Love Mine

by Zephyrus Scary

"... for a Changeling to trick a Changeling..."

Our travel, as directed by Trixie, is slow—“We may be invisible, but the dust we’re kicking up isn’t; too much dust outlining us will make all my hard spellwork useless!” she had explained. As another precaution, despite Buckley having a real road leading in and out to places yet unknown to me (unlike the isolated Apploosa, connected only by railroad), we avoid using it, traveling far off from it, but, Trixie also tells me, taking care not to lose sight of it—“Even though we’re no longer in the desert, the Sorraia Wastes are a featureless flatland known for swallowing up even the most experienced explorers and cartographers, and Trixie would personally not want to find out why.” I really don’t like the look she gives me as she explains this after I had asked: a combination of suspicion and weariness at having to explain what she plainly considers as something everypony knows. Still, the entire time I walk, I feel continually empowered by energy flowing into me from within the cart, in quantities no less than what Trixie had been giving me when we had entered Buckley.

The benefit of the doubt? Somehow, I don’t think so, or, at least, that’s not the entire story here. Trixie has dealt with Changelings for years, and even become friends with them; we’re creatures of secrets and deception, but ponies are, as well, aren’t they? Just because they don’t have natural abilities to help them or any need to keep secrets or deceive, they still do. Trixie saw my reaction—I was at least as shocked as her to find out I’m being hunted!—and she knows what the situation means for her continuing to associate with me. Neither of us has the whole picture, but she understands enough to trust me…

Hmm… “understands enough,” huh? “-dealt with Changelings for years”… I don’t have years, but I wonder-… If I can get Celestia to grant me one opportunity, showing her how Changelings actually are- but that would require actual Changelings to show her, and the only ones that I know where they live-! If it fails, they would be in the worst kind of danger. -and Reflection… -how would Celestia react to an ascending queen? Would she see her as another threat or evidence that she has truly left Chrysalis’s hive?… Will I even have a choice? I have to get Celestia to understand the Changeling point of view! -somehow!… Is there any better way? Is there any other thing she would believe than something she sees with her own eyes? Then again, that’s what Changelings are known for being able to manipulate so well… -but if she can be convinced to give us Changelings a real chance to prove ourselves, then it would still be the strongest evidence I could give her: the best chance for peace.

-but if I fail, there’s little doubt Celestia would execute us. Replie, Reflection, Twin, and even little Silverglass! Is she even hatched yet?… Would Celestia care if she’s naught but a nymph?… I wonder if Twilight would be disappointed that I’m not sure of either answer—would she care about the life of a nymph? -What am I thinking!? No! I’m not seriously considering using Silverglass! No!… No. -but if I’m to show Celestia what kind of life Changelings live, it’s inevitable that Silver would get involved…

There has to be some other way; I just haven’t thought of it yet. It’s this quiet, monotonous walk… making my thoughts wander. I have to find another way: some way that doesn’t endanger anyone but myself… but even I don’t understand everything about Changelings, which means-! Damn it! Now I’m just going in circles! Be calm, Alternate, you’re still gathering the pieces of the puzzle: trust, fear, and now understanding. Things are becoming clearer. You’re not confronting Celestia tomorrow. Yes, you have to rush, but there’s still some time to find a different plan of attack. There’s no reason to believe this is the only way.

“… Oh, who am I trying to convince?” I whisper to myself—a whisper that might as well have been shouting in the dead quiet of the Wastes, or at least that’s how it sounds to me; nothing comes from Trixie, though. No words. No sounds of stirring. Is she asleep? After telling me she’d tell me when to stop! Ugh!… “Excellent distraction, Brain… It all comes down to what is the best chance for peace; I’d hate it, after what I told them- promised them, but Replie already offered… and the rest, I know why they’re here… Could I really do it, though?”

“Stop.” The word comes to me as if from far away—I, deep in my thoughts and hopes, pay no heed. “Stop… Trixie says, ‘Stop!’” I—honestly—neigh in surprise when I find myself suddenly unable to move my legs and descend into a primitive instinct that causes me to attempt to buck out, but my hooves remain glued to the ground. A second later my rational mind returns to me; I look down to see… magic? There is something strange shimmering around where I know my legs are (as they are still invisible, along with everything else), but- “Ah, Trixie was right, of course: That spell can only go so far as to become unseeable!” Trixie’s voice comes from somewhere behind me as I hear hoofsteps on the dirt and the sound of a wooden door being shut. “Anyway, it should be safe to stop now, so come in and rest.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, looking back at where I think Trixie is standing until I remember that, as I’m also invisible, she can’t see me, either… or so I think for about two seconds until I also remember her ability to sense illusions; I half-expect giggling to tickle my ears at how silly I must appear to Trixie, but none comes. “I can still keep going; this pace is nothing, with the influx of energy from your love.” I wait for her response, now expecting her to insist that I rest, if I can judge by how much she cares for me, but there’s a long moment that I eventually have to break. “Uh, Trik-?”

“Nothing!” Her cry makes me jump, but a second later I’m the one laughing at her—I can’t help but think she must be very glad I can’t see her surely very red face. “Oh, drat! Fine! It is just that Trixie somehow forgets every time that Changelings use the word ‘love’ with a much more broad meaning than anypony- any creature. Non-Changelings would say that-… something like, ‘I care for your wellbeing,’… or something!” Oh, yes, she’s definitely glad I can’t see her!

Smirking so wide it hurts even though I’m half-sure she can’t tell, I quip, “Well, have you ever thought that it’s ponies who use the word ‘love’ too narrowly? It seems to me that caring for someone else’s wellbeing is love; it’s certainly feeding me, after all. Unless… you’re hiding something about why you care for my wellbeing?…” I finish the question with a teasing lilt, and soon start chuckling, growing in volume with her continued silence, but I suddenly stop. “Too narrowly”?… Do ponies, apparently the most loving species in this world if Chrysalis’s word is anything to go by (and somewhat still apparent, even if her word is not), have too narrow a definition of love? More importantly: Does Celestia? If so, is that something I can use…? I can’t see how, yet, but I think it would be a good thing to keep in mind if it comes up when I’m trying to convince her.

Actually, on the topic of love: I’ve been feeding from Trixie since we left Apploosa… just about a week and a half ago, which means she’s overdue for showing signs of third-stage allagistomiasis: itching, dry throat, and general malaise, with a side for craving water and bathing/showering constantly. -and we’re currently in Sorraia Wastes, the driest, most barren land after the Sorraia Desert, in the middle of hiding from BT’s forces, which we barely understand… Which is not to say that IA-38’s help isn’t most welcome! -it’s just not very helpful thanks to my lack of foresight in how my feeding will soon affect, or actually should already be affecting Trixie! “Wait. Forget about that, Trixie; I think we might have a bigger problem, but I hope I’m wrong. Please tell me you have a way of countering the symptoms of allagistomiasis.”

During the short pause, I wish I could see her expressions, both facial and the rest of her body, for only now, as I try to focus on the minute tuning of her love, do I realize how much easier it is to read a fellow Changeling’s emotions compared to ponies’. I’ve never had to read a pony’s emotion like this before—they wear their true feelings so obviously in their faces and mannerisms—but Trixie… She’s hiding things; that’s obvious enough, but why am I having so much trouble! It surely can’t be inherent in Changeling biology that other creatures are more difficult to read, right? Perhaps it is because I wasn’t born a Changeling? -or perhaps a Changeling has to be taught how different emotional signals differ from creature to creature? “Alla-…-gaystomach-…? What is that, whatever-you-said?” Jawdrop. She’s… not serious!? -but why would she lie, except to joke? Allagistomiasis is no laughing matter!

“Ah-lah-gee-stoh-mai-ah-sihs,” I enunciate. “You have to know, traveling with Changelings all the time, even becoming best friends with one! It’s the ‘disease’ ponies experience when they’re being fed off of by Changelings! You should be experiencing symptoms like feeling as if you have a dry throat, itchiness all over your body, and just feeling ‘sick’ and drained of energy! That’s the third stage…” Wait… She’s not saying-!?

“You’re saying… other ponies get these ‘symptoms’ when a Changeling feeds? -but… wouldn’t that-?”

“You really don’t know…” My tone isn’t that of a question. “I… should have expected that as possible: Being a mare constantly traveling, I’m guessing you only ever have time to pay attention to the most important news, if you ever get even that. You wouldn’t’ve heard about it being discovered that Changelings are the cause of Fear Flu, so-”

“Fear Flu!?” Her voice is that of disbelief, with, strangely, at least to me, no fear. “Ah, what strain?”

I struggle a moment to recall the exact wording of the encyclopedias. “City-wide disaster. -or city-destroying disaster. City-wide, city-destroying disaster?” I tap my chin. Close enough…

“Oh…” Trixie lets out a breath with the syllable that displays her easing tension—a slight tweak to her emotions is triggered in just about the same instant and I try to register the change to some meaning, but all the same I can’t deny I have no frame of reference—I might as well try to infer the difference between “read” and “read” without context!… “Well, perhaps Trixie is not affected because she has no hometown that I worry-” She stops herself, and another emotional shift has me thinking she must have realized what she just told me; however, now I’m wising up, and force myself not to jump to conclusions. All I know about this is that she’s “not worried”. She could still have a hometown; it seems very likely to me, considering her profession, she just doesn’t consider it as “home” any more… -or she does, but, like her best Changeling friend, she’s certain it’s in no danger. -or perhaps… because of her best Changeling friend she’s not worried?…

“I- Trixie means that… she might not be affected because… she must be immune!” She’s no longer capable of hiding herself; it’s obvious that she’s frantically searching her mind for some other explanation, pausing frequently before suddenly blurting out the first plausible thing her mind lands on. Then again, since she doesn’t know anything about Allagistomiasis, she wouldn’t know anything about the small number of cases in which ponies were found immune to its symptoms. -until they were exposed to another Changeling in all cases except one—the only thing I’m sure of right now is that that “one case” isn’t Trixie. I have no idea what this means, but perhaps I can still use this… It’s a good thing I read those “useless” encyclopedia entries after all! I just have to find a way to smoothly transition the subject… which would be easier if I could actually see her; she’s determined to hide, but her face and body will give her away.

“Trixie…” I try to keep my tone as even and conversational as possible under the stress; unfortunately, without Trixie’s face to judge by, I’m unsure of my success. “We’re pretty far from the road. Maybe you could drop the invisibility and set up some less strenuous illusions? I believe I recall you saying that unseeable illusions are good for deception at a distance, or do you know a camouflaging spell? Then we could go inside and… not be invisible to each other.” Bite the bait. Bite the bait. Bite the bait…

“You… are right.” Her tone is enough to tell she’s wary. To pull further back or to push harder?… “Trixie could use a break from maintaining all of this invisibility, but the inside is too small for two to be comfortable; instead, if we stay on the side of the wagon opposite the road, all I need to do is keep the wagon camouflaged and we should be safe being… just visible.”

I smirk at the apparent absence of a word to describe the absence of visual illusion effects before nodding. “Okay. Sounds like a plan!” I follow the sound of Trixie’s hoofsteps to the stated side of the wagon and, with a whirl of what I can now recognize as unseeable magic, the wagon and the two of us pop back into view, with the wood of the wagon now appearing painted to match the desolate reddish tan nothingness of the Sorraia Wastes. Turning to Trixie, I jump slightly, now glad I had suggested this upon seeing her sweaty brow—she’d done well at hiding her fatigue from her voice moments ago! Further doubt creeps up on me that I’d be able to wheedle information out of her upon discovering she had been able to conceal such a present condition from me—something more ethereal and long-past will surely be easier for her to hide… or harder, for all the deeper and more poisonous pain it’s causing her.

In the next instant, another flash of unseeable magic creates a merrily dancing campfire with flames the same color as Trixie’s magic. Noting my instant worry, Trixie laughs; I, in turn, note how her expression shows no hint of what we had just been discussing. Worrying… “Relax, pretender; this fire is only another illusion!… -of sorts: It’s flames and light are only visible to those the caster—in this case, Trixie—decides can see it… though its heat can be felt by everyone.” She has to know that’s not my only worry. “I’ve lit a similar flame in the lantern in the wagon so that you, my assistant, may fetch the map in the trunk. Now.” The last word has, not exactly a “bite”, but the ever-so-slightest change of tone that indicates she will not be welcoming to interruption or disobedience. Patience… If I give her a little space, she just might lower her defenses enough. Then she adds something that makes me pause. “Also, fetch a bottle of water from the icebox and freeze some of it.”

Great. The one spell I’ve developed a block for is the one spell she asks me to perform! I don’t think she’d appreciate being doused by an explosion of water, so… “Actually, Trixie… I can’t cast a freezing spell. I know how simple it is!” I cut her off at the surprise, tinged with anger, that flares. “I just have a bit of a block for that particular spell. Sorry. I know you’ve been hard at work maintaining so many invisibility spells, but when I just can’t… I’m sorry.” I bow, prostrate, but she almost instantly pulls me back up with a rough telekinetic jerk. With a sigh, she leaves me with the instructions to simply retrieve the bottle without casting the freezing spell.

