Through the Well of Pirene

by Ether Echoes

Chapter 2: A New Lease on Life

Death could have been better.

Really, there wasn’t too much to complain about. It felt very soft, clean, drifting me along as a mote in a black sea, rolled gently by its invisible currents. Still, everything seemed so terribly unfair for it all to have ended like that. There was no way to know whether or not my sister was safe, to know that my death had meaning, or to see my parents and friends one last time. Even with just a moment or two as a ghost, there could have been a friendly little scare and some goodbyes for closure.

At the very least, it would have been nice if there was something more to this whole “death” thing. It felt all right, but there was nothing to see, nothing to hear. Everything was surprisingly warm, too. My entire body felt suffused with heat, like I had spent all evening in front of a fireplace under a toasty wool blanket instead of slogging through the mud and leaves on a cold night, bloodied, battered, and hurled into an icy river. Among this warmth, an alien sensation, a peculiar tingle mixed with a feeling of displacement, flooded my every sense.

Despite this, my mind was clear. When the discharge from the wand had hit me, my head had felt stuffed full of cotton. Considering that, however, apparently stirred up the aches and pains out from whatever fugue I had been under, my leg joints and muscles complaining at the extreme paces they had been put through.

Vicious, biting cold pierced my sheltering cocoon of warmth, quickly robbing me of what little comfort and security I had left. Immediately, I seized up, but found myself constricted, with clothing and water pressing in from every side. Stark terror took over where contentment laid off, leading me to conclude that flailing wildly with my arms and legs would be the most constructive use of my time.

Spots swam through my eyes, and my body suddenly felt like it was being bent in half. Realization slowly sunk in. Unless death was a freezing river sweeping your battered body through a Massachusetts state park, I was still very much alive. How much longer that would remain the case, however, had yet to be determined. Choking initiated the process that the wand had failed at. I faded. My struggles grew less and less powerful. In a last ditch effort to survive, I drew on every half-remembered swimming lesson I could bring up, relaxed my body, and kicked desperately. Hopefully, towards the surface.

A stunning impact to the side of my head ended that hope. River water flooded in.

Everything went black.

Racking coughs shook my body awake, and forced water up from my lungs. Cold, frigid air bit at my soaked skin in a way the river never could as I laid breathless against the ground, stunned with pain and no small amount of disbelieving relief. In the time that was lost to me, I had managed to wash ashore on one of the many grassy banks that lined the river. Still half submerged, with my legs and most of my lower body tugged on by the gentle current, I remained still for several moments, dribbling river water like an invalid.

Vague, unfocused fears of hypothermia led me to make my first feeble attempts at dragging myself ashore. A sudden lack of energy and my sodden, heavy clothing made for slow going. Every movement, every inch traversed, coerced more water and silt—buckets worth, it seemed to me—from my throat and lungs, my body clenching and shaking. As the fits subsided, my breath returned in ragged, painful bursts.

“N-n-not go-gonna… d-di-die h-here,” I rasped, shivering, before continuing to drag myself further inland, like a worm inching along the ground.

 My legs and arms were leaden and useless. Maybe that blow to the back of my head—which now throbbed in exquisite agony—had left me crippled, but head and spinal injuries were a bit outside my high school curriculum. After struggling to a drier spot, I gave my limbs an experimental wriggle and found that they were at least responsive to my will, though they felt tight and restricted. My fingers were completely numb, however, causing a whole new wave of panic. Attempts to move them elicited no more than a weak flopping.

Hypothermia was setting in. The quickest remedy would be to get out of my wet clothes, so I struggled to sit myself upright. A few false starts saw me rolling halfway up before dropping on my side when my arms failed to support me. Dizziness would have kept me down, but I grit my teeth and pushed through it regardless, half-turning again to make another go. As my body craned up, my back gave out, forcing me back down onto my arms.

My shirt fought every inch of the way, and it became another battle just to get it off. Precariously balancing on one arm, I attempted to slip my other numb hand under the hem and was met with little success. All that squirming just tangled me up more tightly.

Something was wrong. All of my clothing was hanging awkwardly, wrapped too tight in some places and too loose in others. The gibbous moon had risen above the treeline, which was a profound relief—though a bittersweet one, for it meant I had been out for what must have been at least a half hour. Light from a moon that bright is surprisingly easy to see by, however. Now that my vision was clear, it appeared that there was a horse trail nearby, faintly visible. As for my own state, it took a moment to process exactly what I was seeing.

My arms pressed into the loamy earth in two stumps. That alone might have been enough to make me scream in panic if I had not been distracted by the sight of my legs, splayed out to either side as I sat. They, too, ended in bare stumps, my shoes and feet apparently long gone. My clothes hung on me in a wet, sodden lump with no respect to proper shape and form.

A reasonable person might have considered the evidence and come to some sort of rational conclusion. She might have examined the situation more closely and thought of some way to deal with it.

I, however, screamed and flung my limbs every which way, losing my balance and falling back with a splash. My stump of an arm got inside my shirt and pulled against it. With a tear, the fabric shredded, freeing me from its grip. Trying to stand upright was a forlorn endeavor which had my back and legs buckling as my balance failed entirely. For a few moments, any night birds that may have been watching were treated to the sight of a strange, stunted creature dancing across the water, before she missed a step and crashed on her back.

With my cries piercing the night and sending animals and birds flying in fright, I flailed all four limbs skyward until I had shouted myself out. I laid there panting, chest heaving, with hair hanging over my eyes. The star-strewn sky turned pitilessly above, indifferent to my terror. It wasn’t until breath and sanity had returned that I could brace myself and look down to take in what I had become.

If there was anything human left on me, it wasn’t visible from where I lay, stretching up to get a look at myself in shock. A smooth, barrel-like body, covered in a very fine—if very sodden—pale coat, had replaced my own. Though there were still only four limbs, they were all legs, and they all ended in solid-looking hooves. There was a flick along the ground, and a wet tail flopped weakly, rendered nearly colorless in the moonlight. It could have been the same blond as my own hair. I craned my eyes up and beheld a whorled horn protruding from my forehead, shadowing my face. It was nearly enough to make me pass out all over again.

There was no mystery as to what I was, of course, now that all of the disparate facts had been put together. My supposedly imaginary unicorn friend had been small, with different proportions, but she had been as much a child as I. Still, I rubbed my new hooves all over myself anyway, discovering that there really was nothing left of the old Daphne. Long ears twitched as I touched them. My face ended in a short, blunt snout. Several years of adolescent development had simply vanished from the rest of me.

With growing panic, I opened my mouth and tried to speak, but only terrified neighing issued forth—

Wait.

I rolled my eyes and smacked a hoof against my forehead. “Ow,” I grunted, carefully rubbing the spot I had struck myself, having discovered how hard a hoof could be. Being stupid and losing my head was going to get me into more trouble. “You know you can speak,” I informed myself disgustedly. “You’ve seen Leit Motif do it often enough, and you just did so yourself a minute ago.”

Tears welled up as the name invoked the emotions and memories I had sought to bury only hours ago. “Leit Motif,” I murmured. Those treacherous thoughts twisted in my guts like a jagged icicle, cold and grating. For eight years I had convinced myself that my best friend in the entire world was nothing more than a silly girl’s imaginings, and now I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had been real.

