Star Shepherd

by Plaguemouse


Light her way

"Her fever has gotten worse," the doctor said stoically. The mare beside him stifled a sob.

"How can it get worse? Her little body is already so hot," she said in a quiet voice, nudging the doctor aside to hover close to her young filly. The sight of her alone brought another torrent of tears streaming down her eyes.

The filly's mane, once a shining downy blue, was greasy and plastered to her face with cold sweat. Her coat was dull, damp, and radiated warmth from the high fever. The raging heat of her body could be felt from a foot away; it was like standing next to a furnace. With her hoof, the mare gently pushed a strand of errant hair from her daughter's face. For a moment her daughter's eyes flickered open at the touch. Her dull and listless amethyst orbs, clouded by fever and pain, stared blankly and then closed again as if the simple effort of opening them had sapped what little energy her diseased body had left. Her mother kissed her burning brow and rose from her bedside. With a nod, the doctor lowered his head and with a soft glow of magic cast a spell. Wordlessly the two adults left the room.

"That should keep her asleep for a while," the doctor reported. "It should at least make her more comfortable."

"Doctor Clearwater," the mare started, casting him a desperate glance. "Is there any chance that..." Her voice trailed off desperately.

Doctor Clearwater had trained for years to be a doctor, but now he felt like an undertaker; he felt bitter that this mare would even make him say it. She knew as well as he that Windflower would not live. As if hearing it from him would make it any easier! The doctor sighed and turned from her, unwilling to meet those desperate eyes. "As I told you before, her body is poisoning itself. Illnesses like this are difficult, ma'am. At this stage there is not a good chance. There are worse odds than a coin toss."

He forced himself to look into this grieving mare's eyes, to face this mother's pain and wrath and misplaced hopefulness. It was a contact he could not bear to keep long. Even without looking he knew the twinkle of hope that was gleaming in Feather Leaf's eye; after all, a bad chance is still a chance, right? Don't make me say it, you bitch, he thought. Don't make me condemn this child for your sake. Let me save my soul. Damnit, damnit, damnit.

He turned back on Feather Leaf fiercely. "Ma'am, while there is a slim chance that SOME ponies survive this, it would be unethical of me to lead you to believe that your daughter has that chance. If she were older, stronger, she may have come out of this. But her body is destroying itself, and it is too small and too young to fight back. I am sorry."

Feather Leaf stood speechless and for a moment she looked calm, even beautiful. The deep circles under her eyes only seemed to exaggerate their radiant blue. Even puffy and red, they shone out with a stunning expressiveness. Her mane, nearly as ragged as her daughter's, fell messily around her face in a way that was oddly alluring. Even her misery was tragically beautiful. The spell was broken as she silently sunk to the floor, melting into a wreck inch by inch until she was completely destroyed; she was a mare who was about to lose everything. Silently she began to sob: real, deep tears of unfathomable sadness. If only she had recognized the early signs, if only the doctor had diagnosed Windflower quicker, if only the infection had not spread to her blood in the first place. If, if, if. Outside the night had fallen unnoticed and a cold October breeze whistled through the trees. It was a cold night, and everypony was inside, oblivious of the mare and the stallion quietly mourning a filly who still lay living in the next room over.

Doctor Clearwater sighed and scooped Feather Leaf onto his back, carrying her into the bedroom with her daughter. Feather Leaf was limp and made no motion against him. She only reacted once deposited onto the bed, only to curl up beside her unconscious filly. Her body was assaulted with silent, miserable sobs that shook the bed, but did not disturb the sick child. The doctor observed this and sighed. Lowering his head he cast his simple sleep spell on Feather Leaf. Maybe she will have a bit of peace, he thought as he settled down for his night watch. And maybe I will too.

**********************

Windflower paced in darkness. It was an oppressive place, hot and dark, and she was afraid, desperately so. She had tried before to call out for her mother, but her voice would not come to her. And so she wandered.

Days and weeks and years went by all in the blink of an eye. She could not see a single thing, but she felt she was in the Everfree forest. Sometimes she thought she could hear the howling of the timber wolves, but it was only silence playing tricks. How long she wandered and why she eventually stopped she could not say, but there came a point in which she was too terrified to go on, as something terrible would happen if she took that single step forward. She thought about turning back, but in her heart she knew she wasn't allowed. The only option was forward, and yet something about the dark here was darker. She couldn't do it. She was too afraid, so she sat down and wept. For a moment it was only her, weeping into the darkness in fear of the unknown, but then a voice, a real true voice bubbled up alongside her like a spring in the desert: calm, cool, and soothing.

"Child, why do you weep so?"

Windflower started and turned around. Behind her had appeared a figment of regal beauty, the night's splendor embodied. "Princess Luna?" asked Windflower. "What are you doing here?"

The princess smiled. "To learn why it is that our beloved subject weeps so bitterly."

Windflower's tear swollen eyes widened and she cast her gaze back forward. "It's the darkness. I am scared to go on."

The princess dropped to her knees and enveloped the filly in her dark wings, gently pushing her so they faced directly. The princess smiled softly, a smile that filled Windflower with all the peace and calm of the night. She felt cool grass beneath her hooves and heard the symphony of crickets and night birds.

"Fear not the dark, my child. The dark may shroud the world in mystery, but there is nothing in the dark that cannot be discovered, uncovered, or understood." The princess of the night then rose to her full height, and with a motion of her head the darkness exploded into the night sky, bedecked with the dazzling lights of a million, million stars, brighter and more brilliant than Windflower had ever seen in her life.

"Behold, Windflower, the majesty of our night, and be not afraid of the darkness before you. To wait here, afraid of what you do not know, of what you cannot know, is folly. Every bright day ends with darkness. You must continue your bravery and strength to the end."

Windflower looked up at the princess, and for the first time in her short life felt completely at ease, beyond anything she had ever imagined possible. "You are right, Princess. I do not know where I am going, but I have to keep going. It's time for me to stop being afraid."

Standing tall, Windflower shook her mane and wiped her tears. Casting the Princess one more brisk glance, she faced the endless darkness and proceeded forward. Luna stood still and watched as the filly dissipated into the darkness, and one more brilliant star was born in her sky.

***********

Twilight enveloped the land as Luna alighted on the balcony to her chambers. The moon was lowered, and even now her royal sister would be preparing to raise the sun onto another glorious day. Somewhere below those ivory towers, a filly would not wake to see it. Luna sighed and shook off her crown. This morning its weight pestered her.

How the ponies loved her sister, and how they basked in her glory. Blessed Celestia never had to be alone. Glorious Celestia never had to fly among the endless nightmares of her subjects. Perfect Celestia never had to ease the passing of a child in her sleep. Luna sighed, and shook angry tears from her sapphire eyes, wondering exactly how many stars shone in that dark sky.