Caughlin blinked furiously as she paced the cold, tiled ground, opening and closing her wings in agitation, though her hooves were planted firmly on the ground. Surprise had been re-assigned to another patient before they could cover flying lessons, to her dismay, though she knew it was inevitable. In a world of daily violence and injury, there were never enough medical staff, never a shortage of broken limbs and spirits. Surprise was an angel, and that was why she had to leave - besides, Caughlin had lasted for so long on her legs. There was no rush to switch to flight. Not to mention the sense in flying everywhere when one could walk just fine - especially in cramped areas like the hospital - eluded her. Perhaps it was just a pegasus thing, an effect of the Wings on the essence and personality.
For the thousandth time she looked around her ward for something interesting, finding nothing but the same. First was the table next to her bed on which a stack of papers lay - memos, sketches and diagrams - and on those, a black eyepatch. The former she had read many times simply out of boredom, since nothing else had been provided; aside from the occasional gadget blueprint, they were designs for the revolutionary construction of an aerial fort, built on clouds enhanced by complicated triunes.
Not openly stated was the concern that drove this project forward so aggressively. Who else but Furhich? - Furhich's unicorn bias in all things administration hung like a guillotine above the minds of the intellectual pegasi, and they wanted a safeguard from it. Something pegasi-exclusive, to appease their insecurities. So it seemed that Furhich, while easily the most powerful pony around, did not have total control over the Order.
The result was the aerial fort. City would have been a better term if not for the concealed but heavy "self-defense" utilities in place. The rainbow-making machine, for instance - Caughlin couldn't imagine any use for it other than for shaving off select wavelengths to power light cannons. Which happened to be available within the bowels of the construct, and had settings for brute heatwaves from the low frequencies, or penetrating beams from the high ones. Which, Caughlin admitted, was fair enough in this day and age. Additional notes scrounged by her colleagues gave insight into how the cannons worked; perhaps she was biased with fascination at the innovation evident in the design.
There was also a sewage system, which, thankfully, did not involve opening holes at the bottom of the cloud floor and letting it rain.
Upon completion, tens of thousands of pegasi were to migrate, and apparently this was the reason why it was approved in the first place - it helped to ease the space problems the Order was facing, and subsequently others such as hygiene and discipline. Those were, after all, very real problems - with refugees flocking to flee increasingly maddened chaos and stretching every ounce of resource, it was a wonder the Order still had structure. True, that meant that Furhich would effectively lose direct control over the pegasi. But maybe he was content to trade it off for greater security of his grip on the Earth ponies and unicorns instead.
The project name? "Cloudsdale". The innocuousness of the name was only to be expected from a snub against the bureaucracy as big as this.
The Order was turning out to be more than just a distant organization, so much more complex than "the ponies who hired us to make alicorns". Her visitors, be it colleagues or gossipy nurses, told her as much with every new tale of quarrels, demotions, promotions, gossip, and the ilk, and the cloud fort issue was but one of many struggles going on under the surface of Furhich's leadership. After collecting sufficient data, she decided to settle on the word "politics" and did not want anything to do with it. Even if the grand move left the Earth ponies - the most abused of the races - alone to fend for themselves against the oppression, what could she do about it?
I know it's mean-spirited, but... I'm sure I've earned the right to gripe a little, surely?
She pawed at the ground. It was so much easier to not rub her eyes if she could keep her hooves busy. Yet Furhich's latest order regarding her stopped just that - the first thing she was to do upon being certified as "recovered" was to meet up with him. So now here she was, certified as recovered. Waiting to meet up with him.
The least he could do is show up on time. A mirthless smile stretched itself across her face as she tried to imagine what Whooves' reaction would be like.
"You can't go, Caughlin! He'll wipe your memory like last time," she mouthed to herself. The idle mind was - was something-or-other, so went the saying - she couldn't remember - but whatever the case her idle mind had taken to thinking of Whooves. She could still recall the details of records and analysis of his powers. They were details that, up till that massive fight, she had charted consistently. "A peak of three point nine seconds, average effect of three point five, with a varying radius of twenty to thirty feet," recited Caughlin softly. More than enough to fix burnt toast, she used to joke. For a Discordian ability, Whooves had surprising ease when using it. Even her own, with her years of honing, had required more effort to use than simply willing it to happen as he did. I guess every pony has their talents. Whooves' is bending time and space. She couldn't help but grimace a little. I've seen worse.