With all the screaming and flailing about done and over with, I became acutely aware of how cold it was, and dangerously so with me still sopping wet. The shivers kicked in again as I tried to deal with my reawakened pain and present fears. Amelia could be miles away by now—I didn’t even know if she was still alive. It was time to get help, but what would happen to me if I went to the police? Terrifying flashes of movies where the alien or the Other had been hunted down and dissected on an operating table seared its way through my brain. I shut my eyes before the image could conjure itself in stark detail. Sometimes imagination could be a liability.

“Deep, careful breaths, Daphne,” I told myself, trembling. “Just like Mom says, you gotta breathe first and then you can worry about what comes next.”

I considered my next move. Without a doubt, my first priority was finding out if Amelia was all right. Consideration of my sudden equinimity—equinehood? Mareifcation?—could wait for the time being. The first step would be to call the police station, to see if anyone had picked her up. They’d also be able to call the rangers and find out if anyone there had found her. At least I still sounded the same as before. It would have made for an awkward phone call if my voice had come out equinified, as well. Reaching into my pant’s pocket, I pulled out my cell phone.

At least, I tried to. Shoving my big hoof in there just stretched the fabric and failed to go deep enough. Tapping against the case was all I could manage. Trying to dislodge the cell phone by shaking my hips proved a useless effort. It was irritating, but removing myself from the clothing would be the quickest way to get at it.

Shrugging the rest of the way out of my clothes was hard, but it could have been worse. Scrunching myself back as far as possible let me fit my forelegs back through my sleeves, and I simply walked out of the tattered remnants of the shirt. My sodden pants went next by the simple expedient of pinning one pant leg to the earth and pulling the pinned leg free.

Even so, grabbing hold of my discarded pants to dump the contents of its pockets on the ground was like learning to use chopsticks all over again—it took tipping both of my forehooves together to pinch the bottom of the pocket, flipping it over and tilting my butt to get a good angle. Obligingly, the phone slid out, and I pumped a foreleg in triumph.

Clack. My hoof tapped against the screen. Nothing. Gritting my teeth, I pinned it down with one hoof and tried to nudge the tiny start button. After a few false starts it finally clicked. Nothing. When it became apparent the phone wasn't turning on, I snarled at myself, "Idiot! It fell into the river!" In a flash of sudden fury, my left hoof came down hard, cracking the screen and splintering the case.

The sound of snapping plastic jolted the red glare from my eyes. Stunned, I examined the damage. It was fairly excessive—my little hoof straight up ruined that case. It might as well have been a sugar cookie.

Well, it's not like the stupid thing was going to work, anyway.

I braced on all fours and shook like a dog, much as Leit Motif had done time and again. Drier, if not much warmer and certainly no less exasperated, I considered my pants. Leit had been able to pick things up just by touching them with her hooves, but placing my own hoof against the article yielded nothing. Reality refused to accept that logic, despite all my rage and frustration being directed toward the tattered garment. Giving up, I bent my head down and picked the whole thing up in my mouth, slinging it unto my back, where it hung along my flanks and obscured my dripping tail. Hopefully whoever found my soiled shirt and underwear here wouldn’t think some poor girl had been assaulted and left for dead. Though, technically, I had been.

Still unsteady, I started towards the horse trail, chewing on the irony of such a thing as I planned my next move. Becoming more confident in my motions, they turned from a drunken wobble to an awkward walk, and then progressed to a steady trot that felt way, way too weird. The whole thing reminded me uncomfortably of baby horses learning to walk minutes after being born. My gait must have seemed ridiculously coltish, with its too-high, careful steps. The moon rode high in the night sky, but the deep shadows it cast still hid many dangerous secrets. It would just be my luck tonight to land in a pothole and break a leg.

All of this walking was useless if it didn’t take me somewhere, though. If I was going to help Amelia I needed to find help myself, first. Where could a weird alien horse find help at this time of night, though?

A light bulb went off over my head, and I knew exactly where to go. Picking up the pace on a solid, well-used trail, I put on speed and hurried into the night.

When the warm lights of the Sun River Ranch came into view, surprisingly little time had passed. My pace was eating up ground at an unbelievable rate, with barely any effort on my part. It had been rough going before, sure, but I was walking much farther and much faster on legs that had been complaining at a stiff walk an hour ago. Maybe being turned into a freak wasn’t entirely bad, if it meant finding help before midnight.

Though it certainly had an aspect of commercialized western glamour as a place for modern people—especially horse-obsessed young girls—to get a chance at riding or owning their own horse in a safe and wide-open setting, my friend’s family ranch never felt artificial to me. The land had been a mixture of farm and pasture held by some part of the family for generations and consolidated under one roof, and it was still very much a place where an extended family made their living off the land. The family’s western apple orchards were nearly bare with autumn’s toll, but I looked up hopefully as I passed. My stomach grumbled in a plaintive fashion, empty since lunch, but there wouldn’t be many leftover apples here after the October harvest. Besides, I wasn’t quite sure I could reach one even if there was.

The long fence marking out the property was surprisingly daunting in my current state. Climbing it would have been easy before, but chancing it now seemed reckless. Leit had been able to scramble up trees and rocks just as easily as I could when we were kids, but the thought of getting up off my hooves and trying to scale a fence without proper arms made me dizzy. Setting a hoof against the lower timbers did nothing to bolster my confidence. With a grimace, I decided against it. Instead, a quick trot along the gravel road beside the fence led me towards its gate, the rhythmic crunch of my feet striking the earth disturbing the still night. The latch was dealt with in a fashion few horses on Earth could replicate—rising up on my hind legs, sticking my face over the side, gripping the latch in my teeth, and pulling.

The hinges creaked loudly and the gate swung open—inward instead of outward, as I had thought it would. My weight pushed it open and dragged me along for the ride, my hind legs skidding along the dirt before the gate tossed me inside. I tottered a few steps on my rear legs in an inelegant ballet before toppling unceremoniously in a pile of messy hair and wet pants. When barking erupted from the house, my heart froze.

It started beating again, faster and faster, as I scrambled to all fours, imagining the dogs leaping out of the house and charging across the field to pounce and tear at my unprotected form. They would haul me down by my mane and tail and drag me away to cruel experiments, to put me on display somewhere, to have me pulling carts in gem mines, or some other terrible fate. Breaking into a gallop, I raced away, looking for a place to evade them. Instinct kicked in at the first opportunity, which was probably how I cleared a four-foot hurdle instead of balking at the difficulty.

My landing was spoiled somewhat when I flopped flat on my belly on the other side of the stall door, skidding slightly on the hay, with the barking growing louder by the moment. As my eyes were adjusted to the moonlight outside, it was difficult telling exactly where I had landed. Standing up answered that question, however, when a big mouth nuzzled the back of my neck with a whicker.

“Eeeeee!” I squealed at the top of my lungs and darted forward. Spinning, I gasped for air, eyes wide and my tail held protectively close against my side. “Hector!” I spat, glaring at the big horse in the next stall. Apparently, he had managed to recognize me in my present state, or at least thought it would be fun to surprise me.  I had ridden him or seen him ridden often enough to know what a pain he could be. It was still a little hard to make him out in the dim lighting, but it became considerably easier when a flashlight swept over the stable door.

