//------------------------------//
// Inflection 
// Story: Prodigy 
// by Sable Tails 
//------------------------------//

	Stasis bopped the big orange colt on the back of the head.
“Ow!” Major rubbed at the wound and shot Stasis a confused look. “What was that for? Was there a bug on me or something?”
“No, I hit you because you’re being recalcitrant,” Stasis explained.
“Huh?”
Stasis shook his hoof reproachfully in the pony’s face. “You haven’t said a word to me all day!” exclaimed the little changeling. “What’s wrong with you? Normally you talk too much, but now you talk too little. I don’t like it.”
“Well, I just don’t feel like talking right now,” Major said defensively.
“Yes, you do,” said the little mildly-psychic changeling. “But you’re not doing it. What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” He supposed he couldn’t really blame the pony for being sick, but he wanted to anyway.
“No….” said Major shiftily.
“If you don’t start talking to me right now, I’m going to have to hit you again,” Stasis warned.
Major looked away. “Well…I’m not really supposed to talk to you anymore. I don’t even know if we can be friends or play together or anything.”
“What!” Stasis shouted. “What are you talking about?”
Major seemed to summon his courage. “Well, remember how yesterday you said all those things about earth ponies and then beat up Pierce?”
Stasis frowned. “Yeah? What about it?” That was ancient history. He’d have thought everypony would be over that by now.
“Well, I’m an earth pony too, and it kind of hurt my feelings,” explained Major.
Stasis looked his companion up and down. It was true; Major was an earth pony. Stasis hadn’t really given it a lot of thought at the time. He imagined living without magic or flight must be slightly better than being dead.
“Major,” he began carefully, “I only meant those things to hurt Pierce’s feelings, not yours. The fact that you’re also an earth pony is just a coincidence. You could just as easily have been a pegasus or a unicorn.” He wasn’t actually sure if that was true; the whole three-races-in-one thing had always been something of a mystery to him. But it would make Major feel better.
“It still hurt my feelings,” Major posited stubbornly.
Stasis thought for a few moments, and then gave a sly smile. “Well…aren’t friends supposed to forgive each other?” he asked. He was pretty sure he had heard that somewhere, and Major obviously thought they were friends.
“Um…yeah, I guess that’s true,” said Major, obviously deep in thought. “But aren’t you supposed to say you’re sorry first?”
Stasis shrugged. “Who can say? The ways of friendship are an enigma wrapped in mysteries stuffed inside a riddle or something. Let’s go play on the swings now.”
Major shook his head. “Uh-uh. I was telling my dad about what you did, and he said that I shouldn’t play with anypony who’s a bad influence. He also said that anypony who beats up other ponies for fun isn’t a good influence. Since you beat up Pierce yesterday, that must mean that you’re a bad influence, and since you’re a bad influence, that means that I shouldn’t play with you,” Major declared with sudden aplomb.
Stasis narrowed his eyes, but no matter how he poked at it with his mind, Major’s logic was undeniable. He would have to be crafty.
“You know, you shouldn’t listen to everything ponies tell you, Major. Sometimes you have to think for yourself. I mean, if your dad told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?” quizzed the little changeling craftily.
“Well…I don’t…uh….”
Stasis leaned forward, sensing that victory was within his grasp.
Major’s eyes shifted about. “I…I…I love my dad!” the orange pony declared suddenly, as if that was any answer. Stasis could tell it was true; Major was feeling very lovey right then.
The little changeling frowned. “Well, I don’t love your dad, and I say that you’re being very selfish.”
“Huh?” questioned Major, looking quite concerned.
“Yeah,” Stasis nodded, “you’re being very selfish, only thinking of what my being a bad influence does to you. I mean, what about me? I like being a bad influence. I want to be bad, and it’s wrong of you to try to pressure me otherwise,” Stasis finished.
Major blinked. “Um…well, all I know is that I shouldn’t be your friend because my dad said so.”
This was not working. Stasis pondered the problem for a few more moments.
“So…how about if I promise to be a less bad influence in the future?” Stasis offered. The best thing about the future, as far as he was concerned, was that it was always in the future and never in the now.
Major tapped his chin. “I guess that’s alright.”
Stasis smiled.
“But only if you say you’re sorry to Pierce first.”
Stasis unsmiled. “What? Why?”
“Because it’ll make him feel better,” Major pointed out.
Stasis rolled his eyes. He decided to explain things very slowly so that Major’s simple pony mind could understand.
“Major, if I wanted Pierce to feel better, would I really have said all those mean things to him yesterday and then beat him up?” he asked. “I mean, does that really make any sense?”
“My dad says –“
Stasis threw his forehooves in the air in exasperation. “I don’t care what your dad says. All your dad ever does is say things that I don’t care about.”
Major looked shocked for a few moments, then angry.
“You shouldn’t say things like that about other ponies’ dads!” he exclaimed with such force that Stasis took a step back.
“I’m going to find somepony else to play with who’s nicer than you,” said the orange colt, turning around and starting to walk away.
“Wait!” Stasis said quickly. “Let’s talk about this. We can work something out.”
But Major kept walking. Stasis looked about himself desperately, finally spotting the blue earth pony over by the slides, talking with a filly. The little changeling dashed across the playground, shoving aside any ungulates unfortunate enough to be in his way.
“Pierce!” he shouted, coming to an abrupt halt a few paces from the large colt.