Swiftly as possible I jump in through the wagon door, making my magic unseeable just as I saw Trixie do—What would I do without this natural ability of Changelings to learn so quickly and easily?—so as to present as little visibility of anything “strange” for any BT Changelings to potentially see and come investigating. Just as promised, the inside is well lit (to me) by the illusioned flame, and I notice that, despite that nature of the trunk, there is no apparent lock. Apparent. Trixie is an illusionary master… It opens as easy as it appears it should and I rifle through the contents of the chest, which consists of two coin bags (one hers, one mine I had entrusted to her care, their sizes quite disproportionate, with mine dwarfing hers) and everything else is books… illusioned to be all blank, I guess, without even a letter left on their covers to guess at their true nature. Shoved hidden into the bottom is a rolled up paper that I guess instantly is the map, and unroll it to check; sure enough, the land of Equestria and some of the bordering lands are revealed. It takes me a moment, however, to notice I can’t read a word; squinting and leaning over the document, I puzzle over the strange script that, if the Chinese logosyllabary might be described as “chicken scratch”, then this could be described as “scraps of string”: twirling, spinning, and curving in unbroken lines with few harsh edges. Well, Trixie is a traveling magician; it doesn’t seem all that surprising, in hindsight, that she might know more than one language.

Rerolling the mysterious map and snatching a bottle of water from the magical refrigerator, I jump out of the wagon similar to how I entered and rush around the corner; Trixie smirks as I present the map and bottle to her in my unseeable telekinesis. Upon unrolling the former and sipping from the latter, she sits, levitates the map so that she can see it by the firelight, and focuses on what I presume is the west side of the map; in the next instant, her smirk gives way to a grim frown. “Just as Trixie thought… and worried.” She looks up from the map to me. “Unfortunate news: Sometime early tomorrow we will come upon a fork in the road. One path leads to the unremarkable settler town of Dodge Junction, the other goes through the so-called ‘lawless’ metropolis, Las Pegasus. If we want to not get lost forever in the Wastes, we’ll have to go through one of these ‘gates’ into the safety of the Equestrian Valleys…” She pauses and shakes her head. “Both present problems, though: Dodge is small, which means our passing through it is not likely to go unnoticed, leaving an easy trail for our pursuers if they merely think to ask around. On the other hoof, Las Pegasus is easier to go through without anypony being able to recall our passage, on account of the city’s… eccentricities.” So “Las Pegasus” is Equestrian Pun-ese for “Las Vegas”, I’m guessing. “However, because of it’s status as a ‘major metropolis’, Trixie would bet there’s quite a few of BT’s Changelings there, whereas Dodge Junction seems as if it would attract little, if any, attention from BT if we trust the information given to us by that kapish…” The way her brow furrows reveals her doubt, but her tone is even.

“Not any more.” I shake my head. “BT is likely to have noticed the same thing… or at least it’s better for us to assume she has noticed. In that case… both Dodge Junction and Las Pegasus are going to get an increase in security from BT, leaving, probably, Las Pegasus as our best bet; get ourselves lost in the crowds.” As soon as I say “our best bet”, a shift in Trixie’s emotions alerts me to… something negative.

Trixie nods, still looking grim, but with an added touch of… tears—swimming, not fallen yet. She sighs before responding to my deduction. “Trixie was afraid you would say something like that, because… there is another matter. A matter of… funds.” Before I can ask, she adopts the tone of one verbally ripping a bandage away. “Unlike you, Trixie can’t feed off free and unlimited love; she has to actually buy at least some of her food. In Dodge, my show would be enough to draw everypony in that small town!” A touch of glee, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came. “-but in some place like Las Pegasus? Trixie’s little magic show just can’t compete…” Her head droops. Is… she opening up again?! If I had any wandering attention, it’s all on the mare sitting across an illusionary fire now. “Trixie… she had plans when she was still- when she still believed she was ‘The Great and Powerful’… She was going to take Equestria by the reins,-”—Probably best not to think about whatever history is behind that phrase and just go with it!—“-force it to recognize her, and become the most attended show in the entire country!” She rears up as if celebrating a victory, but falls down with a heavy sigh. “Which would’ve… of course, required the performance of regular shows in Las Pegasus… but… now-!” Her suddenly wavering voice and uneven breathing threaten to choke out her sentence with tears and hiccups, but, with strength I know she has, pushes through to finish. “There’s only so much the word of even the Princess’s personal student can do to repair an utterly destroyed reputation! I’ll never be taken seriously again! I’m fated to forever do nothing but silly little traveling shows that only impress ignorant villagers!” With that, she allows her resolve to retreat, leaving her to fall on her belly, sobbing into her forehooves, the dictionary picture of misery, and only to add to my already aching heart, she murmurs just barely loud enough for me to hear, “Mother… Father… I’m sorry. I can’t-…” Whatever she can’t do is smothered by whimpering. This… could be an opportunity to-

I stop. Had I really just thought that? Her sorrow is-… -is an “opportunity” to me?! -maybe not “just”, but first and foremost! It was the first thing that came to mind! “Oh…” Not feeling well all of a sudden… How could I not see? Was the change really so subtle? -so slow? The only reason I’ve been digging into Trixie, from day one, is because I saw her as a source of information I can potentially use against the princesses! I huff, shaking my head. This is what I’ve been reduced to: Thinking of ponies—anything not-Changeling, really!—as… things to use! I never wanted it, I would never have become aware of it if not for now, and… I had it forced on me. I only changed into this because I had to in order to survive! Another huff. -and now it looks like even as I think this, another point of attack has been revealed… but that’s not important right now! This time, the huff hides a disapproving sort of chuckle. “Trixie… please!” I stomp, startling her when she doesn’t look up. “As if I would allow you to stave to death?! I have plenty of bits I’m not using or even planning to use!” -and might not ever get to use… “Who or what do you think I am?!” Another stomp, this time forward, and she stands up, backing away as I continue forward. “Someone who would abandon you!? Well, as you apparently do, I’m happy to say you’re wrong! Damn it! You’ve promised to help me, a Changeling, enter Canterlot! Don’t you know what that means to me!” Replie’s safety and future. -and Reflection, Twin, and little Silverglass. “Of course you don’t because I never told you, but I think you already have an idea!” Now she’s cowering, clenching her eyes shut, muzzle in the dirt. “It means-! -peace… I hope.” My voice loses its fire, and Trixie looks up in wonderment and confusion. “It means asking Princesses Celestia to give Changelings a chance. It means redemption… and forgiveness.” I sigh, feeling suddenly spent. “Don’t you know what your help with that means to me? I’d say ‘I’d risk my life for yours’ if I didn’t already have such an important mission that requires me to stay alive; bits and helping you forage for edible plants would be nothing!”

Panting from my verbal explosion, I let myself fall to my belly while Trixie sits up; a complete twist in her emotions makes me look up to a growing smile, and not even a second later she bursts our laughing. “You- haha! You want to go- kah-ha! -go to Canterlot for that! What- ha! -are- heh heh… -you going to say? ‘Don’t kill me!’? Oh- haha… wow… You actually had me going there for a minute!” I look up at her swiftly, glaring; my energy after my rant rebuilding in an instant—I’d pulled Trixie’s wagon to Buckley, helped pass out fliers, got myself on an emotional high thinking about my first performance, got IA-38’s warning, left in a worrying hurry, and pulled the wagon some more… “The power of love”, huh? “Oh, you Changelings!” she calls out as her laughter finally begins to peter. “Your sense of humor is so strange! Oh, but refreshing, too… Heh. Ahh…”

When she regains enough control to look at me, and see my face containing no trace of amusement, much less humor, she is left blinking uncomprehendingly. “No, you’re wrong; I’m being honest with you Trixie.” I assert. “The only time I lied to you was when I walked into your wagon as Wood Work, and while I might not have always told the whole truth, anything I’ve kept hidden, like this, is for good reason, like me worrying you would react this way… Now think about this: Why else would a Changeling—not affiliated with Queen Chrysalis!—want to enter Canterlot? What is in Canterlot that a kapish cannot find elsewhere?” I remain still where I lay, but I, by Trixie’s unsure looking back and forth, suspect I radiate a certain aura of truth: trustworthiness.

In time, Trixie turns back to me with her own determination. “So… this whole time what you were really asking Trixie to do for you is to- what? -assist in your suicide?!” She shakes her head slowly, not taking her eyes off mine, yet, more interestingly, the flow of love from her doesn’t merely change, but also increases. Some kind of… “realization” of hers? “You want to ask the Pony Tyrant-” The phrase makes me jolt—“Pony Tyrant”?! Strange, interesting, and… worth a question or two…—which gives Trixie more steam. “-to ‘give Changelings a chance’?! You might as well ask-…” She quickly glances around, casting for an idea. “-ask fire to stop burning!” She points at the crackling lilac-colored flames as if inviting me to do just that, but she shakes her head again, more rapidly. -dismissively. “-but I can already tell how determined you are. Since Trixie is kind, she won’t just leave you out here in the middle of the Wastes. You think you’ll have an easier time in Las Pegasus? Fine, Trixie will take you to Las Pegasus, but from there you will have to find another way into Canterlot.” Dismissively, she pulls up the map between us and, I’m sure, only pretends to look over it.

“You can put the map away.” Trixie pulls it down enough to give me a raised brow. “You’re going to Canterlot, too, aren’t you? That, or you haven’t thought it over enough. You know you’re being hunted by BT, too, and- What was that you said? Something about Canterlot being the most secure city in Equestria because of the Guard’s tendency to ignore the ‘Pony Tyrant’s’ orders to not go Changeling hunting?” I purposefully leave out IA-38’s assertion that no BT Changelings are leaving Equestria—deceptive, definitely, but I need Trixie’s skill with illusions if I’m going to evade Canterlot’s illicit protection. “-and if you’re going there… why not take me along? I don’t know how I would be able to gain audience with Celestia without somepony’s help in making sure I don’t get found out…” In a snap-decision, I hang my head in a hopefully pitiable way. “Would you prefer I get killed before even being able to speak one word in my—in all Changelings’—defense rather than at least having a chance to stand before the Princess, even if I die by her own horn the instant I reveal myself,” I waver for half a second, then forge ahead with my last weapon, “Tricky Glamour?” I know that name is related to something she’s trying to atone for. -something powerful… I hope it’s powerful enough!

There I go again: using manipulation exactly as Celestia warned the Bearers I had, was, and would… but it’s necessary! I need Trixie to get into Canterlot in a similar way to how I need a disguise to get into Canterlot Castle—neither of them are giving me a choice!… Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Maybe I should just go back to Replie and let Reflection teach me how to turn into a griffin so we can leave Equestria, and a budding war, behind. Leave behind thousands to die. Still living in fear of being found out and probably torn to shreds by griffins in the end, or something just as gruesome. Not even Silverglass would be spared!

For a long time Trixie doesn’t do anything but look off to the side, shadows created by the illusionary fire obscure her expressions, but she can’t hide a flare in her emotions. How much does she really care about me? “I’m not doing this for myself. I’m nukapish. I could always flee from the conflict that you know is going to happen between ponies and Changelings; the others back in Apploosa already offered to take me with them. I’m sure, even if I fail, they’ll be fine.” They wouldn’t endanger Silverglass, after all. “-but innocent ponies and other nukapish are going to get caught up—killed—in the coming war.”

“Then why not go to Chrysalis!” Trixie remains turned away. “She’s the one that started all of this! She’s the one that insists on invading Equestria! She’s the one that needs to be talked down!” She punctuates each statement with a stomp of a hoof.

“I can’t…” That makes her turn back to me. “I thought I already told you: She promised I would be killed if I ever went back to her. If I’m ever going to see her again, I need some kind of plan to dissuade that, and I’m sure I can convince Celestia to give me such a plan. Even if it was otherwise and I convinced Chrysalis to attempt peace instead, the siege of Canterlot-… when Celestia confronted me, I didn’t recognize it at first, but-” I can’t say “she’s scared”! Nopony would believe it! “-it did something to Celestia; she’ll never believe a Changeling’s word—she’d never trust Chrysalis. Celestia needs as much persuasion as Chrysalis.”

“You-…” Trixie shakes her head. “You are really, truly insane… You basically just told me that there’s no chance this war isn’t happening! You can’t-!”

“No.” I swiftly cut her off. “I do have a plan for confronting Celestia: a couple of weapons to convince her. That was one of the things I was going to ask you, but I suppose the situation has changed. If you refuse to help me into Canterlot, will you at least take me as far as Ponyville? Leaving me there will give me a much better chance of survival—and success—than leaving me in Las Pegasus.”

For a moment Trixie bites at her bottom lip, her inner back-and-forth battle open to me by the switching emotions. “Fffff-fine! Buck me, but I’ll take you to Ponyville! -but not even a millimeter further!” I allow myself nothing more than an inner sigh of relief, for I fear any outward display would only incite her. “I’m- You should know Trixie is only doing this because she knows you can’t be persuaded to just leave, like any sane nukapish would do! You’re the most meddlesome outsider Trixie has ever met or heard of, and Trixie has traveled far and wide enough to have met and heard of many meddling outsiders!”

