//------------------------------//
// Chapter 12: Sunset 
// Story: Celestia Sleeps In 
// by Admiral Biscuit 
//------------------------------//


Celestia Sleeps In


Chapter 12: Sunset


Admiral Biscuit



Anthony had been halfway up the rise off the beach when he’d noticed the old man standing there, staring across the beach with a look of fright. His face was covered with stubble and his clothes were wrinkled, as if he’d been sleeping in them. Probably another boater that got stuck on the island. Now he sees that weird bubble, and he’s freaking out. He’d motioned for Cortez to come over before moving closer. He’d kept a wary eye on the man, who continued to stare vacantly off in the distance, as if he didn’t see them at all. 



As Cortez moved close along his side, Anthony had gotten within arm’s reach of the man. He’d watched his eyes carefully, but they stayed unfocused. Is he having a stroke or an aneurysm or something like that? Anthony had briefly forgotten about the strange bubble on the beach, wondering if this grizzled old man was going to topple over at his feet.



“What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to keep a friendly lilt in his voice. He hoped that his tone would snap the man out of his reverie. If not—if the guy collapsed at his feet or something—at least Cortez was there to help.



He did not expect the man’s reaction. Without any warning whatsoever, the man threw the bag he was holding at Anthony, who instinctively grabbed at it as he took a step back. The bag was heavy enough to have been filled with bricks, and it threw him off balance as he caught it.



Anthony’s reactions were quick, but not nearly quick enough. He’d been entirely blindsided by the instant hostility of a man who’d initially appeared for all the world to be a lost soul. He hardly had time to register the man knocking Cortez off his feet before his eye locked on the second member of the duo—a pastel miniature horse with freakishly large golden eyes.



It glanced at him, back down the beach, and then he felt a yank at the bag he was holding, although there was no physical connection between the horse and himself. Without knowing why, he tightened his grip and pulled back, not really seeing the golden aura twining over the bag. As suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone, and he took an involuntary step to keep his balance, just as the horse took off down the hill, running the same way grandpa had gone.



He looked over at Cortez, who was getting to his feet. A sick feeling of dread settled over Anthony as he began running down the short hill. It felt as if he was running through molasses. Something was going terribly wrong, and he didn’t know what or why. 



He saw the horse galloping in a beeline towards the hemisphere, while the old man appeared to have set his sights on Kate.



“Stop him!” He hoped Kate would hear his frantic shouts. She seemed lost in her own little world, unaware of the drama that was unfolding a mere fifty yards from her. His words must have cut through the fog, though, because she suddenly turned. When she saw the horse she reached for her taser. She hesitated before bringing it up, carefully tracking the charging horse, but she didn’t fire.



“Get the guy!” His shout came too late; Kate clearly never saw the old man. He cringed as the two collided—even at his distance the collision was frightfully loud, and he secretly admired the old man for having the guff to pull it off. Kate was well and truly down; he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d moved a few yards from the hit.



It seemed she’d gotten her shot off, though. The strange horse was lying on its side, just barely inside the bubble. That could have gone better, but no one looks too badly hurt. Anthony ran down the beach, mulling over the options for pulling the weird horse back out of the bubble. Could wrap a line around its hind legs and pull it free.



He was ten yards short of Kate when the bubble suddenly darkened. A moment later, the horse glowed a blinding incandescent white and a line of golden fire shot across the taser wires. For the briefest instant, he heard a piercing scream from Kate, but it was cut off before it could properly form, as she and the old man also turned ghostly, and then all three were gone, leaving nothing behind but twin trails of scorched sand and a broken strobe light.









“So you sell insurance?” The incredulous tone was conveyed even in her wingpony’s whisper.



Sunny Rays nodded. “And fill in on the weather team. It’s not a job that really needs me to be in my office all the time. It’s a new thing in a town like Ponyville, anyway. Most ponies don’t even know they can insure their property.” She gazed out over the reservoir. She and Northern Lights were part of the support supply team, each serving their week on duty. Unlike the Royal Guards, the auxiliary was mostly made up of mares. They wore sky-blue vests with a white border, and an image of a cloud with wagon wheels on each side—their squad’s logo. Sunny had an leg band, too, since she was a section leader. They were primarily tasked towards supporting the medical teams, but could also be used for other support functions, if needed.



Technically, they weren’t supposed to be talking, but she figured that if she kept her voice quiet, nopony would know. There wasn’t anything else to do; the day had been completely boring except for when she briefly flew next to Misty. Even without the trademark blue flight suit, she recognized the Wonderbolt.



“I think that you’d find insurance surprisingly affordable, and you can never tell what might happen in a cloudhouse.” Before Northern Lights could reply, a slight thrumming noise caused Sunny to perk her ears up. It wasn’t a sound she’d heard from the spell before, so she glanced towards the raft, which was still sitting where it had been all day. She turned to the mare next to her.



“Did you—” she began, before the spell failed with a sharp report, sending splintered wood and a column of water hundreds of feet high.



That was a signal even the distant unicorns couldn’t miss. Trios of red sparks started shooting into the air—a completely unnecessary measure—while the exploration team launched off their clouds, soaring towards the lake to see what had happened. A dozen unicorns—the land-bound equivalent—teleported to the bank, where they were promptly drenched by the falling spray. 



Sunny Rays fought an urge to fly off the cloud in the opposite direction, but she stayed put—along with her wingpony—as they had been trained. The exploratory teams were expendable; the strike and medical teams were not. The mist obscured what was happening, but she heard a shout, followed by a sickening thud.



Two Wonderbolts rocketed off their cloud; Soarin headed in the direction of Ponyville, while Fleetfoot flew towards Canterlot. They were not trailing their signature smoke contrails; that was only for show. Spitfire, Misty, and Blaze stood by, ready to carry new messages, if the situation required it.



Everypony else stayed put. There had been a concern that the creatures that lived where Lyra was going could manage to get through the bubble, and if they did, the pegasi were supposed to stop them before they got off the lake. They had done sand table training and field exercises which were developed with minotaurs and diamond dogs in mind, but since they didn’t know what these creatures were capable of, the best defense was to not be seen, and attack by surprise. Of course, the reconnaissance team had to get there first, to see what the threat was. It was filled with stallions who wanted to prove they had what it took to be promoted to Royal Guard.



“There’s ponies in the water!” The alarmed voice of a pegasus carried over the receding spray. While most ponies could swim, an unconscious pony would quickly drown; pegasi were at a particular disadvantage, as wet feathers further compromised their natural buoyancy. 



“She’s not moving, send the rescue teams!”



“Unicorn down on the shore. It looks like he was hit by a falling timber.”



The shore exploded into a flurry of activity. Medical teams—many of them entirely composed of auxiliary guards—galloped out of the trees and dove off clouds, trailed by their armored brethren. Meanwhile, the pegasi support teams sprung into action.



Sunny Rays was responsible for her squad’s supply cloud, and she quickly began shoving it towards the lake. Stacked neatly in a carefully-formed depression were medical supplies, food, blankets, and extra spears. Behind her, another pegasus was pushing a carrying cloud into place—a specially-enchanted platform allowed anypony to stand on it. They had initially been invented for water rescues, but had also proven useful for stranded airship evacuation and for carnival rides which had malfunctioned.  



Additional wooden platforms were being levitated out over the reservoir to provide a working space for unicorns. Sunny aimed for a cluster of heads bobbing above the water—two pegasi were struggling to keep somepony afloat. Their wings were soaked; it was amazing that they were still able to hover. As soon as she had her cloud in place, she began looping ropes around bollards on the platform cloud, first securing her fellow pegasi before trying to assist with the victim in the water. All around her, she could hear the terse commands of patrol leaders, trying to quickly organize the chaos in the water.









Luna looked down at the trembling unicorn, stretched prostrate at her hooves. Outside the door, she could still hear the muffled voices of the Royal Guard, but she paid them no heed. To forestall interruption, she had magically barred the door. Nothing short of celestial magic would open it.



“Beatrix Lulamoon.” The unicorn looked up at the mention of her name, but Luna’s face was an unreadable mask. She dared not speak until the younger diarch gave her leave.



“Beatrix Lulamoon,” Luna repeated. “Thou hast come to our House seeking our protection. We grant thee protection from outside agents for as long as thou dost remain in our House.” She knelt, before gently touching her horn to the unicorn’s forehead.  “Rest now, for thou art weary.” 



Luna’s horn glowed a soft blue, and Trixie’s head sunk to the floor. As Luna got back to her hooves, she frowned. “What is that lemony smell?”



Dusk Glimmer trotted over, sniffing the prone unicorn. “I think . . . it smells like she waxed her mane.”



“We confess we are not always . . . abreast of current trends. But, this doth smell more like furniture polish than a mane treatment. Dusk Glimmer, is this what ponies do now?”



Dusk smiled faintly. “No, highness. I can only conclude that she did it to appear . . . presentable. Perhaps proper grooming supplies were not at hoof. She did just escape her cell.”



Luna let out a long sigh. “We cannot leave her here. Our bedchambers are large enough to fit another pony. Perhaps thou should bring a servant’s bed. We doubt she would find our own bed restful.”