As Pierce’ eyes met his, the pony’s face – looking positively animated at the moment – immediately resuming its slack, wary look from the day before.
“Can I help you?” he asked sharply.
“Quick. You’ve got to forgive me,” Stasis explained.
Pierce frowned. “For what? Your little racist diatribe from yesterday?”
“Yeah,” Stasis replied. “And for beating you senseless in front of all your friends with your own Frisbee. And for being smarter, faster, and better than you. And for…well, pretty much anything else you can think of. But you’ve got to do it quick, before Major starts playing with somepony else.”
Pierce, feeling angry to the little changeling, opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a rough, feminine voice.
“Is this the colt you were going on about?” asked the filly. About the same size as Pierce, she was clearly older, nearly an adult; a pegasus, her coat was a deep, blood red, her main and tail orange with streaks of white.
Pierce shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes, he is.”
The filly burst out laughing, hanging her foreleg around Pierce’s neck comradely. “You had your tail kicked…by a six year old! Oh, Celestia! How is that even possible?” she chortled.
“Maybe seven,” Stasis pointed out.
“He’s Star Swirl’s student, Crimson,” Pierce said, sounding defensive. “His magic is very strong. And he’s much…sprightlier, than he looks.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t catch him.”
“Hey! Are you going to forgive me or not?” asked Stasis impatiently. If the answer was ‘no,’ he wasn’t sure what else there was to do except beat Pierce up again.
“Oh, but he’s so adorable!” The red pegasus exclaimed, picking Stasis up suddenly. Stasis looked at Pierce with wide eyes, silently asking if this was normal behavior, and if he should be trying to escape or else just let her have her way with him.
“Careful. He bites,” Pierce said with a slight smile in his voice. Silent questions were apparently not as effective as they were made out to be, or else Pierce was just as big a jerk as Star Swirl.
“Aw. How you can be mad at a face like this?” Crimson said, pointing Stasis at the blue colt and making a pouting face of her own.
Pierce’s lips pressed tightly together as he looked back and forth between the bewildered little changeling and the pouting pegasus for a few moments before he sighed.
“Fine. I forgive you, Stasis. Celestia knows you need it.”
“I knew you had it in you, big boy,” Crimson said with smile.
Still holding him under his forelegs, the filly turned Stasis around so that their muzzles were a bare inch apart. Her amethyst eyes seemed huge and hypnotic, and Stasis was reminded of a snake and a bird. This was an analogy he often associated with ponies, except this time the pony was the snake and he was the bird.
“Hey there, little guy. Where are you from, anyway? Is it far from here?”
Stasis paddled his hind legs desperately in the air for a few moments before he relented and said, “Um…yeah, it’s pretty far.”
“Hoofington? Everfree City? I was born in Cloudsdale, but I’ve got a feeling you’re not from there,” she said with a grin that suggested it should be perfectly obvious to him why he couldn’t be from ‘Cloudsdale.’
“It’s…um…just a little place in the forest. Maybe it doesn’t have a name?” Did places always have names? He was pretty sure his home was actually known as the Forgotten Forest, since those who entered it were usually soon forgotten. He decided to keep that to himself, though.
The blue pony frowned. “You don’t know? How can you not know the name of your own home?”
The filly rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Pierce. He’s just a little kid.” Staring at Stasis again, she said, “So where are your parents? Are they friends of Star Swirl?”
“No, I don’t think he has any friends,” said Stasis. “My family was just visiting Trottingham, and I performed some magic, and Star Swirl was so impressed that he decided to let me stay with him for a while.” Absent a few details, that was pretty much the truth.
“But why were you and your family visiting Trottingham in the first place?” asked Pierce suddenly. “Didn’t you say that you live far away? And where are your parents now? Did they return home without you? And what magic did you ‘perform’ that convinced the most famous wizard alive to take you on as his protégé? You do know that even though he’s in his eighties, he’s never had a student of any kind? Is it just that you’re so gifted with magic, or is it something else?”
Stasis stared at his inquisitor for a few moments. Then he looked at his captor, who vaguely reminded him of a hawk eyeing her prey.
“…I have to pee.”
He scarcely had the last syllable out when Crimson set him down, nearly dropping him, and took a step back, as if afraid his bladder might fail at any moment. The moment his hooves hit the dirt the little changeling was off, galloping in the direction in which he had last seen Major. Behind him, he thought he could hear the red pegasus berating her companion for being ‘paranoid.’
The orange colt, as it turned out, was just sitting there and watching Stasis approach with a huge grin on his face. Stasis hid behind him.
Craning his neck around, Major asked, “Hey, how did it go? You were over there for a really long time.”
The little changeling peeked around the bigger colt. Crimson appeared to already be over her ire and was giving Pierce a playful noogie, which he did nothing to resist.
“Next time….” Stasis began. “Next time, Major? You go apologize, while I stay here and watch.”
Major switched to looking over his other shoulder, still trying to get a good look at the little changeling, who was a very good hider. “Hey, did he forgive you? Did you get to talk to Crimson?”
“Yeah, I made him forgive me,” Stasis said. “And who is that crazy red pegasus, anyway? Isn’t she too old to be here in school? Is she really stupid?” That would explain things, he supposed.
“No!” Major exclaimed happily. “She’s a student at the high school a few blocks away, and she’s really nice. Her lunch break is at the same time as our recess, so she flies over here sometimes to talk to Pierce.”
