//------------------------------// // Chapter 3: The Moving Reprise // Story: Hooves Holding Hearts // by Paleo Prints //------------------------------// Hooves Holding Hearts Chapter 3: The Moving Reprise Pain crept up on the sleeping Lyra, shook her rudely by the shoulder, then forced her eyelids awake by pulling itself through her ear cavity and jump-kicking her brain. As she woke up screaming, the pain decided to stay awhile. “Ugh.” Lyra lifted herself upright on the nursery bed, rubbing her eyes with an unsteady hoof. By now the pain in her head had made itself at home, put up curtains, and rearranged the furniture. “Whut happa’?” “Hey,” said something that sounded like manic depressive roadkill. “You’re awake. Come get a look what the little tyke’s up to.” Lyra forced herself upright, grabbing consciousness tightly. Her bleary eyes revealed the nursery walls bathed in dozens of flickering candles, every one of them perched on a miniature birthday cake. She saw Bon Bon sitting by the crib in the dimly illuminated center of the darkened room, and briefly thought of the beginning of a Canterlot play as the lights first come up. “Heya, Hun,” Bon Bon said with a grin, her eyes bloodshot. She rubbed a hoof maternally down the side of the crib, which was entwined all over in slightly pulsating roots. “She’s awake. Take a look at our baby.” Lyra leapt onto her hooves. “Bonny, are you all right?” She walked forward, staring into her spouse’s grinding forced grin before she looked into the crib. There was something growing in it, certainly, but Lyra would be hard-pressed to call it a foal. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the wooden mass in the center. Expanding and retracting as if breathing, a tangle of roots and vines in the shape of a young foal stared up at Lyra with eyes made of acorns that swiveled in her direction. As it rolled onto its back, hooves kicking into the air, she could hear a wet sound like someone breathing through moss. The odor of compost drew tears from her eyes. “Bonny,” she said with a swallow and a deliberate step backwards, “what’s that thing in the crib?” As a forelimb was thrown around her neck, Lyra let out a cross between a scream and a shriek. “That’s a maredrake, silly,” whispered Cheerilee as she stepped out of the shadows and pulled Lyra into a proud hug. “Well, you never did pay attention in science class to anything but me. I’m proud of you, Ly-Ly. It’s really progressive of you to foster one.” A wingtip from out of the shadows tapped Lyra’s shoulder, drawing a slight jump from her. “She’s real pretty!” Ditzy Doo stared at Lyra with two stationary golden eyes, and Lyra would always remember that as the most chilling moment. “I’m so excited for you, Lyra! I baked a muffin cake as a going away present! His name’s Enrique!” “Hola, señorita.” The candles flared on a nearby table, revealing a giant muffin with glazed raisin eyes, a sombrero filled with candles, and a vibrant mustache. “Um. Hi?” Lyra waved weakly in his direction, and felt the back of her mind crack as the thing somehow bowed. It smiled. “I am honored to be consumed by you for this occasion.” She kept nodding as she pulled out of Cheerilee’s grasp, the sweet smell of her mane bringing painful memories to the surface. “Bonny, can we go somewhere to talk. Something’s wrong.” Bon Bon rubbed the squirming wood-pile in pony form along what might have been a belly before nodding. “Sure. After all, we have two babysitters. What could--” The candles in the room flared, sending streaks of flame across the rainbow-patterned wallpaper. A deep laugh came from the doorway, bellowing out of a hooded figure too wide for sanity’s sake. It leapt in front of Lyra, landing with four loud knocks upon the floor. The three other mares shrunk back from it, sharing terrified glances amongst themselves. Lyra gritted her teeth, wishing she had a bottle to break. “Who in Tartaurus are you?” “I come as the harbinger of doom, Lyra Heartstrings! I return to finally end your chances at parenting!” With that pronouncement, the mysterious figure threw back its hood, revealing an oak-panelled finish. “I am... the Table!” Lyra stepped back at the sight of the familiar furniture, knees shaking, and her rump rammed into the crib. A piercing cry filled the air, a sound like warped wooden instruments in a high pitched chorus. Lyra