“Where shall I put it?”



“Beside our own. Nopony would dare enter uninvited.” She looked at the sleeping showmare thoughtfully. “Dost thou know what removes furniture wax?”



“I could ask one of the other girls,” Dusk said mostly to herself. “On the other hoof, I’ll have to go to the storeroom to get more bedding. There’s probably a few cans of it down there. There might even be instructions. If not, I suppose I’ll have to track down the night maids.” Dusk shifted on her hooves uncomfortably, while Luna kept looking thoughtfully at the prone unicorn.



“Our sister will not take this lightly.” Luna began pacing around the room. “She may try to return Beatrix to the cells, despite our protection. But she is not hasty. She will take her time interviewing her guards, and will think on the matter over her dinner.” She looked back at her servant. “Dusk Glimmer, we would have you provide a bed for the unicorn, and then discover how to properly clean her mane and tail in case ordinary soaps fail.”



“As you wish.” Dusk bowed, and hastened off to the servant’s chambers to comply.



Luna, meanwhile, sat on her couch and looked towards Trixie. She watched the slow rise and fall of the thick blanket, trying to put herself into the mind of the unicorn. She had deliberately bespelled her in such a way that she would not dream, for if she did, she was sure to have nightmares, and Luna feared that she would not be able to devote the necessary attention to them once her sister arrived. Later, perhaps, she could begin the slow process of working through Trixie’s nightmares, but it was too early now. Anypony could see that the unicorn was physically, mentally, and magically nearly completely drained.



“We should see if the corruption has progressed any further,” she stated to the empty room. She telekinetically grabbed a sheaf of notes and stepped over to the unicorn, pulling the blanket free.



She started by examining the fringe of hair at the fetlocks. There was a distinct blackish line just above the keratin of the hoof, with faint tendrils leading all the way up to the knee, although thankfully they carried no further. Next, she gently lifted the mare’s head, looking carefully at her neck and brisket where the amulet had been worn. Interestingly, it was completely normal. Examination of the base of her horn revealed no change there, but Luna shuddered at the deep cut on her poll and the nicks on her horn.



Finally, she studied Trixie’s cutie mark intently. Here was where she was most concerned with seeing a change. There was a faint, almost imperceptible shadow on her thighs, although at first glance it appeared no darker than when the unicorn had first surrendered.



Luna dutifully recorded what she’d seen, before shifting her vision. Now the dark streaks stood out as faint red lines, so different from the rest of Trixie’s magical aura. Even without really needing to, Luna floated a thick book on pony ki over to her side and began flipping through the pages. The Neighponese were quite interested in the subject, and it was odd that the Equestrians generally weren’t. As far as she knew, this book had never been translated; she’d spent enjoyable months learning enough of the language to read it. The artistry of the diagrams—and the syllabic writing—were glorious to behold, much more elegant that the ordinary Unicorn script. They took such pride in their calligraphy.



Eventually, we shall have this book translated, she decided. We cannot expect everypony to want to learn Neighponese. Still—we lack effective cures for many magical maladies, and there are no classes taught at university which utilize non-Equestrian healing methods, despite their obvious efficacy. Twilight Sparkle has been exposed to Zebrican potions on several occasions, yet to hear Celestia talk she still refuses to entertain the notion of applying anything other than traditional unicorn-inspired magic to a problem. No doubt she would claim this book were naught but baseless superstition were it to find its way into her hooves.



A darker red pulse along the unicorn’s horn snapped her out of her thoughts. Luna set the book carefully aside and gently formed her magic around the source, finally pulling a small grain of shattered crystal loose with her magic. She took an involuntary step back as it tugged on her aura with a familiar dark need.



“No, no, no! Begone! You shall not!” She glared at it, focusing her will on the small grain, draining it of its malevolent power. When it finally fell out of her magic, she rubbed her temple. There were probably more of them stuck to the unicorn, and she would have to pull them all free and neutralize them. If but one were left, it would grow and multiply, and could potentially corrupt anypony who came into contact with it.



Gritting her teeth, she began the laborious task of locating the shards, draining each one as it was found. Even changeling magic can be adapted to useful purpose, she thought as the small burned-out grains fell to the floor one after another.




When she had finally finished, she brushed the now-harmless pile of red sand into a small envelope, in case she felt the need to perform further study on it.  She sat back on her couch, regarding the unicorn thoughtfully.



Her chambers weren’t sterile like Celestia’s. Despite her sister’s best efforts at persuasion, Luna prefered an organized clutter, as she called it. When she was in the middle of a project, she hated to set it aside; as a result, her desk and walls were littered with notes and charts. There was no room in this concept for a unicorn lying in the middle of it all.



Luna sighed. She wanted Celestia to see Trixie lying on the floor, covered in dirt and scratches. She wanted her sister to see the trail of dried blood that ran down her forehead. She could envision how Celestia would recoil at such a sight; how her sister would beg her forgiveness. But what if she didn’t come for hours? What if it were a whole day? She could hardly leave the poor unicorn there, splayed out on the cold marble tile.



Soon enough, Dusk Glimmer would be back with a bed. She could easily levitate the showmare over to it, tuck her in, and she would be totally unaware of the improvement in her sleeping conditions. But—they would never say it—but Luna could imagine the glares she would get from her servants if she put such a filthy pony on their clean sheets. Word would eventually get back to Celestia, and it would be the pillow fight incident all over again. There was no excuse any more. The castle had long been equipped with hot and cold plumbing; even if it had not, Luna still remembered the spells to heat bathwater. That had been a fairly early innovation, by a castle servant no less.



She could wait until Dusk Glimmer came back. Bathing the unicorn was something that was, technically, her job. She had foals of her own; she’d said so earlier. It was not unreasonable to expect that she’d had experience.



Surely she’d be back soon. 



Luna sat on the couch and regarded the unicorn.









Celestia shifted marginally on her throne as the doors closed behind the last petitioner. Afternoon court was done, and it wasn’t soon enough. Her stomach was grumbling, and for the last hour occasional tantalizing smells had drifted into the throne room.



Barely had the doors shut when they were opened again, this time by a frazzled-looking Royal Guard. 



When he had finally reached the base of her throne, he bowed deeply and removed his helmet. Even before he spoke, Celestia knew it was going to be bad news.



“Your Highness, the prisoner has escaped.” 



“I see.” A lesser pony would have asked how did she escape?, but while that would be useful information for the future, it was of no significance now. Clearly the guard did not think so, for he felt the need to expand.



“She somehow cut off her blocking ring, your Highness. Then she broke down the door and stole her guards’ uniforms.”



“You do not need me to tell you to find her and bring her back,” Celestia said, gratefully accepting a cup of tea from one of her servants. 



“That’s a problem.” The guard shifted uneasily. “We know where she is.”



“Ah.” She took a drink of her tea.



“She fled to Luna’s tower, and demanded sanctuary.”



Celestia gently set the teacup back on its silver salver. The guard took a step back. Ever since Luna had come back, the castle had been abuzz with gossip about the friction between the two. For the most part, the whispered stories were untrue; the gossipy castle staff often took dubious news sources as gospel, and those in the inner sanctums had given up trying to correct the false tales. Still, some were at least based in truth: the most recent incident had been Celestia’s balcony doors, but that was certainly not the most memorable. He half-expected Celestia to leap up off her throne and teleport up to Luna’s tower, and he fully expected to hear the sounds of the battle even here.



She did not. She looked at him calmly. “Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. I shall speak with my sister after dinner. Tell your commander I expect a full report of the incident by the morning. You are dismissed.”



The guard nodded politely and wasted no time leaving the throne room. Before the doors had even closed behind him, Raven stepped towards the throne, a stack of papers floating in her aura. “Forgive me, Princess. As usual, there are a few urgent entreaties which require your personal attention.” She gently floated a sheaf of papers free from the pile. “First, this is a request to allocate an extra thousand bits a month for the next year for maintenance of fountains in Manehatten. It seems that some of the historical fountains have . . . historical plumbing, and the city cannot afford to replace it at this time.”



“Does it say which ones?” Celestia asked curiously. “Some of them are public water fountains, while others are decorative. I’d hate to set a precedent by fixing the decorative ones.”



“Yes, your highness. The three fountains in Gormane Park, the fountain in Highbridge Park, and the fountain in Trotski Park.”



“I’m not familiar with Trotski Park,” Celestia muttered. “The name sounds vaguely familiar though.”



“It’s the one on—” Raven dropped the notes as Celestia suddenly winced. It was a very slight movement; it would have been imperceptible to anypony who didn’t spend nearly twelve hours a day at the diarch’s side. “Are you all right?”



Celestia ignored her. She had just felt a strong twitch in the weave of magic. Normally, there were frequent fluctuations, which she’d grown to ignore centuries ago. Occasionally, though, something powerful enough happened that it drew her attention. She prided herself on being able to classify what type of magic it was and what sort of creature had caused it, but in this case she was drawing a blank. There was a vaguely familiar feel to the surge, but it was carrying an unidentifiable overtone. She sighed. No doubt the court magicians were already puzzling over the source. 