“She’s crazy,” Stasis asserted again. “And why does she want to see Pierce anyway? Are they friends?” Beyond the fact that nopony in their right mind would want to be friends with Pierce, the two ponies seemed far too different to be so close.
Major nodded. “Yeah, she’s his fillyfriend. All the older colts are really jealous; he’s the only guy here who has a fillyfriend in high school.”
“She’s his what?” asked Stasis.
“His fillyfriend! Do you know what that is, Stasis? You don’t know what stuff is sometimes, but I can explain it to you,” Major offered helpfully.
“No, I know what that is,” Stasis replied. Of course he knew what a fillyfriend was; it just took him a second to remember, is all. The strange courtship rituals of ponies was an area of great interest to the changelings, given how much love was typically involved. After all, it was quite a task to feed hundreds of changelings packed into a small area, and the energy siphoned from ponies often meant the difference between hunger and starvation.
As far as Stasis could make out, ponies would shop around for the best mate they could, much as one might do for doughnuts, except that they only had enough bits to buy just the one. They often made the decision based on strange criteria, such as appearance or flattering words. This gave a great advantage to changelings, who could be as beautiful as they wished and whose culture put a great emphasis on the capacity for proper speech; Stasis himself was sure he could charm a filly into his forelegs in a heartbeat, if he ever had a mind to do such a thing.
Although they rarely discussed it, Stasis had noticed that his siblings had strange rituals of their own, although much calmer and less celebrated than the emotional tempest that ponies experienced. Males and females would begin helping each other with their duties, talking to each other when they were resting, sharing energy with each other. Being unable to bear children, however, noling paid such relationships much attention. Or if they did, they didn’t discuss with Stasis. He probably wouldn’t have been very interested anyway.
“Oh, good,” Major said suddenly, his face lighting up. “Hey, since you’re not a bad influence anymore, maybe we can go say hi to Abra! Just make sure not to say that anything’s ‘stupid’ this time, though. I don’t think she liked that.”
“What’s wrong with ‘stupid’?” Stasis demanded. As far as he was concerned, it was the perfect epithet: everyone knew what it meant, and nobody liked it.
“Um…hey! There she is!” Major said, galloping off towards the brown filly. Stasis didn’t join him right away, instead trying to think of what things he could say to the pony that would really rile her up. The orange colt came galloping back before he could finish, however.
“Hey, do you want to play on the swings again?” asked Major.
Stasis nodded fervently. “Yeah, I’d….” He paused. “Wait. What did she say?”
Major blinked. “Huh?”
“What. Did. Abra. Say?” Stasis asked again irritably.
Major blinked. “Oh. She said that she didn’t want to play right now. I think that maybe she’s busy reading that book,” Major said, pointing at the aforementioned text. “I’ll try asking her again tomorrow.”
Stasis frowned. “Do you ask her every day, Major?”
Major seemed to think about that for a minute. “Well, not really. I was home sick this one time, and there’s no school on the weekends. Did you know that there’s no school on the weekends, Stasis?”
“Does she ever play with you?” Stasis asked.
Major shook his head. “Not yet. That’s why I always remember to ask,” he explained. “If she ever wants to play, I’ll be ready.”
Stasis thought about this for a few moments, but had a hard time wrapping his head around the pony-logic. Finally, he just shrugged. He figured that if he spent much more time with the ponies, he would end up doing an awful lot of shrugging and eye-rolling.
Looking back over at the pair of mismatched ponies – Crimson had one wing draped over Pierce as she talked about something, while he seemed to be doing his best imitation of a mildly content statue – Stasis still felt troubled.
“Major?”
“Yeah?” The orange pony turned completely around and looked at him with a concerned expression.
Stasis fidgeted. “You don’t think that I’m…adorable, do you?”
Major tapped his chin and analyzed the little changeling carefully from top to bottom. Finally, speaking in a most compassionate tone, the orange pony said, “Well…maybe just a little. It’s okay though, Stasis,” he added quickly. “Girls like that kind of thing. I think….”
Stasis muttered a few mild curses under his breath. He didn’t want girls; he wanted to be horrible, not huggable. He should have picked an uglier masque while he had the chance.
“Come on, Major,” he said suddenly, stomping towards the swings. “You’re pushing.”

*	*	*

A few hours later, pony and changeling found themselves on the lawn in front of the school, Celestia’s sun blazing proudly overhead whilst they contemplated their next move. Alas, but this time it was not freedom that stretched forward temporally in front of them, but a path ending abruptly at the cold gates of knowledge and hard work.
It was an odd phenomenon, thought Stasis, how much he detested having to do work in the future, yet enjoyed the fruits of such labor done in the past. It was as if future Stasis were a tyrant, cracking the whip across the back of poor past Stasis, who had to slave away to ensure future Stasis’ high station.
A more appealing perspective, decided the little changeling, was to imagine past Stasis a chump and ignoramus, and it was present Stasis’ job – present Stasis being the only one who really mattered – to claw and scratch his way over the shoulders of all the past Stasises to take his rightful place as the king of all the Stasises, most-future Stasis.
Still, that was an awful lot of past Stasises to claw and scratch over. Or was it future Stasises? It was all very confusing for the little changeling.
“Stasis? Did you hear what I said?” called out a familiar voice.
“No, I wasn’t really listening,” Stasis admitted. “Did you know that from now on, I have to be homeschooled with Star Swirl from two o’clock to dinnertime nearly every single day?”
“Wow! That’s a lot of school!” Major exclaimed.