plugged her ears with her hooves, leaning against the crib as she stared at the table through tear-filled eyes. “No. It can’t be you. This doesn’t make sense.” As Lyra’s mind decided that the featureless table was somehow smiling, the pain decided it was in well-over its head and fled out of hers. Lyra looked away, the pain only a momentary comfort as she noticed the three sprawled and motionless mares around her. “No,” she whispered, rolling Bon Bon over with a hoof as the room filled with flame. “Bonny, wake up.” A single look told her that her spouse was unlikely to comply soon, or in fact ever again. “Thus,” said Enrique solemnly as his sides caught fire, “is the way of all batter.” As the table laughed, itself wreathed in flames, Lyra felt a steadying hoof on her shoulder. She turned to look at a middle-aged grey stallion who wore a disapproving look Lyra knew well. “Dad?” She grabbed his hoof with both forelimbs, tears running down her eyes. “Dad, help me. I don’t know what to do.” He shook his head with a weary sigh. “I expected that. I’d want to say it’s good to see you, Lyra. In any case, I have a non-optional obligation to appear here, but don’t expect much. Just remember that what happened here to your marriage, house, and friends is completely your fault.” Her shaking hooves fell off of her father’s forelimb as he walked through the flames, melting like wax. Lyra shook as she drew in a deep, impossible breath amidst the smoke, “Why... why aren’t I dead, Dad?” The remains of Jazz Heartstrings snorted. “Silly girl. I’ve always said that, in the long run, you’re only responsible for yourself. When the time comes, it’s always been your responsibi--” Lyra gasped as she rolled off of the nursery bed, slamming into the floor with a thud. Aching with pain, she rolled to her side and meticulously pulled out the embedded alphabet blocks she had sprawled onto. As she threw the last painful vowel to the side, Lyra raised her bleary eyes to see Bonny staring down at her, comfortably sitting on a cushioned stool next to the crib. “Shh,” Bonny whispered reproachfully. “You’ll wake her up.” The best tears of that night flowed out of her eyes as Lyra staggered onto her hooves. Quietly and carefully, she walked toward the crib, peeking inside despite something nearly forgotten in the back of her mind screaming a warning. Inside, a tiny purple pegasus snoozed away inside the crib, sucking on her hoof while her nose continually blew a lock of white and green mane into the air. “She’s... she’s beautiful,” Lyra concluded as memory flowed in where the tide of sleep had withdrawn. “Yup.” Bonny gently snaked her forelimb around her spouse’s shoulders. “She certainly is. And you know what else she just might be, Greenbean?” Lyra shook her head slowly, unable to take her eyes off of the foal. “Ours,” Bonny said. ___ Twenty-One Days until showtime... All things considered, the day was going wonderfully for Lyra until she found Heartmend in the kitchen. Twenty minutes earlier, Lyra had been running from the kitchen to the nursery in a seemingly never-ending relay race, a gurgling bundle calling the shots from the crib. As the fifth song of pleading cries rose from the crib, Lyra horn-lifted the now-empty bottle and sighed. Some babies had colic; hers (for the moment, at least) was more of a food processor. “Snoozy, you can’t still be hungry!” Lyra sighed as the little bundle squirmed, looking at her with a pleading stare proclaiming the unfairness of the universe. Running a hoof through her frazzled mane, Lyra forced a grin onto her face as she carefully levitated the baby out of the crib. A ball of dark purple fur and feathers hung in the air, topped by a striped mane of white and pale green. Snoozy’s eyes rambled around the nursery as she gurgled. Soon and with a wide yawn, she began gently breathing, her eyes closed as a tiny bubble flickered in and out of her nostril. The baby’s sleepy breathing was a soft pattern that had transfixed Lyra over the past three weeks of parenting. She woke up in the middle of the night occasionally, frantically rushing into the nursery to make sure she could still hear it. Last night had seen several such checks, and Lyra yawned herself as she lifted Snoozy through the air. The sudden repeal of the laws of gravity seemed not to bother Snoozy, most likely because it didn’t obviously involve