“An outsider?” I question without real interest. Now that she’s no longer going on about “assisting my suicide”, I think I can bring the subject around to her use of “Pony Tyrant”; this might lead somewhere, as Trixie is more-or-less an outsider, too… “What makes you say such a thing about me? I told you about my life in Ponyville.” The lies pile up and up… I mentally shake off the self-reminder and self-admonition. I can- will atone. “Atone”…

Trixie raises a brow and tilts her head as if the answer should be obvious. “Well, as much as you might identify yourself as a ‘ponyvillian’ or ‘Equestrian’, you certainly aren’t, and as you aren’t Queen Chrysalis’s, you simply can’t be Hasharstansharu,-”—I think it’s safe for now to assume “sharu” means “person of ___ country” or similar—“-therefore, you are an outsider to this conflict. Trixie believes they call that a ‘Q.E.D.’.” Trixie finishes by pulling back her head and giving a flourish of her mane that may very well have flung pure Essence of Confidence and Superiority across our campsite. Before I can shake off the effects of getting said Essence on my face and acquiesce, only to turn around and point out how such allows me to be much more neutral, Trixie goes on. “That reminds Trixie: What exactly are you a doctor of, Samsa?” She raises her brow as she speaks what, to her, must seem like an odd kind of name.

Beat to the punch in changing the subject!… I suppose, in light of what we discovered in Buckley, I have been acting just as suspiciously secretive as she has… but without meaning to! “That… is a really good question.” I raise a forehoof to scratch at my forehead. Think, Alternate! You must have freakish amounts of knowledge about something if you have some kind of doctorate! “Well, I am pretty sure I’m no M.D. so-… that leaves every other kind of subject out there…” Too many “not that”s to sort through! I grin apologetically, but Trixie already has her face in both forehooves.

“Really? Seriously? Amnesia?!” She shakes her head, disbelieving. “That’s what you’re going with?… Really?” I can’t help it: I begin to chuckle at… What? The way Trixie frames her one-word questions? No. The way she’s shaking her head, reared back, sitting? No. The way my claims of amnesia are being dismissed by a talking, blue, tattooed, magic-wielding unicorn—a creature I would have relegated to simple myth not all that long ago? Ah, there we go. The unforeseen dose of absurdity lifts my spirits in a way that couldn’t have been anticipated, and that very out-of-the-blue nature only contributes to the amusing oddity.

“Ha! Yes, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!” Trixie pulls one of her forehooves down to glare with one eye, I think, at the cheerfulness—which could be interpreted as insincerity, but I can’t help it—in my declaration. “Insincerity”? I wonder if I might be able to-… “Then again, IA-38 could’ve lied. It doesn’t seem like there would be any reason for him to lie, though, doesn’t it?” I pause to tap my chin, but not for long; I don’t want to risk Trixie interrupting this. “Ah, but then again, why do Changelings lie?” I shrug and shake my head mysteriously, still grinning. “They are alien creatures that, by all evidence, appear to have alien reasoning that a pony like you can’t hope to rationalize inside your own pony thought processes, never mind understand.”

That gets Trixie to lower her other forehoof, leaving her standing with her head tilted in the most “confused puppy” look imaginable; the sound of grinding gears may very well have been audible across the empty Wastes for those moments—I wouldn’t know, being so engrossed in firmly setting Trixie’s expression in my memory. The spell is finally broken by Trixie shaking her head so that it blurs, and the face that surfaces afterwards… melts my smile away: deeper than simple sadness. What was it that I said? I want to ask, but don’t want to at the same time; Trixie speaks before I can decide. “Alright, Samsa…” I wince, struggling to associate—or reassociate—myself with that name. “Is there anything—anything at all—that you remember about BT other than what IA-38 told us?”

Of course I know some things by virtue of knowing that “BT changelings” are actually humans, creatures from an entirely separate—what had been separate—world; or at least all evidence (what little there is) points to this. The real question is: How can I phrase such information without revealing the origin of same? I meditate for a moment, and in that time I feel what I interpret as Trixie’s emotional high cooling off. “I know… that BT comes from another land; they are largely unfamiliar with Equestria—though this is likely quickly changing—and especially not knowledgeable of Hasharstan, yet this is probably not changing or going to change soon, as IA-38 implied.” For what good that does us, being more-or-less stuck in Equestria with Chrysalis’s threat of death upon-! Wait! “Which means, I’d bet, they have absolutely no idea about what Chrysalis is doing, or her plans; they have a way of identifying each other, but not non-BT changelings.” Don’t know how that might ever come into play, but it’s better than “They don’t know anything about Hasharstan”… I rub at my forehead with a forehoof, struggling to come up with anything more useful. “Presque vu! I’m sure there’s something else, but it’s… not coming to me!” I tense with mental exertion, but in the end can only sigh in disappointment. “Sorry, Trixie. Perhaps I’ll be able to come up with something tomorrow? It is getting late, now…”

It seems that sentence is all that’s needed to get Trixie to yawn; she agrees with me readily enough, and we both settle down on the ground.

- - - -

When morning comes and leaves, the idea of missing something about BT—something important—doesn’t leave me, but I come no closer to figuring out what it is. At Trixie’s direction, I take us down the right path when we reach the fork she had described last night, and by the afternoon we come into view of a huge cloud above a skyline the likes of which I never imagined existing in Equestria. I daren’t ask Trixie about the cloud, but it becomes apparent soon that the place is hardly called “Las Pegasus” for no reason: the city has two “levels”, one on the ground, and then the cloud-city above it. Just as I make this observation, Trixie warns me that she’s going to release the invisibility spells (which she had replaced just before we set off this morning), as it would be too strange for us and the wagon to materialize in the middle of a city where practically no road is left vacant of bodies going to and fro.

After the illusion is released, I rush forward, not wanting to get caught out here, for though we are within sight of the city, we are still far enough away that if we were attacked, no one in the city would be able to tell and call help for us. As the muddle of colors on the streets start to coalesce into individual ponies, I slow down, panting: Running under the noon sun in the Sorraia Wastes seems to be a really good way to make oneself pass out from heat stroke. As I pull us into the city itself, however, I find my wonder decreasing at an exponential rate as the details of the city of sensory overload sharpen; by the time I dive into the throng of the streets, I’m utterly uninterested. Why would this be? Have I been to Las Vegas? I can’t recall consciously, but my subconscious self must, on some level, find this hyperactive place “boring” for some reason… Oh well. Where I have and haven’t been back on Earth is of no consequence here! The only thing that draws my eyes is the cloud above us—from this angle the cloud-city can no longer really be seen, but I wonder at how this city is founded on two levels all the same.

Practically immediately, Trixie jumps out and in whisper informs me that two Changelings appear to be following us; turning down streets at random more or less confirms this, especially once our path takes us in a circle and Trixie informs me that the two are still there. For a moment, I hum in thought. I really hoped Las Pegasus would help us avoid detection; I should’ve realized BT would be watching the road in from the Wastes! I really, really didn’t want to, but… on to plan B… “Trixie, sorry, but you have to know using illusions to escape now wouldn’t work.” I wince at the implication of Trixie’s now-uselessness, but she only shrugs. “Now, we have to dissuade them some other way…” I wait long enough for Trixie to provide her own suggestion, but none seems forthcoming when she motions with her head for me to go on. “I’m thinking… that this means hired protection.”

“What!?” Trixie cries out loud enough to overcome the general din and attract the curiosity of the ponies around us; an embarrassed smile from her has most shrugging and going back along their ways. Just to be safe and make sure nopony is still listening in, Trixie waits until we turn down another road at random before continuing with much more hushed surprise. “You can’t be seriously considering hiring a Sun Guard!” So, the Guard also operates as a mercenary agency? I suppose in a land with so few problems, that makes sense. It also makes things easier than I originally thought! “What if you get found out?!” Yes, it will make being found out more likely, but…

“Relax.” Unsurprisingly, she does nothing of the sort. “We’ll only hire one, so if—if—that happens, it’ll still be us two against one,-”—instead of us two against a few mercenaries—“-but against BT it’ll not only be all three of us, but-”—What a surprisingly pleasant development!—“-one of those will be a Sun Guard! They can’t afford to kill a pony guard under such suspicious circumstances, and letting the guard go would be entirely out of the question.”

Trixie is shaking her head before I finish. “That won’t work. They’re Changelings, remember?”—Déjà vu, or is it just me?—“They only have to change into the guard and us, report the completion of their mission in Ponyville and sign the papers, then disappear, leaving everypony thinking that something happened in Ponyville instead of on the road to Ponyville from Las Pegasus.”

“Manure…” I curse to myself. The very same policies against testing for Changelings that’s protected me so far also, of course, protects the Changelings hunting me! Now what!? Think, Alternate! Think… There has to be something about those policies we can use against BT… -something they most likely wouldn’t know, but I do… Maybe-! I didn’t know anything about such policies when I first came here; while BT most likely would have learned much of the same as I have learned over the weeks, what do they really know about such policies? It’s impossible to tell for sure, but I’m betting they don’t know everything I know, just like… Luna on that day. It would be safer to assume that BT has infiltrated the Sun Guard, but-! “Then… is there any way we can hire a Moon Guard instead?”

“I was wrong…” Trixie giggles humorlessly while shaking her head. “You don’t have a death-wish; you’re not even run-of-the-mill insane! You’re-…” She points accusingly, but then pauses, seemingly lost. “You-… I don’t know! I don’t know if Unicorn* even has a word for what you are!” Unicorn? Just roll with it for now, Alternate; it’s clear from the context that Unicorn is a language, and it’s pretty much 99.9999999% certain she’s referring to what we’re speaking now. I let out a huff through my nostrils and try to communicate by looks alone that Trixie is making a spectacle of herself, but a second later remember that we’ve already been found by BT and this is Las Pegasus—a quick look around confirms only the occasional curious pony, and even those I catch staring are already shrugging and moving on.

I motion for Trixie to come closer. “Believe it or not, Trixie, but hiring a Moon Guard instead of a Sun Guard will be safer in both protecting us from BT on the road and decreasing the chance of me getting found out.” I nod and grin encouragingly, self-assured; Trixie only looks ready to laugh derisively at the most unconvincing argument she will ever hear—it makes me smirk inwardly. “Firstly, we’ll be going to them for help. Trust is a cycle—initiating that cycle is not only important in and of itself, but the very act of same makes one appear more trustworthy. Secondly, your reaction just now is something that may provide protection similarly to how the belief that no Changeling would dare be in Apploosa for its proximity to the border. By acting in certain ways that are opposite to what is expected, we can remove suspicion.” She doesn’t look very convinced—not that I expected her to, as these would apply to the Sun Guard as well; they’re only a warm up.

“Thirdly and finally, ignorance and paranoia are detrimental, but knowing somepony else is ignorant and/or paranoid can be a weapon. It wasn’t all that long ago when I witnessed the Moon Guard violating Celestia’s anti-Changeling-hunting policies—she wasted no time in ordering her Sun Guard to remove the Moon Guards, and, no matter what those Sun Guards might have thought about the matter, they did as they were ordered. I’m not sure why, but ever since then I’m sure Luna, and therefore the Moon Guard (for Luna is their ‘superior figure’, and therefore the one they are more inclined to agree with in the case of any disagreement between the princesses), are still ignorant about Changelings more than, I think it’s reasonable to assume, Celestia and the Sun Guard. Fear, the root of paranoia, not only discourages learning about what is feared, but compels one to believe things that aren’t true, yet validate the fear. If we can get a more specific idea of what the Moon Guard’s misinformation about Changelings is—as likely planted in their minds by Luna—then not only can we better protect my identity, but there will be more and larger holes for me to hide in than in doing the same with a Sun Guard.” As well as get an idea of what Luna herself believes, so that I’m better prepared for my confrontation with her. I keep the last thought to myself, of course, recalling how Trixie had acted towards my admission of going to Canterlot to confront Celestia, and adding that to how she just reacted towards the Moon Guard. The thoughts make my eyebrows fall with pained empathy. “I know, Trixie: It’s not optimal, but we have very few options right now. BT has effectively cornered us; we need to put into play some kind of unknown variable that will force them to back off.”

When Trixie realizes I’m done speaking, she sighs. “Very well, Amethyst… Follow Trixie.” I allow her to step slightly ahead of me; from her new position, she can no longer glance behind us to check if the two Changelings are still trailing us, but I’ve no doubt they are, and I’m sure Trixie shares this conclusion. It takes us a long time to reach what might be called a “police station” by human conventions, but what is obviously not, given the simple fact ponies don’t have police, and the Guards are, according to Trixie, whom I have no reason to doubt, up for hire as mercenaries. I wait outside, unhitched and inside the wagon, after giving Trixie what she believed is the correct amount of bits to hire a Guard to accompany us to Ponyville; I refused to allow her to use the last few of her own bits, not least because I, and I alone, am the reason we need a Guard in the first place.

