The Black Owl was hardly the world’s foremost tavern. It sat in a little village called Morel, northwest of Canterlot and nestled among the great evergreen forests of the Unicorn Range. “Out of the way” could only begin to describe it; “remote” or “middle of nowhere” would be more apt. Its patrons were either seasoned veterans of the local brew, or travelers on their way to places far more civilized. No one ever entered the place expecting anything out of the ordinary.
So when a tall stranger walked in with a sword on his back and a tiny companion at his side, a number of heads turned to look their way.
They both wore cloaks of thick cloth, spattered with the mud of a long journey and speckled by the rain that was falling outside. The edge of the tall one’s cloak was faded and frayed, making the small one’s look brand new by comparison. Their hoods were drawn up, hiding their features from the many eyes that were now watching them.
The small one hesitated, shuffling closer to the tall one. He reached a massive hand down to pat his compatriot on the head, and at his urging, they made their way into the smoke, smell, and silence. His footfalls thudded against the oaken floor, heavy and unyielding.
The tavern owner evidently knew trouble when she saw it. She offered them no welcome as they approached the bar, merely a guarded, “Can I help you?”
The tall one looked down at her, his green eyes shining from the depths of his hood like burning copper. Slowly, he reached up and uncovered his head. The barmaid gasped, taking a step back.
His face was pointed and lizard-like, coated in purple scales that glinted in the low lantern light. Pocks and scars dotted his face, including a prominent one that parted his right brow and traveled down to the tip of his snout. A crest of emerald spines jutted from the top of his head, jagged and blade-like.
He grinned, showing off an armory’s worth of dagger-like fangs. “Hi there,” he said. His voice was deep and breathy, like the roar a furnace makes when a bellows is applied. “My name’s Spike.”
The barmaid shook her head rapidly, blinked twice, and sputtered, “Y-you’re a d-d-dragon?”
“Yep,” he said, oblivious to the hushed murmuring that was now taking place at the tables behind him. “Don’t worry. I get that a lot.”
She stared at him like a squirrel in the sights of a manticore. “Do you, now?”
He nodded happily. “So yeah, to answer your question, I was hoping for a drink.”
The barmaid shook herself again, and finally regained some semblance of composure. “Right. A drink.” She placed an elbow on the bar. “What’s your pleasure?”
“How about a glass of milk?”
He might as well have asked for her liquefied soul. Shaken, not stirred, of course. “Really?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.
“Yep. How much?”
“Two… two bits.”
Two bits fell to the countertop, clinking merrily.
She scooped them up and wandered to a battered icebox in the corner, wondering what part of last night’s meal had led to this surreal dream.
Left alone, Spike turned to survey the bar. A number of patrons hurriedly turned away from his gaze. That was good. It meant nopony was looking for trouble here. It didn’t look like anypony was giving them any undue attention, either. That was very good.
He glanced down at his companion, who was tucked close to his side. If ponies remembered him, so be it. With any luck, he’d be the only one they remembered.
“Here’s your milk,” said the barmaid, sliding a tin tankard across the bar.
“Ah, thank you.” Spike enveloped the mug in one massive hand, and lifted it to his nose for a sniff. Nothing smelled out of the ordinary, and it wasn’t cheese yet. Good enough. He passed it to down to his companion, who took it in both hands and began drinking happily.
He turned back to the barmaid. “There’s one other thing you might be able to help me with.”
She gulped. “And, uh… What might that be, sir?”
He lowered his voice to a quiet rumble. “I hear there’s a witch around these parts.”
Her eyes darted to the side. “I, uh… Well, I certainly haven’t heard of anything like that.”
“Hm.” Spike nodded slowly. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d be honest with me.” He took his coin pouch from his belt and plopped it onto the counter.
She looked at the bag, then back to him, rubbing one foreleg against the other nervously. “You don’t want to go chasing shadows around here. Especially not into the back woods.”
“So she’s out in the forest, then.” He grinned. “That’s a start.”
“Look, just forget it. I’m doing you a favor here.” She leaned in, whispering urgently to him. “Folk have tried finding her before. They came back… different. Or they didn’t come back at all. You’d be a fool to try.”
“I’m not a fool, ma’am. I’m a dragon.”