Her wings itched a little. I've been worse.
She walked over to the table and blew the dust off the eyepatch. Her team said that wearing it disguised her wall-eyed appearance - a well-meaning enough gift, but it stung nevertheless, and she grudgingly admitted that the claim was true. They called it their "little experiment on perception" and were pleased with the results, though Caughlin had yet to decide whether she deemed her condition something to hide. The idea did not sit well with her - since when had she resorted to denial and concealment? So she was wall-eyed; she had almost died for it, and -
The door slid open at last with the soft hum of magic.
"Miss Caughlin."
"Furhich." She turned slowly and looked once more at the old stallion's figure. The sunken ribs underneath his brown coat were now hidden by a healthy layer of flesh, and his old eyes were brighter. His mane was cropped short. He certainly did not seem any younger, but there was no doubting the air of confidence he radiated, probably from being back home. It had been that long since she had last saw him - she realized, as something in her mind tensed into gear, how relaxed that time had been. All good things must come to an end, eh?
"Your recovery is the best news I have heard in weeks," said Furhich. "Your resilience is inspiring."
"Is that a compliment? Oh, how you flatter me," replied Caughlin, biting her lip. "You wanted to meet me. What do you have planned?"
"Always to the chase, you are. Very well. This way," said Furhich with a smile. She kept her scowl and hid her accelerating heartbeat as she made her first steps out of the ward.
They walked past galvanized doors, each different to the next only in ways Caughlin could not see, and the occasional nurse, who gave a little bow to Furhich before hurrying along. The air smelt of disinfectant, and the floor and walls were whitewashed and spotless. Above them, lightbulbs cast their glow, leaving thick shadows beneath their hooves.
From the stories she had heard, life as a refugee involved lots of cramping in tents and bad sewerage. The hospital, soulless and lonely as it was, was probably heaven by standards.
She looked at Furhich, and wondered what he thought of the matter.
They made a few turns through the hospital wing until they reached what seems to be the reception area - a hall with a counter on one side, a row of circles etched into the ground on the other, and the door to the outside before them, with guards on both sides. From behind the counter, a cream-coloured unicorn attendant dressed in a white apron trotted up, her mane tied up in a bun so tightly that it did not even bob. Caughlin tried to smile. The attendant did not.
"To the tower," said Furhich, guiding Caughlin into the second-last circle to the left. The attendant simply nodded.
Caughlin saw that the etchings were actually arcane - the edges, jagged, as if somepony had taken a stick and drew in it while the concrete was setting - and she briefly panicked - but Furhich was there with her, so unless he had some kind of barrier whatever would affect her would affect him, too.
As Caughlin tried to guess the mechanism, the assistant checked that they were completely inside the circle. Satisfied, she lowered her horn and shot a pulse of magic. The grooves glowed, a set of runes flashed briefly along the lines, and a familiar sensation washed over Caughlin. She gulped and tried to hide her nervousness as the area faded before their eyes, giving one last wistful glance at the door before it faded into white.
Moments passed, and there was still nothing but the white of transportation magic about them. Nothing else in sight, neither Furhich nor herself. Caughlin kept silent and tried to hide her anxiousness. Earth ponies are supposed to kick with impressive strength, right? Let's see. If he tries anything funny, it's a buck to the neck, then the head. I can't see anything, though, so I guess I'll have to settle for "wherever". Yep, that's the contingency plan alright. Great.
"You are taking to this very calmly. I'm impressed," drifted Furhich's voice. "Have you been in a converter-type teleporter before?"
"Converter? You mean..."
"Thaumic. We're currently travelling through silver rods underground in the form of, for the lack of a better term, magical energy, guided across by directional runes. The destination is rather far-off, so the journey will take a while. I apologize for the delay."
She had studied converters before. It followed the same principles Discord used to travel. Silver, while not the best, was on the high end of conductors. Perhaps the Order was not as poor as they had let on when they first met.
Even when I'm finally a free mare, the first place you take me is back underground, thought Caughlin. Aloud, she tried to speak, and found that her words rang out clearly. "I see. So you've established this teleportation system all over your base of operations?"
"I suppose this is so. There is a teleportation hub for each region, linked to the major areas - food distribution, recreational areas, medical facilities - and while our ponies still have to walk or travel physically within the region, inter-regional movement may be aided by teleporter."
"That's rather impressive," admitted Caughlin. "How much traffic do you get?"