More than an hour later (I don’t worry, as I know nothing about any bureaucracy and red tape that would slow down the hiring of a Moon Guard), the door opens without a knock—it is her wagon—and Trixie steps in with groceries suspended in magic, which she dumps without much care into the fridge-box next to the door, then drops a set of saddlebags on top of the trunk with a clasp inscribed with a crescent moon. Success, it seems. “Trixie has returned from her mission!” she announces before jumping back out and using her magic to shove against my rear, all but throwing me from the wagon. “This is Tough Targe, who will be our hired defense.” She motions to the pony beside her, undeniably one of the Moon Guard, with slitted pupils and leathery wings along with everything else that makes the Moon Guard as uniform as the Sun Guard, except… its build—I have absolutely no idea if Tough Targe is a mare or stallion; I quell the urge to swallow nervously at making the wrong impression by accidentally calling… it by the wrong pronouns, and merely incline my head for a long moment. “Tough Targe, this is Amethyst Act-” Trixie waves her still-raised hoof from… it to me as I straighten myself up again. “-my recently acquired partner and apprentice.”

Instead of speaking, helping me identify it, it opts to copy my not-really-a-bow inclination of the head; I raise an eyebrow when it raises its head, hoping to prompt it to speak, but its androgynously-shaped muzzle remains firmly shut. Okay… Can’t lie to myself: This is a little creepy. Curse the uncanny valley! -which I suppose also houses me at the moment, as far as most ponies are concerned… Shaking my mind of the notions, I turn to Trixie, who, if I’m not mistaken, is silently asking me, with what seems to be a little smugness, whether I’m questioning my plan now that I’m face-to-face with one of those who view my entire kind as their enemy. “Good!” I cheer, surprising Trixie in a way she’s quick to hide. “This…-”—Guy? Gal? What?!—“-one-!-” I finish way too loudly. I can’t be breaking down already! “-looks like… they’re up to the task…” I try to keep up a smile while fighting down the urge to bite my tongue.

“Can’t tell if I’m a mare or a stallion, can you?” It speaks so suddenly in a voice just as androgynous as the rest of it, along with an accent completely incomparable, that I jump and fear for a fraction that I might lose my disguise not only in front of a Moon Guard standing before a Guard station, but in a street packed with ponies. “S’okay. Been like this for as long as I can remember. Don’t min’ that I’m mistaken for a mare half’a the time any more.” Inside, I’m simply shrugging, but outside I add an embarrassed smile, thinking this would be socially expected, or at least acceptable. “Nah’ a problem.” He shrugs externally. “Also, can jus’ call me Targe; tha’ doesn’ matter either.”

“Right.” I nod. “Yes. Okay. Well, then, I’m guessing we’re all ready to depart, right?” Look up at the sky, continuing without waiting for an answer from either. “We should be getting out of here if we want to get anywhere today.” I step forward to strap myself to the wagon once more and the now-three of us set off, led by Trixie. As we leave the city, I carefully watch her look back before turning to give me a worried look, then glance up at where Tough Targe flies above us. Obviously can’t talk when he might overhear. Safe to say, though, that we’re being followed, the question is, “How?”… “Hold up!” I call out as I pull off to the side of the road, now devoid of buildings. “Trixie, I think I forgot something—can you help me look?” She tilts her head, so I try to give her a signal by raising my eyebrows for a fraction of a second; it doesn’t help, but she follows me in all the same while Targe settles on the ground before the door, which I shut after Trixie’s entrance, then I step forward and swiftly whisper, “Do an unhearable or sound blocking spell or whatever.”

She seems to be starting to get the gist, for she instantly lights up her horn and the entire interior without question, but after a moment of spellcasting, she speaks up. “What is this about? Getting cold hooves about Tough Targe?” She rolls her eyes at the idea, but her tone is serious—she honestly believes I would back out.

“No, I didn’t stop us about him, but those BTs on our tail: What did you see?” I ask without preamble; the smallness of the wagon means it won’t be long before Targe starts to get suspicious about our supposed search.

“Huh? Oh! Uhh…” Trixie apparently hasn’t caught on to my urgent tone; I motion for her to hurry it up. “Well, nothing, really. I looked back before we left the city limits, looked forward again, then didn’t see anything when I looked back again—that was when I just now looked at you and Targe worriedly.” I nod, frowning somewhat grimly; I’d expected this, but hoped for more. Oh well… When your enemy are Changelings, stuff like this is bound to happen… I can certainly understand now why just the idea of Changelings can be scary, if they can disappear even from a pony that can sense through illusionary magic. If I didn’t have Trixie with me, or anyone who can sense illusions, we wouldn’t know about the BT Changelings following us in Las Pegasus, therefore we wouldn’t have stopped to hire Targe, and then-… I don’t need, or want, to complete that thought! I sigh and nod, and she releases whatever spells she was using to keep Targe from hearing us even unintentionally.

“False alarm! Everything’s set after all!” I call when I open the door and hop out, hooking myself up as Trixie steps out after me.

Targe shrugs, looking and feeling—It is definitely good to be able to feel a pony’s emotions clearly again! Now there’s something that hasn’t happened in a while: another “I never thought I’d ___”!—utterly unconcerned. “Whad’ya thin’ you forget?” he asks conversationally, not knowing what he’s doing.

Manure! I really didn’t think that “cover story” through! I almost stop walking when my brain jams, trying to work overtime on an answer before I start looking suspicious. “Oh, just some food.” Preemptively, I run through what I saw Trixie dump so haphazardly into the cold-box. At least with the food all disorganized it will look like we rifled through it! However, now… I completely failed to realize that, with somepony else along, I’ll have to go back to eating to put up appearances, and… pazara—at least when I need to cough that up, I can pretend I need to squat! Do ponies even squat when they-? -Not thinking about it!

“Oh? Wha’ kind?” he continues, the conversation beginning to get a rise in his emotions: trust. It’s then I notice the shiver—the first sign of allagistomiasis—but he doesn’t seem to realize it. Thankfully…

“Daisies. I like a particular brand, and wanted to make sure Trixie got the right one.”

“Wha’ brand is that?”

Manure! -and the worst part is that I can actually feel he’s just trying have a friendly-!

“White Flower’s Flowers,” Trixie intervenes, and I find myself suppressing a sigh with extreme difficulty. Oh, colt… Haven’t felt that particular brand of excitement in a while! Thankfully, after that it seems the Moon Guard has satisfied his curiosity or can’t think of any more questions; we all fall back into silence, and soon enough Targe takes back to the air—I watch him as he swivels his head around in all directions. He certainly seems to be taking this job seriously enough, but I would be beyond surprised if he sees one of those Changelings, or any other BT Changelings, following us, and even further so if he suspects them of any kind of malicious intent, even if he doesn’t suspect them of being Changelings… Such is not the point, of course, but to ward them off from attacking us; keeping them from following would be impossible at this point, but as long as I get to Ponyville safely, then all will be well. -as well as things can be with two countries on the verge of war and me trying to stop it…

We remain in our own silences, Targe occasionally landing and taking off again at his discretion, until the Sun is resting on the horizon, at which time Trixie points ahead at where a stream comes alongside the road for a short while before wiggling gently back into the otherwise flat grassland, which we had entered without my noticing. The area between the road and water consists of densely-packed, gravelless dirt and only sparse grass: obviously a space where ponies often pullover and tent-up for the night. “Let’s stop here.” There’s no argument, for it is nice enough—certainly, across the relatively flat landscape, there doesn’t appear to be a place any better, or at least Tough Targe doesn’t report such as he takes flight and circles above the proposed campsite.

As we have no tent or tents, having no need for same, our preparations consist of nothing more than starting a campfire, which is set unexpectedly by a bolt of lightning with Targe’s encouragement from a cloud after Trixie and I collect some wood from the riverbank (no longer worrying about being seen, there’s no reason not to have a real fire now), then we prepare a dinner of what can only be described as vegan sloppy joes. None of this takes very long, so by the time Luna raises the Moon, we’re already halfway through our meal.

Most of that time I’ve spent staring at the sandwich, wondering what it would taste like if I still had my human tastebuds, and whether it would taste better if I had pony/Changeling tastebuds, but as I watch one sister’s orb replace the other… There’s no point in putting it off. The more I know, the better! “Targe?” I say to get his attention, and only continue after he turns to me and, chewing, hums his acknowledgement. “What do think… about…-” say it! “-Changelings?”

Trixie, also chewing on a bite, immediately begins coughing and pounding her chest; Targe and I move in on her, but before either of us can reach her, she gives a massive gulp and begins panting. “All right. I’m all right,” she gasps out as she waves us both off, and when Targe turns his back on us for half of a moment as he returns to where he left his sandwich, Trixie gives me an alarmed look; I try to tell her to calm herself and play along by giving a slow nod.

“Hmm…” The thoughtful hum from Targe draws my attention back to him; he’s looking up at the sky, having slowed his chewing to a more contemplative motion, but most of all… He’s not angry, or aggressive, or even concerned? When he finally swallows, before which I’ve returned to my own place around the fire, his words confirm what I sensed and concluded. “Changelings, huh? Wha’ do I think of ’em?” I give an encouraging nod. “Well, honestly: nothing. Nothing much at all.” He shakes his head and shrugs while Trixie stares incredulously, forgetting about her sandwich in her magical grip, letting it drift dangerously close to the fire. “Ah’ know: It mus’ seem mighty weird for a Guard, ’specially Moon Guard, not to even hate Changelings a little mite, but-” He gives each of us a long, stern, no-nonsense look before continuing. “-but before you ask any questions, I tell you, I was there, in Canterlot, when it happen’, and I tell you both there’s no reason to worry about Changelings, least’a for common ponies like you, ’specially.”

At that, even I can’t help but look a little incredulous, even as his emotions only corroborate his opinions! Not one bit of my skeptical tone is artificial. “So, what did you see in Canterlot that makes you think that? I mean, the Changelings wanted to take over Equestria and… harvest us all for food, right?” I do, however, try to sound a little disgusted when I mention the Changeling diet, purposefully phrasing it as if I’m misinformed, and finishing with a stuck out tongue.

“Aye.” Targe nods. “-or least’a something like that,” he corrects with a shrug. “Na’ my e’zpertise, but I understand it tha’ Changelings don’ permanently hurt nopony eating their love. ’Course,-” His emotions suddenly take a sharp turn into anger, but not so much that it overshadows his remaining unconcernedness, and his anger isn’t reflected on his face. “-tha’ doesn’t say anything about the attack, though, na’? What happen’ to me there: I was captured in the first few seconds—didn’ get to buck one Changeling’s face in. One second I see the barrier breaking and the Changelings coming down, and the next I know, I’m stuck to the ground, completely ’elpless, at their mercy…” He pauses dramatically, leaning forward. “-and I’m still here, aren’t I?” He leans back again. “Canterlot was crawling infested—was always in sight of least’a one of them, and it wouldn’t’a taken na’ but a momen’ to tear my neck open with them’s fangs; they had hours to do it, but they didn’t.” Here his emotions switch again, this time towards sorrow which foreshadows his next words. “Now, I hear after that some ponies were killed, viciously, too, but why na’ me? Why only those dozen ponies?” He shakes his head, and what little anger had colored him begins to dissipate. “Like I say: Na’ my e’zpertise, but I think there’s something i’portant about that we’re missing—something that makes the Changelings more equine than most think, I’da bet. Least’a I don’ buy any ‘hive mind’ na’sense; I canna’ put it in words (they’re never my sharpest weapon),-” Frustration comes to fore for only a second before he pushes it away. “-but something about the attack… jus’ didn’t look right to say they’re having a hive mind.” He ends with a sad shake of his head, lowering it to stare at the ground in what seems to be sorrowful contemplation.

Those are interesting conclusions to reach, particularly for someone who experienced the siege as he did. “That… doesn’t really address my point.” I shake my head in turn, injecting indignance into my tone. “What if the attack had succeeded?! You’d be used like-… like food!”

“E’zac’ly,” Targe answers instantly. I raise my brows, tilt my head, and thrust my head forward in a rather rude gesture to invite him to go on; he snorts at this and narrows his eyes, staring straight into mine. “Do na’ get it? The attack was never mean’ to hurt us—they need us alive! They-. -need-. -us. Na’ preten’ to know why the Changelings chose to attack us as they did, but I do know that it was na’ malicious. Whatever their plan was, they did it for our love: to feed themselves. Do na’ know if my point is getting to you, but either way, we na’ need to worry about being attacked like Canterlot ag’in.”

Trixie, apparently having gotten over her shock and worry, asks my next question for me. “How can you say that? -that ‘another Canterlot’ won’t happen?”

Targe tilts his head in Trixie’s direction. “Eh? That’s easy: The only reason Canterlot was over run is because we were na’ prepared to be attacked by anything like Changelings- something that could look like your best friend, then the instant you turn your back, they get you. That’s how I was captured, as do na’ think I told you: Thought it was my partner by my side, and when I turn toward some Changelings rushing at us, my ‘partner’ jumped on my back! Now, the Guard’s ready to deal with mos’ Changelings’ tricks, but more than that’s-… The Changelings are na’ going to be trying anything like that ag’in, anyway.” Even before he’s finished this statement, he has his forehoof raised and is turning his head aside to stem questions. “Just think about it for a secon’ before you say anything. Think about how Princess Celestia insists that nopony go out hunting Changelings, or even just checking random ponies every once in a while. Think about how Changelings must have been in Equestria long before any plan to attack Canterlot… Would they try ag’in after their failure, now that we’re ac’ually prepared? Na’. If you ask me, Changelings have gone back to doing what they’ve always done: replacing somepony for a few weeks before leaving everything as it was. Perfec’ly harmless. Insignificant little bugs going back to their insignificant little lives.” He believes that… or at least I think he does, if I can judge by his emotions, still untainted by any kind of aggressive leaning.

