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// For an Angel to Pass 
// Story: For an Angel to Pass 
// by Loganberry 
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Baby rabbits hopped and played in the dewy grass around the tree-cottage as dawn broke over the garden. Chasing each other in and out of the chicken house's legs, just as they'd done for so many years in the knowledge that here, close to Everfree as it might be, they had a protector.

Despite everything that had happened these last few days, I couldn't help give them a small, secret smile. Let them have just a little more happiness.

Would they even notice the change in this secluded corner of Ponyville? Eventually, I knew, they'd have no other choice. The melancholy that suffused the air was spreading like a cold November mist, and it was like a mist too in the way it seemed to deaden sound. The garden had always been a quiet place, but this had a different texture to its former calmness.

Gradually, too, these bunnies would start to appreciate that something important was missing. Slowly the realisation would dawn that no more would they scatter wildly as a determined, bad-tempered buck dashed through their playground, a mildly exasperated pegasus skittering after him with a carrot in her hoof.

We used to think those days would last forever – but nothing ever does.

Nothing ever does.


* * *


A memory.

Perhaps not so much a memory as a series of snapshots, each blurring into the next but standing individually clear and cold. Fading now, but still strong in their own way.

A cookbook. A cherry. A slap. A mailbox. A rope. A Stare. And everything had changed forever.

No-one else really believed it. Not at first, and not all of the ponies cared to hide their feelings. Some of them thought that a line had been crossed that could not be uncrossed, and that it should still be the end.

A couple of weeks after it was over, I sat by the window and watched Rainbow Dash glide smoothly along the river. As she reached the little bridge at the bottom of the garden, she glanced over towards the cottage, with a tiny shake of her multicoloured mane. It was a bare twitch of the head, and if you hadn't been paying attention you'd never have seen it. But I saw it all right.

Of course, I could never tell Rainbow what I'd seen her do. But I didn't forget that little shake. I guess that proud pegasus never really accepted our partnership, even after Tornado Day. Ironic, really.

Yes... Tornado Day. Well, more accurately, that training session. The difference in the way we worked together that day was extraordinary, the change in atmosphere between us tangible. That was when we knew that even the Iron Will debacle couldn't split our team apart.

As the days and weeks went on, some of the other ponies did begin to soften. Including, a little to my surprise, Applejack. We'd never been particularly close, and we'd had our run-ins here and there – during the Bunny Census, for one. An undercurrent of suspicion remained with AJ for quite a while: I once overheard her muttering to Twilight about "that darned rodent". 

It was hard not to giggle when Twilight responded by launching into a detailed explanation of the difference between rodents and lagomorphs.


* * *


Another memory.

This one a good deal more recent. It was still bright and sharp in my mind.

Late afternoon a summer or two ago, the pair of us wandering home from a Pony Pet Playdate. I'd gashed my leg somehow, maybe on a sharp rock somewhere, and I could only manage an awkward hobble. It didn't look like too serious an injury, but we'd had to break off and come home a little earlier than we'd have liked.

Rounding a corner in town, we came across Rarity, who hadn't been at the Playdate for some reason. That elegant mare was locked in animated conversation with a passer-by, a pony neither of us knew well. Misty Glen, her name was; she did menial jobs in one of Ponyville's less fashionable restaurants. A rather squat, dark blue earth pony, with an untidy brown mane and some nondescript cutie mark I can't now bring to mind.

Not at all the sort of pony you'd expect to find chatting to Rarity, but then you never quite knew with her. Neither of them noticed our approach, and we'd have been home a few moments later – but all at once, Rarity's words became more clearly audible, and what we heard brought us both up short.

"...about Fluttershy sometimes. She does seem awfully dependent. I know she has all those other animals she looks after, but it's Angel who's the most special to her. And, you know, rabbits really don't live all that long..."

Suddenly aware of our presence, the unicorn trailed off, a blush of embarrassment spreading across her face to contrast with her immaculate, near-white coat. "Er..." she stuttered, attempting to cover her confusion, "...hello? Good afternoon, Fluttershy. I'd invite you over for a spot of tea; it's just that I'm, well..."

She waved a hoof vaguely in the general direction of Misty before lapsing back into silence. She looked down at the ground, while a glance passed between the two of us who'd happened across her.

Nothing was said: it didn't have to be. We both knew to our very cores that Rarity had spoken only the truth. It wasn't anything we hadn't known for a long, long time – ever since the moment we'd first... I guess you could say, adopted each other. But there's a difference between a harsh truth that sits quietly at the back of your mind and one that's forced upon you with such brutal clarity.

After we'd got home, once my wound was bandaged up, we sat for a while in the front room. It was almost silent: no sounds but the evening breeze outside, the quiet rustling of the mice behind the skirting board – and the inexorably ticking clock. Again, no words were spoken, but there was a thickness in the air as darkness fell outside. You could sense that what Rarity had said lay heavy on both our minds.

That weight never really lifted. Sometimes after that, deep in the folds of the night and on the edge of dreaming, I'd hear the unicorn's words again. More than once I jerked upright in a panic, convinced that she was right there with me, whispering them into my ear.


* * *


The memories sputtered and died.

I didn't want them to go. I wanted to chase them out into the morning and bring them home. I wanted to soar up into the crystal-clear sky above and leap on them all.

The sun rose higher, the shadows becoming gradually shorter and stronger. Its rays seemed a little harsher, a little colder today. Perhaps they always would, now.

I raised my head. I knew now where my path must lead. As a distant, solitary pegasus blocked out the sun for a moment, I thought of my family for the first time in – oh, I don't know. Years, certainly. But those days were long gone; everyone I might turn to now was right here in Ponyville.

But if I stayed, every day I'd wake to an echoing, cavernous silence. Every day, no matter how many ponies and bunnies and critters might be there with me, there'd be a yawning, unfillable gap. I thought of the face that should have been there. A face that you had to work to understand – and few had really tried – but the face of one who had understood me so very deeply.

I lifted my eyes a little further, gazing up at the blueness above and feeling the warmth on my face. For a moment I wondered: could I come back here one day? Perhaps this could be home again; perhaps I could begin to heal.

I shook my head forcefully, trying to knock some sense back into it. Deep in my heart, I knew that all I would get if I trod that road would be misery piled upon misery. You can't go home again.

Not after a loss like this.

The old place would be all right: Applejack could keep an eye on it. She might play up her down-home, country gal image; she might grouse and grumble about "varmints"; but under it all she understood the rhythms of the land as well as anypony. She knew how important this place was.

So yes, the cottage would still be a refuge; it would still be a playground – it would still be a home. But it could no longer be my home. If I stayed now, it would just be me, and not what should be: simply, us.

It wouldn't be long now: I just needed to summon up the courage. I allowed myself a wry half-smile at the thought.

I watched the leaves move in the gentle breeze, listening to them rustle, and took in the scent of the herbs in the kitchen garden. My ears twitched as they caught snatches of dialogue from some fillies' skipping rhyme, floating in from the distant schoolyard. A strange sound on such a day as this, yet one somehow also fitting and right.

I turned my eyes on the gentle, steadfast cottage once more – and all at once, I knew. It was time.

I turned away and set off slowly towards the forest. A pair of courting butterflies flickered brightly past, their shimmering, metallic wings distracting me for just a moment from the old ache in my paw.