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// Life in the Air 
// Story: Life in the Air 
// by q97randomguy 
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Life in the Air


The light burning where my wings met my body made me smile. It meant I had been in the air for hours, nothing supporting me but my endurance. I may not be the fastest or the strongest or the most graceful, but if there was one thing I loved, it was staying up in the sky.

I thought back to why I was up here — as if I needed a reason. But as Pansy’s friend, being asked a question is among the simpler things that I’ve had to do. At least, it seemed simple at first.

What is it like to fly? That’s like asking what it’s like to breathe, what it’s like to have a dream.

I soared through the thin air, almost reflexively searching for the warmer updrafts that would allow me to stay up for as long as I could possibly want. The one I was currently in tickled my feathers as it lifted me higher.

This question was something a grownup should be answering, not me. But none of them would understand the question. Everypony we’re supposed to know can fly, so there’s no reason for the question to come up. But Pansy has those other two friends, the ones I help her sneak off to see, and they’re not pegasi.

And so now I was pondering the meaning of life.

That is what flight is to us. It is life. It is death. It is what we are. How do I explain the magic of a foal’s first flight? There’s nothing like it. I won’t ever forget my little sister’s. The air was dry, the sun was hot, making her a nice updraft, and she was hovering just a few hooves off the ground. I’ve never been so proud or so happy. I think Mom and Dad were crying. Pegasi have always considered it to be one of the great tragedies of life that almost no foal remembers his or her first flight.

I reached the point where the updraft stopped lifting me, so I turned my head and moved my tail to slowly bring myself to point at the next updraft. It was quite far away, but I knew I could make it without a single flap if I really tried. As I left the column of air, my wings found the most efficient shape for gliding through the thin air.

And how could I explain the final flight? I heard that unicorns burned their dead and that earth ponies bury theirs, but that just seems... crude somehow, disrespectful. When a pegasus dies, he’s sent on the final flight. As we are in life so we are in death. It is a very personal thing, the final flight. The pony’s family and friends all gather around the body and, together, lift it into the sky. Higher and higher they go until the ground is only a memory. And then they speak about the pony’s life, and the cloud from their breath wraps around the dead pony, holding him or her aloft. Our thoughts and memories made real carry them away on their final flight. Eventually, the winds bring them over the oceans, their final resting place. That way, they eventually become part of the clouds themselves. When a pegasus lands on a cloud, we know that our ancestors are beneath our hooves, giving us a place to rest. It’s comforting to know that one day I will support my fellow pegasi, that I’ll be appreciated forever.

The wind must be making my eyes water. So I reached out with the magic all pegasi have and directed the air to part around my head a little nicer. This mastery of the air is what makes a pegasus a pegasus. While griffins and dragons can fly, they just beat at the air with their wings. They move through the air, but they don’t fly.

There are some other pegasi who say that what I do isn’t really flying either, but they don’t see the pleasure of just allowing the air to take them where they want to go. They say it’s all about forcing the sky to do what you want, but I can’t see it that way. I search for the simplest path, the one the air wants me to take, and I take it.

Like how now there is a cloud in my path. It is still minutes ahead of and below me, so I closed my eyes and felt the air currents around me. Tilting my head and lowering my right hind leg brought me into a new path that would arc me around it. I didn’t worry yet about getting back on course; the sky would provide. It always does.

Out of the corner of my eye, by the edge of the Everfree, I saw a few ponies. I couldn’t tell if they were unicorns or earth ponies, but it barely mattered. I would stay in the air, and they would remain stuck on the ground. That was just how life worked.

What’s it like to fly? That’s like asking what it’s like to run on four hooves or see or hear.

I don’t know if it can even really be described to unicorns or earth ponies. Since they don’t have wings, there’s no way I can describe the sensations to them. With other pegasi, I could talk about how air flowing over my margins feels in a dive or how feathers rustling in the breeze let my wings know how to cut through the wind effortlessly. But anything like that would just be lost on a ground-pounder.

I felt the rising air before me and braced my wings into a new position just before passing into it. Then, I was in its grasp and being pulled upwards, ascending effortlessly. The gentle tug at my wings was always one of my favourite things; it let me know that something bigger than myself was on my side, helping me.

Of course, not every second of flying was like this. There were moments when the winds whipped around and fought against every flap, but those moments only ever made me appreciate how wonderful being in the air usually is more than ever.

I might be on to something there. It seemed almost like the sky was something alive, something pegasi everywhere can relate to. It’s almost like the sky is family, really.

Maybe that’s what I should tell Pansy to let Clover know, that flight is like being surrounded by a supporting family that wants to help you do whatever you want.

But that can wait a few hours. I want to spend more time with my family.