These City Walls

by KitsuneRisu

Worth Searching For Pt 2

The school bell rang, signalling the end of a long day; the final minute of six cruel hours of learning, and the promised freedom of another evening.

The schoolhouse was small, as they were in the sticks, consisting of three or four classrooms in a long, wooden house, leaving space for a recess area out in the front. There weren't even separate buildings for lower and higher tiers of student, and in the end it all meant that mingling in the halls was unavoidable for very mixed classes of pony.

Budget constraints also meant that there usually weren't many teachers around. Those who finished with their classes were just as, if not even more, eager to leave and get about with their personal lives.

This left the flaking paint on the walls and the wooden cupboards which stood in as lockers to be the only constant vigils of the run-down building that served as the town's primary source of education.

The town itself, a quiet, misty place made out of grey brick and moss, lay somewhere in between Canterlot and Trottingham, along the rolling green hills and embankments of clover. It was the sort of place where every thatched cottage came with its own farmland, and everypony had some sort of specialty good to sell at the market, be it butter or pottery or wool for those cold winter nights.

The place was more of a small village, if we were to be completely honest, where the roads were not so much roads as dirt paths that were made by the process of having ponies trod on the grass until it died, and it served them well until now. The whole area was only called a town because its inhabitants just wanted to sound fancy, which was perfectly within their rights.

It was here in this unnamed town, at the ringing of the bell, when a small, bright yellow hoof stuck itself out of the door to class 3-C, and pulled its owner through.

Chatter in the main hallway died down, and most ponies who lingered behind suddenly found something very interesting to do inside their lockers, or something rather interesting to read on the wall which would take the exact amount of time required for Canary to walk past.

And with her book-bag slung over her back, and a vapid, uncaring gaze regarding the world, the young and fresh-faced Canary made her way down the rows of classes toward the exit, all others turning away from her and being suddenly distracted.

She didn't walk with much haste. She didn't have anywhere good to go that would benefit from her arriving there early. At the very most, she only wanted to be away from all those ponies ignoring her. Being ignored was a good thing; she enjoyed it thoroughly, but not when it was in the way that just gave her more attention.

But reacting to it... that was probably the worst thing she could do, she figured, so out she strolled, at her regular pace at her regular time, into the sunshine that greeted her at the main doors of the schoolhouse.

She blinked tiredly at the sun, looking upward at the sky and drawing in a ragged, expressive breath, and then turned to her direct right to take the side path home.

Her house was at the end of this side path, so-called due to the fact that it led away from the town center rather than toward it, and that was one of the reasons why very few ponies wandered down that way.

The other reason was because the path led its traveller past the rear of the schoolhouse, where the shed was, and if anypony would tell you anything, it's that the shed was not a place one would like to be after school.

Even now, as Canary trudged by, she could do nothing to ignore the fact that there was a first-grader being held up against her will in the shadows of the trees that lined the rear border of the school's boundaries, by a young colt named Fleece who was in the same class as her.

She narrowed her eyes as she plodded on.

"Alright, let's have it then," said Fleece, nudging the youngster in the haunch with his hoof.

"Please sir.."

"Go on, give it up!"

And Canary walked, just looking, circling around Fleece's back as she made her way down the path.

For just that moment, the youngling's eyes caught Canary's, and sent her a plea for help, for rescue, and for a saviour, a look that made Canary stop walking for just a short moment in that time and space.

"Eh? What's that then?" commented Fleece, as he turned around, noticing where the younger pony's eyes were going. "Oh, it's you."

That moment of distraction was enough. The smaller pony took to running, bolting from her position up against the wall of the shed, and making a mad scramble for freedom towards the other end of the building.

"Wha... Oi!" yelled the senior, spinning around to give chase.

And it was then; also, that Canary's horn flickered with magic, and she directed it towards the fleeing figures, sparks extruding from its tip.

A strange warm glow of light enveloped the four limbs of the running pony, like anklets of light, as they drew themselves toward each other all of a sudden, cutting their owner off from the ability of movement and sending her crashing to the ground.

Fleece came to a stop above the still and groaning body of the little first-grader.

"Heh," he said, turning back toward Canary. "Thanks, Jailbird!"