However, that leaves one more question that I would really rather not bring up… “What about…-” I swallow back real nervousness. “-the border?”

The effect is instantaneous: His emotions shatter and scramble between uncertainty and worry. “That-… That’s na’-… It’s a precaution. A warning… that we’re na’ going to tolerate any aggressiveness, least’a like another Canterlot, from them. I-… I na’ agree with it!” He looks around as if expecting Princess Luna, having been spying on us, to jump out at this admission and discharge him from her Moon Guard; only after a long moment in which this, unsurprisingly, doesn’t happen, he continues. “Something like that…-” He shakes his head, sorrow coming forth again. “I na’ heard of anything like it. That’s just na’ something ponies… do.” He ends with a sigh, and I can tell he has more that he’s on the verge of saying, but it’s easy for me to admit I don’t need any more. Maybe it is something ponies do, maybe it isn’t; I know I don’t have any way to know, Trixie isn’t saying anything as she looks at the ground, and Targe…

For the rest of the meal, no one speaks or even tries to meet another’s eyes—not even me and Trixie—and we just as silently take up our beds: Trixie in her wagon, I next to the embers of the fire, and Tough Targe on the roof of the wagon to better watch over us.

- - - -

“-ing… Changeling.” The word comes to my ear, whispered and close; I fight against its pull towards the waking world, still too connected to the resting world to realize the battle is futile. “Changeling,” it comes again, a little more insistently, seemingly encouraged by my wordless mumbles and attempts to twist and turn away. Then something clicks: The voice is that of a male’s, which means it’s not Trixie, which means-!

Still rendered partially blind to reality, I burst into a fit, tossing my limbs everywhere, but meeting nothing but blankets. I try to call out for Trixie, but my tongue doesn’t cooperate and the blankets tighten against my mouth, cutting off any sounds I manage to make.

“Shh. Shh!” Tough Targe shushes in continued whispers. “Na’ hunting you if you na’ hurt me? I na’ worry about you if you na’ worry about me.” As power is restored to the logic center of my brain, I recall Targe’s words from only hours ago (I think; it could’ve been minutes ago for all the attention I wasn’t paying), so, more calmly and coordinately, I pull at the blankets until I can finally see the stars… and Targe standing about half a meter away, barely illuminated by the moon and embers. “-and if you don’ believe tha’, could’a-”

“-killed me in my sleep. Right.” I finish for him, and when he nods, I let out a relieved sigh that ends with similarly-flavored chuckles and a shake of my head. “So, I’m guessing you want to know what I’m doing in Equestria and why I want to go to Ponyville before you decide what to do about me?”

“Aye.” He nods. “-but before that…-” He tilts his head and, I can tell now that my eyes are adjusted to the darkness, narrows his eyes with curiosity, without a hint of aggression—Which would also define his emotions. Emotions that definitely contain less love than when… I went to bed? I’m guessing, then, he only figured this out after, or at least started to suspect, which I just now confirmed without him needing to break the “no hunting” rule. Clever. “-I was wondering, why hire a Moon Guard instead of a Sun Guard?”

Thinking back to the arguments I used to beat down Trixie’s reluctance, I grimace. “Well…” I stall as I frantically think of some nice way to phrase my intended deception and information-gathering techniques. I could just come up with a quick lie-NO! I gulp, but tense with new determination. “Well, I thought, it would be easier to-” I pause for only half of a second “-fool you.” My eyes widen in the next moment. “I mean, not ‘you’-you, you specifically, but the Moon Guard in general, because you’re- ‘the Moon Guard you’-you’re the more paranoid of the two, so I thought ‘Moon Guard’-you would be more misinformed, so it would be easier to hide right under your muzzle.” I take in a deep, nervous breath through my teeth. “Uh, which… doesn’t really sound all that better as far as ‘not insulting’ ‘you’-you, which-”

A raised forehoof is enough to get me to stop rambling; the raised hoof is followed by a shake of the head and a shrug. “I ’preciate the honesty. Even if you’re wrong, it make’ sense.” He raises the forehoof again, this time to his chin to turn to thought for a moment before nodding. “Aye. Thinking if I was you, would’a done the same, a’zhually. Easier to fool somepony who’s’ve convinced themselves a bunch’a lies, aye?” He nods again and answers his own question before I can even get past the thought that Tough Targe has basically just admitted his own Guard as the more misinformed of the two. “Aye, and for most Moon Guard, would’a been right, but na’ think most’a has seen what I saw.” My next question must have been clear on my face, for Targe doesn’t let me ask it before answering. “Na’, na’ meaning about what I’d saw in Canterlot, but… a Changeling I ran into after the attack, in Las Pegasus, a’zhually. Orders are to kill any Changeling you know is a Changeling, but tha’ Changeling… was so pitiful, I jus’ could na’ even consider that. Then, it na’ just thank me after, but hugged me, a Moon Guard. Was completely alone, let it move into a position it could’a attacked me, and, just like Canterlot, it na’ do a single harmful thing to me. Was when I realized tha’ Changelings are just like ponies, wanting to just live and sometimes falling in’a bad point in life—bad enough to do somethings desperate, occasionally.”

“Oh…” I don’t know what else to say about that. To think a pony would risk-! No… Trixie is doing the same thing, just like Fluttershy, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash did. Of course none of them can know, for what knowing is worth, but that’s what trust is: not knowing… “That was what you were on the verge of saying earlier, wasn’t it? -but you didn’t want to say anything in front of Trixie in case she didn’t know?”

He nods. “Aye, but guessing by the way you phrase’ that, she do’ know?” My turn to nod, which makes him snort. “Now there’s something, huh?” I tilt my head at that, but he’s already going on to clarify. “You two act familiar ’round ’ch’other, her e’zpecially to you, so also guessing you two’ve been traveling together for a mite?” A more confused nod from me this time, as I wonder what he’s getting at; his neutral face falling into a slight frown quickly turns most of the confusion to worry. “-but only hire a Guard now? Do na’ tell me you two’ve run into some money troubles, owing more’an your worth?”

“Wha-?-No!” I raise my forelegs to wave them about as I shake my head as fast as it can go. “No, nothing like that at all. It’s more like ‘trouble is hunting for us’, yeah… actually more like ‘following us’ most likely. It’s other Changelings that are after us.” I’m quick to explain, figuring what he’s going to ask next. “Some… didn’t like what happened in Ponyville about two months ago. I-”

“Wait,” he cuts me off, looking to the side thoughtfully. “Ponyville, two months ago?” The question is obviously to himself, so I wait for the conclusion that, surely enough, comes with wide-eyed surprise. “Mean you’re the one that copied one’a the Element Bearers, and was dealt with by Princess Celestia?!” For a moment, panic rises inside of me at the thought he’s going to accuse me of attacking the Bearers with intent to replace them, or something like that, but his emotions, showing no such intention, beats down those worries just as quickly as they came. “Wow. Even doubted it when I’d heard you’re spared an’ teleported across the border. Well, s’far’s I’m concerned, that’s the end’a that!” He nods once, resolute. “Got the Bearers of Kindness, Generosity, and Loyalty behind you? If had na’ been already convinced, that’d do it, thinking. Aye! About to say something?”

“Oh, just… I was going to answer why I’m going to Ponyville.” I sigh and lower my eyes to the ground. I don’t know if it’s safe to tell this one the whole truth, but… “It’s-… It feels like my home, even though I never really had a ‘home’ there, and I just wanted to… see it again, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live there again, with these other Changelings who would just be waiting for the right moment to strike, but it’s not safe for me to travel, either, so… I just don’t know what’s going to happen to me; whether I’ll still be alive next week, or the week after that, or- I just don’t know, so I figured I’d rather be someplace that’s at least familiar.” There. None of that is technically untrue.

“Oh… Oh,” he whispers as his eyes widen yet again, and, not entirely surprisingly, his love towards me jumps in strength slightly. “Na’ ever considered that being banished by one’a the Princesses herself’d result in being attack by your own, but… I can see they’d see you as a threat, right? Course’a; you let the pony you imponyated go out to shout how there was a Changeling looking like her while you’re feeding-…”—Is he talking about Fluttershy? I don’t think she’s the one to be shouting about anything, even a Changeling using her form. Well, especially not that, and especially not any more, I think!—“-and then there was Princess Celestia’s promise to be watching out for you—na’ doubt that’d endanger other Changelings in and around Ponyville! Oh… well, then-” He narrows his eyes determinedly. “-we’ll just have to figure something out. Something to convince all these other Changelings that that was all a big mistake and misunderstanding… but na’ tonight. Sleep well, Ame-”

“Alternate. You can call me Alternate.”

He gives me a bow-like nod. “Aye, Alternate. Sleep tight.”

As he spreads his wings, I respond, “I’d say the same, if I didn’t need you to be awake most of the time, and a light sleeper when you’re not.” He chuckles and the addition of camaraderie causes another slight boost to Targe’s emotions towards me.

I watch him launch himself up until he becomes a faint shadow that can only be seen by how he blocks the stars, except for, occasionally, his eyes flashing like a cat’s, and when I lay down again, I indeed sleep very tightly.

- - - -

The rising of the Sun is our alarm clock (with no snooze button) , or at least it is for Tough Targe and me, laying outside in the cold morning air (that feels particularly cold after traveling through the Sorraia Desert and Wastes) while Trixie rests inside her wagon, though after traveling with her for a while now—to say nothing of the love I can literally feel that she has for me—that doesn’t last long with me being comfortable with waking her. Breakfast is a quick helping of daisy pancakes (with no syrup or butter) made with Amethyst’s favorite brand; at least that’s breakfast for Trixie and Targe, for as there is no one need of being fooled, I decline. “Trixie,” I explain, “there’s no need to waste any food on me, at least any more.”

“Huh?” Trixie allows herself to be confused for only half of a second before she raises her eyebrows and shifts her eyes ever so slightly towards the shoulder over which I can see Targe munching away so happily that seeing him so, it’s hard not to say his favorite food is dry daisy pancakes. Catching his eyes with my own, I smile and nod before glancing significantly to Trixie, then to the plate of pancakes she has levitated beside her—he returns my nod just before Trixie turns her head to grin at him in what, true to Trixie’s form, appears honest rather than the worried nervousness that must be threatening to escape her.

Targe, noticing this, swallows when I give him another nod and glance to the plate of pancakes again, hoping he’ll get the hint I’m inviting him to speak the truth. “Aye. Alternate’s right: Na’ need to waste food on a Changeling… e’zpecially daisy pancakes,” he adds as he positively skips forward and with his teeth takes the top pancake off the stack the now-frozen Trixie is still holding in her magic. As he chews on what she had deigned as mine, Trixie is only able to make little sounds of confusion.

“Relax, Trixie.” That gets her to finally look away from the Moon Guard. “Didn’t I tell you it would be fine?” On a whim, I lean close to her ear, but don’t bother to whisper. “I have him completely under my control…” Pulling back slowly with a murderous grin on, I flash my horn green, which draws her horrified, open-mouthed expression to my forehead. I can’t help it: I burst into laughter almost instantly. “Trixie, you should see the look on your face! Oh… heh heh heh… I don’t even know those kinds of spells!”

“-An’ besides, those kind’a spells take more than one night’s worth’a applications to get somepony ‘completely’ under your control, and you’d need some kind’a excuse to cast some kind’a spell that you could pretend to be casting instead, otherwise would na’ let you cast that spell on me.” Interesting. That certainly explains Chrysalis’s actions in the days leading up to the wedding. Actually, this would also hint that it was Chrysalis that made the threat to Canterlot, in addition to suggesting (as Cadance) that Shining Armor put the shield up, in order to have an excuse to cast spells on him!… -probably… “Chrysalis’s actions”? “Pretending”? “Suggested”? I wonder…

As Trixie and Targe finish eating, I take my freed-up mealtime to wash the pan in the stream, thinking furiously about a wisp of inspiration on augmenting our defenses. With the fire put out, the campsite disassembled, and the wagon ready to roll, I put a halting hoof on Trixie’s cold, shivering withers just as she opens her mouth and points at the harness. “Wait. I have another idea.” I grin mysteriously. “Targe, if you’ll accompany me into the wagon?” He nods, and I motion for him to go ahead, which he does. “Good. Trixie, once we’re in, I want you to cast every single spell to block every single method of detection you can think of on the wagon, except any that would block Targe and I from seeing and hearing each other, and once that’s done, light the lantern, can you do that?”

“Yes, but-” I don’t give her time to ask the obvious questions, as they’ll be answered soon enough without me needing to say anything. There is a moment of strangeness, in which there are no obvious signs of magic being cast, but the air tingles nonetheless, then it disappears, and a moment after that the lantern flickers to life with a tiny flame.