a source of food. Lyra attached a baby-holder saddle, pulled out the straps that met under her belly, and gently tucked the tiny pegasus into them. She trotted off with her slightly swinging bundle underneath, wishing she had one of the fancy numbers where the kid rode on top. Halfway to the kitchen she stopped, her knees buckling and her eyes wide. Breathing wildly, Lyra fell back onto her haunches, her horn glowing as she pulled a clutching foal away from her midsection. “Don’t do that, baby,” she said softly. “The only girl who gets to do that wears a ring on her tail...” She swallowed and shuddered. “...and those won’t work anytime soon. Give me a minute and I can compensate, though.” Standing up, Lyra carefully loosed the saddle buckles, dropping Snoozy a few more inches below her now-aching underside. She stared at the baby’s grasping winglets reaching for her before nodding and bouncing toward the kitchen. “Here we go! Everything’s gonna work out! After all, you’re here, the fridge is here...” She stopped in place just inside the doorway, staring at the mare sitting at her kitchen table. “Heartmend is here,” Lyra whispered. ___ “Bonny! We need hay fries dropped, two bluebell crepes, more pumpkin muffins, and an order of pan-seared pinecones. Where is that soup?” A broad, brown unicorn marched into the back of the Ponyville cafe, a stained chef hat crowning his spiky red mane. He was the kind of pony who would have loudly described his bulk as “all muscle,” but still would have darted his eyes around to see if anyone snickered. The kitchen was concisely filled to the brim with equipment. Haute Cuisine specialized in cultivating the image of of a small, elite cafe. As his business increased, he realized that he had to expand his potential while keeping the small business charm and style. Thus, shoved into a kitchen and a converted storage room was enough equipment to run two or three smaller cafes. The chef carefully walked between the rows of flower pots hanging from the ceiling, checking between the tightly-spaced rows of ovens as he went. Luckily enough, it wasn’t quite time for dinner preparation. When that hour approached, the phalanx of stoves would keep the kitchen feeling like a comfy volcano. Stopping to turn off an over-simmering pan of tomato soup, he found his quarry at the back of the kitchen, ducking under bunches of hanging dried herbs as she leaned over the preparation table. She held a knife in her mouth and slammed it into the table again and again. He carefully walked around her, rolling his tongue around as he saw the crazed look in her eyes. “So, Bon Bon,” he said conversationally, “what are you workin’ on?” Her eyes lit up as she spun on him. “Bread Bowl! Just mincing some garlic! We need to mince more garlic to make our ingredient quota.” She swept her tail towards the table’s edge, pointing toward a pile of garlic powder large enough to hide a baby in. Bread Bowl pursed his lips. “You, uh, sure you okay, Bonny? Nuthin’s wrong?” He wondered if she was trying to bite her own teeth, but decided she was just smiling too hard. “I’m fine,” she announced. “I’m just making sure we have ingredients.” He pointed at the huge pile of chopped garlic. “What, in case your roommate’s a vampire, or somethin’? Bon Bon Bunny Babe, I’m worried.” Bon Bon carefully placed the knife down on the table, grinning bashfully. “Okay, maybe I went a little too far. Everything else is okay.” Over generations, the stallions of Ponyville had adapted to their mares’ mental habits. The peaceful town ambience mixed with the occasional apocalyptic afternoon had created a culture where a girl had to switch from a garden party mentality to a chimera attack survival mindset effortlessly. In response, the malefolk passed down the skills of dealing with mares on the mental edge of breakdowns. Take an average Ponyville schlub and put him to work under an insane dictator or mad genius, and he would easily outlast most grand viziers and Number Ones in terms of job survival. Mister Ponyville would be running things, calmly chewing their oats and thinking about upcoming anniversaries, while their rivals would constantly end up in the boss’ shark tank or strung up by peasant heroes.. With this legacy of caution behind him, Bread carefully approached Bon Bon, placing a hoof on her shoulder as he eyed the knife. “You let the