Stasis nodded sadly. “I want to know everything there is to know, though, and I can’t think of a better way to go about learning it than through hard work.”
“I wish I got to be homeschooled by Star Swirl,” mused the orange pony. “He’s one of the smartest ponies ever, and I have all types of trouble with homework. My dad helps me a lot when he’s not busy, but he’s busy a lot with his job and things like that. Mom helps too, but she gets frustrated when I can’t understand things.”
Stasis wasn’t nearly as interested in Major’s woes as he was in his own. He couldn’t really think of anything he wanted to do for the next two hours, except maybe get a doughnut from the pastry store and then keep complaining to Major.
“She’s been talking about hiring a tutor for a while, but Dad works as a clerk at town hall and doesn’t make a whole lot of money, and she hasn’t found anypony yet who we can afford. I try pretty hard; I really don’t want to get held back a grade, especially since I know a lot of ponies in this class, like you and Abra.”
“Huh?” Stasis asked, his interest suddenly piqued. “What did you say?”
“I said that I don’t want to get held back –“
“No, the other thing,” Stasis interrupted. “Hiring a tutor means paying them money, right? Real money?”
Major nodded. “I don’t know how much, though. I think Mom said she was going to ‘negotiate.’”
“Bwahahahaha,” Stasis muttered quietly to himself. Louder, he asked, “Major, where do you live?”

*	*	*

“You did what?” exclaimed the old pony.
“I got hired as Major’s tutor!” Stasis shouted once more, practically prancing in the middle of the kitchen floor. “His mother put up a real fight at first, but I kept at her, and kept at her, wearing her down bit by bit until I was ready for the final blow.” Stasis illustrated the verbal battle with violent chopping motions.
“Once I pointed out that we’ll be studying at your house and can just ask you about anything I don’t know, she went down like a rotten old tree in a storm! I’ve never seen a mare collapse so completely! Bwahahahahaha!”
“You’ll be studying where?”
“She offered ten bits a week, but my negotiating abilities are unparalleled,” Stasis continued. “Now I’m going to get twenty bits a week that I can spend on anything I want! Do you know how many doughnuts I can buy with twenty bits? Bwahahahahaha! Cackle with me, Major! Bwahahahahahahaha!”
“Bwa-ha-ha?” cackled the orange earth pony hesitantly, who was still standing in the doorway to the kitchen and staring at the bell-bedecked wizard with wide eyes.
“You’ll get better with practice,” Stasis promised his companion, feeling magnanimous.
Star Swirl shook his head, beard-tip sweeping the floor with the motion. “You’re out of your blooming mind, lad. What do you think this is, a nursery? You think I have time to teach every ragamuffin who walks in off the street?”
Stasis ignored the recalcitrant old pony. Images of bathing in his vast sea of bits began to play through his mind. Stasisgrad, here I come.
“It’s okay, Mr. Swirl,” said Major quietly. “You don’t have to teach me anything if you don’t want to. I know that you must be really busy, being so famous and all.”
Unless I just decide to blow all the money at the pastry shop instead. Bwahahahahaha!
Star looked hesitant. “Well, I….”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” chided Stasis. “He doesn’t have anything better to do.”
Star Swirl shot him a dirty look. “You be quiet, lad. Nopony asked your opinion on the matter. And for Celestia’s sake, stop bouncing around like a maniac; you’re liable to wake the dead with all that racket.”
Stasis stopped. When a powerful wizard talked about waking the dead, he listened.
The old pony walked up to the orange one and looked him over critically, his expression inscrutable. Major just stared at the ground and scratched his hoof absently against the rickety floor.
After a few moments, the old pony said, “So…you’re Stasis’ friend, eh?”
Major nodded.
Stasis giggled. “Friends? Ha! As if I needed friends.”
“Huh?” asked the orange colt.
Star Swirl snorted. “Oh, don’t listen to him, lad. The boy wouldn’t know a friend if you came up and bit him in the arse.”
Major just looked more confused.
The old pony sighed. “I don’t like being pushed into things…but you look like a good lad. Certainly better than this other one I’ve got. I suppose you can stay here and study with Stasis, but only if you promise to keep him out of trouble.”
Even Major’s eyes seemed to smile as he said, “I promise!”
“He can try,” scoffed the little changeling.
Star Swirl sighed again. “I think I’ve put on four years just in the four days you’ve been with me, lad. Why don’t the two of you set up your stuff on the kitchen table.”

*	*	*

Stasis snuggled in under the covers. They were still far too soft for his taste…but being under them, in his bed, in his house still brought a warm, cozy feeling to him that he had never experienced back home. At least, not for a long, long time.
Things had been different when he was a hatchling. He could faintly remember sleeping curled up next to Mother herself, huddled as close as he could to her living warmth, lulled to sleep by her slow heartbeat. Now…now, he was expected to find his own place to sleep. Another preparation for the life that lay before him.
Long nights in the forest came to mind, nights when the icy winds rustled through the trees as he tried to find a place to sleep, but every overhang, hollow, and burrow was filled with blue eyes that turned him away. Not that he would have wanted to share, of course; he was a prince, and wouldn’t go begging. Still, the way his watchers simply watched without lifting a hoof to help left him as angry now as it had then.
“You should not wait until night has fallen to seek out shelter,” they would say in the old tongue. “When you are on your own, there will be no one to find shelter for you, no one to make it. You must face the consequences of your own laziness. So says Mother, and so say we.”
