartfelt appreciation, they were wearing helmets as well. The one who spoke was a yellow filly, with hints of a red mane sticking out from underneath her helmet. The two of them had the same reaction as their orange friend when they saw him. Mort was frozen from uncertainty. Twilight and her friends had all been frightened of him initially, and not only were they significantly older, they at least knew of him before hoof. These foals probably didn't know a thing about him. From their perspective, he was probably some dark, shadowy stranger who was all alone with them in the middle of the woods. There were horror stories that started out like that. The awkward silence was finally broken by the third foal, a white filly with strands of a grayish mulberry mane sticking out from under her helmet. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered. “You...” Mort tensed up, preparing to run. “You're the pony we ran over!” So quickly did the tension escape Mort that he almost collapsed. This seemed to break the other two out of their trance. “What are you talking about?” the orange pegasus asked. The white filly looked at her friend accusingly. “What am I talking about? Are you crazy?” She pointed at Mort. “We drove straight into him!” “Really?” The yellow filly looked at Mort. “We did?” Mort hesitated a moment, then slowly nodded. A guilty look appeared on her face in return. “Oh shoot, we're awful sorry, mister! Scootaloo was supposed to watch where she was goin'.” “Hey, I was, Applebloom! He just came out of nowhere!” The orange filly crossed her forelegs, pouting. “Should've watched where he was going...” The white filly looked at him with concern. “You're not hurt, are you?” “Forget about me! What about you three?” His horn glowed, and all three were lifted out of the bush, and gently deposited on the ground. “Are you all okay? Nothing broken?” “I don't think so,” Scootaloo said, fluttering her wings. “What about you, AB?” “Ah'm fine,” the yellow earth pony said, taking her helmet off and revealing a big, pink bow underneath. She rotated her shoulder a bit and turned to the last filly. “Sweetie Belle?” “I-I think so?” The final filly took her helmet off, and Mort could now see that her mane was actually a blend of color: besides the mulberry he saw, there were also streaks of greyish rose. The filly gingerly prodded her horn, grimacing as she did so. “Is my horn crooked?” “Your horn's fine,” Mort said. While he was waiting for the fillies to answer him, he had scanned their bodies for injuries, in case there was something serious they didn't detect, or didn't think much of. Fortunately, besides some scrapes and bruises, he could find nothing wrong with them. “You're all fine, from what I can tell. Thank goodness...I thought...I...I...” Mort couldn't control himself anymore. Feelings he had been trying to hold back since Rarity's came rushing to the forefront with the force of a tsunami, bringing with it all manner of guilt and regret. He fell on his haunches as a loud wail escaped his mouth, which was immediately followed by uncontrollable sobbing. The fillies exchanged confused and frightened looks with each other. Applebloom cautiously stepped forward, reaching out and touching him. “M-mister? Are you okay? Did we hurt you?” Mort sniffed, struggling to get back in control of himself. “N-no. I'm s-sorry, today just hasn't been a good d-day for me. I'm trying my best, but I keep m-messing everything up and getting everypony angry at me...” “Ah know how that feels,” Applebloom said sympathetically. The other two nodded, sharing the sentiment. “A-and because of me, you three could've gotten really hurt,” he choked. “I-if anything had happened to you, I could have never f-forgiven myself...” His voice petered out near the end, swallowed up by another round of weeping. For a minute none of the fillies moved, their eyes fixated on the shade. It was then that Sweetie Belle trotted up until she standing directly below Mort's face. The pony shade calmed down enough to see her looking up at him. Without saying a word, the white unicorn wrapped her forehooves around a cloaked leg, giving it a tight squeeze. Mort gasped at the sudden influx of emotion that came with it. It was a warm and soothing feeling, completely unconditional and eager to comfort. “There, there, it's going to be okay. Nopony got hurt,” the foal cooed gently. Sweetie Belle looked back at her friends, gesturing with her head. Applebloom bit her lip, looking uncertain, but eventually shrugged and came over, hugging the other leg. It