“Crap,” I groused, realizing my girly scream had probably been heard quite clearly in the quiet night. There were voices now; the deep tenor of my friend’s father and the lower still basso of her uncle.

“Figure someone is trying for the horses, Victor?” my friend’s uncle asked.

Her father replied skeptically. “Horse rustlers, in this century? Come on, Mark.”

“That’s why it’s the perfect crime! Nobody ever sees it coming.”

Panicking, I stamped my hooves in a nervous little dance, trying to think of a way out that wouldn’t take me to the dogs or the sight of the approaching men.

“I know I heard something.” That was Mark again, closer this time. “Like someone’s alarm going off.”

“Horses are up. Well, let’s at least have a look. Jim, you take the dogs back, I don’t want them jumping and getting everyone in there all excited.”

“Sure, dad,” a younger man’s voice said. That was good at least—no dogs. They still had the entrance to the stable blocked off, however, but there had to be another way out of this.

The stall latch clicked, and the door creaked open. I froze, just for an instant, eyes wide as the light swung my way. A surprised shout following me as I bolted. If memory served, there was a loose board in the back of the stalls, one that would rattle and shake in a good wind and was always letting rabbits in. Hopefully, Victor hadn’t managed to nail it shut as he always promised he would.

A painful crash had me halfway through that wall. Adrenaline fueled my legs and pushed me the rest of the way through. Turning about outside, I craned my neck back through the opening, snatching up my pants between my teeth mere moments before pounding, booted feet reached the back of the stable. Trying not to trip over the flapping pant legs, I raced for the other side of the house.

Distantly, Jim was calling for his father and asking what was wrong, but, bless him, he didn’t let the dogs’ leashes go, no matter how much they sawed at their leads. Panting with fright, I circled a small part of the yard near the garden. The house itself was a meandering affair, with many wings and additions, but I knew where I was going. Boldly leaping onto a pair of barrels and then over the white picket fence they were lined up against landed me within the house’s garden, which sprawled lazily along one side of the building.

In the house, lights were being turned on, and voices were coming from the kitchen. A woman was almost shrieking, shouting at the men, “Victor! Jim! Mark! What is it, is it a burglar? A killer?”

“God’s teeth, I’ve never seen anything like it!” Mark answered as I panted for breath, creeping along the outer edge. “It had these big bug eyes, and it was all pale and sickly!”

The hair rose on the back of my neck. I know I must have looked like death warmed over, but... pale and sickly? Bug eyes? He was making me out to be some kind of monster.

Fuming, I grit my teeth and kept low. My body was far more flexible than any horse had a right to be, and it was disturbingly good at moving like that. Leit Motif was proving a good role model again. Raising my head up, I prepared to check the room I had originally come to see.

The noises from the kitchen grew more frantic. “It’s an alien, Victor!” Mark insisted.

“Now, brother, I know I saw something weird, but—”

“What if there’s more of them? What if they’ve come for my babies?” Molly, Mark’s wife, demanded in increasingly shrill tones.

“Keith, Frank, get the guns!”

“I’ll call the police!”

My chest became a drum for my heart as I peered over the edge of the window sill, looking past a potted lily to the room within.

It was like a princess’s room. Or, at least, a princess who had every modern amenity a doting father could buy. Many girls who had nothing but brothers and mostly male cousins became aggressive tomboys as a result, but my friend Naomi was about as far from being a tomboy as Pluto was from earth. An extensive Daddy’s Girl program had rendered her utterly and irrevocably girly, but I loved her for it anyway. An explosion of pink, frills, and lace met my eyes, and I scanned the plush-strewn bed for any sign of her. The covers had been pulled down, so I knew she had been in bed and reading one of her favorite sappy romances. A nearby tissue box confirmed that last suspicion.

“No, no, Keith, the bigger ones!” Mark shouted.

“The ones the Feds don’t like, Dad?”

“Daddy?” I could hear Naomi’s voice calling, “What’s going on?”

“Get back to your room, sugarplum, and stay away from the windows,” Victor said adamantly.

“Look! I think I saw one outside, Dad!” Unless Keith had seen an owl, panic and nighttime misidentifications were setting in, which meant they would at least waste time jumping at shadows. Or shooting at shadows.

While I jimmied the frame, trying to pry open the window, bare feet pattered in the hall. Quickly, I ducked my head, so that only my eyes and part of my horn were showing. The door slammed open and a storm of red and pink burst in. If I were to be entirely honest, I would have to say that Naomi is prettier than I am—or prettier than I was, before I became Mr. Ed’s niece.

Flouncing onto her dressing table chair, she smoothed her pink nightgown, grabbed an ivory-backed brush, and pulled it through her hair, pouting ferociously. Naomi had princess-like hair of which she was understandably vain, a great cascade of deep, metallic red curls that spilled all the way down her back. With it framing her heart-shaped face, she looked utterly adorable. If that look had not melted her father’s heart, I must have given him a hell of a scare.

Dipping my head lower, I hissed to carry through the glass, “Naomi!”

I had been counting on a little squeak and wasn’t disappointed. Naomi had always been rather soft spoken. “Daphne?” she called quietly. “Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me, you ninny.” My voice came out as a strained whisper. “Open the window.”

“You sound like you’re in a snit,” she complained, miffed. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you worried about the alien? Wait, what’s that banging?”

I stopped pounding my head against the wall. “I am the alien; please,” I pleaded with her, “open the window and let me in.”

There was a pause from within, and I looked towards the kitchen to see if anyone was looking. There had been no gunshots—yet—but every few minutes one of the boys shouted that they saw something, and it started a new flurry of activity. The barking dogs added to the clamor, which only improved things for me. “If you’re really Daphne, then what’s the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to her at school?”

Briefly, I considered running right then. Surely there was an unattended phone somewhere—but no, not for a long while. I sucked in a breath.

“When Bianca went through the trash and read my love poem to Henry Barker in the eighth grade.”

“And?”

“I ran upstairs, climbed the ladder to the school tower, and shut myself up there for thirteen hours. The fire department came and had to drag me off.”

“And?” she repeated, expectant.

My teeth grated loudly.

“Dad, there’s an alien here,” she said airily, as if she were practicing.

“On the way down in the fire truck’s bucket, I threw up over the side, right on the police, reporters, and the mayor’s wife.”

The latch clicked and the window began sliding open. Knowing Naomi, the first thing she would do would be to stick her head out. “Naomi, wait!” I said at once to stall her. “Don’t look. Just... step back into the room, and don’t look until I say so.”

“Now you really sound like an alien trying to trick me,” she muttered dubiously.

“For crying out loud, if I were going to hurt you I’d stick a tentacle in and pull you out now. Just turn around and wait; it’s important. If you’re lucky, I’m a sexy alien fugitive shapeshifter who you can comfort.”

“Okay, okay! Sheesh, no alien like that would be this grouchy. You really have a burr in your saddle tonight, Daphne,” she complained, and I could almost hear her pouting as she moved over to another part of the room.

