//------------------------------// // Chapter One // Story: How Far Away You Roam // by Ponydora Prancypants //------------------------------// HOW FAR AWAY YOU ROAM by Ponydora Prancypants Chapter One It was a wonderful, fortunate thing to belong to a family. Not every pony was so lucky. Still, being part of one meant living every day on a tether that could be spooled back at any time, for any number of reasons. Weddings. Reunions. Less pleasant happenings. Three days before Hearth's Warming, Rarity found herself high above the frigid earth, staring out a window at nothing in particular as the tether reeled her in. Below, a layer of clouds seemed a more perfect expanse of rolling, snow-covered hillocks than the real thing. No half-cleared paths or patches of dirty slush marred their uniformity. Theirs was was a stylized winter caricature with all the rose-colored sentimentality of a holiday card, but none of the cold truth. The clouds were layered thick and dense because a heavy snowfall was scheduled for central Equestria in a last push to ensure a properly wintry holiday in the capital and its surrounds. Pegasus-made clouds, however, hung low and heavy, well beneath the cruising altitude of a passenger airship. Rarity saw a clear blue sky above the unsullied white, darkening quickly as the shy winter sun slipped away. Snug in her down-filled jacket, she pictured the clouds as pristine snow, longing to feel real cold or anything numbing. “You all right?” Applejack asked. Rarity was not, but she welcomed being jarred from her reverie, and she turned away from the window. The mare seated next to her was not entirely herself, either: Applejack was an obvious bundle of nerves, her tensed muscles plainly visible wherever the flannel coat she wore failed to cover them. She was practically vibrating with anxiety. Even as she rested one hoof gently on Rarity’s shoulder, her left foreleg remained tightly wrapped around her seat’s legrest, and her vivid green eyes were wide as saucers. “I will be fine,” Rarity answered, letting the tired syllables spill languorously from her lips. She forced herself into a more upright position, and added, “In any case, I should be the concerned, comforting one. I’ve been so caught up in my own thoughts that I completely forgot how much you dislike air travel. Goodness, Darling, you look positively spooked!” Applejack’s chuckle was barely audible above the thrum of engines and machinery. “Well, rightly so, if you ask me. Flyin’ in the belly of a big ol’ mechanical beastie is a spooky thing for a country pony who likes to keep all four hooves on solid earth. But I’ll live: I’m just takin’ it one minute at a time, and I’m spendin’ that one minute reminding myself that you promised we’d be ridin’ the train when it comes time to head on back home.” Her expression suddenly grew more serious. “I am worried about you, though. You ain’t had much to say, basically since you told me the bad news. I hate the thought of you sufferin’ in silence when I’m right here for the talkin’ to.” Rarity sighed deeply. Applejack’s accusation—for that was its tone—was true enough, but she had ample reason to be out of sorts and taciturn. Yesterday she had awoken still believing the two of them could look forward to a romantic Hearth’s Warming getaway spent sunning in the tropics. She had joked with Fluttershy over breakfast at Sugarcube Corner that she would work her way through so many fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas in them that she would be able to outfit all the mice in the former’s cottage for next year’s rainstorms. She had boasted to Pinkie Pie that she would spend so much time in the sun, her ivory coat would toast a golden brown. Now, instead of all that, she and Applejack were flying north, and an aborted vacation was the least of her concerns. “I suppose I’m just not feeling terribly conversational,” Rarity finally said. “But you should know that it gives me great comfort that you are here with me, though I feel terrible for promising you pineapple daiquiris in Gallopoli and delivering the opportunity to freeze your tail stiff in Whinnyapolis instead.” Applejack grimaced as the airship suddenly dipped, then quickly recovered the lost altitude. “Hey now, I was the one who asked to come, and there ain’t nowhere else I’d rather be,” she said through gritted teeth. “Because I know you so well, I’m forced to believe you’re being honest about that,” Rarity replied, a wisp of a genuine smile brightening her gray countenance. “Otherwise, the hoof you are mercilessly grinding into my shoulder blade and the lovely little ears you’ve plastered flat against your head might suggest otherwise.” Applejack retracted her foreleg like she was dodging a striking snake and began to apologize before Rarity’s gentle laughter quieted her. The Unicorn was beginning to feel just a bit lighter when the familiar loud static of an omnivox spell sounded in the cabin, followed by a mare’s slightly-distorted voice. “Good evening, fillies and gentlecolts,” the