wasn't quite as warm, but there was a certain sturdiness to it that suggested she didn't have any ill will towards him. Sweetie Belle looked towards Scootaloo, but the little pegasus looked away, seemingly embarrassed. Sweetie Belle glared at her, and gestured again. Scootaloo rolled her eyes and trudged over, halfheartedly hugging Mort from the side. The emotions Mort felt from her were pricklier, and it was clear the foal didn't want to hug him, but it felt like it had less to do with personal feelings, and more about having an aversion to anything emotional. The three let go of him at around the same time. Sweetie Belle looked at him hopefully. “Do you feel better?” Mort considered it. While he still didn't feel good about what happened, it didn't seem quite so overwhelming now. It was kind of funny; usually he was the one comforting foals. “Yes,” he said, nodding affirmatively. “Thank you.” “Yer welcome!” Applebloom said. “Good, I hate that sappy stuff,” Scootaloo remarked, sticking her tongue out. This earned her a dirty look from her two friends, which in turn made her adopt a guilty look. “Still, uh, sorry for hitting you and everything, mister...?” “Mort,” he said, “and don't worry about it.” He patted her on the head, making the filly grumble to herself. Applebloom's eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey, wait a sec! Do you think our special talent could be cheering ponies up?” In a flash, the three had grouped together, and as a whole looked expectantly at their flanks. Mort had overlooked it before, but all three of them didn't have their cutie marks yet. After a few seconds passed, the fillies sighed and hung their heads in disappointment. “Ah was so sure that was it this time.” “Just one more thing to cross off,” Scootaloo said, kicking at a small pebble. “Cross off?” “Yep! We're the Cutie Mark Crusaders,” Applebloom declared. Sweetie Belle joined in, saying, “We're dedicated to helping ourselves and other ponies find their cutie marks!” Mort found the enthusiasm contagious, and grinned. Granted, he was always grinning, but if he had lips, he would take the effort to grin now. “Sounds like a good time.” “It's awesome!” Scootaloo said, floating up into the air. “Sure, it can be a real pain occasionally, but it's really fun most of the time!” “Well, I wish you the best of luck,” he said, “but I gotta get going now.” “Hey, mis—er, Mort,” Applebloom started, “what were you doin' all the way out here, anyway?” “Did it have something to do with what you said earlier?” Sweetie Belle asked. Mort sighed. “Yeah, but it's not something you girls need to worry about.” He stuck his hoof out towards Scootaloo. “Thanks for cheering me up, though, and sorry about earlier.” The filly blushed. “Nah, don't worry about it,” Scootaloo said dismissively. “They're right, it was my bad, I probably took my eyes off the road for a second.” Mort bit his tongue, so-to-speak. Technically the pegasus filly had been right the first time, since he had come out of nowhere almost literally. He felt responsible for their injuries, minor as they were. Scootaloo reached out to shake Mort's hoof, but paused to look at it. “Do they do hoofshakes like that where you're from?” “What do you mean?” Mort looked down at his hoof, seeing that the toe was pointing straight down. Mort made the action of spinning his arm, and then the toe was pointing upward. He relaxed, and it pointed down again. He rested the hoof on the ground, and stood his other hoof next to it. Immediately, he could tell there was something wrong: while the left forehoof's toe pointed forward, the other one pointed backward. He then remembered it being the same foreleg he had reattached, after he found it balancing on Scootaloo's head. “Well, that's not right,” he said casually. “Must have been the...crash...?” The three fillies were staring at him, their mouths hanging open. Mort finally realized the implications of his words. He cleared his throat. “Um, this isn't really as bad as it—” All three fillies screamed at the same time, reaching such a pitch that his bones vibrated. “It's backwards!” Sweetie Belle yelled, tugging at her mane. “His entire hoof is backwards!” Scootaloo anxiously hopped from one hoof to another, never having more than one on the ground at the same time. “Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh!” “You said you weren't hurt!” Applebloom shouted, a hint of accusation in an otherwise terrified voice. “I'm not hurt!” he insisted. “Did you hear that?” Applebloom grabbed Scootaloo and started to