Canary didn't respond, save to continue walking. A glum and angry look crossed her face, but she kept it to herself, bowing her head down low as she continued onward home, each step just the one preceding the next.

But a noise of running from behind her made her take notice, and made her level of alertness rise a notch, although her head held straight and true, and she didn't bother turning to look. In a way, she already knew who it was anyway. It was the only pony who would bother to try to run after her in the first place.

Madeleine was her only, to term it loosely, friend in the entire town. She was her friend more out of convenience than anything else, and was the only other one who lived down this stretch of the way. They had grown up being neighbours, and over the course of the years, she had come to understand the pony who was Canary.

"Hey! Wait up!" she yelled, dust kicking up as she stormed down to catch up with the closing figure of yellow.

"What do you want, Maddy?" Canary asked, as she slowed to a walk by her side.

"I was watching back there," she said, huffing to catch her breath. "What was going on?"

"Nothin'."

"Come on, Canary! That kid got his bits stolen, you know?" Madeleine's curly, blonde hair bobbed in her gait.

"So what?"

"So what's that why didja do it?" Maddy said awkwardly, trying to string together a comprehensive statement.

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Doesn't matter!" snorted Canary. She was used to this sort of conversation with Madeleine by now. It wasn't the first time that Canary had done something quite odd and 'mean', which is what gave everypony that impression of her in the first place.

It was always usually the same sequence of events, too - starting with Canary's actions, and then Maddy's admonishment, and then some sort of back and forth tennis match between them while Madeleine desperately tried to make Canary behave in some way or another.

"It does matter," replied Madeleine, almost as if following a script.

"Why?"

"Because you should be nicer!"

"I was being nice!"

"How were you being nice? You helped that mean old bully!"

"Yeah? Stupid kid was running. That'd make Fleece mad, and when he gets mad he likes to hit ponies."

"I don't see what was nice!"

"Well, now Fleece just took the kid's money, and he won't beat her up. If he had to run after her, he'd have done both. I saved the kid a beating. That's nice, isn't it?"

"No, Canary, it really isn't!"

"You just don't understand!" came the tried and true defence of the child.

In the near distance a house appeared on the horizon, getting ever closer with each step of the pair of ponies.

"Well you could have stopped Fleece, right?"

"No, Maddy, then tomorrow the kid'd get beat, and have her bits taken, and I'd also be beat, and everyone'd be angry."

"I don't like it, Canary."

"Doesn't matter."

"You should have stopped him, Canary!"

"Well, you were watching, right? Why didn't you stop him?" Canary shot back, as they came to a stop outside the front gate of the house.

"Because I'm not strong like you, Canary. You have good magic. You can stop anyone you want. The bullies don't mess with you because they know you're strong. And you can help, Canary, with your magic, and your strength."

"I told you, I was helping."

"No, Canary," Maddy shook her head. "There's a good way to help and a bad way to help. You only do things the bad way. Sometimes you need to fight for the good thing."

"There's no point fighting! I told you this a hundred times!"

"Why not, Canary?"

"Because you can never win. Never."

"One day you'll see, Canary. You'll understand," Maddy said as she turned into the compound of her house. "Anyway, see you tomorrow, ok?"

"Yeah, ok. Bye, Maddy," Canary muttered, continuing onward to her own homestead which lay a bit further down the road.

Canary felt nothing particularly strong about any of this. What she did... was just logical, that's all. Nothing more than that. Justice was just a part of a hard life that was only good or bad depending on your perception, and in the end, things had to be metered out to keep the oppressors happy, or else bad things will become of everything.

And this was an ideology that she learnt, living in her home with her father. Even as young as she was then, already, the jaded facts of life crept into her mentality and her spirit, and dulled them on rocks. She now kept a lot of things locked away where she didn't have to think or feel about them, and that suited her just fine.

The words of Madeleine, her best friend, who constantly tried to steer her into the right direction, also fell hardly on the stone, and was akin to throwing eggs on a wall.

The walk home once again returned to the action of it, as she approached the run-down, shoddy cottage of her childhood.

The yard was unkempt, as was the fence; overrun by weeds and other sorts of pests. There were odd things placed in it, only disguised by the long grass which kept them hidden away because even the lawn itself was embarrassed to have an old, broken and dingy oven lying in it.