marinara simmer too long,” he whispered. “No!” Eyes wide with shock, Bon Bon’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m sorry, Bread. Please don’t tell Mr. Cuisine! The baby kept me up so late, and I never would have--” “Shh. Head chef is about to speak,” he intoned as he stared into her eyes. She shivered. “I can do this, Mister Bowl.” He scratched his chin as his inspected the garlic mountain. Nice technique, he thought with a nod. “Bonny Babe, when’s the last time you got a good night’s sleep?” “With a loud baby?” She shrugged. “I’ve been thinking of hiring the Elements of Harmony to help with the noise. While Lyra’s up with the baby, I’ll pay Twilight Sparkle to turn me to stone. After a while, we switch off. I mean, only one of us has to be flesh at a time, right?”” Bread rolled his eyes. “Look, I am your head chef. This makes me beholden to the sacred responsibility between cooks, and I need to lay something down right now.” Time stretched out interminably for Bon Bon as she waited for Bread’s next word. “I want you on the sandwich counter ‘till your lunch break.” She blinked. “Bread, you can’t really mean that! You nearly fired Fry Basket for touching your tools!” He waved a hoof in the air, as he nodded. “Go to the sandwich counter, Bonny. On a day like today, you need a little bit of meditatin’ that only the perfect arrangin’ of nature’s bounty will allow. Spendin’ an hour makin’ sandwiches will realign your cookin’ chakras.” She threw her forelimbs around his neck. “You are the best head chef a cook could ask for.” “And you’re a great soup/dessert lady, but you need to relax. You’re spendin’ so much thought worryin’ that your efficiency will drop ‘cause of the baby that you’re causin’ it ta happen. Ya gotta accept the disorder of parenting.” Bon Bon blinked. “How... how did you...” Bread Bowl sat on his haunches and crossed his forelimbs, closing his eyes. “I have been made one wit’ everything.” She snickered, and he opened one eye up. “Really. It was on rye. Now go! Get yer stuff done if you gotta take off early!” Bon Bon saluted. “Right away, sir! Thanks for that, by the way. I’m sure Lyra’s okay, but I want to make sure today’s baby shower goes off without a hitch.” ___ At home, Lyra was wearing a grin she hoped epitomized calm in the face of danger. It was the smile of a relaxed dinosaur, kicking back while other nervous nellies all pointed at the sky and discussed the descending coming attraction. She hoped it would work. The grin shone headfirst into Heartmend’s patented “I Know What You Did, But Let’s Start With the Pleasantries” smile. As an irresistible force met an immovable object, Cheerilee sneezed in the middle of a physics lecture and wondered why. Heartmend was sitting on the kitchen counter, tapping her hoof patiently. She had a newspaper in front of her, turned about halfway through. The crossword was almost completed (not being a history major, Heartmend had become stuck on a five-letter word for “Bringer of Darkness”). She had been sitting in their kitchen for a while, Lyra realized as she felt a cold hoof massage her heart.. “So,” offered Lyra in high, hopeful tones. “So,” Heartmend said as she inclined her head down slightly, eyes never wavering. “Ah.” Lyra’s mind raced in an effort to stall for time. “Glass of milk?” Heartmend nodded. “I always find that makes these kind of conversations go more smoothly. So, how’s the little one?” “Oh. Um. Great!” Horn light and sweat played across Lyra’s forehead as she carefully put the baby into her high chair. As Snoozy leaned forward and yawned, Lyra’s eyes flickered towards Heartmend. In the pause that followed, Lyra half-expected Heartmend to hold up a card with a number. “Good form.” Heartmend idly flipped a newspaper page. “Excellent dismount.” Awesome, Lyra thought as she exhaled. That should be at least a seven point five. “So.” Heartmend looked up. “The baby...” “Snoozy, we’re calling her,” Lyra said as she interrupted Heartmend, grabbing for control of the conversation with both hooves. “Any luck on finding her parents?” Heartmend shook her head slowly as her brow furrowed. “I’m just glad that Everfree Ranger found her out on his patrol. Who knows what difference a few hours made in this case? After these past few weeks, we’ve almost given up hope.” Heartmend closed the paper, sighing as she stared out the