shake her like a rag doll. “We twisted it so bad he can't even feel it anymore!” “Applebloom, that's not what I—” “What if it's worse than that?” Sweetie Belle said. “What if we hit him so hard his entire heart and stuff got twisted around too?!” “Sweetie Belle, that's not anatomically—” “Wait!” Scootaloo said. “I just remembered we have a first aid kit at the clubhouse! We could use that!” “Scootaloo, really, I don't need first aid—” “Good idea, Scootaloo! Let's get the wagon pulled around, and we'll load him up!” Applebloom and Scootaloo rushed to the bushes, scrabbling around within to pull out their vehicles. “Girls, if you just let me finish—” “Don't panic, Mort!” Sweetie Belle was now tugging at his robes. “Everything will be fine so long as you don't panic!” “But I'm not—” “I said DON'T PANIC!” Mort stared silently at the shivering, nerve-wrecked filly. She was breathing like she had just run a marathon and looked moments away from crying. A number of responses floated around in his head, but so far he could barely get a word in edgewise. The fillies were convinced that something was wrong, and were not going to believe anything else until they were too tired to think otherwise. He sighed in defeat. There were times when the best thing to do was just to go with the flow, and hope it didn't lead to a waterfall. “Alright,” he told her gently, “I promise I won't panic.” This had the desired effect. Some of Sweetie Belle's own panic drained out of her, and she allowed a smile to work its way in. “Pinkie Promise?” “Yes, Pinkie...” The shade trailed off. “Wait, Pinkie Promise?” Before he could inquire further, the scooter and wagon rattled up behind him. Scootaloo and Applebloom jumped out, joining their friend. “Alright,” said Applebloom, “now we gotta carefully get him inside the wagon.” “No time!” Just barely after she had finished saying it, Scootaloo shot forward and heaved the pony shade into the wagon, much to his chagrin. “I could have just climbed in,” he grumbled as he got back on his hooves. A moment later Applebloom and Sweetie Belle jumped in, landing in front of him. There was just enough room in the wagon for two foals and an adult pony. Slightly more, in fact, when the “adult” wasn't taking up space with things like fat and muscle. Applebloom finished tightening her helmet, and then pointed forward dramatically. “Wing it, Scootaloo!” Scootaloo jumped onto the scooter, flexing her tiny wings. “Hang on to your flanks!” The fillies grabbed the edge of the wagon as if their lives depended on it, sharing a nervous look. Mort looked at them, wondering what had them so nervous. Scootaloo started to flap her wings. And flap, and flap, and flap...and soon the filly was lifting herself off the ground a few inches at a time, lifting the scooter with her. She was going to make sure they took off as quickly as possible. Mort watched in amazement. The wings were now beating so fast a hummingbird would have had trouble keeping up. Then, all of a sudden, she dropped down, her wings changed direction— And Mort suddenly remembered that they had hit him hard enough to scatter him everywhere. “Oh noooooooooo!” Mort's voice was almost lost in the wind as the four of them took off, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Mort had flown fast before. A shade had to be fast to keep up with all the deaths in the world, especially if they were to occur minutes apart from one another on opposite sides of a continent. The thing, however, was that he had always been intangible during such times, meaning he didn't have to worry about things like gravity or air resistance. Even light encountered more resistance than he did. He wasn't intangible this time. This time, he was flailing in the wind as Scootaloo rocketed through the forest, taking turns and paths that would have given a Wonderbolt pause. And if it wasn't bad enough that the sudden acceleration had sent his forehooves reeling in the air, his cloak was now billowing out like a parachute, dragging him back and over the rim of the wagon. Just as he felt he was going to fall out through the back, two pairs of hooves grabbed his cloak, and pulled him back in. “You alright?” Sweetie Belle asked, her voice almost drowned out by the rushing wind. “We did tell you to hold on,” Applebloom reminded him. Mort only grumbled in response. They raced over a rocky path, causing their teeth (and his case, bones) to rattle. Pebbles flew from underneath the scooter, forcing the fillies to shield themselves. Mort tried to shield himself too, not because