The gate didn't need opening, it had long since rusted in a permanently ajar position, and no one would bother entering a place like this anyway; all boundary lines were there just for the hell of it.

The only things that still worked were the windows and doors, and mainly they were to keep out drafts.

And young Canary felt a lump in her throat, as she always did, when she entered the confines of her house. There was an invisible barrier encircling it that, when she crossed it, caused her no end of anxiety of some form. She didn't know where it came from, herself, but she wasn't the kind for self-reflection, and preferred it to remain a mystery.

The front door was where she came to a stop, and habit had her halt to listen before nudging it open. The stark silence that greeted her on the doorstop meant that her father was either out or asleep, either of which was a relief to her.

And not a moment did she waste sneaking into her room and hiding behind the safety of the confines of her personal space, for all that silence was a bliss she knew would not last for long.

There was a time when fighting for the good of things was something that was still done around the house. Mostly, since she was still young, by her mother, who still would speak up against the late nights in which Canary's father would come home, and the terrible alcoholic vapours he brought with him.

About how he would do nothing all day and the kind of example he gave to their precious daughter.

Things like this that were said that slowly gave way to other statements.

Just go to your room and go to sleep, ok, honey?

I'm not crying, it's alright. Your father's just in a bad mood, that's all.

When your father gets back, don't mention the bruises, alright? Good girl.

You can never win, Canary. You can never win.

You can never win.

,---(*< ~---,
'---------------'
 
"These kinds of towns, they're good and bad, you know?" Canary said suddenly, looking up from the stack of large sheets she had in front of her. Scrolls undone lay in a pile on the drawing table, as she looked through each one to sort out which was actually relevant to their interests. It turns out that the mayor did, in fact, keep record, and all too much of it - from building plans to potential expansions to nearly everything built in the town ever, it was going to take a while to sort it all out, especially when you had to go back a number of years.

"What do you mean?" asked Blitz, standing over a flat table with her own set of scrolls. Her set was a little different; and she was arranging them in a peculiar order.

"There's a lot of heart in small towns. Lot of heart. Some of the best ponies in the world. Some of the worst, too. But so different in the way that a city is good or bad, you know? It's just... different."

"I must say, this is really quite unlike you."

"What?"

"I don't think I've ever heard you say anything that wasn't direct and to the point, and I think I might have had actual trouble trying to understand what you're saying here, Canary."

The policepony clicked her tongue with impatience.

"I can't explain it. You just gotta know. It's different. The ponies that come out of the city and come out of a small town. You just know where ponies are from because they carry their homes around with them."

"Well, that's psychology, isn't that?"

"Definitely not!" A bunch of papers rolled up and flew back to the wall, leaving one behind. "Here, grab this. It's for the pile."

"You still haven't told me why you hate psychology so much, Canary," Blitz said, bringing the remaining diagram to her table in her mouth.

"Nothin' sayin'," Canary responded.

"Well, that's alright. You'll tell me when you want to."

"Yeah, that's right, don't you forget it."

"So, which one are you, then?"

"Eh?"

"City pony or town pony? Which one are you?"

Canary dumped a new stack of scrolls on the drawing table, cocking her head to the side as she gave it a bit of thought.

"Neither," she answered.

,---(*< ~---,
'---------------'
 
The seasons left things behind, as they slowly shifted by. From Spring to Summer, from Autumn to Winter, and in the end, a house with one fewer member was the result of a many number of seasons passing in quick succession.

Or at least, it felt quick to Canary, for there wasn't anything holding the days back in remembrance or in the eager waiting of an upcoming date.

It had been a few years already when she came home to an empty kitchen or living room, already far used to the only other presence that awaited her in the run-down house. She had stopped calling it her home, and started to call it 'the house'; to her it was just someplace in which she shared quarters with a strange pony who stopped being her father before she was born.

It was now the sordid situation where they never spoke, never made eye contact, and simply just realised that their relationship was that of mutual understanding - in that her father owned the house and she bought room in exchange for helping out with the groceries.

But today was a special day.

It wouldn't be mentioned if it wasn't.