She’d been in their chambers several times; each time was more depressing. Musty spellbooks lined the wall, and the once splendid tables were covered with beakers and retorts and strange crystal-driven sensing apparatuses. It was the sort of room Twilight Sparkle would have dearly loved to spend all her time in, which was why she was entirely unaware of its existence.



“Your majesty?” Raven looked at her nervously, papers forgotten.



“I’m sorry, I had my mind elsewhere.” Celestia levitated the papers over to herself, and rapidly scrawled her signature on the final page of each request. Halfway through, it occurred to her that she had no idea what she was signing, but the voice of experience was telling her that something more important was happening right now. “There we go.” She cheerfully sent the stack of papers back to her secretary, an unreadable expression on her face.



Raven looked at her suspiciously. The question she was about to ask died on her lips as a messenger burst through the doors, a small square of paper gripped in her teeth.



Both the alicorn and unicorn waited as she made her way up to the throne at a brisk trot. She paused at the base of the dias to bow briefly, before ascending the steps. In the griffon kingdom, Celestia knew, the messenger would have handed the message to Raven, rather than touch a single hoof to the sacred dais, but she had managed to get at least that bit of foolishness out of her ponies centuries ago. 



The messenger nodded, and Celestia’s magic gently twined around the small rectangle.



Red sparks spotted over Ponyville from west tower.



It was written on an ordinary message form, and had been sent by a junior page—clearly the tower commander hadn’t wanted to alarm anypony with an urgent message, which was quite insightful of him: Celestia vowed to make sure he was considered for promotion.



“I expect I shall receive a few more of these as the night draws close,” Celestia turned to face Raven. “We should retire to my chambers before anypony beings to panic about the volume of urgent messages being sent to the throne room.”









Soarin skidded to a stop outside the library, his landing perfect as always. He took a moment to pose for the crowd that had already gathered before he pushed the door open with a smile which promised he’d be back out for autographs and hoofshakes as soon as he could.



The instant the door closed behind him, the false smile fell from his face. “Twilight Sparkle.” His shout was loud enough to wake the dead, but he had no time for niceties. His mission orders were quite clear.



She came galloping down the stairs, nearly tripping over her own hooves. He thought he saw a brief flash of lavender magic as she caught herself, but it wasn’t his place to comment.



“Something went wrong,” he said. “I don’t know what.”



Twilight’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Is Lyra . . . hurt?”



“I don’t know. I flew here as soon as I saw the sparks.” He lowered his head. “I wish I could tell you more. You are to gather the Element bearers and get to the reservoir as quickly as you can. I have to get to the train station and send a preliminary report to Canterlot.”



“Oh my gosh.” She turned her head up the stairs. “Octavia, gotta go. There’s leftovers in the kitchen, if you’re hungry. Spike, stay inside, where it’s safe. I don’t want you getting underhoof.” Suddenly businesslike, she levitated over her saddlebags, cinching them tightly around her girth. An ornate book was grabbed with her telekinesis, and she started to move towards the door, before Soarin interrupted her.



“Would it be possible to use one of your balconies? There’s a crowd of . . . adoring fans outside. I hate to disappoint, but my mission’s paramount.”



“Um, yeah. Up the stairs, door to your left.” She pointed absently with a hoof, before teleporting out in a burst of magic.









Luna’s thoughts drifted to the past as she watched the sleeping unicorn. Her father had had nopony who loved him. He had legions of servants eager to do his bidding, but that was only due to the threat of violence against them, not love. His kingdom was nothing more than a sham. She hadn’t seen it at the time, but looking back she was appalled at his strong-hooved rule. Dissidents were rounded up and never seen again. His kingdom was orderly, his kingdom was peaceful . . . yet it held no love. No compassion. Such things were beyond his comprehension. Was it possible that he never even loved her? Could it be that he accepted her into his embrace just to increase his power? Did he think he could—with his daughter at his side—cast aside Celestia and wrest control of the sun back from her?



She’d come so close to emulating him. Twice, she’d had her own reign of terror nearly within her hooves. First, her own sister struck her down; when she finally returned, a unicorn—barely even an adult—had seen through her every machination, and had dared to humiliate her in her own throne room. Even stranger, both had forgiven her. It would have been so easy to kill her, when she was lying on the floor weak and helpless. Why hadn’t they?



Confused memories slid into view. The injured griffon cub they’d brought back to the castle. Her sister rescuing Philomena from the clutches of a dragon. A pair of foals draping a flower wreath around her neck, as if she’d just won a race. A tiny pinto colt begging her for just one more Nightmare Night. A failed attempt to befriend a dragon—clearly, that plan had finally come to fruition during her long exile.



Unfelt, a tear rolled down her cheek. 



Luna snapped her head around as her chamber doors crashed open. Her sister stood silhouetted by the harsh shadows of the setting moon, and she knew what was about to happen. Too late, she saw her Elements levitate towards Celestia. Luna stepped forward, charging her horn—but she could not strike her own sister down. The light in her eyes faded as she released her final spell to the sky and lowered her head and prepared to die at her sister’s hooves.



But death did not come. She found herself trapped instead. For a thousand years, her corrupted mind mocked her sister’s weakness, even though it was tempered with a slight bit of respect. Not for the act—never for the act. She could not condone it then, and she still could not. Anypony would say it had been the merciful thing to do, but nopony could imagine the agony of a thousand years of exile.



Yet each night, precisely on schedule, the moon rose over the eastern horizon. Celestia kept the phases properly, even on days when the sunrise had not been correct. Luna’s collection of constellations was added to; as the decades passed and her sister’s power grew, they were even rearranged occasionally. 



She knew—even without ever looking—that her lunar schedule was somewhere in Celestia’s office, unchanged through a thousand years, the hopes and dreams of a filly continued in her absence. Was it a tribute to her memory, or a longing for her return? She would never know, because she could never ask.



She looked back at Trixie. Her father would only have saved her if it would have provided him some advantage, else he would not have raised a hoof to help. But she was better than him. 



Luna stomped into her bathroom, an unconscious unicorn in tow. She gently set her on the floor as she began filling the tub, emptying her favorite bottle of bubblebath into the steaming water, a faint smile playing across her muzzle as the lilac-scented bubbles multiplied and expanded.



When the water was just up to her knees, she gently levitated the unicorn in, carefully keeping her muzzle above water by resting it on the lip of the tub.



She set her royal slippers and peytral aside, then joined the unicorn in the bath with a tall stack of clean washcloths.



She began by levitating over her showerhead and washing the wax out of Trixie’s mane using the same shampoo she normally used on her own fur. Unconsciously, she began humming the tune her nurse had always sang when she was but a foal. The words were lost to time, but the melody was not.



When she had finally finished lathering and rinsing Trixie’s mane, she moved on to her tail. As she gently tugged out another tangle, she frowned. The newspaper said that a proper mare used conditioner, and it wouldn’t be in the newspaper if it wasn’t true. Conditioner was not something with which she had personal experience; her mane required no attention whatsoever. She dimly remembered that Dusk Glimmer, as head housemaid, had a private bath which was well-stocked with every beauty aid known to pony.




As she worked the conditioner through Trixie’s platinum mane and tail, she glanced down at the mess on the bathroom floor. It had been quite impossible to determine which was the right bottle by telekinetic feel, so she had simply brought them all into her bathroom, sorting them where she could see them. She was gratified to discover that Dusk Glimmer used the brand that eight out of ten mares preferred—if it was that popular, it must be effective.



When she moved on to Trixie’s fur, she took care to keep the harsh lye soap away from her face and any open cuts. Not something that she normally used, it was excellent for cleaning tough-to-remove stains. While for the bulk of her fur, working up a lather and then rinsing it out was a perfectly effective strategy, she needed to exercise more care near sensitive skin. For that, she used a washcloth clamped in her teeth, working carefully around the delicate spots.



After her final rinse, she drained the bathtub and brought the unicorn out, drying her thoroughly with thick terry towels. When she was satisfied, she gently slid her into a bathrobe.



Finally, she stood back and admired her hoofwork. She had never tried to serve somepony else in such a way; she wondered if the pride she felt swelling in her heart was not the same as a skilled craftspony felt admiring her work. The unicorn was so clean she practically squeaked.




She carried the unicorn back to her bedroom, frowning at the continuing lack of a second bed. She’d hoped to place the unicorn on a normal mattress, but it seemed that was not to be. Instead, she threw her comforter across the bed and bespelled it to stick atop her cloud mattress. She gently lifted the unicorn into place, softly setting her head upon a silken pillow, then dragged a sheet across her.









Twilight and Rainbow Dash stood on the bluff, looking at the scene of chaos in front of them. They had gone ahead—Twilight teleported when they were close, and Rainbow had put on an extra burst of speed. The others were climbing the hill in the traditional manner, with the exception of Fluttershy. She was draped across Applejack’s back. Nopony had forgotten the difficulty with which she had ascended the dragon’s mountain, and despite her protests that this time would be different, they had taken precautions.