voice announced, in the folksy drawl that Rarity decided all would-be airship captains were made to adopt from their first day of training. The captain introduced herself and the rest of the crew, announced that the designated cruising altitude had been reached, and reported that she currently estimated an on-time arrival tomorrow morning. This all prefaced a less favorable report: “I’d also like to remind everypony that we’ll be traveling through uncontrolled airspace for the majority of this flight. We’ve had reports of a moderate winter weather system moving across our projected course, so I suggest you all take this opportunity to stretch your legs and enjoy the ship’s amenities, since we might need to ask you to strap in later. It’s looking like we’ve got about an hour left before we reach the edge of the Canterlot Weather Management Zone. Thank you, and on behalf of the crew of the Blue Horizon and everypony at the Royal Blue Line, please enjoy the flight.” Applejack donned a pained look, and commenced grumbling. "Peachy. I’m about as fond of feral weather as I am flyin’, so combinin’ the two ought to be a hoot.” She was breathing rapidly, and leaned forward to press her forelimbs against the front wall of the private cabin, leading Rarity to worry that she was about to be sick. The Unicorn decided that the sensible course of action was to heed the captain’s invitation to get up and move around before the cabin required cleaning. In any event, it would be nice to stretch her legs and look at something other than the four walls of their cabin. “I should like a drink, and I suspect something bracing might be in order for you as well, Applejack,” she announced. “Come with?” Without waiting on a reply, Rarity hooked a foreleg under one of her companion’s, and helped the other pony out of her seat and onto four wobbly legs. The airship’s spacious lounge was located immediately forward of the first class cabins, so the pair did not have far to go. It stretched across the beam of the ship, affording the luxury of windows on either side, and it had been decorated for the holidays. There was even a Hearth’s Warming togetherness tree nestled in one corner, small and artificial but cheerfully decorated with tiny dirigibles and other aeronautical-themed ornaments. Rarity wasted no time in finding a pair of stools at the polished aluminum bar and joining a half-dozen of her fellow passengers who had already come seeking comfort and cheer in potent libations. She gestured at another patron’s half-empty glass, tapped the bar twice, and watched as the dark, handsome young Pegasus tending bar wordlessly mixed a concoction of cherry liqueur and vermouth. He strained the transparent red liquid into two stemless cocktail glasses before finishing the presentation with a vibrant red cherry and a twist of orange peel. The stallion flashed a smile full of brilliant white teeth at Rarity as he set the drinks before his latest customers. Rarity nodded appreciatively and discretely levitated a few coins into a small metal box adorned with a striped holiday bow, before proceeding to take an experimental sip. The ruby liquid’s sweetness partially disguised a medicinal astringency, but she supposed it was quaffable enough, and the color was festive. She hoped it would quell Applejack’s anxiety, and allow her own thoughts to unknot themselves. “Cheers, I guess,” Applejack said belatedly, and took a hearty swig of her cocktail. “Hm. Cherry. Not bad.” “Yes, cheers,” Rarity murmured. She took another drink as she looked around the lounge. In one corner, a young Unicorn mare was settling in behind a little spinet piano, constructed from aluminum to save weight like much of the shipboard furniture. She immediately launched into a sprightly rendition of “The Fire of Friendship” that almost overcome the flat tone of the miniaturized metal piano through sheer enthusiasm. Other ponies in the lounge were animated, engaged, and ruddy from an abundance of holiday spirits. Nopony appeared particularly concerned by the captain’s warning about the potential for rough weather, or by anything else in particular. Rarity envied them, even anxious Applejack, who was already asking for another round. They were all here, in this moment, while she floundered, tempest-tossed, in suffocating memories. This year’s Hearth’s Warming was not going to be a joyous occasion. Rarity had not visited her parents’ hometown, nor even seen any of her extended family, in over two years. She had precious little in common with her own parents, or even her sister, let alone the various aunts, uncles, and cousins. She struggled even to remember some of their faces and names. Now she was dragging Applejack into the wintry mix of endless awkward introductions and plays at small talk. To really put the heart on the tree for this year’s Hearth’s Warming, the only one of her extended family she felt close to was the one who was bringing them all together this year, because she was about to die. Silver Belle was Rarity’s great aunt—her