His lip would always curl when they spoke to him like that, in the old tongue, mimicking Mother’s antiquated mode. As if they could somehow copy her authority by copying her speech. Mother was thousands of years old, and they were just hatchlings compared to her. And one day, compared to him as well. They thought they could castigate him, thought that they could reform him, but who were they?
As he stroked the blanket, he thought it much superior to the rotten leaves and moss that he had used as a covering on those nights. He had learned to seek out shelter while it was still available, even carving out a little burrow of his own and making other younglings who slept in it wish they hadn’t. But he had also developed a contempt for those of his siblings who were tasked with developing his character. He would be no better behaved and more responsible a changeling than he wanted to be.
Which is to say, no more than he had to be.
“Are you ready, lad?” called the old pony. Stasis blinked, his concentration broken.
Turning to Star Swirl, Stasis nodded quickly. The old pony had been so impressed with his progress that day, not only had he taught Stasis how to magically adjust an object’s temperature, but seemingly out of nowhere, the old wizard had asked Stasis if he would like to be read a story.
What a silly question. He, even more so than most of his siblings, was a story glutton; he loved to hear grand tales, whether they be of far-off lands and times or of local warlocks and their inexhaustible appetites for the disobedient and mischievous. He wondered what a pony story would be like. He hoped it wouldn’t suck too much.
For reasons unspecified, the little changeling had to be in bed and ready to go asleep before the story could be read. Since Stasis didn’t know any good pony stories, he had let Star Swirl pick.
The old stallion sat on his haunches beside the bed, shook his robes a bit as if to get the dust out, stroked his luscious beard a few times, checked the flame of the oil lamp on the nightstand as if to see if it would be bright enough for his weak eyes, cleared his throat a few times, and picked up a book.
Alas, it seemed to be the Abra of books, being a boring shade of brown, rather rough about the edges, and with a taciturn look about it. Still, the little changeling listened rapturously as the old pony began the old pony tale.
“Once upon a time-“
“Huh?”
Star squinted at him. “’Huh?’ What do you mean, ‘Huh?’ What part of the first four words is a ‘huh?’”
The little changeling shrugged. “I don’t understand the beginning. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Star Swirl shook his head. “Just roll with it, lad.” He cleared his throat and began again.
“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away-“
“Where?”
Star glared at him. “I don’t know where lad. I’m just trying to read the bloody book. You’ll know as soon as I do.”
“The author should be more specific,” Stasis chided. “‘Far, far away,’ could be anywhere.”
“Aye,” nodded the old pony. “When I’m good and dead, I’ll be sure to track him down and mention that to him. Now, where was I…oh, that’s right. The very first sentence.”
Clearing his throat, the pony began again. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a beautiful farmer’s daughter who dreamed of one day being a princess.”
Stasis frowned. “What, like Celestia or something? I’m confused.”
Star Swirl began rubbing his forehead.
As time passed and the story unfolded, Stasis thought it very strange, with an altogether different perspective than the ones his family told. The hero was a lone vigilante fighting a despot to free his people and rescue a mare of particular importance to him; quite strange.
There were tales of singular, valorous changelings, of course. Of roguish underlings who outwitted their dull prey, escaped detection and capture, and returned victorious with plenty of energy for their families over and over again. Of Killings, strong and fearless who, with their mother’s blessing, volunteered to rescue a young, childless queen from capture, taking no notice of the losses they sustained to save her and bring her to safety. Of queens who, much as Mother had tried to do, led their children to new lands of plenty where hunger was a memory.
There were precious, precious few stories of princes, although these Stasis held particularly dear to his heart. A good queen would try to care for each of her children, but ultimately the loss of a single underling was of little consequence; they were easily and naturally replaced. The loss of a queen was a much greater tragedy; hundreds of her children would be displaced, many of them doomed to die. It would be only a matter of time, however, before a new queen moved into the territory, the dead mother’s loss her gain.
But to lose a prince was devastating. Every one of his queens would most likely be forced to move closer to a new husband, taking with her hundreds of ravenous children, causing great strife as resources were depleted and entrenched queens were forced to watch their offspring go hungry to feed mothers who had let their own husband die. The only internecine wars ever fought by changelings had occurred after the death of a prince.
Of course, it was part of the prince’s duty to prevent such conflict within his own family, even by ostracizing a queen if necessary. But not every prince was strong enough to force his will on his wives, and not every prince was willing. What was universally agreed upon, however, was that princes should never take to the battlefield, or undergo any risk at all; they were instead stowed away where all their wives could access them with relative ease, and their primary responsibility was to stay alive at all cost. This left precious room for heroics, or anything else interesting enough to weave into a story.
There were other differences between Star Swirl’s story and the changelings’. Many of the oldest, grandest tales of his kind were meant to be sung, and every generation one or two underlings would be chosen by Mother to memorize the epics and sing for his siblings whenever they asked. This was often someling crippled too severely to be of any other use to the family, perhaps having been paralyzed in battle or blinded by sickness. It was well within her right to cull such creatures, as she often did with hatchlings born with great defects. Some of the other eldest were said to claim that it was the Progenitor’s wish that any underling with fault should be culled, so that their race may be perfect, as their fathers and mothers were perfect.