The scene around the reservoir was truly organized chaos. An overall view would indicate that there was no clear command structure—clouds were spotted seemingly at random over the water and beach, and chariots would occasionally take to the sky, flying either towards Ponyville or Canterlot. A loud roaring noise pervaded the whole scene; it took Twilight almost a minute to realize that the dam’s outflow gates were wide open and the spillway was full to the brim with roiling water. 



Examined piecemeal, though, everypony was carrying out a specific task. A group of pegasi flew near the dam, each carrying life preservers, no doubt there to catch anypony trapped by the abnormally strong suction. Further upriver, clusters of ponies were gathered around bodies in the water, dragging them out one at a time. Safety lines were draped from clouds and rescue supplies were being carried over the lake.



A group of medics on the shore was providing quick triage, loading those injured into chariots as quickly as they could assess their injuries and stabilize them. Twilight watched in wonder as a group of burly earth ponies struggled to load a chariot. 



One of them yelled something to the lead pegasus, and the team leapt off the ground—but the chariot did not follow. It stayed stubbornly anchored to the ground, despite the straining wings of the pegasi.



More commands were given, and the team was quickly switched out with a team of earth ponies. As they galloped off, Applejack whistled.



“Ah wonder what they’re carryin’ that’s all-fired important enough they ain’t changin’ harnesses?”



“Sorry?” Twilight looked at the farmer in confusion.



“Aerial tack and road tack isn’t the same,” Rainbow explained. “We’ve got wings, and they don’t.”



“It’s about more’n that, an ya know it.” Applejack frowned at her. “Fer starters, there ain’t a breechin’ strap on a flyin’ harness, so they’re gonna have a hard time stoppin’ that there chariot. An they’re really gonna hafta pull together, ‘cause the traces on a pegasi harness are rigid between the wheel team an the lead team.”



“But Rainbow and Fluttershy pulled that wagon when we were chasing you,” Twilight protested.



“Ah didn’t say it couldn’t be done; they’re doin’ it. Jest that they must be in one tartarus of a hurry if’n they ain’t botherin’ to at least switch the load to a different wagon.” 



“How come they aren’t wearing armor? They’ve got vests, just like you guys wear during Winter Wrap Up. All the guards in Canterlot wore armor.”



Rainbow glanced over at the cluster of ponies. “They’re the recon and medical teams. They don’t usually wear it; it slows them down.”



“We got the idea of the vests from them,” Applejack added. “Didn’t useta have ta wear ‘em, back in Granny’s day, but the town got big enough that not everypony knew everypony else no more.”



“I still do,” Pinkie chirped.



“It’s so the auxiliary guard can recognize one another,” Rainbow clarified. “Each different team—platoon—has a different insignia on their vests, and group leaders wear foreleg bands, just like we do. That way, anypony can see who’s in charge.”



“Don’t they work together enough to recognize each other without?”



“Pfft, not always. We had to wear uniforms when we trained in Cloudsdale. Not at first, but when we got into advanced weather control, some clouds needed specialists. They’d send out trick clouds, sometimes.” Rainbow leaned back, crossing her forelegs. “Never fooled me, though. I could bust anything the weather factory threw at me. ‘Cause I’m awesome.”



A harried-looking unicorn regular materialized in front of the group. Fluttershy eeped quietly, but stood her ground.



“Thanks for coming out, girls.” He bowed slightly—a brief head nod—before getting down to business. 



“I don’t really know if there’s anything you can do to help—at least not right now.” He idly scratched his mane. “We’ve got the situation pretty well in hoof. There’s a few injured, but they’re being taken to the hospital right now. There don’t appear to be any new threats, and the strike teams are still standing by, still fully prepared. Still—I’d rather have you girls stay here, at least for the time being. Just in case. The situation’s still developing, and we’ve had a few . . . unexpected surprises.”









Celestia paced around her anteroom like a caged animal. She wanted to teleport to Ponyville and see just what had happened, but she knew if she did everypony would assume the worst. It was fairly common knowledge around the castle that there were already soldiers there; for her to rush off as well would suggest that she didn’t trust them, or worse, that the situation had spiraled out of control so far that only she could fix it. It didn’t help that gossip of Trixie’s escape was no doubt already circulating through the barracks.



A faint knocking sounded at her chamber doors, and Raven rushed to answer. “It’s Fleetfoot,” she announced.



“Send her in.” Celestia took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself. At last she’d be getting some actual news, so she could make an informed decision.



As soon as she entered the room, the pegasus bowed deeply.



“What happened?” Celestia didn’t have to wait for the Wonderbolt to speak; it was obvious why she was here.



“We don’t know.” She sighed. “Soarin went to get the Element bearers, and I hurried to tell you.”



“What did you see?”



“Your majesty, I left as soon as the initial explosion happened, just as we had arranged. I did not stay to observe. We decided that we should use as many means as possible to send you a message, just in case. I assume that you saw the sparks?”



“Yes, I was informed. Sadly, there were no further communications regarding the situation in Ponyville.” 



“Perhaps you could give us your impressions?” Raven interjected diplomatically. “Surely you saw something noteworthy.”



“I wasn’t looking at the water when it happened,” she began. “I heard a loud report, and turned to see a column of water fly into the air, carrying pieces of the raft with it. Since I’m the fastest, we’d already decided to have me report to Canterlot, and Soarin was going to report to the Element bearers.” She paused, stretching her wings. “We both launched at about the same time as the pegasus recon team, figuring that if there were an attack we might be missed in the confusion.”



“Was there?” Raven prompted.



“Oh—no, just the explosion. Not before I left, anyway.”



“That’s encouraging,” Celestia said. “I think I felt the spell fail—it had a backlash to it.”



“I’ll fly back. Me—or one of the other Wonderbolts—will be sure to let you know if there is any more news.” She bowed deeply again, and trotted out the door.



Celestia’s stomach rumbled. First her lunch got ruined, and now it looked like she wasn’t going to get any dinner, either.



Almost the moment the doors had closed, they swung open again. “Telegram for Princess Celestia. It’s—” The stallion’s voice dropped as he saw her standing there—he had not been expecting her to be in her antechambers. He hastily dropped to his knees, the telegram fluttering to the floor. “Forgive me, your majesty.”



“Please rise,” she said serenely. She lifted the dropped telegram and levitated it over, gently pulling it out of the plain envelope.



SPELL MALFUNCTION STOP DETAILS TO FOLLOW STOP COMMANDER IRONHOOF



“Will there be a return message?” the stallion asked curiously.



“Not at this time.” She smiled encouragingly at him. “There will likely be more coming throughout the night. Please be sure to get them to my chambers right away.”



“Thank you, your majesty.” He bowed deeply again before rushing back out the door.



As soon as it had closed, Celestia walked over to her couch and flopped down on the pillows. While this wasn’t—by itself—bad news, it was not good news, either. She wanted to rush to Ponyville herself, just to see what had happened, but knew that she would do better to remain here. If word got out—and it would, probably sooner than she would like—it would help alleviate other ponies’ concerns if she kept to her normal schedule.



She looked back at the telegram. It was the first urgent communication she had received in this manner. Only a year ago, the message would have either come from a Dragonfire spell or been borne on the wings of a pegasus. While it was true that Fleetfoot had beaten the message to the castle, she’d tire out if she had to keep ferrying messages back and forth, and she was one of the fastest pegasi in Equestria. If the message had originated from a more-distant source, it would have easily beaten the Wonderbolt.



If they could figure out a way to get the messages all the way to the castle, this would be a superior communication device. She looked over at the bust of Prince Blueblood that stared haughtily in the corner of her room. He had been one of the ponies who had been strongly against the telegraph machine. She knew that it offended him to think that anypony could use it—even an earth pony. Of course, that hadn’t been his objection in council; instead he had gathered together a convincing collection of equipment failure reports and a few highly-placed quacks who had explained how the signal could derail a train. It was such a ludicrous theory that only a hooffull of nobles had fallen for it.



She stood and walked to her balcony. Off in the distance, she could see the messenger gliding back to the train station. She watched as he banked sharply around a clock tower, before settling in to land on a flat platform on the train station roof. He tugged a trap door open with his teeth and descended into the building and out of her view.



They were going to extend the rails to the castle, she thought. Everypony agreed it would be easier to bring freight directly to the basement. But then the nobles couldn’t decide on a route, and the locomotives are too smelly to use underground. Her eye trailed across the scar up the side of the mountain where the rails were laid. There are tunnels there, though. Why can’t they put them under Canterlot? 



She smiled wistfully. No doubt Luna had fully read every report about the proposed rail extension, and would happily share it with her if she asked.



That thought elicited another frown. She was going to have to discuss the matter of Trixie with her sister, but right now events in Ponyville took precedence. 



Her doors opened, and Raven stepped through. “I have another telegram for you,” she said, lofting it towards the Alicorn.