Hauling myself up on the windowsill, I scrambled my rear hooves against the wall for purchase and tumbled in awkwardly, my landing cushioned by a small mountain of plush toys. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too difficult to clean; I had always liked them as a little girl. For all we bickered, Naomi and I had been nearly as close as two friends could be since we were tiny. Maybe we were close because of all our quarrels, actually.

A slender, pretty thing, she stood with her arms crossed, facing the corner and tapping a bare foot. I glanced about the room. The door latch was in a locked position as I had hoped, and it was harder to hear what was going on in the kitchen from in here, especially once I’d turned and shut the window behind me. Much as I wanted an escape route, I wanted to avoid being heard more. Shelves stocked with light fantasy literature, horse fiction, books on genuine horse care and ranching, and pictures of us growing up together lined the wall with the door. One wall, the one with the window I had come through, was devoted to her own not-unskilled photography. Another had the door to a walk-in closet and a four-poster bed, and the last had her writing desk and her dressing table.

Naomi’s full-length mirror had been brought out to stand in a corner, and, for the first time, I glimpsed my new form. It was something of a miserable sight, possessed of a bedraggled white-brown coat and a head of wild, blond hair that stuck out every which way, while my equally blond tail had twigs and leaves sticking out of it. I was not quite as tall as a modern pony, and there were many differences beside. Like Leit Motif before me, I had big, expressive eyes, and looked soft and pliable compared to any equine bred by humans. It was easy to imagine how she might have developed from a cute little filly to a cute little mare like me. What definition my muscles had was minimal, and, over all, I gave a harmless, sweet appearance that belied the fright Naomi’s family was experiencing—even my horn looked soft-edged and unthreatening. I blew out a frustrated breath in a horse-like nicker.

Startled at that noise, Naomi disobeyed me and turned. For a long moment, she stood transfixed. Stumbling back a half step at her gaze, I became very aware of the fact that I had just sealed off my only escape route. In my imagination, I already vividly saw her screaming and grabbing her chair to fend me off, which is why it caught me completely off guard when she flew through my mental image and tackled me to the wall. She hauled me up off the floor and proceeded to squeeze every last breath out of my body. Wheezing and waving my hooves uselessly, I tried to gasp a response, but she only hugged me tighter.

“Finally!” Naomi cried, “Oh, I’ve been waiting so long for this!”

“Gak!” I gasped eloquently as she began to dance around her small room with me in tow, trying to keep my balance.

“I’ve been wishing and wishing and wishing for this to happen ever since you told me! A unicorn of my very own! My magical pony best friend forever; my very own MPBFF!” she squealed, nuzzling her cheek against my face.

“Naomi—” I choked, trying to get a word in edgewise.

“Oh we’ll have so many wonderful and magical adventures together!” she breathed in wondering awe as she let me flop down on the floor, coming down beside me and smoothing my mane and tail, plucking the twigs and leaves out. “You poor thing, we’ll get you settled down with a nice stall and a bale of hay and some oats, maybe an apple or two, and I’ll wash you and brush your mane and coat and tail and it’ll be so perfect. Just like I always dreamed!”

“Look, Naomi—” I tried again, my throat clearer.

“Eeeheheheehe,” she giggled obscenely, her cherubic face haloed in a cloud of red as she beamed at me. “Ever since you told me about your friend, I’ve been so jealous. I never stopped believing, and I’ve been out in that forest at least once a week since I was seven, trying to find Leit Motif for you. And now you’re a magical pony and we’re going to be bestest best best friends forever!” What, we weren’t already best friends? Was I was the newer, shinier model?

My mouth dropped open, and I couldn’t help but gape in astonishment. I wasn’t sure whether to be touched that she had believed in me when no one else had, or else deeply concerned at the level she was taking this whole thing. At the moment, mostly the latter.

“I think you’re about eight to nine hands tall, which is pretty insignificant for a pony, but your neck goes almost straight up, so that gives you a lot more height at the crown,” she continued, oblivious to my distress, as she poked and prodded me, turning my head this way and that. “Your craniofacial morphology is really developed—the prominent eyes, the shortened snout, the enlarged cranium. You certainly have a brain at least as big as a human’s. The gracile ridges and facial muscles indicate advanced social development.”

This spiel had me too stunned to object as she lifted one of my forelegs, examining the joints and muscles with a horse trader’s professional grip. “Oh neat, you’re way more flexible than any pony I’ve seen. If it weren’t for the hoof, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could grip objects. You even have strong ellipsoid joints where a human’s would be, just tougher to take impacts from walking!”

“How do you know so much—” I started, and then interrupted myself, looking at her shelf again. Riddle solved.

Naomi reached for my tail, starting to lift it just under the dock. “So do you have menstrual or es—”

“Naomi!” I shrieked, skittering away with my tail held protectively behind me, staring at her. “No! No! Bad girl!”

Deciding I needed to settle this at once, I reared up and pressed her back to her bed with my hooves on her shoulders. “Naomi, please, for the love of all that’s sane, listen to me,” I begged her, my voice racing on. “I’m sorry, but I’m not here to be your magical special friend you’ve longed for since girlhood. I was in the forest with Amelia, and some monsters kidnapped her, and then I got hit with a magic wand and c-cursed into this shape.”

My voice throbbed with emotion as I laid out my tale for her, the events of the day compressing themselves into a tight knot in my throat. “I was just out there with her, and w-we had a f-f-fight because I was be-being horrible,” I told her, my eyes starting to swim with tears. “And she r-ran off whe-when it was getting dark and I was such an id-idiot I let her go at first.”

I sucked in a breath as Naomi’s face fell into increasing concern and horror. I told her about the strange men, the encounter in the grove with the cat, and my struggle for the wand. I told her about how I had pulled myself out of the river to discover my transformed state, and how I had nearly drowned or fainted from the cold. How I had run all the way from there to her ranch, and about how I had nearly been caught by her father and uncle and the family dogs.

At some point, I’m not sure when, I had started crying, tears running down my smooth cheeks. Naomi’s arms went about my neck and, this time, she held me to her gently. I felt her warmth against me, her form against mine.

I wept like a child.

This was another reason why Naomi was among my closest friends. Sure, she could be ridiculous and wimpy and fruity and maybe a little scary at times, but, when it was important, she knew how to put all of that aside and be there for me. She was smarter than she seemed and had a deep, kind heart full of laughter and love. I needed her then, and more than just for a phone.

“Shh,” she whispered, stroking my mane as I sniffled. She even got one of her spare brushes from a drawer nearby and began running it through my hair. Half-curled on her lap, my head against her chest, I must have looked an awful mess, pony or no. It was silly, but her ministrations helped spread a sense of calmness and lassitude through me. Funny to say, but we had brushed one another’s hair before, and I always did find it comforting, particularly when I felt lonely or lost. “It’s all right, Daph, I’m here.”

“Oh, Naomi,” I breathed plaintively. “I don’t know if Amelia is all right. I don’t know if I’ll ever be normal again. I don’t know if it’s given me cancer or if I’ll lose my mind or anything.”

“You’ll be okay. It’ll work out. Does Em have a cell?”

“No,” I closed my eyes.