Today was the day she walked up the front yard of the other house that lay down the old side path, upon which she rapped sharply on the stony oak door.

The door which opened, as it would, and the surprised face behind it, also aged by the years, exclaimed in surprise.

"Well, ah... this is new," said Madeleine.

"Hi," Canary said, gruffly, looking at her as she came out from her house.

"Would... would you like to come in? I can put the kettle on..."

"No, it's fine. Could we just talk in the garden?"

"Yeah, of course, of course," she said, a touch concerned, shutting the door behind her as she trundled down to the open patch of grass that served as their yard. "It's... been a while, Canary."

"Yeah, it has."

"Are you in trouble? Do you need help?"

"No, Madeleine. I just came here to tell you something, that's... that's all."

Canary stared off into the rising sun, as it lazily arced over the lands of Equestria, bringing a new day to the world. It was far away, a place she was going to be part of very soon.

"What is it?"

"I'm leaving."

A bird called its lonely song, as it soared overhead.

"You're... leaving?"

"Yeah. I'm going away. Canterlot."

"What... eh..." her question faded into a sort of groan. There wasn't really anything she could ask that she didn't already know the answer to. Why? That was obvious. Where? She just said it. When? Probably now, or at least as soon as possible.

"But you're doing so well," Madeleine settled on. "It's been a while since we last spoke, I know, but... I've heard things. You've really changed since we were young."

"I know, Madeleine. Deputy Sherriff, who'd have thought, huh?" Canary commented, casting a wistful glance at the silver badge that adorned her chest. "But... I dunno. I just can't take it anymore."

"Is it the stress? You could always just get a different job..."

"It's not about the job itself, Madeleine. I like the job. It's the fact that... that there's one guy, just one guy who really deserves being arrested the most, but I can't touch him. And I can't take it."

A tired look of defeat passed by Madeleine's face, her eyes sinking with empathy.

"You... you have to let it go, Canary. You really do."

"I know, Madeleine! I know. It's not easy, alright? If there's one thing that I said to myself was that... that through this all, I was going to find a way to fight it. Fight what's good. Not turn into... you know. I remember... you were the one who told me all this stuff many years ago."

"Then why..."

"But I can't do it with him looming over me every single day! I can't live like this, with a constant reminder every single day I go home! So, I can't do anything, and I'm going to leave. Maybe with distance, I can finally forget. Maybe I can finally put it behind me, Madeleine."

"Well... if that's your choice, Canary."

"I'm afraid it is."

The winds kicked up, rolling across the gentle blankets of grass, creating rippling waves over the banks of green.

"Canary... why don't you call me Maddy anymore?"

"Where'd that come from?"

"Nowhere. Just... you don't call me Maddy anymore, like you used to."

"Well... it's not your name, Madeleine."

"No... no it isn't."

She wasn't entirely satisfied with that sort of answer; but then again, who could be? But that was just a sign of what Canary had become. All too rigid. All too much like concrete. In her efforts to be a better person, she had to brick up who she learnt to be.

"Well, thank you for letting me know, Canary," she said finally.

"Don't tell anypony else where I'm going, alright?"

"Alright."

They stared at each other, the two of them, eyes locked, for just a moment more, and then Canary turned, closing her eyes, and started off down the long journey that would take her to Canterlot. It was a long walk, and she had barely made it out of the gate when she heard a voice calling her from behind, just like she was used to hearing all those years ago.

"Canary."

"Yeah?" She didn't turn back.

"I don't know what's happened, Canary. I won't say I know. When we were young... I always knew you were good inside, Canary. Truly good. Not good just for the sake of proving that you can be. I know right now... you have something to prove. Something to show. When you leave, wherever you might end up... remember this. Don't give up on yourself. I didn't give up on you."

"You won't have to prove a thing to anypony anymore, Canary. But... I think you're still capable... of doing good. Of being good. And please, be well, Canary. Don't give up, Canary."

"Whatever," Canary said, and pushed through the gate.

"Don't give up," Maddy said to herself.

,---(*< ~---,
'---------------'
 
"So why'd you become a cop, anyway?" asked Blitz.

"Why'd you become a... whatever it is you do?"