RESCUE TEAMS LOCATED LYRA AND TWO ADDITIONAL CREATURES STOP LYRAS CONDITION IS FAIR ADDITIONAL CREATURES CONDITION IS UNKNOWN AS WE KNOW NOTHING OF THEIR ANATOMY STOP WHAT PROGRESS IS BEING MADE ON THIS FRONT STOP ALL THREE TAKEN TO PONYVILLE HOSPITAL FOR MEDICAL CARE AND OBSERVATION IF SUCH CAN BE PROVIDED STOP INITIAL OBSERVATION SUGGESTS THESE CREATURES MAY NOT BE TOLERANT OF CERTAIN MAGICAL EFFECTS ALTHOUGH THIS IS NOT CERTAIN STOP PLEASE ADVISE STOP COMMANDER IRONHOOF



As soon as Celestia looked back up, Raven asked if there was a return message.



“Ask him if they can be sent back. And tell him that he’s doing a good job and I trust his judgement on the matter.”



Raven nodded, and rushed out the door to deliver the reply to the messenger.



Celestia lay back on her couch, deep in thought.  A little over a month ago, she’d been concerned that the creatures might find their way here, yet they apparently had not until just now.



Was it because they hadn’t been ready to act? Or was this a diplomatic mission gone wrong? She had a fairly good idea how they had gotten injured, and why the spell had failed—the creatures had somehow managed to breach the protective bubble, and the spell had taken them along with it. Because of the complex nature of teleportation spells—especially when it came to their inertial dampening—they sometimes caused injury when the caster miscalculated the energy requirements. Still, they were typically designed to fail safe; Starswirl had made great strides in that direction. There were few unicorns who had access to enough power to override the matrix—Twilight was one of the few who could, having inadvertently burned Spike by carrying him as an unwitting passenger once. Perhaps these creatures had done a similar thing.



But that seemed unlikely. Everypony knew it was dangerous to jump into another unicorn’s spells. If the creatures knew enough to breach the spell’s shell, surely they’d know that.



Her thoughts were interrupted by the door opening again. Raven came in carrying a tray of food, which she set respectfully on Celestia’s desk. “Maybe you could have a few bites before the next message comes,” she suggested. “I don’t do my best thinking when I’m hungry.” She bowed slightly and stepped out of the room, leaving Celestia alone with her thoughts and the delicious smell of fresh-baked shepherd's pie. Unfortunately, before Celestia could do more than take a single bite, her secretary returned, holding yet another telegram.



UNCERTAIN IF THEY WILL SURVIVE OR IF THEY CAN BE ISOLATED FROM THE SPELL MATRIX STOP ALTHOUGH THEY LANDED IN LAKE CREATURES CLOTHING IS BURNED AND POSSIBLY THEIR FLESH ALTHOUGH WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT CONDITION THEY WERE IN BEFORE THEY ARRIVED STOP IS NOT KNOWN IF LYRA IS ABLE TO ANSWER QUESTIONS YET STOP COULD ANY UNICORN CAST SPELL FROM SCROLL ACCURATELY WITH BOOST IF NEEDED QUERY WOULD SAID UNICORN BE ABLE TO RETURN ALONE QUERY SUGGEST FURTHER STUDY NEEDED STOP COMMANDER IRONHOOF



Celestia pondered this latest missive carefully. If she was right about it being an inertial problem, there were dampening spells which could be placed around the creatures; however, Ironhoof’s vague statement that they seemed ‘intolerant’ of magical effects meant that a well-intentioned spell might prove injurious. 



Moreover, the way the spell was designed, the caster could not leave them behind—if they were marked by the spell when it was cast, they would return if they were still alive. A simple teleport would neatly side-step that particular issue, but would take more energy since the second spell couldn’t rely on the kick from the first teleport.



The best solution might be to cast the spell once, returning the two creatures and a unicorn. Then, she or Luna—maybe even Twilight—could rupture the anchor from the Equestrian end, after which they could send back a second unicorn to rescue the first. It was inelegant, but it just might work.



“Tell him that we cannot reverse the spell at this time.” Celestia paused to let Raven write it down. “We will have more experts to assist him in the morning. Doctors should proceed cautiously.” She looked Raven in the eyes. “As soon as you have given the reply, alert the commanders to bring the Royal Guard up to full strength and to move all the soldiers towards Ponyville with all reasonable haste. Also notify Canterlot University that all the professors who are working on the creature’s anatomy are to depart for Ponyville on the next regularly scheduled train for an indefinite stay, and they shall have the anatomy book with them. Finally, attempt to locate any experienced xenobiologists who would enjoy a challenge. I seem to remember that there’s a student who has been studying Griffons.”



“It shall be done.” Raven bowed and went to carry out her duties. Celestia walked to her balcony. It was time to lower the sun. She had traditionally always done it from the same balcony where she raised it in the morning, even though she couldn’t see it slip below the horizon. In her early years, she’d needed to watch her moonrises carefully, to make sure she was doing them as Luna had intended. Although she no longer bore that responsibility—and she could easily control the sun from anywhere in Equestria—tradition demanded she be on her balcony.









Anthony stood dumbfounded on the beach. If sheer force of will could have brought Kate back, she should have reappeared on the beach, but of course she did not. It was as if she had never been. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her strobe light lying accusingly on the beach, he might have believed that she hadn’t been there. There was no other evidence to suggest otherwise. The sand on the beach was undisturbed, save for the slight traces of singed sand which the light wind was slowly covering. Even ships didn’t sink and leave so little evidence behind—there was always flotsam, and likely as not an oil slick on the water. Even the Edmund Fitzgerald, which had probably driven herself under, had left a lifeboat and a half behind. Here, there was nothing at all. Nothing but the strobe light and a charred strip of sand.



There was a strange noise in his ear. He finally turned his head, realizing it was Cortez saying something, although he didn’t understand a word of it. The sad truth was that Anthony was just a little above his comfort zone all the time, although he said the right things to his superiors, and got acceptable performance out of his crew. He didn’t really care about them all that much, so long as they didn’t do anything bad enough to raise his commander’s ire. He’d been hoping that he could somehow explain the magenta bubble, possibly advancing his career. Now that Kate was gone—where, he couldn’t even begin to imagine—he was wondering if he would even have a career tomorrow. A good commander didn’t lose a crewman on the beach, or anywhere else.



He knew it wasn’t really his fault. He hadn’t sent her into anything that seemed dangerous, and obviously Cortez hadn’t been prepared for the old man’s sudden fight. The selfish part of Anthony’s brain insisted that since Cortez had been his second, he should have been ready to restrain the geezer—he never should have been so close that the old man could get a drop on both of them.



His churning mind finally came to the conclusion that he neither knew what was going on, nor was he prepared for it. Therefore, the best course of action would be to get as many other people involved, who could clearly attest that it wasn’t his fault.



He turned to shout at Cortez and was startled to find the man standing right next to him. “We’ll tell Ryan to send everyone.”



“Everyone?”



Anthony narrowed his eyes. “Everyone. DHS. The FBI. CIA. NASA. FFA, if they have some insight.” He waved his hands up the beach. “Whatever happened is so far beyond our pay grade . . . we probably ain’t going to be able to mention North Fox again.”



“What about Katie?” Cortez crossed himself unconsciously. “We can’t abandon her.”



Anthony chuckled disturbingly. “She’s gone, man. Never gonna see her again.”



“Cap, you’re worrying me a little bit.”



“She was too close,” Anthony hissed. “I told her to stay a safe distance away, and she didn’t. She brought it on herself, don’t you forget. If she’d listened to my orders, she’d be fine.”



“She weren’t any closer than you told—”



Anthony’s eyes glittered. “Are you calling me a liar, Cortez? ‘Cause I don’t like that tone. Not one bit. We’re gonna go back to the boat, and we’re gonna be in complete agreement here. We’re gonna get some more people out here, and they’re gonna figure out what happened, you’ll see.” He began jogging down the beach towards the RBS, not bothering to see if Cortez was tagging along.









Lyra forced her eyes open. Her whole body hurt—it felt like she’d been stampeded by a tribe of buffalo. Moreover, she felt drained, as if all her magical energy had been sapped. True, she’d been tired after some of her duels, but she’d known better than to overextend herself; when she was outclassed by an opponent, she didn’t try to force a victory by exhausting her reserves.



She was lying on her back, and it didn’t take much of a leap of intellect to discern where she was—although she had visited the Ponyville Hospital less frequently than some other ponies, the lumpy institutional mattress and one-size-fits-all johnny were dead giveaways. Lyra noticed to her distaste that she was now sporting a cannon-band with her first initial and most of her last name printed on it. To the vast medical bureaucracy, she was now “L Heartstri,” although of course everypony who worked in the hospital knew her actual name.



“Oh, good, you’re awake.”



Lyra turned at the new voice. If she remembered her cheezy serial novels correctly, her next line should be “Give it to me straight doc: am I going to live?” Of course, that was a stupid question, and everypony knew it. Were she in actual danger of perishing, she’d be in the Intensive Care Unit, with the best unicorns in Equestria working on her, and she probably wouldn’t be conscious. Given that there weren’t even any monitors running, it was a fair guess that she was in stable condition.