“Let’s call the house, then. If she got away in the fight, she may be home already!” she said with infectious optimism. It didn’t matter whether it was faked or not. I nodded, and she pulled her smartphone out, scrolled through the contacts, and dialed my house, putting it on speakerphone. Just like her, a thoughtful little touch.

The phone rang. It continued to ring on for a time. When it got to the voicemail, she hung up, frowning, and asked, “Shouldn’t your parents have answered?”

I shook my head against her. “Theater. They won’t be home for a while yet.”

“Okay, let’s call the cops,” she said, and I laughed softly. Just like her to guess my thoughts from time to time. She dialed the sheriff’s line. A brief conversation later—a false name given—and she shook her head, hanging up. “They said they haven’t picked up anyone of her description.”

Shakily, I began to rise. “There’s only one thing to it, then,” I murmured, steeling myself. “I need to go to her land. To Equestria.”

The silence was deep. Even the family had calmed down, though I think they were still up, since I could hear dogs barking intermittently, and no one was stopping them. Naomi ran a hand through her hair and stood up.

“Do you know how to get there?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I hesitated, thinking aloud, “I mean, Leit Motif told me a little about how she got here, but, uh... I never really thought it important; it never occurred to me that Equestria was anything but another town at the time. But I know where she came from, and it’s along the line where I met those things.”

“Okay,” she said, and started to peel her nightgown off. I would never admit openly that I envied more than her pretty hair sometimes. Not to mention her total lack of shame.

“Uh, Naomi, what are you doing?” I asked, sitting my rear down again. I felt like a cat doing that, while bracing my upper body against my outstretched forelegs. It was very much not a normal pony thing, but, as Naomi had pointed out, I was definitely no earthly pony.

“Going with you,” she insisted, taking some ties from the dressing table and tying her clouds of flaming hair back into a bushy ponytail.

“Haha, no,” I protested, starting to stand. Wailing sirens rose outside, causing me to pause as my ears perked to the sound. I went to the window and saw a line of sheriff cars charging up the road to the ranch. Naomi’s uncle and cousins would already be scrambling to secrete away the heavier duty firearms, while, I imagined in like fashion, the country sheriffs would be busy tackling me to the ground and hog-tying my legs.

A thudding of feet in the hall alerted us both to trouble, and Naomi hissed, “Daph, back here!” She threw open the door to the walk-in closet, and I darted in without hesitation. It fell dark when she closed the door, but for the thin planes of light let in by the slats in the wood.

The bedroom door swished open, and a figure entered the room; of course he would have a key. I was such an idiot sometimes. Peeking through the slats as best I could, I saw Naomi scuff the twigs and leaves under her bed with a foot. “Daddy! I’m undressed!” she complained.

“Sorry, sugarcube, I need to protect you before your modesty,” Victor apologized as he peeked under the bed.

“Dad, I think I would have noticed an alien in here.”

“Might have come in while you were in the kitchen. Scoot.” He gestured her aside.

I scrambled back, thinking fast. An idea occurred among the faintly perceived shapes around me as I backed up almost to the wall.

When Victor opened the closet door and flooded the little room with light, I had braced myself amongst her backup plushies, including the largest of them—a pair of bears and three horses. I kept my head still, my body frozen, and my eyes wide and staring. It was an incredible effort not to blink or flinch, but I visualized it in my head: I was a unicorn plush, no different from any other, glassy-eyed and adorable for all that I was mussed. I probably looked slightly more stupid than the fluffy dog at my side, one that nearly dwarfed me.

Victor stepped back to let more light flood in. I held my breath. The strain of stillness was cording my neck muscles intensely. At any moment, my mental image might have slipped and with it my will to remain still. I wished I had taken a moment to wipe my coat where it had been wet, and begged the universe not to let him turn the closet light on.

“Daddy,” Naomi growled, taking the universe’s place for the evening. “This is ridiculous. There’s no creepers, killers, or grey men in my closet. I’m also still undressed.”

Embarrassed, the man stepped out, running a hand through his short, reddish hair. “I’m sorry, sugarplum, you know I’m just worried about you.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Out, out!” she demanded, and shoved him to the door. He may have been upwards of two hundred pounds of muscle, but against Naomi he might as well have been twenty. Banishing him beyond the threshold, she slammed the door again.

I gasped a sigh of relief but remained hidden until it seemed certain the danger had passed. I crawled out, looking up at her from the carpet, resigned. My ears drooped, and I shuffled my hooves together awkwardly.

“Settled, then?” she asked, beaming. She was already filling one of her bags, regardless of my answer.

“Settled.” I sighed.

“Naomi!” I complained, shutting my eyes and trying to cover my face as the jet from the hose smacked me in the nose. “Knock it off!”

“You already tracked mud in my room, and I don’t want you getting parasites,” my friend insisted. I spluttered and glowered when she started to spray the rest of my body, looking not unlike a soggy kitten. She was dressed in her riding leathers, durable and easy to travel in. On a set of saddlebags resting on the stall, a sensible cowboy hat had been slung. It was astonishing how quickly she had packed and dressed. In my experience, it could take her hours to get ready for even the simplest trip. A small electric lantern illuminated the two of us, and a backup oil lamp was attached to a camping backpack.

Groaning, I turned in a little circle, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible. Copious amounts of dust and grime sloshed off me to run along into the stable drain, while horses trying to sleep nickered softly. Somewhere outside, on the other side of the farmhouse, the remaining sheriffs were combing the woods, aside from a pair talking to Victor and his wife, the quiet Tess. Naomi and I had waited until they had checked over the stables and this side of the ranch before making our break, so we weren’t too concerned about being caught.

Completing my turn, I grunted as a wet sponge hit me. “Gneh! We don’t have time for this!”

“Oh relax, I didn’t soap it. I’m just scrubbing the worst of it off. Besides, you shouldn’t complain so much. You’re absolutely gorgeous,” Naomi said breathlessly, and I began to suspect her motives were not entirely altruistic.

“I am not! This is a horrifying, Kafka-esque transformation, I am not—eee!” I squealed and jumped. “Stop nuzzling me at once!”

Naomi giggled wickedly and rinsed off the rest of the gunk, then started to dry me off with a big towel. I pushed her away and grabbed it in my hooves, backing up and using the side of the stable for balance. Though I still had no idea how or if I could pick things up with my hooves, it wasn’t hard to hold a big towel and rub it against myself. Besides, I was becoming intimately aware of the fact that I was stark naked, coat aside, and Naomi wasn’t making things any easier in that respect.

“Can you sing now?”

“What? No, why would you even ask that?”

“Well, you know, magical pony best friends should sing, and you were always awful,” she complained, reaching around behind her.

“Knock it off, and—hey, what’re you doing with that—”

Then came the brush, and fighting her off proved less successful this time. My friend came prepared, armed with her most devastating little girl pout, and I scuffed my hoof on the floor and snorted a reluctant agreement. Now that my hair and tail were reasonably clean and damp, the brush went through them easily.

“Oh it’s a lot more like human hair, too; that’s fascinating. It’s interesting how you don’t have a crest. I wonder why.”