window. “Snoozy,” she said with a smile, “didn’t seem like an abandonment case. We might never figure this one out. She’s doing all right, I assume?” “Wonderful!” Lyra opened the fridge, levitating a small cloud of milk, baby food, and minicarrots onto the table. “I’ve just had to change a few diapers and keep her fed today. We were just going through some of my favorite lullabies.” Lyra slid the milk glass down the counter like a old-time bartender. Heartmend smirked. “You unicorns are always so positive about diaper changing. You should try doing it with hooves sometimes. I wish the humanworld novels mentioned diaper changing.” “Wasn’t there one in ‘Starlord Hawkings and the Infinity Chair'?" “Eh, that’s noncanon. So, I didn’t come over just to interrupt you and her from singing...” Heartmend’s eyebrows raised in question. “Well,” Lyra said with shrug, “these songs don’t really have names. They’re tunes I’ve been meaning to use. Some of them are things my mother used to whistle to us.” Heartmend nodded. “Has she seen the baby yet?” “So, what brings you over?” Lyra turned back to the open fridge door and away from the uncomfortable question. “Here for the baby shower, I assume?” “I came to ask a few questions,” she said as she took a sip of her milk. “Shoot.” The sound of rattling fridge dishes continued as Lyra pretended to look for something while she steadied herself. “Well, I had to drop off some paperwork at the Family Fixing Farm Foster Service, and I said hello to my old friend Huggy Snug. She couldn’t chat long. She had to meet her wife at a cafe for her ten year wedding anniversary. Still, she remembered being your caseworker when I asked.” Lyra’s head slowly pulled out of the fridge. “Really?” She blinked as a hovering purple puff ascended to eye level. Her wings flapping like a hummingbird, Snoozy was slowly lifting upwards and loudly snoring. Lyra carefully nudged her back down into the high chair, where she hovered an inch above the cushion while peacefully unaware of the world around her. “That’s just adorable,” Heartmend said while dropping her head onto her hoof, a satisfied smile like one of a spider with a twitching web splashed across her face. “So anyway, since I know that business about them kicking you out of the program for being two married mares is horse-apples, I want to know the real reason you left them to come to us. Unless it’s a particularly satisfying one, the two duly-authorized pegasi waiting patiently on your front lawn and I are taking the baby.” Lyra’s forelimb briefly wrapped around a root beer bottle before she realized what she was doing. She placed it in the far back of the fridge, ignoring the roar of remembered barfights in her mind. Carefully, she pulled her head out of the fridge, closed the door, and sat down across the kitchen table from the two accusing eyes that filled her vision.. “Huggy alluded to it, but wouldn’t tell me.” All trace of Heartmend’s smile was gone now. “You briefly mentioned it, back when we met. I have to know about it now. Tell me about the table.” ___ One hundred and twenty-five days to showtime... Surrounded by strangers and on the spot, Lyra always thought of her lyre. Musical notation filled her head as she made a cup of complimentary coffee in the FFFFS waiting room with an unsteady hoof. Sweating, she locked eyes with the concerned looking secretary manning the front desk. Lyra smiled back much more confidently than she felt as notes played inside her head. Ponies of a kind tend to gravitate together. Almost anywhere they went, Lyra and Bon Bon would soon find themselves in separate situations, a recipe swap on one side and a musical style debate on the other. Countless times, Lyra had seen her conversation partner’s eyes widen as they finally caught a look at her flank. Usually they would then comment about how they expected to see a guitar, drum, or synchronized dynamite cutie mark on the hyperactive unicorn. Lyra would just smile, knowing that they had her completely backwards. She didn’t play the harp to release the chaos inside. When her strings rang out, Lyra Heartstrings spun her nervousness and insecurities on a loom of melody, calming all of the mental cacophony inside her head. When dropped into a nerve-wracking social arena, Lyra wanted nothing more to lead the confusing herd of ponies around her into something that made