"Sculptor. And it's because I like making things. It's rather fun, and a good way to express oneself. Do you like... policing?"

"It's manure."

"Really now."

"Somepony told me, a long time ago... that I had something to prove."

"... and?"

"And that's it, really. I never understood it. Go figure it out yourself."

"You just don't seem to be the kind of pony who'd end up as a police officer, that's all."

"Oh really? Well, tell you what, little miss shrink, what kind of pony do I strike you as, then?"

"Bureaucrat."

"Oh you... you really...."

"I'm just kidding, Canary. Although, most ikkophobic, angry ponies do work in government."

"Yes, like Princess Celestia, I suppose?"

"Well... no, not her..."

"And the mayor of this town, too? So full of hate, that one."

"Remind me never to joke around with you, Canary."

"That'd be for the best. I don't have a sense of humour that I am aware of."

"See, now that was a pretty good joke."

"What?"

"Oh, right, of course."

"You know, strange you should mention government, though."

"What about?"

"Nearly ended up in it once."

"You don't say?"

"Yeah. Many years back."

"Well, go on then?"

"Go on... what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me the story?"

"You have got to be joking."

"Oh, no, Canary. I just learnt that I shouldn't with you, remember?"

,---(*< ~---,
'---------------'
 
The castle shot up, like out of a fairy tale, each tower and parapet a mighty sentinel that stood guard over the entire city. Canary couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed. It was her first time in such a very large place, with all the buildings and the people, and the castle, oh boy, the castle.

She felt it was looking at her. She felt each brick was alive, and it silently judged her and gauged her every step, passing notes along down the hall to warn the other bricks of her impending arrival as she carried herself as regally as possible into the main chamber.

Being a unicorn from the country, she naturally took magic for granted; always finding it just a little bit more convenient than the others to do anything she needed, and as such she held back with it.

But here, she was amongst peers; amongst a land which glowed with magic that existed as a way of life rather than a skill to make a day pass a little bit easier.

And so fast did life travel here. Not only a day had she arrived in Canterlot, had she already found lodgings - albeit stuck in some sort of hostel where she shared a common room with fifteen other ponies whom she hated already for various colourful reasons - and did she make her way up to the castle to apply for the only one single job that made sense to her.

And what incredible luck, for it was 'today only'. Tryouts, the poster said, for Celestia's royal vanguard unit. The golden-clad ponies in handsome helmets and shining spats; the ones who represented the Princess and the entire city of Canterlot.

They were regal, and royal, and had the most important job in the world. At least, that's how it seemed to Canary, who had heard about them - and who wouldn't have - all the way in her tiny town up in the hills.

The vanguard! The ones who were held in such high esteem! The ones who were always around handling the problems that other mortal folk couldn't!

What a life it would be to be one, right? What an incredible honour.

So, what do they do?

Well, stand around, mostly. And not talk.

Canary didn't know that, at the time.

This led her to the main hall, where there were a whole bunch of extremely buff Pegasus ponies milling about, all socializing within small pockets here and there. A table, draped with velvet and purple, was placed in front of the staircase that headed upward to the Castle's higher echelons.

Behind the table was the object of desire; a pair of ponies, standing still as a frozen pond, gazes reaching out and slapping anyone who dared to walk by. Gazes hidden behind those helmets of gold. The dullness in their eyes hidden behind a suit of armour.

The floor quietened as Canary took her first steps into the room from the entryway. Chatter stopped. Hubbub disappeared. Most of the heads turned to look, and many voices started a whisper. It was all the two recruiters could do not to turn and look for themselves, but they had to obey the rules.

Canary almost felt as if she were back in school again, walking down the hallways of the classes where she once made such notoriety for herself.

But this time, her goal was to find that notoriety. Her goal was to be accepted as one of them; as one of these ponies who were judging her with every confident step.

She was clearly the only female there, standing before the shiny marbled floors of the main castle stairway - she was at least half the size of anypony else in the entire room, but wore upon her face a look of determination that rose up above her in wafts of mist.

It was a combination of these two qualities that made her audience quit whatever they were doing and stare blankly. When you need to make snap judgements, you tend to be derailed if there were two overpoweringly clashing elements in play, such as having the best fruit drink you have ever tasted before in your life and then looking down only to discover that it was actually a cupful of gravy.