“We can wonder why later. C’mon, Naomi, you’ve brushed me enough, stop it,” I whined, pattering my feet. Twenty strokes on my tail was quite enough, thank you. I gave her my most ferocious glare—which, in my present state, was more likely to be an adorable pout.

Naomi confirmed this by squealing and hugging my head. “Oh you are just so perfect,” she crooned, and lifted a small hand mirror. Having no particular desire to see, I only reluctantly observed my reflection, and grudgingly had to admit that I looked a lot nicer. My hair was much like my own had been, a shiny mop of blond that fell past my chin. A very fine coat of groomed, pale hair covered my body, and my tail was a somewhat bushy golden color. I supposed I would have to admit that I looked a heck of a lot cuter than most horses, too, but I certainly wouldn’t do so in public.

As I looked, Naomi started reaching for a bridle hanging on a hook on the wall.

“Whoa!” I squawked, pinning it there with my foreleg. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh!” She paused a beat. “I’m sorry, it was automatic,” she then offered, though her hand remained frozen in place, still reaching for the headgear.

I narrowed my gaze at her. “That didn’t sound entirely sincere.”

“Anyway!” she evaded quickly, finally stepping away from the tackle. “Let’s get going.” She slapped a set of small saddlebags on my back, and I let her cinch them. What was left of the belongings I had rescued were in them, and more room besides.

“Right,” I agreed. For all my complaints about time, there had been perfectly legitimate reasons for us to wait before taking off. The lights of the sheriffs’ wagons were only now beginning to roll out across the night, so it was risky to head out just yet. With a dry coat, I didn’t feel the bite of the night air as I might have, and it was reasonable, if not comfortable, for me to stay out in the chill for a little while.

Hearing shod hooves, I half-turned and blinked at my friend. “Aren’t we taking the truck?” I asked, watching as she smoothly mounted the saddled and bridled Hector. The big, speckled stallion was restless, sensing the excitement of his rider, and chuffed at me. A quick step back prevented a repeat of the nuzzling incident earlier. Naomi stilled Hector with a casual touch and tucked stray flaming hairs out of the way, her hat on her head. It had been a surprise at first when she started wearing entirely practical gear, but Naomi had made it perfectly clear that she thought cowgirl chic was entirely gauche. Besides, when asked, she responded truthfully that she made the frontier ensemble look good.

“Uncle Mark passed out in the back with a bottle of rum and his favorite shotgun,” she informed me, rote, with a mirthless grin. “Unless you have a crane, we’re going by hoof now.”

I arched a brow. “He has a favorite."

Naomi gave a shrug. “He insists he loves them all equally, but everybody knows.”

That change in plans had me biting my lower lip in considerable thought. With my new body, I could eat up a lot of ground, and, having ridden the path before, I knew we could get to my house within half an hour on horseback if we were quick about it. “More importantly, we’ll be able to get through the forest a lot quicker,” I thought aloud.

“Besides, you can’t have an adventure without horses,” Naomi declared vainly, her head held high and a self-assured grin on her lips.

That left about a third of her library unaccounted for. “What about science fiction?”

“Space horses,” she answered gravely, eyes suddenly wide and determined, but her grin had straightened out only a little. Hector whinnied, as if in agreement.

“Fine, I’m not going to argue with both of you. Come on, we’ve got a road to hit,” I announced, and put my hooves where my mouth was, moving into a steady trot towards the gates.

An eager Hector joined me, restrained from his competitive instincts by Naomi’s firm guidance. She had a small camera in hand and was filming me as we went, her knees guiding the big animal. The little coos and awws she made as I picked up the pace from a walk to a trot, or when I agilely dodged road obstacles, were getting very distracting.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying my discomfort.”

“Yeah, it’s like a dream come true!”

There was no expressing in words how grateful I was for modern road lighting systems, and, without having to worry as much about potholes or hidden roots, I devoured distance. Keeping up with the big stallion was proving my most trying experience. Hector clearly wanted to show who was the faster racer, and tiny little me couldn’t possibly have kept up with a hotblooded animal forged by thousands of years of directed breeding. The comparisons to be made between humans and great apes was very starkly evidenced here. I could no more have competed against him in a race than I could have wrestled a gorilla as a human.

On our way, I kept to the far side of the larger animal, away from the street, as we jogged along the horse trail. It wasn’t a perfect cover, but it was unlikely the occasional car speeding along would notice me beside the bigger animal, and the last thing I wanted was for people to start swooping around town with Instagrams of an alien on Twitter and Facebook. When we passed a gas station, the very idea of food had my stomach threatening to revolt, demanding sustenance. Suddenly, that offer of hay and oats didn’t seem quite so out-of-line.

While I started to contemplate whether or not grazing on the grass beside the road was a good idea, Naomi perceived my plight and took pity. Of course, my stomach was growling loud enough that she should have heard it clearly. “Let’s get a bite to eat,” she suggested. We were within the town, now, if on the fringes of it, and we had to watch out to make sure we could pass through unnoticed.

“What sort of places are open this late? I guess we can get some fruit or something from a Seven-Eleven,” I commented. I would have to eat vegetarian, of course. Leit never even liked looking at my hamburgers, though she devoured ice cream, so I supposed I could at least get dairy.

“It’s only twenty to nine. I know a place,” Naomi assured me. I marveled at the time as she turned Hector and started trotting down a tree-lined lane. What had felt like days in my mind had only been three or four hours. The thought unsettled me, and weariness seeped into my bones.

Never one for vegetarian food, I didn’t recognize the diner, and I kept well back from the main road in any case. Concentrating on her goal, Naomi failed to notice my depression, and I preferred it that way. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts just then. Slumping, with my head low and a deep, scowling pout on my lips, I watched the shoppers and diners going about their business. Late as it was, there weren’t many, but there was still a sense of separation between them and me. They were... human. Each and every one of them had a life here. Work, school, families. There was no way I could go back to school like this. There was no telling what Mother and Father would do to me, even if I did manage to find Amelia. There was nothing left of their oldest daughter, of the old Daphne. There wasn’t a place for me here. I couldn’t even drown my sorrows in a stacked quarter-pounder and cheese. No, all I had was a horn sticking out of my forehead, my naked coat, and a too-eager friend who probably wanted me to stay like this for the rest of my life.

Hector pawed at the ground with a hoof where he had been left. My brow furrowed further, tears beading in the corners of my eyes, as I glanced his way. “Yeah, look at you, big guy,” I snarked, pushing back my grief with biting sardonicism. “She steps on your reins, and you stay right where you are. Yeah, you’re a big wuss, aren’t you?”

I sounded pathetic.

Naomi found me curled on the ground, my head between my forelegs and my tail tucked around my side. I looked up, and she bit her lip, apparently trying to keep from bursting into tears at the sight of me right then. She could be such a sap.

Showing surprising tact, she simply laid a steaming bag down beside me and stepped away to munch on her own. In spite of my growing depression, it was impossible to remain entirely upset amid such intoxicating aromas and a growling stomach. Nosing the bag open, I snuffed inside with my big muzzle.

“Processed mushroom burger,” Naomi informed me. “Oats, garlic, onion, parsley, oregano, pickles, all on a wheat bun. I know how much you like cheese, so I had them shred parmesan all over it, even though it’s going to go right to your hips.”