they hurt, but because he didn't want pebbles bouncing around like pinballs in his rib cage. “Don't you think we should slow down?” he asked, as the last pebble bounced off his cloak. Applebloom stared at him incredulously. “In your condition, Mort? We can't spare even a second!” “Girls, really, even if this was as bad as it looked, I don't think—” “LEAN LEFT!” “What does she mean lean AHH!” Mort and the others practically threw themselves to the left side of the wagon as it went around a sharp turn. Even with that, the wagon tilted and for a moment was balanced on only its right wheels. Mort dared to looked behind himself, and saw a drop that overlooked large batches of thorn bushes. The moment passed and they came crashing down, landing as a heap inside the wagon. Mort quickly got up and looked back, just in time to see the cliff vanish behind a hill. “How have I not met you girls yet?” “What was that?” Applebloom asked. “Uh, nothing...” “Heads up!” The passengers looked ahead to see Scootaloo traveling underneath a series of low-hanging branches. Scootaloo and her friends ducked their heads, missing them completely. Mort ducked along with them, his head just low enough to miss the branches. His horn was a different story. Sweetie Belle's head popped out from underneath a pile branches and twigs. She scooped one up, giving it a confused look. “Where did these come from?” “Couldn't tell you,” Mort said. He looked back to see the trees they passed, their branches replaced with atomically smooth stumps. At last, it seemed that the path had stabilized. There were no sharp turns, no steep cliffs, no bumpy roads. Just a smooth, dirt path that, for all he knew, existed solely because of the foals he rode with. Mort took the moment to relax himself, leaning back in the wagon so that only his hood caught the wind. He felt the air wash over him, blowing around him and traveling through his hood. It was certainly...different. He sometimes overhead ponies gush at the sensation of their manes or feathers blowing in the wind as they sped off somewhere. While he couldn't relate for obvious reasons, he also couldn't see what was so enticing about it. It was just wind. Now, though...while he still couldn't experience it the same way ponies did, he had to admit that there was something thrilling about it. He would have to seal his cloak up so he wouldn't struggle so much, but maybe when he had the chance he could just fly while tangible. Stretch his wings out and— “We're here!” Learning his lesson from last time, Mort had the good sense to brace himself. The wagon skidded across the earth, digging up soil and grass, before it came to a halt. The shade and fillies sitting in the wagon plopped back down as it stopped, all three happy for the much less disastrous stop. Pulling his hood back a little, Mort got a look at where they were. The wagon had stopped at the base of a ramp, that met another ramp halfway up a tree to form an L-shape, which lead into a treehouse. Mort has seen treehouses as he traveled across Equestria, but they were all relatively rickety and a little shabby, as to be expected from their young architects. This one, however, looked almost suitable enough to live in: it had a door and windows panes, was surrounded with guard rails, and assuming that the top window wasn't for show, it also had a second floor. Tilting his head back to see further up, he could see that sticking out of the top of the tree was a little watch tower, where the end of a telescope peaked out from within. “Wow.” It wasn't an architectural marvel by any means, but if foals had built this, it was certainly impressive. Scootaloo zipped over, taking her helmet off. “Should we make a stretcher?” Applebloom took her helmet off and shook her head. “That'd take too long! He needs medical attention pronto!” “Could you walk up there if we helped you?” Sweetie Belle asked him. Mort wanted to tell them he could walk on his own, but figured it was best to play along for just a little longer. “Sure.” “Ah'll help ya, then,” Applebloom said, helping him out of the wagon. “Just per yer leg around my shoulder, okay?” “Well, okay...” It was an awkward thing to do, given her smaller size. He was practically stepping on her. Still, he was pretty light even when solid, and the filly didn't seem to mind the weight. What she did notice, though, became apparent when she shivered suddenly. “Gosh, yer hoof's cold!” “Um, that's bad, isn't it?” Scootaloo asked, some panic injected into her voice. “It's like the middle of the day!” “We gotta