But although she did not speak of it – Mother rarely explained her thoughts or motivations – she seemed to prefer finding some way for even idiots and cripples to contribute to the family. That was why Chigger was brought in to deal with any situation involving counting, adding, and the like, as rare as those might be, and why some underlings were set aside as bards and storytellers, despite how unpractical the occupation. Stasis supposed he supported the sparing of defectives, if only because he thought Mother was much wiser than any of the other eldest mothers.
It also didn’t hurt that the previous bard, Holoptic, who was mad, had often told the little changeling how special he was and how important he would one day be to the whole world. Stasis knew this wasn’t flattery since Holoptic had later tried to strangle him in his sleep, before being slain and disposed of by the watchers.
Mother herself never sang, or so Stasis was told, except once, on the eve of his hatching. Seeing his eyes, she was said to have burst into song. In the old tongue she trilled, a piercing, wailing dirge that would have seemed more fitting at a funeral than a birth; but that was just Mother’s way, the old way. Everyling set aside their work and play while they listened, and for three days and three nights the forest’s only sound was that of Mother. Stasis’ only regret was that he had not been old enough to remember the song himself; none would recount the words, and Mother herself had finally commanded him not to bring up the subject again.
“And they lived happily ever after,” Star Swirl declared, slapping the book shut.
Stasis jumped, the ending shocking in its suddenness. Taking a moment to organize his thoughts, he asked, “What, so nothing ever happened to them after that?”
“Nothing but happiness, I reckon,” said the old pony with a shrug. “The villain’s dead, the hero’s got his girl, everypony wins.”
“The villain doesn’t win,” Stasis pointed out.
“The villain never wins,” Star Swirl rejoined.
“Well, that doesn’t seem very realistic to me.”
Star Swirl blinked. “Realistic? You’re six years old, lad. You’re pure imagination run amok. What do you know about ‘realistic’?”
“Maybe seven,” Stasis retorted with a pout. “And I’m very realistic! If I were in a story, I’d never be the villain, since he always loses. I’d be the hero until the story was over – then I’d ditch the girl and rule the entire kingdom all by myself just like I wanted to, and I’d hire some huge, ugly guy as my headspony so that everypony knew exactly what was coming off if they didn’t do what I said, when I said it.”
Star Swirl looked at him for a few moments.
“…Sometimes, I just wish I could wash everything out of your brain with soap and start from scratch.”
“Anyway, what do I need a weak princess-queen like that anyway?” Stasis continued. “’Oh, save me, save me!’ That’s all she’s good for, being saved. What do I need a queen like that for anyway? If I needed a queen at all, I’d want one who could chew steel and spit arrows, that’s what I’d want. Somepony useful.”
Star Swirl snorted. “Love doesn’t always work out like you think it will when you’re six.”
“Love is an emotion,” Stasis asserted. “I wouldn’t make kingdom-altering decisions based on something superficial like that. I wouldn’t have to love the queen, I would only have to tolerate her.”
“How practical. I’m glad I get to raise such a practical child.”
Stasis stood up in bed. “And there’s other problems with this story too. The farmfilly relied on fate to make her dreams come true, but if she really wanted to become a princess, she should have made plans to off the old royal family. I don’t like how her laziness gets rewarded like that.
“And I’m a little confused about Prince Valiant. He must have killed half the guardsponies in the kingdom and then slew Count Putrid without a second thought. It was very impressive, but aren’t heroes at least supposed to feel bad about that kind of thing? I mean, if I killed scores and scores of my enemies, my first thought afterwards wouldn’t be ‘Hey, look, a pretty girl! Let’s get married!’
“And Count Putrid had very poor judgment,” Stasis continued. “Anyone who chooses as his personal army guys that can get cut to pieces by a single blue-blood prince is getting what’s coming to him. Also, I really disagree with the principle that death is too good for one’s enemies. I think that death is really good for one’s enemies. And –“
Star Swirl abruptly stood up, heaving a great sigh. “Somepony in this room is way past his bedtime, I think. Can you guess who that is?”
“Is it me?” Stasis guessed, laying back down.
“Aye.” The old pony stretched, several vertebrae popping their relief as he did so. “As much as I’ve enjoyed your penetrating review of this old children’s tale, lad, it’s time for you to go to sleep. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Star Swirl.”

*	*	*

Stasis stood next to the window, feeling the cold night air seep around the edges, watching the moon rise, its visage blurred and distorted through the pitter-patter of rain on the thin glass. The pegasi had warned of a storm building over the Everfree, blowing this way via a western wind. Stasis had waited for this night, knowing that any royal guards brave enough to weather this storm would stand little chance of spotting a single, little changeling making for the border.
He twitched his wing, and it did not hurt. It had been seventeen days since he was abandoned in Trottingham, and the appendage was as healed as it was going to get. Seventeen days of learning the alphabet and spelling, counting and adding, spells and stories. Of playing with Major and bugging Star Swirl.  Leaving was not going to get any easier if he waited.
Again covering his flesh with the thin, arcane masque that his only protection here in Equestria, he walked to the door, opening it slowly so that it would not creak overmuch. Carefully avoiding the noisy ones, he made his way down the steps and into the dark hallway where he had first met Star Swirl.
Though he had thought it certain that the old wizard would be asleep by this time of night, upon opening the door to the living room he saw a faint light flickering furtively across the dusty floorboards. Peeking one eye around the corner, the little changeling saw Star Swirl’s back, hunched over a fresh piece of parchment, scribbling away as a long candle burned on either side of him. Stasis took a step back.