My mouth watered, and I shoved my face in, tore the wrapping away with my teeth, and scarfed up the burger with delight. It was no beef, but, with mayo and dressing and cheese and meaty mushroom and everything else, it was like a chunk of heaven all the same. To a starving mare who had not eaten anything since before noon, it was as if life had begun anew. If not for the bag, I would have been spraying juices across the grass like we were on the set of a horror film. I didn’t even need to ask for more before she put the cheesy fries down next, and I inhaled them in great gulps.

“Oooh,” I moaned. “Salt and grease and cheddar.” It was nearly obscene; I should have been embarrassed to enjoy myself this much in public.

Naomi giggled, pecking at a salad, while Hector tried to steal a bite. She shoved his big head away. “Later, you, I brought plenty of oats.” He settled for nuzzling at her mane of red hair instead. “Are you feeling—omigawd that is so cute!” she squeaked, watching me suck up a milkshake through a straw, my face puckered up.

“You are going to be just impossible, aren’t you?” I asked around the straw, unwilling to stop eating.

“I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the night.” It was difficult to tell if she was being sarcastic or not, fanning herself with a plastic fork in hand. “I’m already melting into a puddle of joy.”

Gagging noises told her what I thought of that.

Naomi gave me a grin. “Aww, don’t ruin it. You’re so much cuter this way. Really, Daphne, you can be a bit of a snit; you should take this chance to look at life from a new perspective.”

“This is plenty perspective enough for me right now, thanks, and I am not that bad.”

“Daph,” Naomi planted her fork-holding hand against her hip as she regarded me, “you’ve been like a bear with a sore paw for a while now. Even before you broke up with Marc, you acted like you barely had time for anyone.”

My first instinct was to snap back at her, rising to do exactly that, but it would have merely proven her point. Falling back to my milkshake, I allowed a moment to pass so I could take stock. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been pretty unfair to people lately.”

“Self-obsessed, perhaps?”

“Don’t push it,” I grumbled. Shaking my head, I huffed a sigh. This was really the first time I had been able to sit and think since the discoveries of tonight, and, since we were here eating anyway, it seemed a waste not to get a load off with my best friend—much as I had been reluctant to, earlier. Who knew when we’d be able to sit down again to talk? “It’s been that way ever since I gave up on Leit Motif. How much do you know of what happened back then? I know I didn’t tell you, well, anything after a certain point.”

Naomi shook her head. “Not much, no. Father told me you were getting help from a therapist, and then you started acting pretty strangely after that. Don’t you remember when I broke into your room to complain about how you weren’t talking to me any more?”

That startled me. I had forgotten about that, but now that she had reminded me, I could remember waking up in the middle of the night to a cloud of red hair and angry, crying eyes. Strange the sorts of things that get lost in the dust of memory. Nodding, I said, “You thought I didn’t like you any more. This may sound funny, but I honestly thought that you hated me.”

“Because of the other kids’ parents? You know my parents aren’t like that, Daphne. They’d never have told me to stay away from you. They knew you, for one, and they thought you were just acting out because you were afraid.” She closed the distance between us, dropping her fork into her tray as she walked, and reached out to stroke her hand along my mane. “Besides, I believed you. Seems that panned out better than any of us expected, too.”

“You’re a sap, and I hope you get carried off by a dragon,” I griped, but gave her hand a quick nuzzle.

“Depending on how cute he is, I might not object too strongly,” she said, giggling.

Stealing some of Naomi’s salad, I washed it down with another gulp of my milkshake. “You may be more right than you think, though,” I admitted at last. “Not about the transformation giving me a new perspective, though, so much as it is the whole thing. I tried to put all of that away because I thought it was hurting me, that it was unreal, and I couldn’t tell the difference.”

“Now you know it’s real,” she said, pushing the rest of her salad my way. “You don’t have to be afraid of being yourself any more, Daph.”

It was gobbled up gratefully, and I finished off my milkshake before pushing all the trash into the burger bag. Wiping my mouth was a challenge, but I managed to hold a pile of napkins between my hooves and used those to mop up my muzzle. “Being myself,” I mumbled. “I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore.”

Her hands lifted my face, and she cleaned off a speck I had missed on my cheek, before sliding her hands down to my hooves and giving them a squeeze. It should have felt belittling, but Naomi had something of a gift when it came to tender devotion. No one else had ever been able to soothe my hurts quite like her, and I never let anyone touch or even hug me quite like she did. It was exactly the sort of affection I needed just then. Closing my eyes, I exhaled, letting a portion of my worries go.

“Let’s get going,” I said, and reached back to nose into my saddlebags. Naomi put a hand to my neck as I pulled out my wallet, give me a gentle push to let me know I didn’t have to pay her back. I reluctantly put it away and snorted, scuffing my hoof on the ground awkwardly. Nothing was said; we both understood. I chucked the diner bag into a public trash can and hurried on. Mounting up on Hector, Naomi turned to follow me as I led the way. Home awaited me.

If I could still call it home.

Even taking the back ways, it was only another five minutes to my house at our pace. A hill ran along behind the row of homes, and the thick bed of leaves squished under our hooves as we rode up to the backyard. Dodging around toys left there by Amelia, I walked up to the back porch and surmounted the stairs, my ears and eyes swiveling as I searched to be sure no one was watching. Other homes glowed with light, but ours was dark, and no one who wasn’t expressly looking into our backyard would have seen the two horses and young girl approaching.

Leaving Hector at the base of the steps, Naomi joined me and unlatched the gate. My keys were presented to her in my mouth, and she popped open the back door while I judiciously scraped my hooves clean on the rug. So doing, I entered.

Were it not for our lack of supplies, I might have bypassed this trip entirely. While Naomi had been able to take some food for Hector—and me, technically—food for a human was decidedly lacking in a stable, and someone would have noticed her sneaking into and out of the kitchen.

That same overwhelming sadness washed over me again, however, as we entered my home. Pictures of the family stared down from the walls and cabinets, and I didn’t need to stretch my imagination much to imagine them glaring at me in disapproval. Who was I but a weird little interloper, now? I wasn’t even of the same flesh as my kin anymore.

One who had lost her one and only sister.

While Naomi saw her way about the pantry, I went upstairs. The steps weren’t hard to take. My legs were pretty versatile, and most of the night had been spent getting used to them. I nosed open the door to Amelia’s room and padded around in the dark like a fuzzy burglar.

Laying my head on her bed for a moment, I sighed. “I’ll get you back,” I promised the empty room before opening my eyes. Two blue, gleaming eyes stared back at me over a forked tongue, and I jumped back, startled. It became apparent, looking closer, that it was just Amelia’s favorite toy—a white snake plush named Asmodeus, Slayer of Mice. My sister had always been a little weird.

It would be pathetic if I started bawling like a little girl right there. Just started tearing up and sniffling and hugging a toy to my chest and crying my little heart out. I wouldn’t be that pitiable.

Once I was done not being that pitiable, I put Asmodeus into a saddlebag and went back into the upstairs hallway. There were other things we were going to need, so I went into my room next. A flick of my tail clicked the light switch on with its tip—which was pretty fun, actually. A tail could come in handy now and then, it seemed. That was worth a grin at least. Opening the closet, I pushed aside a stack of books and dragged a box out with my mouth. There was a tag on the cardboard slats that read: Sealed Forever.