mother’s aunt—and by virtue of seniority she was the closest that side of the family had to a matriarch. A dancer in the ballet and theater, she had retired the day she had gone south to help care for her niece’s infant daughter. Rarity’s parents had moved to Ponyville only months before, out of the necessity to find steady work, and they knew nopony in town they could call on to care for a newborn. Back then, bits had been too scarce for a nurse or even community foalcare. Aunt Silver ended up staying eight formative years in Ponyville, and teaching Rarity many things she had learned from a career in and out of costumes: to sew, to knit, to take a pattern and turn it into a finished article of clothing, and then to design the pattern itself. She fostered her grandniece's love for finding beauty where it lay hidden and to create it from whole cloth—so to speak—when it was hidden too well. She fanned the little flame of creation in Rarity’s breast, and at the same time admonished her to share that warmth and light where it was needed. Without Silver Belle, Rarity as she was would not exist. She would be somepony else. Rarity felt her facial muscles contract into a frown. Even after the news came that Silver Belle was sick, two years ago, it had been so easy and expedient to brush it all aside. In memories, her favorite great aunt was still the vivacious, elegant mare of her foalhood. It was easier to to think of that, and not how Aunt Silver’s letters had become less coherent, and then eventually stopped altogether. It was easier not to think of the opportunities to visit she had missed because she convinced herself she was far too busy. She had taken comfort in the fact that Silver had access to good medical care, and of course she had Aunt Glory's family to take care of her. It was ever so much easier for Rarity to pretend that life could not, and would not, treat a pony like Silver Belle so unfairly. But Aunt Silver never got better. Yesterday, Mother had rushed into the Boutique with word that her aunt had taken a dramatic turn for the worse, and everypony was rushing to the old house in Maple Cove. Rarity’s parents had caught the first flight out, Sweetie Belle in tow, leaving her behind to make arrangements for the closure of her shop, change her previous travel plans, and then to follow as soon as possible. There was no question that she would follow. Rarity had simply stood in her shop for a time afterward. Though she had largely refused to acknowledge Aunt Silver’s decline, the news did not shock her, nor did it draw forth any tears. She had only vicarious experience with the passing of loved ones, but she certainly understood that death was the mostly-inevitable consequence of living. This was not truly a sad occasion. Aunt Silver was quite old. She had lived a remarkable life. By all accounts, she had been happy. Even so, Rarity was troubled by some feeling she could not place, some sense of fundamental wrongness about this whole affair that defied naming. She supposed she could sort herself out up in Whinnyapolis. Barring that she would at least have the opportunity to say goodbye to Aunt Silver. She hung the “closed” sign in the front door, trotted into her workroom, and stood in silence, rooted to one spot, for another hour, wondering why she felt so unsettled that a day long in coming had come at last. After forcing her hooves into action with great effort, Rarity’s next conscious act had been to hurry across town, through the Haymarket, out the south gate, and into the sprawling orchards of Sweet Apple Acres in search of the pony she had lately begun to call her girlfriend. When Rarity found her, Applejack was as remarkable and good as she ever could have wished for, and exactly as she expected. How grateful she had been, when the cancellation of their long-planned vacation was met with understanding and empathy, instead of anger and resentment! She had exclaimed—shouted practically—“Yes, of course!” when Applejack asked to come along. “For moral support,” she had said, and to meet the family. It had seemed so obviously right in the moment. Of course her Applejack should be there. Now, though, a league above Equestria, doubt was creeping into the shadowed, already crowded corners of Rarity’s conscious thought. Somepony she loved was dying. Somepony she cared for so much that it almost frightened her was about to be thrust into a situation for which neither she nor Applejack was prepared. And there was still that lingering feeling of wrongness that she could not name, that had almost cemented her to the floor of the Boutique, and now cinched and squeezed her body like an ill-fitting corset. At that moment, while Rarity was still lost in thought, the airship violently lurched to the left with such force that several ponies in the lounge fell to the deck, and Rarity heard the tinkling of broken glass somewhere nearby. She instinctively steadied herself by clinging to the bar with both forelegs. Pressed against the metal, she could feel the entire