hurry!” Sweetie Belle started shoving at Mort from behind. At the same time, Applebloom started to walk forward, and Scootaloo bit onto a part of his cloak and started to drag him. “Whoah, hey, slow down, girls! I'm moving, okay?” The four of them half walked, half stumbled up the ramp and into the tree house. The insides were moderately furnished, with a couple tables in the corner and a little shelf for books, plus a lamp that hung from a rope in the center. Some stairs went up to the second floor, and hanging on the wall were framed pictures and posters, including one that had scribbles of several buildings with a red X going through each of them. It took a Mort a moment to realize that some of the buildings were from Ponyville. There was also a red-and-white target circle on the floor, but Mort had no idea why. Maybe they were changing the game up these days. He was lead to the center of the room, and sat down. “Now, you just sit tight, mister!” Applebloom said encouragingly. “We're going to take good care of ya!” The three of them then ran over to a large chest that sat against the wall. They flung it open and began to dig into it, throwing out a skull-and-bone bandana, swimming flippers, old newspapers, a climbing rope...Mort was sure the ponies had a word for all of this. It may have been “junk”. While he waited, his eyes drifted over to the book shelf, silently reading off the titles he saw: Green Eggs and Hay, Where the Zap Apples Grow, Cloudy with a Chance of Hayfries, The Manticore and the Mouse, The Very Hungry Appelox... His reading was interrupted by the sound of hooves, and he looked to see the three fillies scrambling back towards him, each now wearing a nurse cap. They skidded to a stop in front of him, where they laid out the first-aid kit in between all of them. “You okay so far?” Applebloom asked. “Er, yes?” “Then let's get to work!” Scootaloo announced, and all three pulled something out of the first aid kit. Scootaloo wore a stethoscope, Sweetie Belle had a blood pressure meter hanging around her neck, and Applebloom was holding a thermometer between her teeth. They all held rolls of cloth bandages. “Ready?” “Ready!” “Ready!” All three took a breath, and then... “CUTIE MARK CRUSADER DOCTORS!” The tree house shook, and the window panes rattled. A sudden feeling of dread came over Mort. He had reached the waterfall, and was beginning to think that there were very sharp rocks waiting for him at the bottom. “Um, o-okay girls, I think we've taken all of this a little too—” He was interrupted by a thermometer being shoved into his mouth. Before he could protest, all three of them darted forward and started to wrap him up. Whether it was out of fear of something else being broken, or had been swept up in the excitement, they continued from his foreleg and started to wrap up the rest of him. “Now wait a mmph!” A roll of bandages were wrapped around his muzzle, and soon the trio were going in circles around him, wrapping him with whatever they had on hoof, though thankfully they never bothered to think about taking his cloak off. Within moments nearly every square-inch of him had been wrapped, his black cloak almost completely hidden by the white bandages. “Do you think that's enough?” Sweetie Belle asked her friends. “Ah don't think it matters. We're plumb out!” Applebloom held the first aid kit up, and held it upside down to demonstrate. The three fillies stood in front of Mort. The pony shade fumed slightly, now wishing he had been a teeny more assertive about the whole situation. He wondered if all patients felt like this at some point, where getting healed almost seemed more inconvenient then staying hurt. “You feelin' better yet?” Applebloom asked. Mort looked flatly at Applebloom, flicking his eyes at the bandaged muzzle. Giggling in embarrassment, Applebloom reached up and removed it. “Oh, right. Sorry about that. Better?” “Much,” he said appreciatively. “Hey, what's the thermo-thingy say, anyway?” Scootaloo plucked the thermometer from Mort's mouth, examining it. “Um, do any of you know what the normal temp for a pony is?” “I think Miss Cheerilee says it was ninety-eight-point-something,” Sweetie Belle said. “Oh...so, what does it mean when it's room temp?” The fillies stared at the thermometer in confusion, not noticing the very nervous way that Mort was now looking at them. “Maybe Ah didn't do it right?” “Well, let's check his heart rate, then.” Scootaloo put the tubes in her ears, then placed the diaphragm on Mort's chest. “You too, Sweetie Belle.” Mort gulped. “Um, that's