"What a hard question to answer." Caughlin did not need to see Furhich's smile to know that it was there. "Peak times are eight in the morning, when most of the residents go to work, and five in the evening, though every three days when food distribution is done the traffic surges. We have many, many ponies to mobilize and feed. The Order grounds span approximately thirty square miles, and we have a registered population of just under fifty thousand. It shouldn't be crowded, according to the numbers, but with everypony going to the same place at the same time..."
Population was a new field to her. She did not bother to do the math, opting instead to try and pass silence off as an answer. Just as well; the next moment, colour began to return to her vision, clarifying and changing into the scene of, disappointingly, yet another reception area. The only greenery was the potted plants in the corners, though it was more brightly lit and the walls were a tasteful orange. Instead of the door to the wards, there was instead a wide, walled cylinder, going through the roof - almost like her test chamber, but polished, without the scratches and pale spots of collisions past.
They stepped out of the circle, and Furhich led her across a glossy floor to the cylinder. Next to the opening was a black square, on which he laid a hoof. The square flashed green and a low humming began to fill the air, accompanied with a row of blue lights around the cylinder, flaring up slowly. At his beckon, Caughlin stepped in and the platform wobbled under her hooves. She checked herself - no magical aura, no pulleys or levers.
"How does this work?" asked Caughlin in spite of herself.
"Magnets," replied Furhich. "This is a lift charged by magnets. Through the use of circuitry and harnessed lightning, the platform - a magnet in itself - is repelled by either the bottom magnet or the top magnet, above -" Here, he pointed to the roof, where circles of the same blue lights were dimming down - "and thus, lift or descent is achieved."
This was turning out to be an interesting trip. Trivial as the technology was, surely, to the main point Furhich wanted to discuss, it was a guilty pleasure, to witness such feats of engineering as casually as this. "Magnets instead of raw magic. Interesting change of pace," said Caughlin as the platform began to rise. "That would make maintenance more open... unless all of your technicians are unicorns?"
"We can't afford that kind of luxury," chuckled Furhich, to her surprise. "No, most of the physical science technicians are Earth ponies. The lightning, though, comes solely from unicorns. It's taken a major load off energy costs, truth be told. Every unicorn in the Order, you see, has an assigned period of time in which they must contribute to the grid. The hubs are... Oh, we're here. Come over. I am sure that this is worth the wait."
They stepped out of the cylinder onto a wide, open space.
Somewhere in her lungs, her breath faded.
It was just floor with safety rails on the edges - no wall, and, most significantly, no roof. Above them, the cloudy afternoon sky stretched for miles and miles, a a rare shade of normal bright blue; on the floor itself, which Caughlin assumed to be the roof, there was nothing else. It was the outside. Uncluttered, vast, there.
"This is your first time above ground," said Furhich. "I wanted to give you the best vantage point possible, and there is nowhere better to see the world than on the top of the observational tower..."
Caughlin had already left his side, trotting forward slowly. She stopped well away from the rails, as if afraid of them - no, she was afraid of them. That they wouldn't be able to hold her back. They looked so flimsy. And with her Potential, she was a good deal heavier...
At last she stretched out a hoof tentatively, taking a deep breath, almost audible in the quiet of their surroundings. Her eyes stung from the intensity of sunlight; her eyes were too used to artificial, fluorescent lighting, but at this point she could hardly care. She took another deep breath. Her wings were itching furiously now, and her throat was on fire - the air, the air! - she wanted to jump off and melt into the ground at the same time.
Ignoring the growing dizziness, she raised her neck and took in the scene.
The tower was very tall - from this height, the only other pony she could see clearly was Furhich, and she had no intention of facing him any longer than necessary. In the distance before her stood a range of mountains, tall and covered in greenery she barely recognized as treetops. At the foot of the closest mountain was a stretch of rolling plains, the wind causing ripples across the tall grass. That's where the food is grown, she guessed.
To her sides, the plains continued, the hills flattening out gradually and the green yielding to stony ground, over which a light fog hovered. Within the fog, she could make out the shapes of large machinery.