“Right’a, Alternate, what want?” He cocks his head from where he’s standing on Trixie’s bed. As an answer, I look him up and down for a moment, then, just as I see the dawning of realization, bring forth my Changeling powers: The green fire burns away the form of Amethyst Act and leaves in her place Tough Targe, armor and all. “Oh… -but, uh, why?”

“Easy: The Changelings following us—that’re na’ doubt hiding somewhere outside right now—’re after me, so disguising myself as you, while you’re still right there nex’ to me, adds an extra layer of protection to me by confusing them; my protection being the reason you’re hired, remember.” He nods, confusion leaving him. “You’re the one who gave me the idea, a’zhually!” I grin at how quickly I’m able to bring that confusion right back. “Firs’ got me thinking by mentioning how I ha’ been caught, what with Fluttershy running for help while I’s still in her shape, feeding, and then just now talking about that mind-control spell. I realized for a Changeling to trick another Changeling using na’ bu’ Changelings’ natural ability, all needs to do is reverse how Changelings use that ability to trick ponies! As a bonus, disguising as a Moon Guard means nopony passing us on the roads will be suspicious, since all the Guard looks like ’ch’other.”

I bask in the wonderment that infuses his emotions then. “This- You- That…’s something else. Thinking that you selling yourself short, Aye?” It’s not really a question. “Aye, shows that skills is na’ everything, but the smarts to use them. Thinking that you’ll be just fine like this—that you’ll be able to avoid these other Changelings, and find a different, more permanent, less risky way of hiding from them. Maybe even be able to lose them entirely just with this? -but… just thinking, what about eating? Won’t it be obvious who’s who after only one’a us eats?”

“That’s easy, too: We do the same thing we’re doing right now. After each meal, Trixie will enchant her wagon as I just asked her to, then, after a while…” I light my invisible horn with magic to open the trunk and pull out a bit from my bag. “I flip; you call. If it’s yours, you go out after me,” I say as I pull the coin towards me and drop it on my upturned forehoof. “Also, every few hours or so, we’ll alternate pulling the wagon; we’ll do another coin flip every morning to see who starts pulling—you call wrong, you pull first.”

With a silent nod of understanding, he motions with a careless flick of his hoof for me to go ahead. I do so and, as the coin reaches the apex of its flight, he calls, “Tail.”

Catching it on the hoof I tossed it with and keeping it there with my other forehoof, I reveal, “Head. Now call for first wagon-pulling duty.” This time he calls the opposite side, but, “Tail.” I nod and grin at his playful grimace as I slip the coin back into the bag and shut it in the trunk. Flapping my new bat-like wings, I fly over him as he crouches and crawls under me, but as he raises a hoof to open the door, I look back at those wings with a sudden thought. “One last question: What exactly am I, now?”

He looks back and begins to tilt his head in that familiar way, but catches himself with an, “Oh!” of understanding. “Hearing commons call us ‘bat-ponies’-” He rolls his eyes before straightening up with pride. “-but we’re named noxaballiones by Luna, who transformed us, as well’s firs’ created this form, to better serve her under her night.”

“Right.” That’s that mystery solved. Not that it really helps, of course, but “Mission: Sate Curiosity” is a success! “‘Night’… that would explain the ‘nox’… which also, probably just coincidentally, means ‘dream’,” I murmur absently to myself, but this comment catches Targe’s interest, judging by the way his ears perk.

“Now, that’s interesting.” I quirk an eyebrow, inviting him to go on. “Latin’s been dead forever; only spoken by scholars now-days.” He give me a scrutinizing look. “What’s some-Changeling with your smarts doing out here playing magician?” He corrects himself quickly. “Meaning, what was some-Changeling like you doing in Ponyville, which na’ e’zac’ly a place where smarts like yours wou’ be used to their potential? ’Re na’ you like some ‘language-ist’ or like-some?”

Me, a linguist? I am, apparently, a doctor of something, but language? No, that doesn’t feel right. Closer than anything I’ve considered, but no bullseye. “First, most importantly, and… only, is that I’m not any kind of scholar.” -that knows what he’s a scholar OF, I add to myself. “I only-… Linguam latinum studui, uh, paulisper?” I finish with a question, not only unsure of the word itself, but unable to recall if Latin adverbs are allowed to come after the verb, and therefore I should have corrected myself with “paulisper studui.” I wince. Definitely no “language-ist”!

Tough Targe blinks once, twice, thrice. “Well… I don’t,” he says, apparently under the impression I had said something along the lines of, “I speak Latin a little,” or something like that. “-or like-some”… I like that!

“-didn’t!” I correct with a laugh. “Said, ‘I’ve studied Latin a little.’… Least’a thinking that’s what I said!” I add, making him laugh with me, which all the while raises how much love I’m getting off of him. He has to be okay with it, I tell myself as I fight the urge to bite my lip, but I’m not sure my continued laughter is as convincing. As a Guard, especially a Moon Guard, he has to know about allagistomiasis! He’s probably reasoned that we’ll get to Ponyville long before any serious symptoms show up… We stop laughing soon enough, and he neither looks nor feels suspicious.

Forgetting in that moment that Trixie is waiting for an explanation and passively sees through illusions, I wave a hoof to invite him to go ahead, and he leads us out without another thought, causing Trixie to greet us with, “Tough Targe… and Alternate!?” She looks back and forth between us; I’m not the only one around here “selling myself short”, though, and the intelligent mare figures it out pretty quickly. “Oh! Trixie thinks she gets it! In order for a Changeling to trick a Changeling, you reverse-!”

“Aye.” I hold up a forehoof. “Got it e’zac’ly right, but now we’ve to do this all over again, since you just informed any watching us who’s who.” She looks appropriately scolded, shrinking back in a kind of half-bow and smiling apologetically. At this display, Targe rolls his eyes, which he settles… on me? Cowed in turn, I lower me head. “Sorry, Trixie. That was my fault for forgetting how you see through illusions like you do, so I thought I should keep you in the dark in order to keep you from figuring out which one of us is which, so you wouldn’t accidentally blow my cover… which, now that I think about it for a second, isn’t really all that good of a plan.” I let out a few weak chuckles, inviting the statement to turn into a joke, but no one joins me.

“Trixie understands, and for what it’s worth, she thinks that if she wasn’t cursed so, that that would actually be a good plan.” I can’t tell if she’s just trying to stoke my confidence, but I take the compliment for what it means. With that, Targe and I once again retreat into the wagon, the lantern is lit after a moment, and we flip the coin twice: This time I exit first, but Targe is still left with first wagon-pulling duty.

As I leap up, ready to take position over the wagon when we get moving, Trixie moves up to the harness, where Targe is struggling with the straps. “Let me help you with that!” Witnessing such, I realize that even though I no longer have to keep my Changeling nature hidden from Targe, I now have to maintain my noxaballio disguise, which means that will be me in a few hours.

With Targe hooked up, Trixie retreats from the cold into her wagon, and then the three of us are off. I probably shouldn’t fly too high, since I don’t know if the trace is capable of reading height as well, but I can’t fly too low—that might look suspicious… I settle at an altitude I think is lower than what Tough Targe had been at yesterday, but try to compensate by making slightly wider circles. I earnestly look all around, but the Changelings, which I’m starting to doubt are following us at all, remain entirely elusive. As the Sun rises further and further, and we stop to get Trixie to help with switching the harness—she instantly understands the confusion tactic in this move—and any potential threat from BT fades into the background of my thoughts, I can’t help but grow worried about something far less concerning: my apparent lack of pazara production, or at least feeling no urge to expel. Perhaps it’s something a Changeling needs to get used to? I attempt to reason with myself. Perhaps, after “maturing” some part of the pazara-making organs, a Changeling no longer feels such an urgent need, and only “vomits” when consciously prompted? I shrug off the question, reminding myself that, if I do feel the urge, there’s no need to hide my nature from Tough Targe, and afterwards we can always do the coin flips again. Also, having a little pazara ready in my stomach at all times sounds like a good idea—never know if and when it might come in handy, and it’s not like I’m using my stomach for anything else!

In this way, we travel on for a few days, encountering nothing more exciting than the occasional fork in the road, until we reach Ponyville itself.

- - - -

Targe, currently flying as I pull, swoops down to alert us we’re about to enter the Ponyville’s city limits, and that I should resume my invented Amethyst disguise right then, as the roads are clear of anypony who might see. City limits… that’s definitely too close to too many ponies for BT to dare try anything now. I nod, and he soars back up as I surround myself with the usual green fire. “Usual”? It hasn’t really been that long, after all—not even a quarter of a year since I first set hoof—a frantic, starving hoof—in Ponyville… and yet everything I’ve learned, so much in so little time, even as it feels like so little in so much time, is going to be turned into weapons of peace and understanding… somehow. I wince.

What do I really know, anyway? What do I know that I can use to convince even one of the princesses, never mind all three?! Realizing how quickly I’ve started hyperventilating, I close my eyes to help focus on my breathing. Slow down, Alternate. You knew when you left Buckley that you wouldn’t be able to gather much information. You have what you have, and you’re not likely to get much else; the best you can do is counter Celestia’s arguments as they come, and once you have her, it’ll surely be easier to convince the other two. I could try to convince Luna or Cadance first, but… I have no reason to expect they might be easier to convince, but I am sure Celestia has the most sway over both the other princess and the public.

We enter Ponyville proper, and… nothing happens. Not even a Changeling-proof barrier? It has been a whole two months, but… I suppose that’s too close to “hunting Changelings” for Celestia to be comfortable with, or something, for whatever reason she’s refusing the hunting of Changelings. I look up at the now-visible Canterlot, seeing it, too, is barrier-free. That’ll help with getting in, once I have the Element Bearers on my side.

The Element Bearers…

Though Trixie might have been right about the entirety of Equestria, it seems at least that Twilight Sparkle’s local influence has made the ponies of Ponyville look beyond Trixie’s past wrongs on the town, and we’re even greeted with some friendly—or at least “I’ve forgiven you”-type—waves. The first place Trixie leads us to is the Guard station, saying paperwork on this end of the mission needs to be filled out, but shouldn’t take nearly as long.

“Actually, Trixie, I’ll catch up with you later, there are… things I need to do- ponies I need to see.” I incline my head to emphasize the already heavy implications in the message.

Tough Targe comes to my rescue. “Course’a!” He waves as if brushing dust off a low, invisible table. “This side’a the paper na’ taking long at all, an’ Ponyville’s a safe place for leaving things unattended, anyways.” He shrugs, and after a sigh, Trixie shrugs as well. I suppose she can’t be blamed for being wary of the Ponyvillians… -and Targe… I hadn’t known you for long, but your love for me has grown so strong! Of course I daren’t say such things out loud, but I think he gets the gist in my downturned brows and long sigh as I wave to him while he holds the door of the Guard station open for Trixie.

Now, to business. Pinkie Pie, just before I was teleported away, appeared to be on the verge of accepting me, so she’ll probably be the easiest… If Celestia hasn’t managed to pull her back. No point in thinking about that, though! I square my shoulders, but still can’t help but gulp nervously as I once again bring up that mental map of Ponyville that had very likely saved my life- that had been one of many things that had saved my life on that first day. Though I don’t remember any Guard station being in Ponyville, judging by the direction to Canterlot, I’m pretty sure Sugar Cube Corner is in this general direction.

I’m right, and arrive at the eccentrically designed bakery—A perfect place for a pony like Pinkie, even if she didn’t turn out to be a baker as well as a party planer—but I’m in no mood to congratulate myself. A mood Pinkie is sure to notice in an instant… and draw attention to, no doubt, with her loud ways… No! Stop thinking like that! You’re a Changeling!—You can fool her just long enough to get her somewhere alone, maybe her room, or somewhere. Urgh, that kind of makes me sound like a rapist or something! -“something” like a Changeling… Maybe Pinkie will be “the easiest”, but that doesn’t mean “easy” in the more general sense!

Steeled, I push open the door that sets a tiny bell jingling and I enter with my best fake smile. I hope it don’t look too fake—Pinkie seems like the kind of pony that would be able to tell! -except she didn’t recognize Applejack’s fake smile, did she? -and that was a really bad fake! Bolstered by such thoughts, I walk more comfortably up to the counter than when I had entered. However, Pinkie isn’t at the counter, nor anywhere else that I can see. Hopefully she’s in the kitchen or with the foals—Have Pound and Pumpkin even been born yet? -Don’t get sidetracked! “Eh, hello…-”—Should I say “Mr. Cake” or “Carrot Cake” or pretend I don’t know him?—“-mister. Is Pinkie Pie here? I need to talk with her. -in private,” I quickly add. His eyes widen slightly, and, guessing what’s coming, I give another addendum. “She hasn’t done anything to me or my property, I just… have a few things that need to be said. I’m not mad or anything, promise.”