really not—” “Shh! I can't hear anything!” Mort moaned quietly, knowing that no matter what he did, Scootaloo wasn't going to hear anything anyway. While he waited, Sweetie Belle wrapped the cuff around his foreleg, and begun to squeeze the bulb between her hooves. As she did, Scootaloo moved the diaphragm around Mort's chest, her ears twitching as it searched for a non-existent heartbeat. After a few pumps, Sweetie Belle let go of the bulb, and the air began to squeeze out. “Okay, Scootaloo. What do you have?” “Ugh, nothing! I think these things are broken.” The pegasus foal scowled and then threw the medical instrument away in disgust. “Aww...” Sweetie Belle removed the cuff, then gathered the thermometer and stethoscope before stuffing everything back into the med kit. Mort tapped one hoof and looked up at the ceiling, wondering if they were going to stop soon. “What now?” Applebloom asked. Sweetie Belle rubbed her chin thoughtfully, and then her eyes lit up. “Ooh, I know! Mort, could you turn your head and cough?” “What?!” Mort's head snapped towards her so fast his neck bones popped. Her friends, meanwhile, looked at her with confused expressions. Scootaloo tilted her head to one side. “What's that supposed to do?” Sweetie Belle shrugged, flushing from the attention. “I-I don't know, I just overheard it once at the doctor's office.” “Did you ask yer sister about it?” Applebloom asked. “I did, but she just got all flustered and never said anything...” “Huh...” Scootaloo looked back at Mort. “Well, go ahead.” Mort stared at her, crossing his legs protectively. “Excuse me?” “Just, you know, turn and cough! If a doctor says to do it, it has to be for something, right?” Mort stared at them uncertainly. After a moments hesitation, he turned his head to one side and coughed twice. He looked at them again, hoping that would be the end of it. Applebloom shook her head. “Ah don't get it.” “Me neither.” Scootaloo looked at Mort's, frowning guiltily. “I don't think his leg's any better...” “We don't got a choice then,” Applebloom said sadly. “We have to get him to a doctor before it gets infected or somethin'.” Mort tensed. His cover would be blown if he went to a hospital, or even a small clinic. Even if by some miracle they allowed him to keep the cloak on, they would know something was amiss right away. “Listen, I don't need to go to a hospital, alright?” he told them. “I keep saying I'm fine!” “But you're not fine!” Applebloom insisted. “Yer leg's all twisted up because of us!” “We have to help you! If it got any worse because of us...” Sweetie Belle sniffled, tears forming around her eyes. Mort sighed. “Alright, I didn't want to have to do this, but...” Mort wiggled his way out of the bandages until they had piled around his hooves. He stepped out of bundles, and presented his twisted hoof to them. “Okay girls, see this? Now it's twisted...” He reached under his cloak, found his leg, and then rotated it. With a pop, the foreleg returned to its correct position. He put his hoof down next to his other one, showing the fillies that they now matched. “Now it's not! There, nothing to it.” The three fillies stared at his hoof, their eyes bulging and their mouths hanging open. Sweetie Belle made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, and fainted. The other two barely noticed. “How did you do that?” Scootaloo asked, sounding both frightened and amazed. “Oh, I'm flexible,” he said, swinging his foreleg around a little. “You know, yoga and the like.” Applebloom was the first to recover, a smile growing on her face. “Is that your special talent?” “Special talent?” “You know, like the thing you're really good,” Scootaloo said, now copying Applebloom's expression. “The kind of thing that gets you a cutie mark!” “Cutie mark?” Sweetie Belle unsteadily got to her hooves, sounding dazed. “What about cutie marks...?” “Mort has a cutie mark in yoga!” Applebloom said, pointing at him. Sweetie Belle shook her head in an attempt to clear it. “Didn't we do that yesterday?” “No, we did judo yesterday,” Scootaloo said, gingerly rubbing her forehoof. “I can still feel that brick...” "Ah tried to tell you that brick breakin' was karate." "Come on! What kind of martial art doesn't let you break stuff?" Mort cleared his throat loudly, getting their attention. “Minor correction: I never said it was my cutie mark." “Then what is it?” Sweetie Belle asked. Mort shrugged. “I couldn't tell you. I don't have one.” This was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it even before he heard the