sense, something she had control over. Often, this meant being a ridiculous party animal and throwing herself forward with wild abandon as onlookers followed behind her, caught in her wake. At those times where a table dance and traffic cone hat wouldn’t work, Lyra always tapped her hooves together and thought of her harp. As the uncomfortable symphony played inside her head, Lyra felt a hoof dig into her shoulder and start forcefully massaging. “Greenbean, lighten up. Things will work out.” “What if they don’t like me?” Lyra looked around nervously, checking to see if any of the other patrons had heard her desperate whisper. “If they don’t like us, then--” “Everybody inside,” called out a mare from an opened door down the hallway, and Lyra’s heart jumped. Some of the most important choices in life resolve before you realize them. A spare cigarette thrown to the ground changes the course of a war, and a sandwich ordered elsewhere starts several more. Lyra once mused about the fluidness of history to Ditzy Doo, and stopped immediately after the pegasus collapsed into giggles. For the next heartbroken two months after her only visit to FFFFS, Lyra would often reflect on the devastating decision made in the heat of the moment. Levitating her full coffee mug, she briefly glanced at the sink inconveniently located across the room. Nah, she thought, I just got the sugar/milk mix right in this one. I’ll take it in with me. She walked into the room, having made a decision that changed the lives of herself, her spouse, and the children she would now never foster or adopt. The FFFFS meeting room was a larger classroom, chalkboards spaced around intermixed with brainlessly happy motivational posters. It oozed the kind of schoolhouse cheer only found in adults who spend just enough time with children to forget how adults think. The majority of its furniture was pushed to the edge of the room, the center being occupied by a ring of cushions. Lyra looked down at her coffee, and history unfolded. Okay, she thought with a swallow, I can’t just put this down on the floor. I’ll knock it over and stain the cushions, and then they’ll hate me and I’ll never be a parent. She bit her lip. I can’t just levitate this until I’m done, that looks neurotic. Maybe... Lyra took a careful sip of the coffee, quickly swallowing it. Okay, too hot to down it all here. Maybe if I head back out... The door shut behind her, the last prospective parent having walked through. As he passed her, she realized that standing just inside the room was drawing curious stares. Bon Bon’s eyebrows were raised, worry and concern written across her face as she watched Lyra shiver, paralyzed with fear. Lyra grinned. Okay, this will work. As she walked towards the cushion Bon Bon had saved for her, Lyra’s horn flared up. A small table lifted itself from the other side of the room, and traced a sparkling pattern in the air as it flew toward the cushion circle. One of the other applicants turned in its direction and yelped, ducking to avoid the wooden weapon that clipped the top of his mane. With a smug look, Lyra carefully set it in place in front of her, smiling to a bevy of confused faces as she carefully set down her coffee mug upon it. The soft, muted click of the mug sounded like tirumph. Bonny learned over. “Lyra, are you okay?” “Fine!” Lyra grinned for dear life. “Everything’s fine.” In the center of the pillow circle, the agency representative tapped her hooves on the wooden floor. “Miss, is there some kind of problem?” Coldness flew across Lyra’s heart for a moment before she closed her eyes and laughed. “No, nothing! Just had to find a place for my coffee!” __ Twenty-one days until showtime... Heartmend stared at Lyra. Her milk, half-finished when the conversation started, had long since turned lukewarm from neglect. She swallowed as she composed her thoughts. “So, you didn’t hit the guy, right? Slumped against the fridge door, Lyra meekly shook her head as tears ran off of her muzzle onto the tile. “No, I... I didn’t need to. I never need to do too much to screw things up.” Heartmend relaxed, the tense body language of the interrogator giving way to the forward lean of a mare watching someone break down. She stepped down off of her stool and grabbed a clean diaper wipe in her teeth before walking over to Lyra. Dropping it into Lyra’s hooves, she watched