Only her hoofbeats were left playing percussion on the floor as she strode up to the desk.

"I'm here to apply for the vanguard."

The guard to the left swallowed.

His eyes darted to his companion standing to the right.

"You want to... join the vanguard?" The helmet asked, slowly, deliberately.

"Yes, that's what this is for, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am, but..."

"But what?" Canary spit out, eyes narrowing.

It was hard to keep one's voice down in a place like this, a huge cavern that was built, no doubt deliberately, to make sure that every tiny noise could be audible throughout the open space, and maybe even down a few corridors.

It didn't help that one was speaking with raised tones.

'How can I put this delicately' was one of the two phrases of the day running through the recruiter's mind at the moment. The other one was questioning the gods of chance as to why this pony in front of him had not picked his recruiting buddy to engage with rather than him.

"Ah... well, ma'am. The vanguard are formed of elite soldiers hoof-picked from across the globe."

"And?"

"And... amongst these other Unicorns that you see here in the hall... not even all of them might make the final cut."

"And?"

"There is the question of mental and physical prowess required to..."

"Oh, right, it's a female thing, is it?" Canary didn't bother to sugar-coat her own words, unbalancing the recruiter a little.

"Ah, well..."

"You're saying I'm not strong enough, or fast enough, or smart enough? Because I'm a lady?" Canary shot the word 'lady' out like a bad piece of cheese.

"No, not at all, ma'am, I mean... we just don't get very many females applying... but for... logical reasons."

He was trying his best.

"Alright, let me tell you something. In the two minutes that I've been in this room, let me share with you what my mental faculties are capable of. How about that?"

"Ah..."

"For one, there are fourteen applicants in this room, not including myself. Bubba Joe there, in the corner?" She jerked her head toward a brown unicorn stallion who was leaning against a Victorian column of some sort. "He's not an applicant. He's one of you guys, isn't he?"

Fourteen heads suddenly turned to look at the stallion, who suddenly looked a bit nervous, and started to dart his eyes about.

"How did you..." asked the recruiter.

"You just told me," said Canary. "Also, when I came in, he was the only pony in the entire room more focused on someone else other than himself. He was standing alone, and his stance? Body askew, head turned to look. Defensive positioning. He doesn't want to be noticed. Compared to every other pony in here who is trying his best to make an impression."

The brown that masked the pony in question's flesh started to glow a bit red, as he suddenly excused himself from the room.

"Secondly," continued Canary. "That applicant sign-up form you have there in front of you? I believe one of the spaces there calls for gender. So obviously whomever first thought up of this lovely application progress didn't foresee a problem with sexism amongst their own personnel."

"It's an old form..." muttered the recruiter, weakly, his defences breaking.

"Thirdly, you're new, aren't you?"

"Ah..."

"Yeah, both of you are. Veterans don't get given desk jobs. Not to mention, they don't try to dissuade any pony trying to sign up for their organization, and they most certainly, most certainly, do not, without a doubt, ever, show signs of weakness when a lady decides to show that she has more hoof than they do."

"Well... I... I..."

"Finally, if it's experience you're worried about, I've been a Deputy Sherriff of a town, that's right, an entire town, for years. I have dropped crime like a cat off a hot tin roof, and I've even rescued a few cats from hot tin roofs myself."

The recruiter wanted to say something. Anything. He truly did. But the words would not form. They wouldn't even congeal into anything remotely appropriate for what was going on.

"And if you want me to prove my strength and capabilities on a physical level, I would be glad, and nothing would make me happier, if you and I could both step in a ring and see who lasts the longest. But I believe that would be a waste of time, and resources, especially by now I think you and I both know who will win. So either we can stay here and let me banter all day, or you could take your quill, keep your judgements to yourself, and fill in my application."

The room drowned with white noise. That sort of hollow sound you hear in caves or if you put your ear to a cup, it was all over.

After a very tight ten seconds, the sound of hooves clapping could be heard coming from one very pallid pony behind her, which stopped as soon as Canary turned to stare at whoever was doing that stupid thing.

The recruited cleared his throat.