mortified gasp from the fillies. The three foals gawked at him, somehow looking even more shocked than when he had popped his leg back into place. “You don't have a cutie mark?” Scootaloo's tone was one that was typically reserved for ponies who said they had only a few years to live. “But yer so old!” Applebloom cried despairingly. The comment had a strange, bristling affect on Mort. “Hey, I'm not old! I'm only...er...” Mort thought back to his very first memories, calculating the years that had passed since then. Civilizations rose and fell, landmasses changed or sunk into the ocean, several species had appeared and then gone extinct. Years turned into decades, which then turned into centuries, which then turned into millennia... “I'm not old,” he insisted sourly, crossing his forelegs over his chest. “And even if I was, I don't see how that's a bad thing.” “Because it means we could grow up and never get our cutie mark either,” Sweetie Belle said despondently. All three of them looked sullenly at their flanks. Seeing this ignited emotions within Mort. The three of them had helped him out, after all. It was only fair he returned the favor. “Hey, now don't be like that,” he said gently. “Just because I don't have a cutie mark doesn't mean you three aren't going to get it.” “How do you know,” Scootaloo asked glumly. “Everypony keeps telling us that we'll get our cutie marks eventually, but Ah always thought we'd at least get them before we grew up,” Applebloom said. “Ah didn't know there were adults without cutie marks.” “Look, you girls have nothing to worry about.” He motioned them to come closer. “You're not like me. I'm a...well, special case.” “A special case?” Sweetie Belle asked, approaching him with her friends. “Yeah,” he said. “I don't have a cutie mark because...well, I can't ever get one.” Scootaloo looked at him in shock. “You can't get one? Ever?” “Never,” he said, shaking his head. “I have a...uh, condition. It's super-rare, and I'm the only pony I know who has has it.” He saw the looks this earned him, and quickly added, “But it's not contagious or anything!” “But how do you know we don't got something like that?” Sweetie Belle asked. “I'm the one who popped my leg back into place, remember?” Mort scuffled the top of her mane. “I know quite a bit about pony anatomy, and you girls definitely don't have to worry about it.” “But doesn't it make you sad?” Applebloom asked. “Never knowin' what your special talent is or anythin'?” “Not really,” he said. “Griffons, cows, and other creatures get along fine without them. We just need to pay a little more attention to what we really like.” “Is that why you wear that?” Scootaloo asked, pointing at his cloak. “Er, part of the reason,” he said vaguely. “So what do you do, then?” Sweetie Belle asked. Mort glanced up, recalling the last story he told. “Well...I collect things.” “Like treasure?” “Well, they're not exactly treasures,” he told the pegasus, “but every single one of them is incredibly valuable.” “Like...a million bits or somethin'?” “Oh, you could never put a price on them.” He sighed. “Not that it stops some ponies...” The three gave him confused looks. “It's nothing,” he said, getting up. “Well, I should probably get going...” “Do you have to?” Sweetie Belle asked. “Yeah, you could still give us some tips!” Scootaloo said. “I don't think we've tried being Cutie Mark Treasure Hunters!” “Ooh, Ah know!” Applebloom darted in front of Mort, blocking the entrance. “We could take you up to the farm! My sis said she was bringin' somepony over today for lunch, so we're goin' to have plenty to eat! You could tell us more about it then!” Mort stared at her, bits of memory from this morning coming to him. “Applebloom, you wouldn't happen to have a brother, would you?” “Ah do!” she said. “His name's Big McIntosh, and he's the strongest pony Ah know!” “And if I were to guess,” he said, dreading the response, “this sister of yours...is her name Applejack?” “Yeah! How'd you know?” “I met her,” he said, hanging his head. “And, if I were to completely honest with you, it's her and her friends that are angry at me.” “Really?” Sweetie Belle asked. “Rarity too?” Mort looked over to the younger unicorn, focusing on the white coat. “Let me guess, she's your sister?” “Uh huh,” she said. “What happened?” Scootaloo asked. “Well...” Though he was reluctant to tell them, he felt they had a to know about what happened. It was their friends and family, after all. It didn't feel right keeping it from them. While he neglected any parts that revealed his true