silently as the sobbing mare cleaned up her puffy face. After she had been dry and silent for a few seconds, Heartmend softly asked, “So, what else happened in that meeting? That couldn’t be it.” Lyra shrugged. “Well, I apologized afterwards.” Heartmend smiled. “That made it worse. I didn’t realize it until they sent somepony to stop by a few days later.” __ One hundred and thirty-one days to showtime... “Heyo!” Cheerfully, Lyra flung open the front door. “Miss Huggy, it’s wonderful to see you!” Huggy Snug adjusted her glasses, smiling back in an uncomfortable way. “Hello, Miss Heartstrings. I’m afraid I have some uncomfortable news.” Lyra blinked as the seconds of silence drew on. “What, is the meeting cancelled this week? Man, I was just making some soup for the potluck. It’s going to be a garlic-cheese-egg broth with capers and raisins!” Huggy shifted nervously on her hooves. “That sounds like an interesting mix of ingredients.” “Tell me about it.” Lyra stepped back from the doorway. “Come inside and see. I started out with just a cheese soup, but when I added the raisins I had to temper the taste, and then the carrots started changing the texture and I thought, hey, why not add the--” “I’d rather not come in, Miss Heartstrings. I’m here to tell you that you’ve been dropped from the program.” The stirring spoon that Lyra had been levitating absent-mindedly dropped to the ground. “What? Why?” Lyra drew in a quick breath. “Look, I know I might have freaked ponies out when we started talking about self-injury and I started to comment on why kids--” Huggy tapped her hoof onto the cobblestones, and Lyra stopped talking, her mouth still hanging open. “It’s not that. It’s the table.” Lyra blinked. She snorted. She laughed, still staring at Huggy. “You’re not serious.” Taking a step back, Huggy took a deep breath as she stared into Lyra’s moistening eyes. “Look,” she said softly, “you made myself and several other parents uncomfortable with what seemed like an aggressive action.” Lyra galloped a step closer to Huggy, sending her a step backwards. For a second, Lyra marvelled at how, just outside Bon Bon’s garden, she could make out the villagers going about their daily business with a smile and a song while her world fell apart around her. “I apologized,” she said in a quavering voice. “I said I was sorry afterwards.” “That you did. A lot. Quite a lot. In fact, so much that I was worried that you have some kind of emotional issues to work out.” Lyra’s legs dropped out from under her as she sat down suddenly and uncomfortably onto the rocky walkway. She was shuddering when she spoke up. “Please. Please give me another chance.” Huggy shook her head. “You wrote that one of your best friends was a teacher. What would she do if some student walked into her class the first day and started rearranging the tables?” Lyra bit down hard. “She’d go up to them, realize they felt out of place, and find a way to get them back into their comfortable area.” “Hmm.” Huggy rested a hoof on her chin. “I’m not sure how I’d feel about that course of action.” “That’s because you’re no Cheerilee.” Lyra saw the offended look in Huggy’s eyes and knew that a bridge had not only been crossed a while back, but also been cut into pieces and set on fire. Huggy turned away, shaking her head. “After receiving a complaint from another parent, there’s nothing I can do. I think you have some deep things you need to work out before my agency would be willing to work with you. I’m sorry.” She jerked to a stop, turning around to see Lyra’s hoof hooked around her back leg. “Wait, please.” Lyra’s teeth chattered as she talked. “I’ll get therapy. I’ll get a note from a shrink. I’ll venture into Tartaurus weaponless, and I’ll... I’ll write a five-paragraph essay.” Her hoof shook as she pulled it away from Huggy. “Please.” With a deep breath, Huggy shook her head. “I think it would be a long while before the Family Fixing Farm Foster Service would be able to work with you, Lyra Heartstrings. Well, good luck anyway.” She said while edging away, keeping an eye on Lyra’s forelimbs. “Good bye.” Five minutes later, Bon Bon had returned from the grocery store to find an overflowing cauldron of mismatched ingredients spilling all over the stove and her wailing spouse rolling around in the garden. ___ The two mares sat in the silence in the kitchen for a while before