He could use a window instead. He could return to his room until the old stallion finally went to bed. He could simply wait until another night, wait until things were perfect for his escape. After all, he need only leave Equestria once; Mother had always told him that immortals had no excuse for impatience. What would she think if he got caught because he was unwilling to wait a few days for the best opportunity?
He shook his head and pushed forward, creeping low to the ground, quiet as a shadow, weaving between wooden legs and using the many benches and tables for cover as he made his escape. There, the door within reach, he took one last look at the pony, never looking so old as he did then, scruffy old cape hanging off his frame as he sat, leaned over his scroll, bearded face gaunt and wrinkled as his squinted eyes tried to see by the weak light of the flames.
Feeling his momentum slipping, Stasis finally looked away, opening the front door very slowly indeed, thankful for the recently oiled hinges. As the moonlit street came into view, a voice called out softly behind him.
“This is always a home for you, lad. If you want it.”
Stasis turned about swiftly, but Star Swirl was still scratching away, taking no notice of the little changeling at the entrance. Feeling uneasy, Stasis swiftly stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
Looking up, Stasis let the light rain wash his face, calming him. He soon began trotting down the road, following the path he had plotted out in his head. The cobblestone street was as empty as he had ever seen it, not a single soul passing him on his way. Once or twice he thought he saw a glint of gold high above, a stark contrast to the black and silver night.
Within minutes, pony brick and stone gave way to the familiar sights and scents of green meadows and wet loam. A flicker of thought and his horn was gone, replaced by wings, long and curved and grey. He stretched them slowly, feeling a thrum but hearing the slow, rhythmic beat of feathered pennon. Tensing his haunches, the little changeling looked towards the stars and leapt, outstretched wings beating against air, straining slightly to force his weighty body against tireless gravity.
He flew in small circles low above the earth, occasionally dipping down and skipping along the ground, giving forgotten muscles time to waken, allowing his mind time to remember the thoughts and patterns of flight, of currents and eddies, of using the wind and fighting it. Finally he began to feel stronger, more confident, and he took to the skies, rising higher and higher until the world was but a grey, featureless expanse below. Turning towards the Everfree, he began to fly.
He had not flown long when the first gust struck him. It unbalanced him, more from surprise than from the strength of it, but he pushed on. Soon the sky began to darken, until what had been scattered clouds became a blanket, a wall stretched across the world, blocking out the night’s light. The rain rose from a patter to a batter to a force, dragging and beating at his wings and forcing his eyes shut. Gusts became gales, and he found it took all of his strength simply to keep from being snatched from the air and flung backwards like a piece of parchment.
Searching down below, his predator’s eyes spotted a black mass atop a hill, a lone tree holding strong against the storm. Folding his wings, the little changeling dropped swiftly, diving into the branching flora and alighting on one of the thick branches near the trunk.
Perched like a bird of prey, Stasis’ mind began to wander as he waited out the tempest. It did not take long for his thoughts to turn towards his life with the ponies. Towards Star Swirl, the grumpy, recalcitrant old wizard who always gave Stasis what he needed, even before he knew he needed it. Knowledge, yes, and spells, and stories.
He thought also of Major, who was so very, very strange, but had somehow become an indispensable catalyst for all of Stasis’ activities these days, both mischievous and benign. Stasis wished very much that Major were a changeling instead of a pony.
Thoughts of Major finding other companions to play with instead left him feeling achy and miserable, and so he turned his thoughts instead to his own family. Soon he would get to see them all again, get to hear their chittering voices surrounding him, get to share all the things he had learned. He would finally see Mother again, whom he missed most of all. He wanted to be with her once more, even if she scolded him for being gone so long.
Of course, all that would last only a short time. That’s what Mother had told him; in a blink of an eye, he would be an adolescent. In the flicker of a wing, it would time for him to leave the family and start his own, whether he felt ready or not. His true life would begin, ages spent performing his duties to his family, watching over them. His brothers and sisters, so eternal to him now, would each age and die, to be replaced by others who would also age and die. Mother told him that when he grew older, he would understand the burden of immortality in a mortal world; he would understand why he should bind himself, not to feeble individuals, cursed with rot from birth, but to eternal concepts, immutable ideals such as duty to his wives and children and race. Mother was wise; Mother was the wisest creature he had ever known. His siblings obeyed her without question.
Stasis wanted to live forever. He wanted also the wisdom that Mother promised him would come with age. The other things, though…the dour life that Mother led, the tired, worn look about her you could see if you watched her carefully enough…he didn’t want those things. He liked the power being a father would bring, but not the responsibilities. He thought of the ponies, with their destinies tattooed on their butts from an early age. As a tattoo-less creature, he should be the freest in the world, not the most bound.
A particularly strong burst of wind beat against the tree, and Stasis shifted on his branch. He tried to think about what he would do if he wasn’t a prince. Of course, he would play on swings as much as he wanted, and eat anything that struck his fancy – but he knew that there was more to it than that. He thought of the stories he had heard, both from his family and Star Swirl.
There could be nothing better, he decided, than to be a character in a story. Not a foolish hero; they were just as bound by duty and goodness as his mother was by duty and family. Not a foolish villain either, always doomed to fail through some flaw. No, Stasis would just be Stasis, and do whatever it was that Stasis wanted to do. He would be smarter, wiser, stronger, faster, better. No one would want to be his enemy. He would visit everything, see everything, and know everything. Then he would build Stasisgrad.