She steadied herself and took a few more steps forward, so that her face was in line with the railings. Below them lay, unmistakably, the Order grounds. To the left were clumps of tall, thin gray buildings. Offices. They lined up to form semi-circles, about five or six per, with each curving around a large marked circle on the ground that she guessed were the "teleportation hubs" - she could almost sense the crackling of energy in the general direction. At the centre of the semi-and-circles was what seemed to be a city - densely covered with more buildings that grew taller as they approached the middle, the tallest falling short of her eye level by only several degrees. It could be a few thousand feet or a few hundred for all she knew - the realization of the massive height they were at only just struck her, and she froze mid-turn to make sure Furhich was not about to push her off.
At the edge of her vision, she saw his unmoving figure standing far off. All was good.
She focused, and forced herself to at least sweep over the rest of the grounds - a wide, flat-roofed hall, roads twisting between everything and tiny dots inching along, and bulky vehicles looking like ants going to and fro. Beyond the hall, on the outskirts of the grounds - even the grass seemed to thin out around the borders - was a field of uniform, gray triangles. Tents.
That must be the refugee camp, cut off from the rest of the Order. It looks so... desolate. A nasty thought entered her head: Surprise did say she had been a refugee... did she and her family live there at one point?
No, no, she's in Ponyville now. She's happy where she is. That's what matters.
She closed her eyes and backed up. Behind her, she could hear the sound of hooves; she turned to face Furhich.
"Behold, the Order of Order," said Furhich with his little smile. "We live, and we thrive, despite Discord's best attempts. None of this is any one pony's job; we are here because we are. I wanted to show you this before we moved."
"Moved?"
"Yes. In eight days' time, we will re-locate to another area. All that you have seen will be packed up, and we will disappear from this area without a trace. I am sure that the mechanics of architectural folding will fascinate you, but we have not the time for that." Furhich gazed into the distance. "I brought you here so that we may have a talk, one we have needed since..."
"Since Discord nearly killed me?" asked Caughlin evenly. Her mind was back in action now. The tension only fed the buzz of determination. Analyze every word. Tell nothing, especially not about the memory hex. You're alone now, Caughlin. Remember, aim for the neck.
"Perhaps earlier than that. You see, miss Caughlin," Fuhrich said, looking right at her now, "I need your cooperation and your help if we are to win this war, and I know I cannot get these without giving you the truth." His expression was one of regret, and his voice soft. "I know that you know things, things I've been hiding behind your back. Either way, I am determined to have you on the side of order by the time we leave this place. I cannot face my ponies otherwise."
Did he just... "I know you know things"? She kept her expression blank. "You flatter me. I'm nopony special, am I?" asked Caughlin. "You have plenty of ponies here, and I'm sure your scientists are no less brilliant to have developed such technology."
"You are the mother of the alicorns. You are what spurs them on, drives them to new heights. You are their motivation for this war, and to think any less is an undermining of your love for them," Furhich replied. "I have two things to tell you. The first is about you. Do bear with me for a while...
"After extensive simulations in our laboratories, we believe that the loss of your Discordian ability is because of the alicornification. As you know, unicorn magic, just like the raw strength of the Earth ponies and flight of the pegasi, is an 'approach' to controlling matter. The way you controlled - reverted, rather - reality is one such example. The union altered your approach to reality, and that's why you lost the 'connection' you had with your reality bubbles. Whether or not you can re-establish this connection with your current abilities, only time can tell. The second is about Celestia."
He stopped for breath. Caughlin was careful to keep a blank face, but the news troubled her in no small way. She fought to keep her brain from running headlong into the science of the matter, but more importantly, the possibility of her regaining her ability. She stifled her memories of the memory hex, no doubt still keeping a strong grip over her colleagues.
"You know that Celestia has the Accelerat spell embedded within her, and with that spell there is also something called a 'release'. Basically, Celestia is programmed to store reserves of power within the Potential component of her body. This... was omitted from the plans we gave to you."
He ignored the wide-eyed look she gave him and continued quickly: "When given the command, a simple speech tag, her body will involuntarily tap into the reserves. You have seen the first release, trigger two-oh-five, used as a last resort. It takes twelve months to replenish. There are three releases in total: two-oh-five, three-nine-oh, and nine-nine-nine. Each number denotes the degree of power increase after use, with, ah, proportionately adverse effects on Celestia's stability. You know how it is - channeling of greater power invariably comes with corrupt-"
Pain had never felt so good. Caughlin felt that after all she had been through, she was a pretty good judge of that. She didn't even know she could dole one out as fast as that...
As the old unicorn collapsed, she felt a shoulder muscle tug, and took a sharp breath despite herself. Apparently, her body had not yet gotten used to sudden movements, especially not ones as violent as punches. She stretched her neck, trying to hide the cramp.