nature, he did tell them about everything that happened at the Carousel Boutique, the park, and finally Sugarcube Corner. “...and that's about the time we literally ran into each other.” His tale told, he wondered how the fillies would react. Would they be angry with him, or politely decline to bring him along. Scootaloo was the first to speak. Or rather, whistle. “Wow, that sounds pretty bad.” “I'm so sorry,” Sweetie Belle said sympathetically. He looked at her in disbelief. “You're sorry? Aren't you angry about what happened with your sister?” “Well, I'm sad it got destroyed, because I remember her telling me how proud of it she was,” Sweetie Belle explained. “But I've did a lot of stuff on accident too. Shrinking her sweater, burning her breakfast, taking her gems without asking...” “Yeah, if we had to be honest, Mort, we've done some pretty dumb things to,” Applebloom said remorsefully. “So we kinda understand what it's like,” Scootaloo finished. “So...do you think they'll stay mad at me?” he asked. “Since you know them better, I mean.” “No way!” Applebloom jumped up, shooting him an encouraging smile. “Our sisters ain't the type to hold a grudge! You just gotta say how sorry you are!” “Pinkie Pie and Twilight too,” Sweetie Belle added. “They had a lot worse done to them then getting pinned or buried in cake.” “Getting pinned...” Scootaloo sniggered to herself. “If I was honest, I wished I hadn't missed that!” “Lunch should be starting any minute now. If we hurry, we might get there just as Granny's pullin' the pies out!” Applebloom licked her lips and ran out the door. Sweetie Belle stopped at the door to look back at Mort. “Then while we're eating, you could think about what to say when you see Twilight and the others again!” “It'll work out, you'll see!” Scootaloo rushed out the door, and her unicorn friend followed right behind her. Mort stood in the center of the room, processing what he'd been told. Twilight Sparkle had told him at the park that all he had to do was apologize as well, but that was before he had caked her and hurt Pinkie Pie. But none of that seemed to have been a big deal to them. Some of them even found it a little funny. Even Thanasia hadn't thought it was a big deal. Speaking of which...he had to apologize to Thanasia the next chance he got as well. He still thought what she said was unacceptable, but she was still his creator. Ignoring her like he did also didn't do him any favors. But he could worry about that later. He would have to, because he couldn't keep agonizing over how things could have gone differently. It was something he always told wayward souls, so it seemed about time to follow his own advice. And the only way to know if Twilight and the others would forgive him would be to ask them upfront. Applebloom's voice came in from outside. “Are you comin', Mort?” “On my way!” He trotted down the ramp and climbed into the wagon, taking his place behind Applebloom and Sweetie Belle. “Mort, before we go, could you do us one favor?” Applebloom asked. Mort nodded. “Name it!” “Please don't tell our parents we ran you over!” Sweetie Belle brought her hooves together and shot Mort one of the most pleading looks he had ever seen. “Yeah, I don't want to lose my scooter!” Scootaloo added, mimicking her friend's face. “And mah sister would tan mah hide if she found out!” Applebloom joined her friends, and all three were now giving him the desperate, wide-eyed looks that only children in potential trouble could pull off. The answer was easy. “I promise, if you do one thing for me,” he said. “An' what's that?” “That stuff I mentioned, about my cutie mark and everything? Could we keep it between ourselves?” Scootaloo nodded, holding a hoof to her chest. “Sure, your secret's safe with us!” “Not the leg, either,” he added. “Otherwise they...well, they're going to wonder how it got like that.” “Good point,” Sweetie Belle said. “But can we still ask you about the stuff you do?” “Absolutely.” While he had been trying to create a good story since this morning, by now he believed he had a solid idea of what to say. So long as he remained vague and didn't make too many definite statements, he should be okay. At least, he hoped so. “Alright, let's get going! And hang on this time, Mort!” Mort didn't need to be told twice. He and the other two secured themselves, giving Scootaloo the go ahead. She took off, and this time Mort did not go halfway out the back. The sun closed in on its zenith, and below the Pale Pony traveled to his next destination, riding in a little, red wagon.