Her eyes roved his face, as though looking for some hint that he was joking. She gave up quickly, shaking her head. “All right. If you’re really that determined, I’m not going to stop you.” She sighed. “But for the life of me, I can’t think why you’d want to go running through the woods in the first place.”
Spike opened his mouth to reply, but then he felt a tug at his cloak. He glanced down, finding an empty tankard being held up to him. He smiled, took it delicately, and placed it on the counter. “I have my reasons.”
The barmaid pulled the mug close. “I won’t ask, but they better be good ones. Do you have a map?”
He unbuttoned a pouch at his waist, and withdrew a well-worn sheet of paper. Unfolding it on the bar, he spun it so the north side was facing him. “We’re here, right?” he said, pointing a talon at a tiny dot on in the southeast corner.
“Yeah, that’s close enough.” She traced her hoof along the map. “You’ll want to head along the Meadowlark River here. There’s a crossing just north of town that you can find easily enough. It’s about twenty miles until you reach this bend here and the river turns to rapids. Just head straight north from there.” She shuddered. “You’ll be on your own after that. The forest gets… dark in the shadow of the mountain there.”
“I understand. Anything else you can tell me?”
“Since I can’t convince you not to go, I don’t think there’s anything else that needs to be said.”
“Okay, then.” He folded the map up again, and reached for his sack of bits. “So, payment where it’s due.”
She held up a hoof. “Keep your bits. I couldn’t live with myself, getting paid to send somepony to their death.”
“Fair enough.” He pocketed the bag of bits, straightening up to his full height. “Thanks again, ma’am. And thanks for being honest.”
With a motion to his little companion, he drew up his hood and walked out of the Black Owl with the same heavy tread he had entered with. The barmaid watched them leave; several of her clientele also turned to look at their passing. She glanced at the empty tankard sitting on the bar, and after a moment’s hesitation, took it in her hoof and began cleaning it. She chuckled to herself.
A dragon, his tiny companion, and a cup of milk. There was a story to all this, she was sure.
She never found out what it was, though, because she never saw them again.
Rain pattered on his hood, dripped from the edges of his cloak. It fell among the puddles on the roadside, spotting them with hundreds of little rings. Mud squelched beneath his boots, the occasional piece of gravel grinding against his sole. The forest was alive with scents, all forcing their way into his nostrils—the sweetness of wet pine needles, the heavy dampness of moss, and somewhere, the sour tang of rot.
Spike took comfort in the smells. They were familiar. Safe. They reminded him of summer nights spent under the stars, of morning dew glinting on green fields. And if he focused on the smell of wood, he could almost put himself back in a library among many musty books…
He shook his head, sending drops of water everywhere. He couldn’t let his mind wander. With the wind blowing against them, any oncoming threats would make themselves known by scent long before they could be detected by ear or eye, but only if he was alert enough to detect them.
There was a tug at his cloak. He looked down, finding a little hooded figure gazing up at him. He couldn’t see her full expression, but he’d gotten to the point where he didn’t have to.
“It’s all right, Renée,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “I was just getting some water out of my eyes.”
He could feel her gaze on him. Exactly what she saw, he had no real way of knowing, but she returned his grin nonetheless.
Spike nodded and resumed his constant vigil. That was all that needed to be said—all that could be said.
They kept walking. The rain kept falling.
Just as the barmaid had said, the road soon reached a river crossing, spanned by a bridge of worn stone. In earlier times, there likely would have been somepony standing sentry over it, but the old guard house stood crumbled and abandoned. Perhaps it was a victim of a monster attack, or perhaps nopony had come to check the structure in so long it had simply collapsed one day.
Whatever the reason, it meant there was no one to witness the pair as they crossed the bridge and began following the river northward. They kept away from the water’s edge, following the river more by its babbling sound than by sight, the underbrush of the forest nipping and tugging at their shins as they walked. Better to have wet legs than to run into a wild bear drinking from the river, though.
Spike peered up at the crowns of the surrounding pines. They were thick and densely-meshed, nearly blotting out the grey skies. That was good. Overhead cover kept the rain off of them, as well as any prying eyes. The trees blocked the breeze—and any scents it might have carried—but that was a fair tradeoff. He’d just have to listen harder.