‘What happened?’ ran a close second. Here, too, it was a silly question. She had been running for her life, when . . . when one of Dale’s kin had pointed a strange wand at her, and then she’d fallen, the spell had failed . . . and here she was.



“How . . . how long have I been here?” Oh Celestia, that sounds like I think I just came out of a coma, or something.



The nurse—Tenderheart—frowned. “A half hour? You were one of the first.”



“First?” Lyra looked at her incredulously. “There’s more? What happened?”



The nurse shrugged. “Spell failure, is what the pegasi who brought you in said. They pulled you out of the reservoir. I just checked in on a unicorn who got hit in the head by a chunk of wood—he’s pretty much ok, but he’s going to have a tartarus of a headache for the next day or so—and I came back in to see if you were conscious yet.” She moved closer to the bedside. “How do you feel?”



“Like . . . I feel battered all over, I guess. Like I just rolled down a hill in a barrel. And it feels like my magic is almost entirely drained. Is that a normal thing, after a major spell failure? I got hit by some kind of disrupting spell.”



“Mmhm.” Tenderheart jotted down a few notes on a clipboard at the base of Lyra’s bed. “Do you remember what happened?”



“I was running.” She reached for a glass of water on the bedside table, wincing as it wobbled in her feeble magical aura. 



“Let me, dear.”



“Thank you.”



“I was running. Dale told me to run. He . . . he saved me. There were three others. Blue and orange clothes. Probably some tribe. He knocked two of them down to buy me a little time.



“I should have teleported; maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I did. But I’m not good at teleportation spells—they aren’t very useful in duelling—so I just ran. I wasn’t too worried; I had a shield up, and the third one didn’t react very quickly.



“I thought I was in the clear, but she—I think it was a she—had a wand, and it went right through the shield. I lost control of my legs.” She shuddered at the memory, fleeting though it was. For a brief instant, her brain had sent commands her body could not obey. While at the time it happened it was simply too much to process, thinking back on it was terrifying. Her body had always done what she had told it; the thought that it might not sometime was a frightening prospect.



“A moment later, I lost the spell, too. I could feel it slipping away.” She paused, realizing that while she could explain it drily, an earth pony could never quite understand how it felt.



“And that was it. Then I was here.”



The nurse scribbled down a few more notes. “The doctor says that you’re going to be all right. There doesn’t seem to be any permanent damage; nothing that a little rest won’t fix.” She absently brushed back a stray lock of green mane. “Do you know how you injured your right withers?”



“I did what now?” Lyra ran a hoof over her side, suddenly wincing as she encountered a bandage covering a wound.



“There are two . . . charred spots,” the nurse said. “Your coat and skin are burned. Not too badly,” she added hastily. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”



“I have no idea.” Lyra frowned. Do I have amnesia? She knew the wound hadn’t been there when she was running on the beach, and couldn’t imagine how she could have gotten it as a result of the spell collapse.



“Well, that’s okay. I’ll just put a little note on your chart.” She scribbled on the clipboard for almost a full minute, before finally hooking it back at the base of the bed. “You try to get some rest, now. I’ll bring dinner in a little bit.”



Lyra lay back on her pillow. Her thoughts only briefly dwelled on her own injuries before they turned to Dale. What powers must he have possessed that he believed he could defend her against three creatures, each a match for his size, and at least one who probably overmatched his magical prowess? 



Maybe she had been too hasty to believe that the stallions were in charge in Dale’s world. The two he had confronted had been little trouble, but the mare was much more effective; perhaps she was the leader and they were simply doing her bidding.



Dale. She hoped he was okay. 









Dr. Stable looked thoughtfully at the patient stretched out in the bed. He’d already done a cursory exam of three unicorns and a pegasus. None of them, as far as he could determine, were suffering from anything that a day’s bedrest wouldn’t cure. 



He cast his eye over the patient as the unicorn medic who had accompanied it to the hospital began listing off the patient’s initial condition. “It was in the water, not breathing. I administered artificial respiration until it could breath on its own. It vomited a lot of water; it likely still has some in its lungs. Fur and mane is largely burned off; underlying skin looks burned as well. Vital signs are very low, but stable.”



“You should have gotten it here first,” the doctor chided. “It’s clearly in much worse shape than the others.”



The medic hung his head. “Something went wrong, maybe related to the spell failure. The pegasi couldn’t get the wagon aloft. It had to be pulled by earth ponies.” He moved towards the door. “I’ve got faith in you, doc. You can fix it.”



Dr. Stable looked at the stretcher dubiously. Nurse Tenderheart was busily cutting off the patient’s clothing—they didn’t want to risk moving it too much, in case it had internal injuries.



“Let’s remember to set those aside,” the doctor muttered as he set his stethoscope on the patient’s chest. “They’re not like any clothes I’ve seen before. Perhaps Rarity could fix them, or make a new set.”



“I don’t know about fixing them.” Tenderheart slit up the seam of the denim pants, finally folding them aside, exposing the creature’s hind limbs. She sighed, finding another layer of clothing underneath. She began carefully snipping at the fabric while the doctor listened with his stethoscope.



“As soon as we get done with gross, If there’s no other problems, I want to get it to X-rays.”



“Him,” the nurse corrected, pointing a hoof at the prostrate body.



“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” The doctor began tuning the heart monitor to the patient, listening with his stethoscope and adjusting the dials until the trace on the machine exactly matched what he could hear with his own ears. He jotted down the settings on the chart—it never hurt to get an exact idea how a patient interacted with the leylines, since it could later influence treatment. In this case, it suggested that the patient was hardly responsive to them at all. He’d had to turn the reception on the machine up so high that he was getting occasional bits of static from other ponies using magic, himself included. It was a worrying thing.



“Tell the guard—it’s Vigilance today, right?—to get Dr. Goodall for a consult.” The doctor finished scribbling incomprehensible notes on the chart. “I’ll take him down to X-Rays, and we’ll get a look inside of him.”



“Dr. Goodall the vet?”



“Yes, the vet.” He waved his hoof over the body. “She might have some insights on his condition and how best to treat it.”






An hour later, Dr. Stable was back in the hospital room with his patient. He had decided that he was healthy enough to move out of the emergency room, so Tenderheart had moved him to a private room in the recovery wing. His burns had been slathered with a Zebrican cream, he’d been mummified in yards of gauze, and Nurse Tenderheart had gotten him into a hospital gown.



The doctor was looking carefully at the prints. It was obvious that one of his shoulders was damaged, but he wasn’t sure which one. A quick glance of the images showed him that every other structure on him was symmetrical around the axis of the backbone, so the shoulders should be, too. All the same, since he’d never seen one of these creatures before, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions about which was right and which was wrong.





Frowning, he threw the prints down. He still had to make his rounds—there were other patients in the hospital, after all I suppose I could have X-Rays look at the other creature, too. If three out of four shoulders look one way or the other, then I’ll know. At least the injuries don’t appear to be life-threatening. But the worry that he didn’t know still nagged at the back of his mind.









Dr. Goodall gently ran her hoof through the creature’s blonde mane. You poor thing, to have come so far and be so hurt away from your friends and family. She’d been on her way over to the hospital when Vigilance found her—she was no fool, and had suspected right from the moment she saw the sparks over the reservoir that something had gone wrong, and that it might have involved the creatures which were in the book Twilight had shown her. Despite the unicorn’s apparent desire to keep it a secret, there were no secrets in a small town.



She didn’t know if she would be able to help, but she suspected that she knew more about the creatures than Dr. Stable did. After all, she’d seen drawings of them, of their skeletons and muscles. The rest would be a lot of guesswork on their parts.



She grabbed a loose corner of the sheet in her teeth and pulled it back to get a better look at the patient. She decided that this creature corresponded to the second set of drawings, the one that they’d assumed was the female. Its right hand was heavily bandaged, resembling a white boxing shoe, while the other had a thinner wrap. Smaller strips obscured most of its face and neck, although whoever had wrapped it had left the eyes, nostrils, and mouth exposed.



The creature was mostly furless, just like the drawings in the book. She couldn’t imagine what sort of advantage that would convey to the creature—surely it must have difficulty coping with the cold. Perhaps on the planet which it had come from the weather was so rigidly controlled that fur was no longer needed. If that was so, how had the animals coped? Were they, too, all furless? Admittedly, there were few mostly hairless land mammals, who all lived in the more tropical climate of Zebrica—elephants, rhinos, and hippos came to mind quickly. All of those had tougher hides, though. Do they have to wear clothing all the time to protect their skin from underbrush or the sun? She gently poked a hoof on the creature’s barrel, confirming that the skin was as soft as she’d initially thought.



She pulled the sheet back up, covering it. She made a mental note to tell the nurse to get a hospital gown for it—it would probably be cold without one. They had some that were deliberately made long, to keep ponies who were supposed to be getting bedrest in bed—if they tried to walk, it would get tangled in their hind hooves. The foreleg sleeves would be too short, and the tail would barely cover the hips, but at least it would help the creature stay warm, and from what she could see, there was no damage to the skin below the neck, save for whatever had happened to the hands.



On the bedside table, the monitor beeped quietly.









