At last, Scootaloo was home, but it didn't seem to make a difference. Her violet eyes held the same jaded glint that had possessed her during the entire cross-country train ride. She stood at the edge of the depot to Ponyville, staring at every building and golden-thatched roof. The smells and sounds of the place were assaulting her from all angles. She remained steadfast, her aged legs firm and muscular from years of labor.
With a tug of her saddlebag, she trotted forward through town. The blue sky hung bright overhead, evoking memories both good and bittersweet. She saw little foals—joyous blank flanks—scampering past her path, and a chill ran through her body.
Sugarcube Corner was gone. In its place was a salad diner, its exterior metallic finish in sharp contrast to the rustic aesthetic of the rest of the village. A few more buildings stood out just as sharply, places she hardly recognized, but Scootaloo ignored them all the same. She headed towards the centerpiece of town, a tall, five-story treehouse that still miraculously stood in the middle of Ponyville.
She walked through the door with a ringing bell. She didn't believe it until she saw it with her own eyes, but every book and shelf was gone. Instead, there was a lounge, a cafe, and a coffee bar. A well-dressed filly about five years younger than Scootaloo stood behind the counter, smiling at the approaching customer.
“Hello, ma'am. Welcome to Harmony's Rest. We happen to have some vacancy at the moment!”
“Yes, I would like to have a room, please,” Scootaloo said in a calm tone.
The mare took a look at Scootaloo's folded wings and spoke without losing her programmed grin. “On the top floor, perhaps? The upper branch has a room with a balcony, perfect for pegasus take-off!”
Scootaloo exhaled gently and returned a weak smile. “A bottom floor will be just fine, provided it's cheaper.”
“Ah. Well, I think I have a place just for you, then.” The mare scribbled in a notebook. “Will this be a short stay?”
Scootaloo shook her head. “A long one. Thank you.” She slid the bits over, signed her hoof, and took the keys.
“I do hope you enjoy your stay at Harmony's Rest!” the mare remarked with a curtsey. “This place is a landmark in town! It used to be a library!”
“Yes,” Scootaloo said with a quiet nod. “I know.”
Slowly, she trotted across the hotel and found her room. She slid the door open with a creak. Despite years of service as an inn, it still had a dusty smell to it. If Scootaloo closed her eyes, she could imagine hundreds upon hundreds of royal scrolls being engulfed in green flame. It brought a sigh from her mouth.
She shut the door behind her. Without thinking, she checked, double-checked, and triple-checked the lock. Satisfied, she shuffled over to the bed on the other end of the tiny room and simply fell back onto its covers. She spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling, her face still as stone.
Eventually, she stirred. She got up, stripped of her saddlebag, and started emptying the contents all over the room. Soon, she got comfortable, or something close to it. After inspecting the bathroom and facilities, she trotted over to a glass door that had been carved out of the side of the tree trunk. Sliding it open, the sounds of Ponyville's hustle and bustle wafted into the hotel room. A tiny picket fence enclosure gave her room an exterior “yard” no bigger than she could buck her rear limbs. But there was still something quaint and simple about it, and it had a good view of downtown.
The sun was setting. Families and their foals were playing out in the street, enjoying a game of hoofball. In the distance, chimneys started exhaling smoke into the air, filling the autumn sky with a country toastiness. The smell of baked goods and home-cooked dinner drifted across the idyllic township to greet her.
She knew that it was time to relax.
Trotting back to the bed, she reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a book. It was a very old thing, a threadbare paperback pulp fiction novel. The edges of the cover were starting to bend and tear; the ridiculously epic cover art featuring flames and lycanthropes was faded. But it brought the first sincere grin to Scootaloo's face in ages.
Sitting down, surrounded by the scents of the past, Scootaloo opened the book and read until sunlight could only afford her a glimpse of her memories.