Admittedly, there wasn’t much to listen to other than the sounds of their footfalls and the rush of the river and the pitter-patter of the rain on everything, as it had been for hours now. That was also good.
A low growl sounded off to his right. His hand flinched toward the hilt of his sword, before he realized what it was. He glanced down at Renée.
“Hungry, huh?”
She looked back up at him, nodding.
“All right.” He scanned the surroundings. “We’ve come far enough for one day, I think. Let’s see if we can’t find a good place to make camp in those hills over there.” He pointed a talon at a ridge, near the foot of the mountain. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, her voice high and clear like a bird’s. Then she mumbled like a chipmunk, “Hitwas rethoan meli ro’os, nyaywa?”
Spike smirked. Even if he couldn’t understand her, he knew sarcasm when he heard it. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re sick of walking. I would be, too. Just a little further.”
With an indignant sigh, she turned back to the forest ahead. Her strides lengthened, slightly. Still smirking, Spike hurried to catch up.
As Spike had hoped, they came across a small cavern at the base of the mountain. Even better, it was out of the way, dry, and didn’t smell of bear. The hard stone floor was a small price to pay in exchange.
They spent several minutes gathering firewood—Spike hefting several large branches while Renée gathered kindling. It was all soaked through, but that made little difference with dragon fire as an igniter. Soon enough, there was a nice, warming blaze flickering away in the middle of the cave.
Renée wasted no time, ditching her wet cloak and sitting down next to the fire.
Spike looked her over. She seemed no worse for wear, despite everything the weather had thrown at her today, and yet she still looked so frail.
She had no fur, save for the mane of pale blond hair that hung from her head down to the nape of her neck. She had no claws, save the little points on the tips of her spindly fingers, which weren’t even sharp. Her ears were stubbly and inert—he’d never once seen them move, whether she was happy, sad, or anything in between. She didn’t even have a tail. If it weren’t for the baggy tunic and trousers she wore, she would probably freeze.
Small. Defenseless. Simply put, she wasn’t meant for the wilds of Equestria, land of monstrous beasts and erratic magic.
And yet here she was. And here he was, trying to figure out what to do about her.
That was still in the nebulous future, though. He knew exactly what to do in the present. Spike doffed his pack, and began rummaging through it. He normally didn’t pack much, even on a long march like this. All he’d ever needed was a few days’ worth of gems to keep him fed for a good long while, and he could always find more of those. Now, however, he had to keep a much bigger stock of berries, edible greens, and hard bread.
He took a square of the latter out, and handed it to Renée. She took it in her pale hands and started nibbling on one of the corners. It was a wonder her tiny teeth could even chew the stuff. Heck, she’d nearly broken a tooth the first time he’d given her some.
“There’s your first course,” he said. “I’m going to go see if I can’t get a second one.”
Her eyes darted to him at the words “I’m going to go”. She’d learned what that phrase meant a while back.
“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”
She gave a little head bob. She’d learned what that one meant, too.
Straightening up, Spike looked out the mouth of the cave. “And wouldn’t you know it? As soon as we get out of the rain, it stops. It’s a funny world we live in.” He chuckled. “That’s good, though. That’s good. It means the critters will be out and about.” He stepped over to Renée, crouching down beside her.
“Keep your boots on,” he said, motioning to her feet. If there was one thing they’d learned, it was that they had to be ready to high-tail it at a moment’s notice. They were taking enough of a risk with the fire. Throwing his hood back up, he turned and stepped out into the woods.
Ten minutes later, he was back at the cave with a slightly precooked rabbit in tow. A little more cleaning and dressing, and he had a nice brace of meat, ready for cooking. Unbuckling his sword from his back, he sat down at the edge of the fire, setting the blade on the floor of the cave next to him. With the rabbit held in a firm grip, he reached his hand above the flames and started cooking.
Renée watched him, her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees. The flames flickered in her big brown eyes as she stared, transfixed, by the fact that his arm was undamaged, even as the rabbit’s flesh began to brown and boil. Spike smirked.
“Don’t try this at home, Renée.”
Soon enough, the meat was cooked. A bit of quick work with his claws, and he had a tasty set of rabbit filets to hand to Renée. She snatched them up and ate them happily and noisily.