He forms an “O” with his mouth for a moment, then looks me over before nodding—my smile apparently fooling him, at least—and finally glancing at a wallclock. “Rrr-right! Good timing on your part: It shouldn’t hurt any to let Pinkie take a break now. Let me show you into the kitchen, and I’ll tell Pinkie.” I nod, widening my smile slightly as I walk around the counter to where Mr. Cake is holding open the low door that mutely tells customers, “Employees only”, and leads me into the kitchen. Inside, Pinkie is decorating a line of cupcakes, but whips her head around upon hearing the door, and gasps, not a happy gasp, but a surprised gasp. Pinkie. Surprised. Just by the appearance of her (co-?)boss and some apparently everyday Earth pony. I don’t blame Mr. Cake for turning a little worried, but I’m more interested in how Pinkie’s forehooves continue on without her, decorating the cupcakes perfectly.

Eventually, Mr. Cake gets over his surprise of seeing Pinkie surprised and begins to introduce me. “Pinkie, this is-”

“-Amethyst Act,” I supply quickly enough, as I hadn’t given Mr. Cake my name.

“-Amethyst Act, who wishes to speak with you in private.” He waves his hoof somewhat unnecessarily, then, probably realizing the unnecessarily-ness, raises it further a bit too late to scratch at an itch in his mane I’m sure doesn’t exist.

Finally, she gasps again—this time a happy gasp—and launches into movement, rushing forward and grabbing me by my muzzle, leaving bits of frosting in my fur. “Ohmygosh! You’re new! -but… how?! My Pinkie Sense didn’t tell me somepony new was in town!” She shakes me forward and back, “You must tell me how you got past my Pinkie Sense!”

With my vision blurred by Pinkie shaking me, I look to the side, but see no yellow. Looks like Mr. Cake made a tactical retreat back to the service counter, the lucky stallion. Pushing Pinkie away with a forehoof, she slides impossibly smoothly for the friction the wooden floor and my muzzle should have provided, and continues for a moment to jerk her forelegs back and forth as if still shaking me. A movement catches my eye: A curious mare walking by has stepped closer to peer in at us—I nearly let my smile slip as my eyes widen for half of a second. “Pinkie.” Catching her attention, she drops to all fours instantly and begins instead to stare somewhat unnervingly—I feel in that moment that, should she merely consider that I might be a Changeling, she’d inexplicably be able to see through me somehow, and equally inexplicably be able to remove my disguise without needing to knock me unconscious, and raise the alarm. What would Tough Targe think then? What if he’s the one that responds, and doesn’t know it’s me? -or, worse, does know it’s me, or at least believes strongly it is?!… I have to swallow once, then twice before I even think I can speak again, then I swallow a third time to make sure; my voice still doesn’t sound normal. “Pinkie, is-… is there somewhere more… isolated, so we can speak more openly, without… any chance of being interrupted or overheard?” -preferably someplace soundproof and with only one exit on which I can use my pazara to block… Not that even that would be guaranteed to stop Pinkie.

Thankfully, she seems completely unaware of my apprehension. “Sure, we can talk in my room! Follow me!” Without waiting for a response, she begins to bounce away into the private dwelling half of the business-slash-house combo that, as far as I’ve seen, is the norm in Equestria. Shrugging, I follow, and even though she’s already out of sight, the sound of her bouncing, much like a spring that ignores what should be her considerable weight crashing down on hard hooves-… No use thinking about it. Arriving in the bedroom, I close the door with a kick of a hindhoof, after which Pinkie whirls around on me. “So, why do ya what’a talk to me, huh? Is it just me, or do you know me, but I don’t know you? Are you gon’na explain that?”

“Yes,” I answer even she finishes the question, which stops the stream or maybe that was really the last of her questions for now? Doesn’t matter. What does matter is… maybe I can get my point across gently? “Pinkie, you’re right: I do know you, but you’re wrong, since you know me, too; you just don’t… recognize me because I look different from the last time you saw me.” I lean forward, imploring her to understand the intentionally vague just incase there is still a stray ear nearby. Mrs. Cake remains unaccounted for, after all… “-really different,” I add with a raise of my eyebrows.

Pinkie looks up at the ceiling, rubbing her chin and neck as she hums thoughtfully; soon enough, she looks back down, the obvious confusion knocking my spirits down. “Are you sure-sure? I suppose you could have dyed your fur and your mane and tail and got a new mane cut and styled your tail different and got colored contacts, but I don’t recognize that Cutie Mark at all, and I remember everything about every pony I’ve ever met. Maybe you’re confusing me for some other Pinkie, because that’s just a nickname; my real name is Pinkamena, and I was just thinking maybe I accidentally stole the name of somepony who’s real name is Pinkie and you confused me for them.” She gasps. “Ohmygosh! I stole somepony’s name! I always thought Pinkamena was a weird name, so I liked Pinkie better, but I didn’t think of checking if somepony else was already named Pinkie Pie, so maybe I should go back to being called Pinkamena even though I don’t really like it, but Pinkie isn’t my name, I just took it without asking! I’m a name thief!” She wails, rearing up to dramatically clutch her head between her forehooves like a certain mare named after a certain flower.

“Pinkie!” I grab at her head in turn and force her down. “Focus! It’s definitely you I want to talk to. Besides, no pony could confuse you for another because no pony is like you… not even your own clones were quite like you,” I add in a mumble. What now? What can I say now?! “Pinkie, the last time we met, I made a Pinkie Promise in front of you to a very close friend of yours that I would be okay… which is, actually, partially what I came here to talk about.” At the mention of my promise, the memories of that day rush back to me. If things don’t go as I hope, I might not even get to see Fluttershy again. At least, most likely, she won’t know it’s me, the one who made that promise—she can go on, imagining I’m safe and sound back in Hasharstan… A tightness in my throat makes me cough, and quickly wipe at my eyes before their building tears can fall; I can’t fool Pinkie though, and her face instantly falls into a frown. “I’m… not sure I’ll be able to keep that promise, so I was-”

“NEVAR!” Pinkie suddenly shouts, brows knitted dangerously angry, making me jump and let out a tiny sound of fear; embarrassing thoughts of what else could’ve happened make me grateful I no longer have a bladder. “Nopony- no one can ever break a Pinkie Promise!” She shoves her muzzle against mine as she shouts, then when she says, “Ne-ver,” she pulls her head back to shake it one way with the first syllable, and the other with the last; finished with that, she returns to staring at me, only now much more seriously. “You just can’t.”

As I calm my heart, I realize what Pinkie had just said. She corrected “nopony” to “no one”?… I wonder if that means what I’m hoping, because if so, she’s not panicking, which would be a good thing if my hints got through to her! “Ah, but, Pinkie… I promised that I would be all right, which I really can’t keep any more because of… certain life-threatening things I need to take care of—things that are more important than my being okay. Those ‘things’ are, actually, the other reason I came to see you: I need your help, but-” I lift a hoof quickly to make sure she doesn’t go rambling again. “-your life won’t be in danger; I can promise you that, but-” I lean forward with a jerk, forehoof still out. “-don’t promise to help me just yet. You… might not like what I’m about to ask you to do…” Wincing at the thought, I pull back, sitting and rubbing at one foreleg with the other as if bruised. Which I might just be in a few seconds if I’m wrong about Pinkie having figured it out and she attacks me as soon as I tell her in a less cryptic way!

“No-no-no-no-no-no-no, you don’t understand!” Pinkie implores as if trying to dissuade the Cutie Mark Crusaders from doing something dangerous. “There’s nothing more important than keeping a Pinkie Promise—the Pinkie Promise overrides everything! Besides-” Pinkie looks to the side, closing her eyes and smiling, smug, as she waves a hoof dismissively. “What could be so important and so dangerous you’d want to take back a Pinkie Promise that you’d be okay?”

“Stopping a war.” That gets her attention: Her eyes pop open and her hoof stops waving, then, creakily (literally), she turns her head to face me, frozen, fearful. “The war between ponies and Changelings that’s coming. I need to talk to Princess Celestia, and you, Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, are the only ones I can think of that not only can, but who will even consider helping me, just like Fluttershy, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash saved my life when we first met.” There. That has to be it: There’s no way she can misinterpret that! Right?

It looks like it: Her eyes are widening, and her mouth opening into a shocked “O”. “Oh… Ohhh… You- You’re- You were… Alternate?” She says my name in a whisper.

Not running away. Not screaming. Not knocking me unconscious. Not even a single sign of aggression or fear… This is… Good? Good! “Yes!” I let out more as sigh of relief than a word. “You’re actually going to give me a chance to explain myself?” The hope in my words could have been baked into a cupcake and eaten—something I half expect to happen, being in the room with the only pony I can think of who just might have the powers to do such.

Immediately, she looks back up at the ceiling, humming, sending a jolt of worry striking through my heart, convulsing, twitching, straining, shuddering, contracting, raising up to block my airway—can’t breathe—and my throat—try to swallow, push back even the tiniest fraction of my nervousness, but can’t! Tears begin to well up. No! I thought I was so close! Why would Pinkie need to think about merely giving me a chance?! I only asked if she would listen to me, not to make a decision on whether to help or not yet! Old images rush back to me: Celestia standing over me… along with the mental images she inspired: burned like an ant under a magnifying glass, crushed under a giant hoof—she could do anything to me. I should get out of here while I still have a chance. The Bearers would have been my best defense, but that’s not going to work now. As long as I’m still alive, I can come up with another plan. No time to think about it here, though. Get out, NOW!

Before I’m even aware of it, I come back to myself to find I’m opening the door and all the muscles in my legs are tense and itching to gallop away. “Hey! Where’re ya goin’?” Pinkie calls out, sounding… insulted, in a depressed way? Daring, I look back to find her slumped down, tears of her own forming, but they splash away when she jumps up, surprised by something. “Whuh- What’s wrong?!” That’s when I feel it: energy, and there’s only one potential source. “Are-… Are you afraid of me?”

I sigh and shiver as I feel the love flowing into me relax my muscles one by one. “No…” I shake my head as I relax my neck, turning to the floor. “No, not of you, but-… I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to convince you. I mean-!” I add with a hysteric voice, to which I laugh at in a relieved way. “I mean, if you had to think that long about just giving me a chance to explain myself, would I have been able to convince you of anything? -and if I couldn’t convince you, then-… then you would get Twilight to call Celestia down here for her to… get rid of me,” I finish with a shiver and fearful gulp, then shake my head at myself. That’s not going to happen now! Wait, why? “Although now I’m curious as to why I can feel a little love coming from you for me, Alternate, not this disguise.”

Slowly, at a normal trot, Pinkie steps up to me and shuts the door again, then… hugs me, surprising me so much I don’t respond for a long moment, then when I think of trying, I only realize that Pinkie is hugging me in such a way that holds down my forehooves—if I hadn’t been able to feel her love, perhaps I might have been frightened by this move, thinking she’s about to attack me. “Because, silly, I figured out you were telling the truth! I wasn’t thinking about whether or not to give you a chance to explain yourself; I was thinking about if I needed an explanation at all to make my decision to support you when you inevitably confront Princess Cadance, Princess Celestia, and Princess Luna, and since you came with me here alone, where you could attack me without anypony knowing, then started talking about stopping the war with Queen Chrysalis instead of replacing me, and you tried to hint to me a couple times that you were Alternate before I finally figured it out, I figured out that you must be telling the truth, especially after, when you thought I wasn’t going to give you a chance, you decided to flee instead of doing something to me to make sure I couldn’t tell anypony about you! I don’t think anypony—or anychangeling (do Changelings say that? ‘Anychangeling’?)—could go that deep into reverse psychology! -but I have one question: You lied when you said you’d been living in Ponyville, didn’t you? The first day you were in Ponyville was that day, wasn’t it?”

“Uh… Uh…” Is all I’m able to “say” until I decide to leave the whole explanation alone and just take Pinkie’s love for me at face value, because, as a Changeling, I can do that without misunderstandings and repercussions of the previously stated. “You-… After reasoning all that out, you only have one question, and that is it? Just me lying about having been in Ponyville before? Which… you’re entirely right about. How did you figure that out, anyway?” Chances are the reason is “because Pinkie”, but on the off-chance, it could turn out to be something useful to my arsenal of information…

“Oh, that?” Pinkie hops back to wave a forehoof nonchalantly. “That’s just my Pinkie Sense telling me somepony new was in town, and it had to be you, because the warm belly feeling stopped when I met you-”—That’s an interesting way of saying “when I attacked you with an ERSATZ SLINGSHOT”!—“-which also explains why my Pinkie Sense didn’t go off today, because you’re not new to Ponyville any more! -bu-uuuu-t that doesn’t explain how you knew so much about me and my five special friends.” She emphasizes the word “special” in an obvious attempt at subtlety, at which I can do nothing but sigh.

It’s not a question, but the asking for information is plain enough. “I… don’t know how I know about the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, Pinkie, truly.” Definitely true: I had assumed before I had watched a show starring these ponies, but I can’t find anything in my memories to support that! “I…” I gulp. “I did lie, but that’s only because I thought it was the truth, but about a week ago, I realized I actually have amnesia—those memories of being in Ponyville? Fabricated by my subconscious to protect my conscious self from breaking down in the middle of dealing with a threat to my life… I’d guess.” I shake my head as I feel tears begin to mark my face. Damn it, I don’t have time for this! I can deal with this later, after I’ve completed my mission! -especially since I don’t even know if this can be dealt with at all!