He wanted to do these things, but he could not. He wanted to learn more about the ponies – strange and weak and stupid, yes, but also capable of making beds, and houses, and spears, and books, many, many books – but he could not. He wanted to learn every kind of spell, but he could not. He wanted, but could not.
He thought of himself, tried to imagine what he would look like as a grown prince, what he would be like. He thought of his father. He had seen Father once, a few years before. For whatever reason, Father had decided to come and visit Mother, instead of the other way around.
Stasis remembered the sudden hush, and, looking up, he had seen what at first glance he thought was Mother. Tall, tall and proud, as tall as Mother but with better defined muscles and longer fangs. He had walked with her gait, slow and steady and sure, his hair falling free about his head and face and neck in the same way that hers did. He had possessed her stern expression, her hard look as his gaze roved over his children, now lying prostrate before him, bellies on the ground and none daring meet his eyes.
It was his eyes that were different. As the great Son of Change saw Stasis, he stopped, his gaze meeting the little hatchling’s. His eyes were a beautiful, gay yellow, as bright as the sun and twice as numerous. But if Mother’s eyes possessed pride in her own accomplishments, Father’s possessed something altogether more inimical: jealousy. Jealousy, yes, and a sort of harsh contempt that he bore towards Stasis alone.
Of course, it would not be until much later that Stasis would understand. Father felt no need to prove his virility as Mother did, not when he possessed a score and more of wives and thousands upon thousands of children at any given time. One of the eldest, Father had, through strength of body and seed and simple longevity secured for himself a place deep in the heart of the forests of the continent, where prey were plenty and fat and strong, and where hunger was an occasional nuisance instead of a way of life.
Father, then, did not see in his true son a blessing, but a competitor. Even if Mother were unwilling to do so, Father himself would one day drive Stasis far away, to hard, bitten lands where Stasis’ own family would not conflict with those of his brethren. Stasis thought of the look his father had given him, his lips peeled back from sharp fangs, and he hissed.
Why should he be the one forced away? Why should he have to leave, live in the harshest regions, have the least numerous and appealing wives? Was Father smarter than he? Was he better?
Stasis didn’t think so. Stasis didn’t think there was anyone better than he. Given the chance, he could be just as great as the prince in the Physiologus. He could hunt dragons for sport, just as one had once hunted Father.
Perhaps, instead of going home and fulfilling the plan that had been laid out for him, he could stay here in Trottingham for a little while longer. He could learn everything the ponies had to teach before he went back to his own kind. After all, if what Mother said was true, then it would only be the blink of an eye before he was with her again. 
As he thought of Mother, some of his anger turned to fear. If he didn’t return right away, what would she think? Every so often, an underling on a mission would fail to return, and the word ‘quisling’ would be whispered in secret. Vertex, a quiet Killing who was known to have Mother’s ear, would always disappear shortly after that; when he returned days or weeks or months later, nothing more would ever be said about the missing changeling again.
Stasis would not be a quisling, though, since he was going to return. He would simply tell Mother that his injury was more serious than it had been, perhaps that his wing had been completely destroyed and regrown. Or he might tell her that Star Swirl had taken him captive and performed all manner of terrible pony experiments upon him. She would probably believe that.
Feeling the urge to move, to do something other than think, the little changeling flew suddenly out of the tree and into the passing storm. The rain had lessened now, the thickest clouds already well on their way to Trottingham, and he was able to see the Everfree stretching darkly ahead to the horizon. Even if he sought out his family, he wasn’t sure where to look. They could still be close, just beyond the border, regaining their strength; they could have fled all the way back to their old home in the Forgotten Forest, if they were willing to leave the weak and sickly behind, or if the weak and sickly were already dead. They could be anywhere in between.
He could fly right by his family and never even know they were there. Even with flight, it could take weeks to find them, and during that time he would have to feed and protect himself. A cockatrice could petrify him while he slept, and without anyling there to dispel him, he would be trapped in the wild forest until the elements wore him down to changeling-shaped stone, or a beast broke him in two.
He looked behind him. Even wet and limp as it was, the grasslands still appeared more inviting than the great Everfree. He thought he could see the storm’s leading edge breaking up on the horizon, though whether that was because it had run out of rain or because of the tireless efforts of the pegasi, he knew not. Feeling even more uneasy and frightened than before, he flew back towards the retreating storm.
It was some time later when, soaked to the bone and sporting his favorite pony horn again, he sneaked into the old mansion the same way he had come in. He was still dripping all over the floor when Star Swirl exited the kitchen, looking very tired and worn. Upon seeing Stasis, he stopped, and his eyes widened.
“By Celestia’s mane, lad! Didn’t you notice it was raining outside?”
“It’s…raining?” Stasis asked, looking down at the floor. “I…um…didn’t notice.”
“Aye. When the clouds cry, we call that ‘rain.’ Still, I can’t fault a lad for taking a morning stroll. I might have taken one myself, but then I remembered that the outside and I are enemies of a sort. Sky’s always ready to dump buckets on me when I’m not looking; day’s too hot, night’s too cold; ponies always wanting to ask idiot questions when I’m just trying to buy groceries.”
The old wizard adjusted his mighty hat, bells jingling slightly. “Anyway, I think I’m going to take a nap. I have a fool’s hope that I can trust you to eat breakfast and get ready for school on your own this time. You’ve got a long, long day ahead of you.”
For the first time that night, Stasis wanted to cry.