either of them spoke. Lyra finally raised her eyes from the floor, daring a look at Heartmend before shuddering and looking away. “I’ll go get her things. You can take her now if you need to, and I’ll just drop the stuff off at the agency.” She turned, dreading to see Heartmend’s expression and clutching the hope that they wouldn’t have to speak again. As she stepped into the hallway, willing her legs not to fall out from under herself, she heard Heartmend say, “Stop.” At the sound, Lyra lifted her hoof towards her mouth and nearly bit down. Consciously breathing regularly, she slowly placed it back on the floor and turned around. Heartmend scratched her mane before shrugging. “Lyra, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in all my years in this business.” “What?” Lyra snorted. “Really?” Shrugging, Heartmend walked back to the kitchen stool and slumped down. She patted the stool next to her, and Lyra obediently trotted over to it. Once she sat down, Heartmend reached over and tousled her mane. “Listen,” she said softly, “I love them dearly, but that agency has a reputation for making neurotic and bizarre decisions. I will never finish mocking Huggy for letting a prospective foster parent like Lyra Heartstrings slip through her hooves and letting me snap her up. Do you understand?” Lyra nodded, laughing to herself as she wiped her eyes. Opening them again brought her face to rump with a hovering purple puffball. Snoozy hung in the air, legs dangling like a ragdoll in front of Lyra’s face. With a soft laugh, Lyra pushed her nose forward, sending her slowly rump first towards Heartmend. “No baby butt!” Heartmend whispered forcefully and eloquently as she dropped to the ground, and Snoozy gently sailed over her towards the door. She sailed on, the most adorable example of Neighton’s First Law that Lyra had ever seen, until her butt gently bumped against the front door, sending her into a stable hover a few inches back. Heartmend stared in maternal admiration at the baby, commanding Lyra to do the same with the most mature vocabulary she could muster, coming out as “Wook at the widdle fluzzyfwump!” Lyra nodded. She was already wooking by the time that Bon Bon opened the door. Slumping against the door, Bon Bon stared at Snoozy with tired eyes. The baby slowly spun, completing stationary barrel rolls in her sleep. Bonny’s eyes went wide as a mischievous grim appeared. “Oh, no.” Lyra covered her mouth to suppress a giggle. “Don’t you dare.” “What?” Heartmend looked back and forth between the two, searching for insight or sanity and finding neither. “What’s she going to do?” Hours of frustration shone out of Bon Bon’s eyes as she bellowed the phrase, “Snoozdozer!” Snoozy’s eyes opened, but before her instincts could compel her into a post-nap cry she was overwhelmed by the sensation of Bon Bon blowing full force on her stomach. Giggling uncontrollably, Bon Bon rushed into the room while pushing Snoozy forward, rude noises following all the way. After a few steps she stopped, sending the hurtling baby steadily careening towards Lyra, who repeated the process in the direction of the high chair. Soon, Snoozy rolled around on her back, quaking with laughter as Lyra continuing the assault. Heartmend shook her head, trying not to laugh and compromising at a snort. “Two point pass,” Bon Bon remarked as she hung up her saddlebag. “By the way, my parents are right behind me.” Lyra stared at her, stopping in mid-tummy blow. “So are yours, Greenbean.” It was the third most frightening thing Lyra had heard today. Surprisingly, Heartmend’s earlier threat was only the second most terrifying statement said to Lyra today. “Well,” Heartmend said with a smile, “I had better leave it to you two, then. Enjoy your party.” Lyra said nothing, staring at the door. Bonny sat at the kitchen table, sighing as the tension of work fled her muscles. “You sure you can’t stay?” “I have some paperwork to do. Thanks, but I expect I’ll be up all night, locked into my office.” Heartmend waved as she trotted out the door “I’ll catch you some other day.” The scariest thing that Lyra would hear today, the sentence that would really stop her heart, would be said later. She would always remember hearing it just after Ditzy made Cheerilee snort ginger ale through her nose, and she never forgot the break in Heartmend’s voice as she said it.