The wind is knocked out of my lungs by a bodily tackle from the only other in the room, and given the spike in love coming from her, instinctively not even a touch of fear brushes against me, then. Hugging. Typical Pinkie, trying to cheer up someone… “Don’t worry, Altie.” A shock of emotions, not entirely unpleasant, fires through me, bring up memories for a mere split second at the nickname. There’s no way she could know about-! but she is Pinkie… “Don’t worry! I’m sure you’ll get your memories back, someday! If you don’t get ’em back by the time you stop the war from happening, I’ll help you and do my best to convince all my friends to help, too! Pinkie Promise!” Suddenly releasing me and jumping back, I’m left to fall on my face without support, but Pinkie leaps back forward again, to pull me to my hooves. “Oopsie! Sorry about that!” she apologizes before once again pulling back to recite the Promise along with the motions. “Cross my heart, hope to fly/ Stick a cupcake in my eye. Oh, and that goes for helping you with the Princesses and convincing A.J. and Twi to help with that, too!”

I chuckle. “Thank you, Pinkie. I really needed that… -all of that, but I think I should confront Applejack and Twilight alone. I just have a feeling I need to do at least that on my own in order to reduce any chances of either of them thinking I’m manipulating you into manipulating them.” Why do things like this have to get 1,000 times more complicated just by the inclusion of Changelings-? No, not even that! -by the inclusion of one Changeling?! “So, it’d be really helpful if you wouldn’t tell anyone—which is what Changelings say, by the way, not ‘anychangeling’—that I’m here… except maybe Fluttershy, Rarity, and Rainbow Dash; I’m sure they’d love to know I’m okay, but make sure they won’t tell anyone else!” She instantly nods. “Also…” I sigh. “If anything goes wrong, I want you to promise that you won’t help me escape.”

“WHAT?!” she cries out as she jumps up and hangs in the air, mane frizzing out, then inexplicably returning to its curly state when she lands. “No.” She turns her head to the left. “Never.” She turns her head to the right. “Not-” Left again. “-ever!” Right again. “I-” Left. “won’t!” Right.

I wave my forelegs with a downward motion, urging her to calm. “Okay, okay! You can help, but-! in that case, I want you to promise instead that you will only help in ways that it won’t be obvious to anypony that I’m being helped at all. Can you prom- No… You will promise me this.” She doesn’t look very convinced, though. Even Pinkie is equine, though, and with that comes some predictability… “I know you want to help me; maybe more than you would otherwise feel, telling yourself you need to make up for what you did to me the last time.” That gets a wince out of her. On the dot, I’d say. I frown at the fact. “I don’t hold that against you,” I quickly assert. “I understand why you did what you did: I’m a Changeling, which makes- made me a threat in your eyes; you had to protect the ponies you love from being hurt. You had to. You wouldn’t be Pinkie—equine—if you’d done anything different.” That at least brings back something of a smile, shivery as it is. “Back to what I was saying before: I don’t want you to get hurt protecting me, and that especially means I don’t want you being targeted by a mob on a Changeling hunt. Mobs are one of the least rational beasts in existence, and if they see you helping a Changeling…” We gulp in synchronization. “I think you know what would happen then.”

“Okay.” Her voice is almost a whisper now, Fluttershy-like, even. Fearful. Scared, not for what might happen to her, but that her Promise might force her to stay away with me in mortal danger—it’s all in her love. “I Pinkie Promise I won’t put myself in a dangerous situation like that.” This time is my turn to initiate the hug, though not quite as enthusiastically—even if I had Pinkie’s excitability, it just doesn’t seem appropriate. Eventually come the sounds of hoofsteps, drawing both of our ears’ attentions, but their steady, unconcerned pace soothes any fear we might have been heard. Maybe Pinkie’s room really is soundproof, but only one-way? It wouldn’t be the most surprising thing…

A knock on the door, and Mr. Cake’s voice calls. “Pinkie? Amethyst Act? Are you two almost done? I’m sorry to interrupt like this, but Pinkie will need to get back to work soon.”

I disengage, and Pinkie very reluctantly follows to allow me to open the door. “Yes. Good timing, actually; we just finished.” I intend to leave it at that and make to pass the stallion, but he raises an eyebrow and makes a subtle shift so that I would have to squeeze against his side to pass. I step back, matching his eyebrow.

“Allow me to show you out.” Okay… Weird, but let’s not get paranoid here, Alternate. It’s not like you know anything about Mr. Cake, really… you think. He could just be worried I’ll take advantage of any hospitality and swipe one of those admittedly delicious-looking cupcakes. Bah! It’s been a while since I last bemoaned my lack of a sense of taste… At my shrug and nod, he turns to his employee. “Pinkie, I want you to fetch a bag of flour and a bag of sugar from the cellar, and while you’re down there, count how many bags of each we have; got that?” Pinkie nods enthusiastically. “Thank you.”

Pinkie jumps over us and bolts ahead in a pink blur, leaving the two of us to glance meaningfully at each other before letting out our laughs simultaneously. To my surprise, Mr. Cake doesn’t speak to me at all, and I’m led to the kitchen door instead of the bakery entrance, but I shrug both off easily. Mr. Cake just might not be a very sociable pony, or just not feeling sociable at the moment, what with Mrs. Cake someplace unknown to me… and this door is closer to Pinkie’s room, and he probably already figured I’m not here as a customer, even partially. Still, he waves merrily from the doorstep as I take what I believe to be the road in the general direction of Sweet Apple Acres.

I don’t need to walk very far though, for at the second intersection, I come across the Apple mare herself, pulling an empty cart which I assume was full of apples this morning. Speeding up my trot into a canter, I soon come alongside her, earning a curious tilt of the head. I explain quickly. “Applejack, my name is Amethyst Act, and I need to speak with you in someplace private, where there’s the least possible chance of being overheard.”

She nods and looks back ahead. “Alright, Ms. Act. Seein’ how ya know my name already, I’ma guessin’ you also know I work at Sweet Apple Acres; the farm is pretty isolated, and nopony goes inta the barn u’less there’s work ta do in there. That sound alright?” The entire time she looks straight ahead, and though her eyes are narrowed for one reason or another, I feel trickles of energy coming off her.

That only leaves one question. “Hmm, and what of your younger sister? Is there any chance of her barging in?” -along with, probably, the other two Crusaders? I add to myself, huffing out a laugh through my nose.

“Nah**.” She shakes her head with a grin. “After school, she an’ her friends are gon’na go ta Sugar Cube Corner ta think about new Cutie Mark Crusadin’ ideas.” I nod at this, and the two of us continue on, past the outskirts of town and entering the surrounding farmlands; it doesn’t take long to reach Sweet Apple Acres, as the empty cart provides no trouble for the Earth pony. Entering the land of the farm itself, I glance around, curious, but find little of interest: trees all around, stripped of fruit, and no sign of any other pony around. Even in the brightness of the day, the shade provided by these trees in the lonesome silence, invaded only by hoofsteps and the creaking of the wagon’s wheels, makes the place seem uncharacteristically eerie. Realizing the silliness of such things, I sigh and shake my head, trying to force my smile back to where it had been.

The inside of the barn does not have much of an improved atmosphere; if anything, it’s only worse here, and as I pass through those wide barn doors, I actually cringe, lowering myself towards the ground until I catch myself just in time for Applejack, having unharnessed herself, to turn around and slam the barn doors shut with a quick flash of green magic from her invisible horn. No! I lower myself to the best approximation of a fighting stance I know, having never been in combat, or at least “never” as far as I know. BT, what did you do? What are you thinking?!

We stand there for what seems like minutes; I ready to defend myself, and the Changeling in Applejack’s skin… tilting her head and raising an eyebrow at me? Finally, she speaks, dropping the now-obviously fake accent. “What has got you so riled up? I know the news about some rogue group of Changelings has got everyone a little paranoid, but me?” Is she talking about BT’s Changelings? Then that can only mean she’s Chrysalis’s! “Did you honestly think I, Film Listis, couldn’t take care of myself?” She- He places an ironic emphasis on the name of Applejack’s Element, grinning widely at the… joke, before pulling his head up and placing a hoof on his chest proudly, at which point he allows the form of Applejack to burn away.

I manage to pull myself up and stand with my legs straight, but I find I can do nothing else, not even close my mouth. Oh, no. With one of the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony replaced—the real Applejack who-knows-where… most likely in Hasharstan, though—this can only mean that Chrysalis is forging on, making good headway in effectively castrating (or is that “gelding”?) Equestria, which in turn means that she’s who-knows-how-close to launching her second attack! Even if I do manage to convince all three Princesses, would I even have time to dissuade Chrysalis from attacking?! No! I can’t think like that! Just the journey here from Apploosa required a number of alterations to my plans, mostly improvising the whole way! Wait… did he just say-? I think he thinks I’m Chrysalis’s, too! -which means!… Actually, I don’t know what that could mean, but maybe I can use it: I still need Applejack’s support, though whether it’s actually Applejack doesn’t matter as long as everypony thinks it’s her… Urgh, that’s horrible, but there’s just no way for me to get the real Applejack here; I have to work with what I’m given! Also, how did he know about-? Doesn’t matter! All that matters is that he knows!—maybe he has a passive ability to see through disguises like Trixie, but that’s impossible to know, and I don’t think it would be all that wise to ask if I’m going to pretend to have been sent here on Chrysalis’s orders!

Now with some semblance of confidence inside me, the first thing I do is drop my disguise as well, assuming he’s expecting me to do the same—instantly, he gasps and points, making me jump. “Y- You! You! You! You-… You’re alive!? Alive! -even after- after-?” Now it’s his turn to shake his confusion off; I sit there silently and let him do so, waiting for him to speak. If he thinks I’m here on Chrysalis’s orders, it would be as easy as telling him that my mission is part of his Queen’s plans to get “Applejack’s” support, all I need to do is nudge him in the general direction of that conclusion… or maybe I should tell him outright I’m here on Chrysalis’s orders and that she wishes for the Bearers to be made sympathetic to the plight of Changelings for-?… -some reason. Maybe not, then. “I thought for sure you were dead, even when the Pony Princess sent you to the border—which I doubted she actually did, but sent you to a dungeon or something—then surely the Queen would kill you for not only making such a stupid mistake as allowing the pony you were disguised as to run into town, telling everypony a Changeling is using her form, but also endangering the missions of all the Changelings in Ponyville, especially me, obviously one of the, if not the, most important!” He shakes his head again, now with disbelief, chuckling. “Then again, you just as obviously did—somehow!—convince Celestia to let you live, so maybe Queen Chrysalis saw some value in that?” My eyes widen with hope as he looks up at the ceiling in thought, considering. He’s moving in that direction! Should I say something now? It seems like this would be the point to say that, yes, I am here by our Queen’s orders, but what to say?! “Then again…” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s just luck!” He laughs. -or perhaps the supposedly impossible-to-break Pinkie Promise to “be okay”? The thought helps me laugh with him.

As the laughter winds down, which it does fairly quickly, I figure I better start explaining myself. I have no idea what I’ll end up saying, but how’s that different from everything else that’s happened to me since I started traveling with Trixie? “About that… the ‘Queen Chrysalis seeing my value’-thing, that is…” Maybe I can “nudge” him just right with some ambiguity and no actual lies? “Uhm… Well, that is part of why I’m here again, but this time-”

“Say no more!” he declares with an interrupting, pompous wave of his forehoof. “This time we’ll need all six Bearers on the same side if we’re going to get the Pony Princesses to lower their guard!” Yes! I can’t help but grin and be grateful that that same grin can be mistaken as happiness to be taking part in this “brilliant scheme” of Chrysalis’s. “Yes… and I suppose you could use all the help you can get to convince Magic?” The low tone he falls into at the last word, combined with the obvious avoidance of using Twilight’s name to highlight his contempt, pulls me down from my elation. Huh? Is it just me, or did he imply that he knows I’ve already brought Pinkie around? He did say that there are other Changelings working for Chrysalis around Ponyville, but the only pony I know who knows I was there-!… -is Mr. Cake… Again, nothing I can do about it, and even if I could, that would expose me as “not on Chrysalis’s side” for sure! This is my best shot at getting at least one of the Princesses to at least give Changelings a chance to prove we can live in peace.

“Yes,” I answer simply and nod. “With that… I believe that’s all I had to say. I won’t be confronting Twilight now, though. For her I still need to think of a strategy, as even with yours and all the other Bearers’ help, Twilight isn’t one to fall for something as obvious as an ‘appeal to the majority’ attack. We’ll need something not only substantive, but firm and objective.” He nods his understanding before returning to Applejack’s form, which I again take as an invitation to return to my disguise. Only after I’m ready does he open the barn door, this time with a hoof, and points me out with a silent, kind smile, and even though I now know his true affiliation, I can’t help but return a little of that love; after all, if I succeed, then we’ll all be able to put this horrible situation behind us.

Twilight, the only bearer left… I think to myself as I trot along the path back into Ponyville, and through the trees a flash of something catches my eye, and looking up, I gulp at what I see: Canterlot.

Then, the Princesses.