Celestia gratefully sank into the cool embrace of her four-poster bed. The day had been trying, to say the least: it seemed that everything had gone wrong. Still, the impetuous days of her youth were long past, and she was wily enough now to turn perceived problems to her advantage. 



She regretted her earlier loss of composure when she’d first gotten the news that sparks had been seen over Ponyville. True, it could have been a worse outcome, but it was to nopony’s benefit to see her upset. Clearly, the lack of lunch had shortened her temper, but that was no excuse—she wasn’t a filly any more; she should have known to eat a proper meal.



At least Luna’s moonrise was right on schedule. She’s been briefly worried that she might have to take up the reins on that duty, but she needn’t have worried—Luna’s love of the night sky overtrumped her new pet unicorn. I bet she’s furious that I never came to her chambers to chide her. She wasn’t sure that she shouldn’t have, but she could hardly spend all her time second-guessing her sister’s decisions. It would serve no purpose, except to demean the younger diarch, and if they were to rule as equals, they should behave in the same manner.



Still, there were risks with the hooves-off approach. She hoped that Luna wasn’t getting involved in something that she couldn’t handle, but there was plenty of time to worry about that later. Celestia clearly remembered the signs she should have seen before the evil took hold of Luna, and this time she’d be especially careful to watch, just in case.



She tucked her muzzle under her right wing, effectively blocking out the mercurial light of the half-moon, and closed her eyes. For one brief moment, she wondered if she should check out the situation in Ponyville for herself, but the thought vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Everypony would over-react if she showed up in the middle of the night; it was better to trust her ponies to do their duty without her barking orders.









“We pulled this out of her hand,” the doctor said, levitating over a twisted metal object with two thin wires trailing out of it. He and the vet were sitting in the lounge, where the table had been commandeered as a place to put the creatures’ belongings. 



Goodall looked up from her examination of a mysterious piece of lacy black fabric. The purpose of the straps and hooks was unfathomable, especially since it had been ruthlessly cut apart by a nurse.





“It was nearly . . . fused in. Her hand is extensively damaged. If she was receptive to healing spells, I think we could save it. As it is, I just don’t know.” He sighed heavily. “It might heal on its own, but if it doesn’t—if infection sets in—we might have to amputate.”



Dr. Goodall whistled. Amputation was an almost unheard of remedy. She’d had to do a few, but only in cases where an animal had already had a limb with deep infection. “At least they don’t walk on their forelimbs,” she said, trying to put a positive spin on things.



“Without a proper understanding of their anatomy, or what spells work on them, I don’t know if even that would be successful.” He gestured at a print hanging on the wall. “I can guess what muscle structures might be in there, but I don’t know for sure. And that’s to say nothing of blood vessels, nerves, and Celestia knows what else. She’s stable enough to move; maybe we should send her to Canterlot and let them deal with it.”



“Have you tried any spells on her?”



The doctor shook his head. “Judging by the monitor, both of them are at the very low end of magical potential right now. I don’t know if that’s permanent, or if it’s a result of their injuries. Even getting the images was a challenge.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “If I were pressed—and without further experimentation on the matter—I’d say that these creatures are hypersensitive to magic. Perhaps they lack the proper glands.” He sighed deeply. “I should have liked to cautiously experiment with treatment, but they were both in such bad shape . . . I’ve seen injuries like this before, mostly in unicorn foals, from magical mishaps. But not like the hand. “ He shook his head. “Maybe I’ll have a talk with one of the soldiers in the morning. Get an idea what happened. Then I might have an idea how to treat it.”



“Have you tried Zebrican potions?”



“I used some burn cream; I hope that’s harmless enough. They’ve got such a low magical potential, it’s too risky to try anything else unless they’re on the verge of death. The wrong spell or potion could easily kill them, and I don’t want to chance it, especially without being able to consult with the patient.”



“I don’t think we know much of their language. Lyra and Octavia were working on it a couple of days ago.”



“Octavia’s here?” The doctor unconsciously ran a hoof through his mane, pushing a few stray strands back into place.



“Yes.” Dr. Goodall suppressed a laugh.









Dale slowly came awake. His senses seemed to return individually. First, he became aware of a gentle noise, a repetitive signal that his weary brain eventually associated with his heart.



Unfortunately, the next sense to return was pain. He hurt everywhere. His shoulder throbbed agonizingly, and his face felt as if he’d shaved with a cheese grater. He tried to move his arm, to get a feel for what had happened, but his sole attempt sent a lance of agonizing pain up his unresponsive arm directly to his brain stem. His head felt cold, although the rest of his body was burning up.



He slowly, cautiously, opened his eyes. A featureless white expanse greeted him, but provided no clues to his location. Still, it was something that was probably real. He squinted and was rewarded with a vision of cracks, which proved that this was a ceiling and not a figment of his imagination.



He turned his head carefully. To his left was a small table, with what was clearly a heart monitor sitting on it, next to a desk lamp with an oversized red button on the base. The lamp glowed softly.



Dale reached his good arm towards the table, hoping to find his glasses, but they weren’t there. He fought down an uneasy feeling at their loss. He felt helpless without them. In a way, their absence was more disturbing than the fact he was lying in a hospital bed.



After one last fruitless check for his missing glasses, he began looking around the room, trying to get an idea where he was.



For some reason, he was reminded of Wuthering Heights, which was odd, since he’d never read the book. But the wainscoted walls, light green paint, and white ceiling made him think of English country hospitals, which was a really odd place to be. Everything in the room seemed old-fashioned—at least, everything he could see.



While he hadn’t spent a lot of time in hospitals, he’d spent enough to know that pretty much every room had a TV. This one didn’t. Furthermore, there were usually all sorts of outlets for the machines in the rooms—not only electrical, but oxygen and who knew what else. Here, what he could see of the walls were bare. There wasn’t even a clock.



The bed looked more like a hotel bed: there was a headboard and footboard, which his feet banged uncomfortably into whenever he tried to stretch. Instead of stainless steel or plastic, his fingernail confirmed that it was wood, as was the small table by the bed.



He focused back on the table. The lamp was an ugly purple cone, with a big red button on the base and a traditional-looking paper shade. Curious, he pushed the button and the light went out. A second push made it come back on and slid it an inch further away.



Those are usually bolted down in hotels, he thought. He grabbed it by the top intending to pull it off the table for a closer look, but the shade came off in his hands.



Dale pulled it to his chest and began examining it. The shade was supported by three wooden dowels with a ring that slipped over the top of the cone. Aside from the lack of metal, it was the same as any lampshade he’d seen before. He was about to set it back on the lamp when the bulb caught his eye.



With the shade off, the mechanics of the lamp became obvious. The tapered cone terminated in a large chunk of crystal, rather than a bulb. Even through the glow it was giving off he could clearly see that it had been faceted. He tentatively touched it, discovering to his surprise that it was cool. Fascinated, he poked it again and it fell out of the lamp, softly clattering to the table. He grabbed it before it could fall to the floor and stuck it back in the lamp, feeling slightly guilty for breaking things that weren’t his. Although he had expected that it would be broken, as soon as it touched its cup, it re-illuminated.



He plucked it out again, and examined it as closely as he could in the moonlight flooding through the window. It looked much like crystal necklaces he’d seen for sale before, although it was much larger. There were no metal contacts on it. Intrigued, he flipped it over and stuck it back in the lamp upside-down. It promptly began glowing again.



He thought about trying to get a closer look at the rest of the lamp, but if he did he’d lose his only real source of illumination. Instead, he turned his attention to the heart monitor.



There were several dials across the bottom, and a screen which showed a trace of what everyone who watched TV knew was a normal heartbeat. However, instead of a shiny, hygienic plastic case, the monitor appeared to have been made out of varnished wood. He turned it, being careful not to touch the dials. Like the lamp, there were no wires—not to an outlet in the wall, and more importantly, not to him.



Dale frowned, rubbing his left hand across his chest. He’d been in the hospital a few times, and there were always wires that connected him to the machines. He supposed it was possible that the heart monitor was wireless—but he would have expected to find a transmitter on his chest, and there was none.



It could be anywhere, he reminded himself. Might be stuck to my back. He picked up the heart monitor. His fingers closed over the side of the unit, but rather than grasping a smooth bottom—as he had anticipated—they slipped inside the device, causing an alarming tingle. He yanked his hand away, unaware that the trace on the screen had briefly been obscured by static, and dropped it back on the table. 



I’m in a hospital, he concluded. I’m not sure why. Dimly, he remembered running across a beach and tackling a Coast Guard woman. I’m probably doped up on all sorts of painkillers, so I’m probably imagining half of what I’m seeing. He lay back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. It certainly makes more sense than a wooden heart monitor and crystal lamp.









Lyra sat in the uncomfortable chair, looking at Dale’s recumbent form guiltily. The doctor had cleared her a couple of hours ago, telling her that she shouldn’t perform any magic for the next couple of days, and to return if her symptoms got any worse. She had been about to leave the hospital when she’d heard two of the nurses talking about the strange creatures that the Royal Guard had brought in, which was an answer to her unasked questions about the doctor’s unkempt appearance and why he was making rounds in the middle of the night. As soon as she’d found out what room he was in, Lyra had rushed to Dale’s bedside.