"I'm not going to apologize for that," seethed Caughlin.
"You have no need to," panted Furhich, sitting up. "This is my confession, not yours."
"There are three releases. Go on."
"Yes." Fuhrich got up, head still tilted from the shock. "These releases were our backup plan to make Celestia a fail-safe weapon. All that was required was that somepony who knew the codes be present during the critical moments of the fight."
"That somepony was you."
"Correct. I came to the R&D department not just to oversee Project ALICORN; I was there to ensure it. I did not take into account how important you are to Celestia, and it almost cost us everything."
She let the words stew. Me this, me that, motherhood yadda yadda... so your story's still the same. You're trying to manipulate everypony into achieving goals for you. "What do you mean?" she asked aloud.
"Celestia was distraught upon seeing you injured, so distraught that it overrode everything else - loyalty, purpose, even vengeance." Furhich shook his head. "A distracted warrior is as good as dead. Today, Celestia is putting in hours and hours each day down in the training centre, rapidly pushing her potential past our expectations. The Accelerat only compounds this increase, and many is the time that we've had to stop her for fear of union burnout. Even the head general is at a loss about what to do with her, and he's the lone survivor of a direct attack by Discord." He sighed, and got up, eyes level with Caughlin's. "Everything she is doing, she's doing with you in mind. It's not just revenge she wants, I think. She wants... harmony. Stability. For you to be safe."
Caughlin made no reply, so Furhich continued.
"In addition - you may have thought of this - there is the matter of maturity. Mental maturity. The Accelerat affects that, too - Celestia now has the mentality of an adult, despite her actual age, and the war has not helped this situation. Celestia's trying to discover who she is, and she wants to be treated as somepony who can make her own decisions. She needs respect and recognition as a mare."
"I... know." Caughlin turned away. "I haven't seen her much since we got here, nor Luna, come to think of it."
"I wouldn't know about Luna, but I can hazard a guess," said Furhich. "They wanted you to rest up fully. I'm afraid that, as skilled as he is, Doctor Stains has difficulty being eloquent. After their first visit, your systems crashed, if you can recall. It took him about an hour or so to stabilize your thaumics. When he walked out to find them waiting outside, he gave them a, ah, regrettably harsh scolding. I think that pretty much scared them into submission. As for Celestia, you know already - she's signed herself up for the most gruelling routine we've ever seen, and follows it with amazing strictness. Speaking of which..." Furhich's eyes trailed to the floor.
"What? What is it?" Caughlin spat.
"There is no other way to tell you this. I would have had her do this by herself, but she said-"
"Cut to the chase, Furhich."
Furhich returned her stare. "Celestia has made the decision to be a member of the Order. She signed the pledge of allegiance two weeks ago, and is now the first and only pony to bear the title of 'Special Unit'. When Discord has fallen, she will be promoted to 'chief-in-command', under nopony but me; when order is established and we have a working system, Celestia will be crowned ruler of Equestria."
Celestia's part of the Order, and Furhich has it all planned out.
He's... This has to be some kind of grooming, for Celestia to take a position of power... but why her? Her mind raced, trying to chase down every thought. Her mouth turned dry, and she finally managed: "So you're going to make Celestia queen."
"Perhaps. You see, Caughlin, I've had a long while to think over this - who to lead Equestria? Not this war-ravaged land before you, but Equestria?" Furhich trotted slowly to the side, drinking in the scene beyond. "A land flowing with food and water. Peace, harmony, happiness. Nopony will have to fear for natural disasters, no more running, no more fighting sleep in case of earthquakes... The land needs an equally benevolent ruler." He let it hang in the air and coughed briefly.
"Due to the union, the three of you have significantly increased vitality. It's without a doubt that you three will live to a very ripe old age, if Discord doesn't find us first." A small chuckle. "In your case, your lifespan may be shorter than the alicorns'. Celestia's Accelerat also means that her body will age faster, though whether or not it cancels out the power of the union remains to be seen. But Luna, on the other hand... Luna may very well be immortal, because of how naturally she's been allowed to develop. There's nopony better to lead a country than one with limitless experience, one who's weathered eons and gained according wisdom -"
"Immortality? You can't be serious," scoffed Caughlin. "Everypony dies eventually. That's what being a pony is. Yes, the union would bring increased vitality, but vitality itself as a deterioration curve. All living things do. Unless, of course," she added, narrowing her eyes, "she ceases to be a living thing."