"Ah... name p...please?" he dipped his quill in the ink, ready to jot all relevant information down.

It did not take that much time for everything to be wrapped up nicely in a little bag with a bow to go. Once professionalism had been offered, professionalism was given back in spades.

This was it. This was how life was in the big city. It was a place where you had to be so defensive that it was offensive. You had to be pre-emptively defensive. You had to pressure, and taunt, and poke your hoof in many holes to get away with what you wanted.

And all there was left was the one last hole to poke your hoof into.

"Alright, Miss Blue," said the recruiter, having finished all the details of the form. "We have one more step before we can allow you into consideration."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"It's just a psychology evaluation, miss. Everypony has to go through with it. It will take approximately half an hour, and you will just have to sit down with one of our psychologists, in private, and have a little talk. If you're ready, just pass behind those curtains to your left, please."

"Thank you. I shall be heading that way now," Canary nodded.

She swung around, noting, in passing, that two other ponies had left since her rant, and walked toward this annex which had a large, red velvet curtain drawn across it. Sniffing in her last breath, she pushed the veil aside, and stepped within.

- - -

"What do you mean, not accepted?!" screamed Canary.

"I...I...I'm sorry, miss Blue! But... your psych eval came back, and..."

"Is this some kind of play?"

"No, no, miss, it's completely legit. Not many ponies fail the psych eval, but there's a number of reasons..."

"Oh what, I'm crazy? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, of course... of course not... please stop shouting..."

"What is this psychology thing for anyway? Isn't psychology to weed out the nutters?"

"No, miss... really, it's not like that. The vanguard requires ponies who do not fall into certain... niches of mindset... and unfortunately our doctors have determined that you fall into one of those... niches."

"Well, he's wrong! I demand a retest!"

"I'm sorry miss, but... ah... we have a lot of ponies to get through today, and we can't make exceptions for any one pony. I'm afraid your application has been denied."

"I don't believe this," shook Canary's head.

"It's out of my hooves, miss. I don't want to start any trouble..."

"No, you know what? Fine. I'm leaving. I'm leaving your stupid boy's club, and I'm taking all that I have to offer with me. If you think this means I've given up, think again, buddy. I'll see you down the road, you can count on it."

"Please don't come find me..."

With an overly-loud 'hmmph', and the sound of hooves squeaking across floor tile, Canary stamped, muttering all the way about psychology and the amazing ridiculousness that it brought along, out of the main room and into the open lands of Canterlot.

Denied. Declined. Unacceptable. No matter how you spun it, it reeked of failure. Failure in a room where everypony could hear. A room where even special ponies could hear.

There did exist one spot in the room, one tiny, miniscule point where sound didn't run rampant into the ears of eavesdroppers. That point was a tiny alcove at the top, near the landing of the stairs that branched out to the right. A veritable sweet spot where one, if one were inclined, could stand in and hear everything but not be heard yourself.

Princess Celestia vacated this spot, and made her way, regally and royally, down the stairs.

Of course, all the bows and processions did come along with it, but the important thing was her curiosity surrounding this most recent of rejects.

"She didn't make it?" Celestia asked the recruiter, as he returned to an upright standing position from his kneel. It was a redundant question. She had heard everything since the first shout.

"No, my Princess. She failed the psych evaluation."

"May I see the doctor's notes?" Celestia said, neither frowning nor smiling, but expression locked in one of an itch that required information to be scratched.

"Of course, your highness."

The stack of scribbles in hasty writing shuffled across the desk toward Celestia, who dragged it over with the barest of efforts from her horn.

"Final prognosis," she read aloud, to herself. "Subject Canary, Blue, challenges authority and is unsuited for a life of regiment. While she displays observational skills and deductive capabilities on par with veterans, her nature of questioning everything will hinder both herself and the company she will be placed in. She is an individualistic character who thinks too much out of the box. She would be much more suited for life in an organization with more relaxed formalities. Subject Canary, Blue, is not ideal for inclusion in the vanguard."

"Very interesting," Princess Celestia concluded. "Might I keep this? This... Canary character... I feel I shall be meeting her again sometime in the future."

"Well, your highness, she did say she was going to run into me again down the road."