“Okay, Daphne,” I murmured to encourage myself, putting a hoof on top of it. “It’s just another part of that past you tried so hard to bury. You know, how a therapist and your parents convinced you that you were crazy. The part Naomi said it was okay for you to have now.”

I looked up into the mirrored surface of my closet, at the wide, green eyes of a unicorn. Long seconds passed as I drank in the reality. I shoved the top of the box in and broke the seal with a slice of my hoof, prying the two sides open and freeing the contents within.

Memories poured out, filling the air with dusty reminiscence. A laughing, happy little girl, full of life, bounced on the bed. Action figures, army men, and playsets sprawled across the floor, while she envisioned titanic battles and elaborate romances playing out across time and space, contained in the impossibly vast universe of my bedroom. She hung upside-down and watched Star Wars on the little TV and VHS player until she knew the whole series backwards. I could see every little freckle on her as she put together a model airplane on her desk, a magnifying lens swelling her face into immensity.

“Pandora, eat your heart out,” I mumbled, digging through the box as more memories danced around me. I tried not to focus on the toys, knowing I could be here all night, reliving my childhood, if I let myself. Instead, I fit my hooves in and pulled out a camo-textured case. A solid, sensible survival kit, freshly stocked in anticipation of my next and greatest adventure. “One I’m about to make eight years late.”

“What was that?” Naomi asked from the door, and I jumped, automatically shoving the kit into my empty saddlebag as if I were hiding something shameful. “Oh, hey, is that your Hoth playset? I wondered where that had gone!”

“I just wanted to get some things,” I stammered, busying myself with my saddlebag for a moment. I closed the box, but I wouldn’t have sealed it again even if I had the tape to do it with. I didn’t want to bury my childhood ever again. Still, there was nothing to do but shove it back into the closet with my head for now. It would have to wait until I had finished something far more important.

“Do you think any of these would fit?” Naomi asked, starting to leaf through my clothing with her normal, cavalier manner towards my stuff.

“Well, my panties burst right off, and I don’t know what happened to my earrings.” I snorted and shook my head. “My clothes weren’t fitting right when I got out of the river.”

“That doesn’t mean nothing here will, and what if it’s cold over there? You don’t want to freeze.”

“Is this a thinly veiled excuse to dress me up?” I asked, my eyes narrow as I hopped up on my bed and crossed my forelegs in front of me.

“...no,” she said after half a beat, her expression blank, as she approached me with a hat. “Put this on.”

Reluctantly, I submitted, for her excuse was reasonable. I may have had a warm coat, and running warmed me up pretty well, but I obviously wasn’t immune to cold.

As a pouty pony clothes horse, I was a distressingly marketable little thing, which Naomi’s giggling and carrying on proved. My closet served as a full-length mirror, and I shrugged into various different shirts and jackets and skirts. Nothing in that vein fit, and I rebelled when I saw Naomi’s camera resting on my desk, taking in the whole thing.

Dragged back in by my rear ankles, I groused but let her adorn me with hats and combs. What did end up working was a rain poncho and some of my winter scarves, as well as a small selection of knit caps. It was hard to keep from giggling at the sight myself—if I wasn’t careful, I might start to like looking like this. We packed away the poncho on top of the wrapped up scarves and hats. One saddlebag was nearly full, and so I endeavored to fill the other by heading downstairs and finding where Naomi had laid out the food.

She turned out the lights upstairs and went to root through the rest of the building, in search of anything else useful. Spying some cans and other packages of ready-to-eat food on the kitchen table, I packed my remaining bag by the simple expedient of putting a foreleg on the table and sweeping the lot off the edge, then packing it in.

Safety was soon to die, however, when I heard the crunch of tires on asphalt, and headlights swept over the big kitchen window. I gaped and stared at the digital clock on the microwave. “No, it’s only nine-twenty, what’re you doing home early?” I demanded of the air uselessly.

“Come on, Daph, we’ve got to go!” Naomi barked at me from the stairs.

Much as having to comically flee from well-meaning persecutors for yet another time tonight would have been par for the course, I shook my head. “No, they’ll freak out if they hear someone pounding away, or if they come home and find Em and I aren’t here, we need to... ah.” I hesitated, tossing a trailing end of my dragon-patterned scarf over my neck.

A car door slammed, and I could see bags. That explained the earliness—if Father’s reflux was acting up, he would have just gotten some take out. It might have been a good sign, if he was too annoyed to pay attention to things. Or argue with his daughter and her friend.

I retreated to the family room in the back, Naomi at my heels. “We’re going to have to trick them, or they’ll never sleep right and call the police besides.”

“Oh, a distraction! Fun!” She clapped her hands gleefully and went off to the entryway.

“Naomi!” I hissed, but could only dance on my hooves helplessly as she ran off.

The door opened, and I heard my mother ask, her tone surprised, “Naomi? What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Mrs. O.!” Naomi said brightly. “Nice to see you, too!”

Taking advantage of her distraction, I went out back, picking up my saddlebags and—

My mouth snapped on empty air. Crap. I had left them in the kitchen, and forgotten to take them with me when I ran back here.

“Yes,” Mother responded cautiously, “it’s nice to see you, too. Where is Daphne?” I could hear her jewelry tapping against the stand in the entryway as I darted across the family room to the kitchen, vaulting the coffee table. I had to skid to a halt with all four legs splayed ahead of me when the light there came on, flooding the tiled room with illumination.

“Around, she and I just came by for a couple things.”

“A couple things? Just you two?” Mother asked, her heels clicking on the hardwood. I carefully peeked and saw Father putting boxes in the fridge. My mouth watered involuntarily—I saw a cake among those boxes. A cake neither I nor Amelia would be trying.

“Yeah, Amy and Daph stopped by my place, and Amy was so-o tired she just fell over on my bed and didn’t want to get up,” Naomi lied with the effortless grace only a true daddy’s girl could muster. “I figured they’d stay the weekend. It’s okay with Mom and Dad; we never have enough people around.”

It was no difficulty at all to picture Mother giving Naomi a sour look, her hands on her hips. She would look so elegant in one of her evening gowns, with her blond hair swept up. I ignored the image and crept forward with remarkable stealth for someone with hard hooves, picking the bags up in my mouth.

“Daphne?” Father asked, and I nearly jumped out of my skin right then. I looked, but his face was concealed by the open fridge door.

Shrugging under the strap so that the bags rode on my back, I answered, “Uh, yes, Dad?”

I had to step softly to leave, lest the noise attract his attention, watching the refrigerator as if it contained a slavering ooze monster that was about to burst out and devour me. “You make sure Amelia doesn’t get hurt out there, all right?”

Oh, Father. Of all the things to ask.

“Yes, Daddy,” I promised, my throat tight, and ran as soon as my hooves touched carpet.

Fleeing back over the coffee table, I pushed through the back door and took off across the backyard. I heard Naomi coming after me as I slid down the hill, and, when she leapt onto Hector’s back, we took off at once towards the forest, leaving my home and family behind me.