"What, pray, is a pony? You and I both know that there's no answer to that, be your disposition scientific or philosophical," chuckled Furhich. "Perhaps it would be better for Luna to not think of herself as a pony, if she were to rule."
"What, then? Would you rather have her be a weapon?" snarled Caughlin.
"I did not mean it like that," said Furhich. "I'm just telling you the truth - I'm actually considering whether Luna should take the throne, rather than Celestia. Not to mention she is the elder sister, and the ponies of Equestria would take to that better. Age, after all, is a proof of survival in this time and age, and it wins respect."
Caughlin could not argue with that. "You seem confident about the future."
"Oh, yes. Take a look at the skies, miss Caughlin. Tell me - what do you see?"
She raised her neck. "Well, the sky's blue. The sun is low, meaning it's almost evening, and it's pretty cloudy. Clouds are thick and fluffy, but no signs of rain as they're light. No pegasi above. Is that what you wanted?"
"Not quite." Furhich stepped next to her and looked to the sky as well. "No, what I wanted to point out was that the weather has been pleasant and constant for a considerable while. You don't know this, seeing as you've just left your room an hour or so before, but the day has been beautiful from sunrise until now."
"Wait..." Caughlin frowned. "The weather's been constant?"
"We believe that Discord has been - what's the word? - bluffing, when he threatened swift vengeance. He took a combined blast head on, and suffered several essence-hurting blows. He may be powerful, but there's no doubting the degree of pain we must have caused." Furhich pointed in the direction of the mountains. "If that isn't enough to convince you, reports of normality are coming in from all over. Of course, there are still the small things - inanimate object becoming animate, periodical earthquakes as a result of Discord's previous meddling, but nothing that can be called 'an active decision by Discord'. Even the rain's stopped. Why would he do that? He of all ponies would know the importance of keeping up appearances. There's a strong possibility that he's trying to conserve his energies and recover, biding his time instead of tearing up the world. We've got him on the defensive."
Caughlin felt a rush through her senses. Discord, not on the offensive - that was certainly a change. Discord, not hunting after them. Discord, not hurting other ponies. They had done this. Something good, for a change... it felt... redeeming.
"Anyhow, we're not going to wait for Discord to come to us. We're working on a spell that traces Discord's signature chaotic energies. It's scattered all over Equestria and within ourselves, but if all goes well, he'll stick out like an evergreen in a quarry, seeing as he's the source of it."
"You still haven't told me what you want with me."
"Ah, yes. What I - what we need is something simple, something I don't even need to tell you to do." Furhich rested a hoof on her shoulder. She brushed it off. "Please, be there for Celestia and Luna. Help them through this deadlocked time, spend a few more moments with them, perhaps? They want to discover who they are, and they want to know what you think of them. Guide them, encourage them, give them your support. It really matters to them, you know."
There was nothing wrong with those words, she had to admit.
"I'll do what I believe is right," said Caughlin at last. Just one last thing I have to solve. She swallowed the lump in her throat. After all the years of holding it in, of feigning ignorance, now that she was confronting him... it wasn't the rush of triumphant cornering she had imagined it to be. It was dull, sick, underwhelming.
"Before we leave, are you sure there isn't anything that you want to tell me? No more secrets? Like, I dunno, another release, or maybe... something to do with their minds or brains?"
Furhich's smile, that horrible, perfect curve, told her the answer before his lips did.
"I'm sure. No more secrets, Caughlin."
That night was her last night in the ward. She would have the whole morning to pack the day after; just after lunch, some sort of fueled vehicle called a "car" would come and send her to her new home, a unit in the residential area.
She shifted restlessly, so much so that even Gummy, in a rare instance of initiave, had crawled to the foot of the bed where he would no longer be bothered. It was too warm to hide under the blanket, but she felt exposed without it.
Of course you wouldn't come clean to me. You're planning something. Whatever it is... you've got Celestia in it already, whether she knows it or not.
You don't need my help. You're just waving your power in my face, because there's nothing left that I can do but follow through.
Caughlin let her thoughts drift, too tired to make the effort of clearing her mind. It did not work very well, anyhow, and the echoes of her thoughts in her own voice helped to drench the one prevailing feeling that had taken over her heart:
I'm so alone. Celly, Luna... Whooves... I wish you were here.