ship vibrating, and she could hear the steam engines whining angrily as they grappled with the wind and weather outside. “Woo doggies!” Applejack shouted, holding onto the bar with one foreleg while using the other to hoist her hat in the air like a rodeo bull rider. She turned to Rarity, even as the airship suffered another hard jolt. “Lookit, Rare! I’m the Earth Pony airship bar rodeo cham-peen! Yee-haw!” Rarity stared aghast at the five empty glasses in front of Applejack, all precariously rolling around on the bar as the ship rocked back and forth. She would have given the bartender a dirty look for overindulging Applejack’s intention to inoculate herself with liquid courage, but she was the one who had ignored her companion, and the Pegasus was too busy collecting glasses and battening down the cabinets to pay her any mind, anyway. After a sound like crinkling cellophane, a familiar voice filled the lounge, now almost shouting to be heard over rushing air and straining engines. “This is the captain. We recently departed the Canterlot WMZ, and we are now flying in uncontrolled airspace. As you may have noticed, it unfortunately looks like the weather is going to be quite a bit rougher than expected, right up until we reach the boundary of the North Cities management zone. The storm has already moved in behind us, and there’s no safe way to moor the ship for the night, so we’ll have to push through this weather and look for calmer skies ahead. "The good news is that we have two of the best Pegasus weather scouts in the Royal Blue Line with us. They’re taking wing as I speak, and will work tirelessly to find us the best possible route, while keeping the worst of the weather off our backs. The bad news is that I have to ask you all to leave the public areas of the ship and return to your seats until the sky clears up. We appreciate your understanding and cooperation in ensuring the safety of the crew, yourselves, and your fellow passengers.” Even before the crackle of the voicepipe enchantment cut off, the chief steward—a tall, trim stallion with a pale green coat and a parsnip cutie mark—had trotted into the lounge and begun ushering the ponies inside back to their private cabins or public coach seats. With an apologetic look, Rarity waved him over, and the two of them commenced to half-carry, half-herd a boisterous Applejack back to their shared cabin, where the latter proceeded to whoop and holler for a full minute more, then promptly fall asleep, like a lamp with its fuel suddenly cut off. It did not take long after that for Rarity to begin to suspect her snoring sweetheart had the better of the situation. She had previously managed to get on perfectly well in any number of places beyond the reach of Equestrian magical authority, including inside the Everfree Forest itself, but this raging winter storm seemed personally offended by the shipful of ponies that had dared challenge it, and it was making its outrage known. It was completely dark within and without the ship now, but every few minutes Rarity could see a faint glow beyond her cabin window. The intermittent lights in the storm illuminated a blizzard so thick it seemed the ship must be more snowplow than aircraft to get through it. Even with Pegasus heartiness and Imperial-grade torch crystals lighting their way, she worried for the poor weather scouts, and wondered how they even kept track of the ship and each other in such miserable conditions. Somehow, they were supposed to chart an ideal course, but how could there be any such thing? She hoped they received hazard pay. Mainly, she hoped they all made it through this. There were moments when she felt certain that the rivets and bolts holding the ship together would fail, or that the wind would rupture the ship’s envelope, or that the engines would no longer be able to fight the wind and they would be blown down and dashed against the ground. The unpleasant feelings in her gut churned and thrashed about with every hammering gust of wind: her guilt at the selfish and short-sighted decision to allow Applejack to come, and the unplaceable ugly sensation that the whole morbid sojourn engendered. Eventually, Rarity realized that there was something warm and weighty pressing against her, and she instinctively produced a bright blue-white glow from her horn to see what it was. Applejack had shifted in her sleep, and was now resting her head across Rarity’s gaskins. Applejack’s hat had rolled onto the cabin floor at some point, but she was still wearing her warm flannel, and a peaceful smile. Her long blond mane was untied, and it spilled like golden silk across Rarity’s lap. Rarity ran a hoof through the sleeping mare’s hair, shining softly with reflected hornlight. She was so very beautiful, and she was so good. Rarity determined to let go of her guilty conscience for now and simply be glad and grateful, because there was nopony else she wanted by her side. Outside, the storm did not relent, but Rarity eventually forgot about it. Finally, she fell asleep.