Sparkler, like many of the Outlier Colonies, was both a city and a province. In many ways it could be compared to the main islands of Haywaii, in that it was large enough to have separate niches and pockets of life and activity, yet small enough that those bubbles were always woven together; large enough to get away from it all for an afternoon if you wanted, yet small enough that you could still be home in time for supper. In summation, Sparkler really was the perfect size.
Flashpan bore this in mind as he trudged along the uneven path among the trees on the lower east side of the mountain. His hooves were tired, but he knew that he would reach his destination soon. Or at least he hoped it was his destination. With Wendy Skies, it was hardly a given, given her propensity for exploring and using her wings to do so. But Flashpan knew she was a traditionalist at heart, and so even if she often longed for new adventures, she still treasured the standards.
All this was to say he hoped to find her in her usual moping spot, because otherwise the last three hours of trotting and hiking were for naught. Fortunately, they were not for naught, for he got what he sought: A sulking pegasis sitting in a small shallow cave.
How a pony greets others says a lot about him or her. Flashpan simply could have started with a plain “hello”. But that wasn’t his style, and he wasn’t going to let a salutation crimp his style. So he didn’t.
“Hey, look who’s hiding out in a cave here, frowning at everypony she sees. What’s up girl?”
Wendy Skies couldn’t help but giggle a little. Her faithful friend Flashpan, always knowing when to come cheer her up.
“While I appreciate the obscure yet overused pop culture reference, I do hope you didn’t trot all the way over here just to deliver it?”
“YES! YES I DID! I’M A FAILURE! WAHANGH HANGHHHH! No seriously though, what’s up?” Admittedly, Flashpan could be a bit immature at times.
“Sigh… just, you know, stuff.”
“Stuff?” the earth pony asked.
“Yeah, stuff.”
Flashpan scratched his head. Wendy wasn’t usually this evasive. Something must really be bothering her. “You want to elaborate hon? I’d like to help you with your problems, but you have to tell me what they are first.”
Wendy sighed again. “It’s… my grandpa. He’s… I think he’s dying.” She said it cold, clinically, as if she had used up all her tears and fears about it that morning - which she had.
The words came as a shock to Flashpan, though more for their impact that for their surprise. He couldn’t say he didn’t see it coming. The stallion she spoke of was sixty three after all - not ancient, but certainly not young. Everypony has strengths and weaknesses, and while the goddesses had granted her elder much cunning and wisdom, they had also cursed him with fragility.
“I’m… sorry to hear that.” It was all he could say really, but it was all he needed to say. So she continued.
“He talks of hearing voices, whispers, wailing noises in the night. I think he’s going delusional. He says they’ve told him his time has come, and that he’s ok with that. Maybe he is, but - b-but I’m *sniff* not. I don’t want to lose my grampy!”
She was crying. So sitting in the small lukewarm cave on the east side of the mountain on a sunny summer day in the province of Sparkler, Flashpan did what he always did when he found his friend here crying. He sat down next to her and hugged her.
Wendy Skies saw through her runny eyes that her friend had sat down next to her on the cool damp ground. She felt him wrap a hoof around her in support, and felt her own head resting against his barrel in return. It wasn’t a particularly hard cry -she had used up most of her worries already by the time Flashpan showed up- but it felt good just to sniffle and murmur into his fuzzy orange coat. He didn’t seem to mind. So she just lunged there, drifting peacefully off…
Flashpan Alley sat there with the sleeping young mare leaning against him, and while he wasn’t super duper comfortable, he was certainly content. There were few better feelings than being there for a friend. He was kind of thirsty and his saddle bag was sitting a few feet out of reach, but that could wait. So he just sat there.
But as he sat there, he began to think about what she had said. Her grandfather’s time coming to an end? Wailing in the night? This was disheartening and… interesting. He would have to pay the stallion a visit. If only because it might be the last time he got to. And then maybe pay a second visit to the local library. Wailing premonitions sounded …oddly familiar? Huh. Oh hey, she’s waking up.
“Have a nice nap sleeping beauty?” he asked, looking down at his fuzzy headed friend.
“Who are you? Oh you must be Prince Charming, here to rescue me … or … something?”
The two shared a small laugh. “Come on Wendy, let’s get you home.”
~Dear Diary: I never understood why friendzone is such a derogatory term. Flashpan Alley is the best friend I could wish for.
~Wendy Skies