He looked diminished in the bed, which was odd, since he dwarfed it. His feet were jammed against the footboard. But his lively eyes were closed, and aside from the slow rise and fall of his chest he might as well have been dead. The clean white gauze was almost a match for his pale skin, and the ugly green gown seemed to lend him a further unhealthy pallor. She got up and nuzzled his unbandaged shoulder softly, surprised to feel hot tears rolling down her cheek.



She couldn’t imagine what would be going through his mind when he woke—if he woke, the dark part of her mind suggested. Would he be happy to still be alive? Would he be excited to be in Ponyville? They’d never discussed families; what if he had a family at home? Would they know what had happened to their father?



Lyra thought of Bon Bon. She’d be upset that Lyra hadn’t come right home, but she’d get over it. Maybe she’d come to the hospital when she got word—in fact, it was kind of surprising that she wasn’t here yet. Rumors traveled fast in Ponyville. 



There would be no going back now. The princess had undoubtedly heard what had happened, and she would seal the pathway forever. All of her notes were gone, as well as the books she’d taken. Octavia had copied some of her notes, but there was a lot of ground they were going to have to make up if they were to ever have a proper conversation.



Lyra slumped down. Who makes these chairs, somepony who has a cutie mark of spurs? Has she ever seen a pony before? Lyra fidgeted around, trying to find a vaguely comfortable position. She finally settled for lying on her belly across two of the torture chairs—a position where she could relax and still keep an eye on him. Unexpectedly, the soft whisper of Dale’s breath and the incessant gentle beep of the monitor put Lyra to sleep.









Dr. Stable set down his empty mug. He’d lost count of how many cups of strong coffee he’d consumed. Most of his patients were doing well, but he felt he needed to keep checking on his two special cases. The presumed male’s heart monitor had briefly malfunctioned at one point during the night, and he’d trotted to his room, prepared for the worst, but when he arrived everything seemed normal again. 



On his last trip, one of the nurses had told him that Lyra had gone to the male’s room, rather than leave the hospital. Normally, he ran a tight ship—visiting hours were there for a reason—but he hadn’t the heart to toss her out. Dr. Goodall had guessed that this was the ‘Dale’ she had been meeting; since most ponies cleared out of the hospital as fast as they could, he figured she was probably right. It wouldn’t hurt to have a second set of eyes in the hospital room, either. Just in case.



They’d been discussing treatment options all night, with the vet taking the lead. Unfortunately, they had no pool of experience to draw on in this particular case. Even Dr. Goodall had never seen a creature with as low of magical energy as these two had. As the night wore on and the caffeine's effects faded, their treatment brainstorming began to reach new lows. When Goodall suggested that they could try and capture a cockatrice and petrify the creatures to prevent further damage, Dr. Stable called an end to the discussion.



Both of them examined their empty coffee cups, then two pairs of eyes roved towards the table piled high with the creature’s personal effects. While the doctor had every intention of repairing them and returning them to the patients—or, if they couldn’t be repaired, replacing them—surely it wouldn’t hurt to examine them.



The vet first went to the clothes. She carefully examined each damaged item, trying to understand what its purpose was. Some of the garments were easy to identify—there were two pairs of cut-open leggings which clearly covered the lower portion of their bodies—while others were more of a mystery. She prodded a garishly orange vest that had been held together with black webbing. Bright white characters covered one side, while the other featured simple white rectangles that caught the light and reflected it back, much like a well-faceted gem. Complex buckles seemed to have been used to hold the thing together, and she could make no sense of how they were supposed to work. A few minutes of poking at them with her hooves yielded no progress and she finally gave up, discarding it in favor of a dark blue hat which had a few loose blonde mane-hairs stuck to it.



Meanwhile, the doctor found himself fascinated by the items which had been removed from the female’s belt. There was a large black rectangle which had been attached by a looped cord to a smaller rectangle clipped on one shoulder of the orange vest. It had initially drawn his attention as it had been constantly giving off a faint hiss. He’d experimented with it, discovering that it had small knobs on the top which could be turned. As he gently floated it in front of his face, he debated whether or not he should be playing with it at all. It could help us understand how to treat the patient, he thought. Therefore, it is my duty to determine its purpose, if I am able. He gently twisted the leftmost knob.



The hissing noise immediately got louder. Curious, he kept rotating the knob until it stopped turning, but all that seemed to accomplish was to increase the volume. He set it back to where it had been and turned his attention to the other knob. This one made the glowing light change to a different pattern, although the hissing noise remained unchanged. Turning the first knob all the way in the quiet direction made the glowing light go out and the hissing stop.



“What if they’re hypersensitive to magical fields? What if they can get hurt by them?” Old mare’s tales told of such mythical creatures—but what if such creatures actually existed? He had trouble imagining how to cure anypony without resorting to magic. “What if . . . maybe where they come from, there aren’t leylines. Maybe just occasional spots of magic. This . . . thing could warn them before they set hoof into such a place.” Eager to prove his theory, he levitated over a spare heart monitor and dialed the sensitivity all the way up.



The soft hissing the rectangle gave off was a near-match for the heart monitor—certainly close enough for a field experiment, in his opinion. There was better equipment for this purpose, of course. Tomorrow, he’d have to ask Twilight if he could borrow her crystal array. 



“Who held it?” Goodall asked.



“The blonde-maned one. It was on this belt, on the creature’s right dorsal side.” He motioned with a hoof, indicating how it had been worn with his own body.



“I’d think they’re fairly dexterous with their talons,” Goodall said. “I’ve heard that diamond dogs use them in such a manner, although I’ve not had the pleasure of observing them first-hoof. I’ve seen Spike grip lots of things with his, though, and they are bipedal . . . if they have a dominant talon, this would be in fairly easy reach. If you’re right about its purpose, that would make sense. Was there anything else on that side?”



“There were a few things on that side,” the Doctor muttered, rummaging through the pile. “A small tube of some sort. Oh—and this.” He lifted up a strange-shaped stiff black object. “There’s a strap across the top, and one which attaches to the girth-strap, where all the other things were fastened. Hold on.” He worked it for a moment, finally pulling loose a bent piece of black metal.



Dr Goodall looked at it critically as it floated around in the doctor’s aura. It had a raised pattern on one leg, while the other was smoother. Imagining how the creature must hold it, she decided that the raised pattern was to help it grip, while the open loop might be for a single talon. “I wonder what it does,” she mused.









The warm morning sun finally woke Dale. He stretched his legs out, succeeding only in forcing his head against an immovable object. Where the hell am I?



He snapped his eyes open, reaching out with his left hand for his glasses. He fumbled around for a moment, banging into what he imagined was his alarm clock, but there were no glasses to be found. I had the weirdest dream last night. He turned to get a better look at his bedside table and was confronted with a wooden heart monitor and an ugly conical lamp.



His heart began to race, unnecessarily mirrored by the heart monitor. Reality came crashing back down at him like a vengeful bus. Is it possible to know I’m losing my sanity? Because that seems especially cruel. He grabbed the purple lamp, stopping as he noticed that his arm was wrapped in gauze.



What happened to me? He thought he remembered tackling someone, but was that yesterday, or years ago? He hadn’t played football in decades, but the memory seemed surprisingly vivid. Did I get drunk and black out? Was I in a car crash? Am I dying? He pulled the covers off his body, preparing himself for the worst. Instead, he discovered he was clad in a grossly-undersized pale green shirt, which—even if it had been able to close over his chest—was still too short.



So much for getting up and seeing where I am, he thought. What happened to my clothes? 



Thinking that they could be to his right, he tried to roll over, remembering too late that his right shoulder was throbbing painfully. While he managed to avoid a scream, he came to the humiliating conclusion that he was unlikely to be able to dress himself if he did succeed in locating his missing clothes.



Ok, I can figure this out. He gritted his teeth. I’m wearing a shirt that’s too small. I’m in a bed that’s too small. Did I wind up in the seven dwarves’ house? No, I’m too ugly to be Snow White, so that’s probably not it. I’ve got bandages and there’s a heart monitor, so I’m probably in a hospital . . . some sort of weird miniature hospital. Are there special midget hospitals? Probably not. My right arm doesn’t work right, so I must have tackled someone. He rolled his head to the right, away from the strange heart monitor. Even through his blurry vision, the shape stretched out across the chairs was instantly familiar. “Lyra?”



He didn’t realize that he’d spoken aloud, but her ears swiveled around, towards the source of the noise. Suddenly, her head jerked up, and she saw him looking at her curiously.



She practically fell off the bench, before she moved over to his bedside. Before he could even react, she’d wrapped her forelegs around him and was softly nuzzling his injured cheek. He awkwardly wrapped his left arm around her, feeling her trembling under his hand. For a moment he thought she was scared of him, and was about to take his hand away, when he felt the tears begin to fall on his face. She was softly speaking, and even though he knew none of the words, he got the gist of it, and whispered his own reassurances back, even though he knew she wouldn’t understand them.