"Oh yes, of course. Of course. Ponies like her... can't stay out of trouble. For better or for worse."

"I still don't want her to come find me, Princess..."

"Oh, don't worry. I doubt your role will extend that far," Celestia smiled at the young vanguard recruiter.

,---(*< ~---,
'---------------'
 
The final pile of charts and maps and plans were filed back into their original spaces, leaving only five that had been deemed 'usable' by Canary. They were placed on top of one another, spread out, in order of yellow, denoting that they were, in fact, sorted by age.

"Alright, this is what we need, Canary?"

"Yeah, think so."

"That didn't take too long, did it?"

"Didn't it? Felt like a lifetime to me."

"Well, you seem to have been distracted by something all this while."

"Yeah... probably. Being back here in the country... brings back memories. Not all good."

"At least there were some good ones."

Canary stopped a while to consider that.

"No, actually, I think they were all pretty bad. But I tell you what, despite all of it, I still miss the country sometimes. Or maybe I should say I can't really escape the country. Seems to follow me around like a hungry cat."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was born in the country. Small town. Left. Went to the city. Became a cop. Got assigned to the country again. Then came out, re-assigned to Canterlot, and now, on what has to be the craziest and most irresponsible case of my life, I'm back in the Colt-damned country again."

"What would you call Cloudsdale?"

"What?"

"I was just thinking... place like Cloudsdale? Is it country or city?"

"I... I don't know. It floats, doesn't it?"

"Yesssss...?"

"Well... answers your question doesn't it? Can't very well be in the country if it's not even on the bloody countryside."

"... you know, it's remarkably refreshing talking to you, Canary."

"Shut up."

"So if you wanted to work in the country, why'd you apply for the city afterward?"

"Well, I didn't actually want to go to the country. I was supposed to go straight to Canterlot after I had graduated from basic. But something happened and..."

"And?"

"They refused to put me anywhere in the city. Told me I needed to get out there and learn things first. One day as a police constable, and I get my first black mark on my record."

"What could have possibly happened that would result in something like this?"

"I don't want to talk about it. It wasn't anything terribly bad, or anything. Nopony got killed or nothing like that. It just... caused me a lot of confusion. I don't like being confused. I've spent the last few years putting it out of my head. I don't really want to go back there again."

Canary winced, suddenly, like a migraine had suddenly decided that now would be the best time to make itself known.

"Damnit," she spit, under her breath.

"You ok, Canary?" asked Blitz.

"Yeah... think this whole case is getting to me. It's had me running around in circles since day one, you know? Everypony all wrapped up in this... for some reason civilians are involved, one of you is missing for Colt knows why, and I left my idiot of a partner up alone in Canterlot. It's giving me a headache, Blitz. A headache."

"Yeah, but there's a reason you asked me along."

"What would that be?"

"Figured you need someone to tell you that things'll be ok. So, things'll be ok," Blitz shrugged. "Everything's just going about a little differently. So let's get back to this, and let's go find that thing you're looking for."

"Yeah, you got it," agreed Canary, without thinking much on it.

"So... what are we looking for, anyway?"

"When I went to visit Princess Celestia earlier on, she was telling me how this Ouros fella used to mark down information for his next attack. Sorta like a prediction, I guess? Something or other. Whatever it was, the last time Ouros disappeared, so did his prediction. It was never retrieved. We're here to find it."

"But that was... how many years ago?"

"About a thousand and a bit. Just before the whole business with Nightmare Moon, apparently."

"How's this prediction supposed to still be around after a thousand years?"

"Well, before I left the castle, I got into this exact same thing with the princess. The only answer is... it's old magic. And old magic is powerful stuff. It protects itself, you know? Now with Ouros back again, Princess Celestia seems to reckon that certain forces of the universe or whatever crazy hokum old magic laws she was running off about will make the prediction found because it wants to be."

"I... see. And the maps?"

"Maps are gonna tell us where to start looking for it."

"But these maps go back two hundred years at best, Canary. There's an eight hundred year gap. How is this going to help at all?"

"Well, because Princess Celestia gave me something else," Canary said, as her saddlebag flap flew open, and a small rolled up scroll popped out. "And I think this little thing will take us right to the prize."