He chuckled. “Boy, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were part dragon, the way you eat.”
She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.
“I meant it as a compliment,” he said.
The eyebrow lowered. She resumed eating.
Spike shook his head. “Y’know, when I found you, I honestly had no idea what you were. I still don’t, really.” He sighed, raising his arms behind his head and lying back. “It is kinda nice having someone to talk to, though. I’ll admit, I haven’t had that in a long while.”
“Erhe ewog nagia,” she said, smiling at him. “Ouy wysaal ratst knigatl wneh ma’i eigtan.”
“If we ever find the time, I’m going to sit down and really try to improve your vocabulary.” He heaved another sigh. “It is going to be a trick, finding the time. Even then, I’m not sure I’d be the best teacher. Certainly couldn’t hold a candle to some of the teachers I’ve had.”
“Ofink’di siwh nek’wi thwa ouyrae aysngi. Ouy wysaal ndous os’riesuos.”
“And I couldn’t even begin to handle such a precocious student. If you were a pony, you’d still be a handful.”
“Revahwet.” She shrugged. “Yebam enad’oy lel’wiw tog’et lkat rhetgeto.” Messily, she finished off the rest of her rabbit.
Spike sat up, looking at her. “You’re special. Maybe the most special thing in the world. And I don’t know what that means for us. For all of us.”
She seemed to sense his gaze, her brown eyes locking with his.
He shook his head. “Don’t pay my rambling any mind, Renée. We’ll get some answers tomorrow, I’m sure of it. You about ready for bed?”
Another phrase she knew the meaning of. “Yes.”
“All right, then.” Reaching out, he engulfed the fire with his hand, slapping and tamping it until the embers had died. The cave plunged into darkness; the coolness of the night rushed to fill the void.
Almost immediately, Renée recoiled from the cold. Shivering, she reached for her cloak and threw it around her shoulders.
“Yeah, it’s going to be a cold night tonight.” Spike lay on his side, his back toward the cave entrance. “Come on over here. You know the drill.”
No temperature was low enough to quench a dragon’s natural warmth. Between Spike’s toasty scales and her fire-dried cloak, Renée had all the makings of a cozy slumber. She wrapped herself in her makeshift blanket, curling up against Spike’s chest. He put one arm around her to further shield her from the cold.
“Comfy?” he asked.
She nodded, nuzzling a little closer into his warm embrace. Within minutes she was out, her breath slow, even, and steady.
No questions, no complaints, and quick to sleep. She was a trooper, all right. Spike shifted his weight slightly, bracing his head as comfortably as he could. For a long while, he simply lay there, listening to the swaying of the trees outside, the peeping of frogs in the distance, and the tiny thump of Renée’s heartbeat. It was utterly peaceful, hypnotic in its tranquility, and when sleep beckoned, he walked eagerly into its open arms.
But as always, he kept one hand on the hilt of his sword.
They heard the roar of the rapids a good half-mile before they came upon them. White water foamed and crashed against the narrow, walls of the surrounding dell, the smooth rock glistening in the midday sun. Just beneath the churning surface, piles of boulders could be seen, and further upriver, a short staircase of waterfalls, climbing up toward the lower reaches of the mountains.
Spike crouched at the water’s edge, holding a canteen into the turbulent water. It was already filled; that had been the easy part of the process. Slow-burning the thing with his flame breath—to boil the water and purify it—and then keeping it in the river to cool it back down again was the hard part. He was exposed down by the water’s edge, and nearly deafened by the sound of the rapids.
He kept his eyes on the sky. The overcast clouds of yesterday had been swept away during the night, leaving only a few fluffy tufts to float lazily through the open blue expanse—perfect camouflage for any airborne observers. He tucked the canteen away quickly, moving back under the shade of the trees.
Renée was waiting for him, covered down beneath her cloak in the hollow of a downed tree. Just as he’d told her, she stayed completely still, even as he approached. It was only when he whispered, “Okay, all clear,” that she crawled out and started dusting herself off.
“Tev’igo sug’ibn rai’hym,” she said, tossing her blond locks about.
He reached out a claw, flicking a beetle from the top of her head. “I gotta say, you’re pretty rough-and-tumble for a little girl. I knew somepony once who wouldn’t have been caught dead under a tree like that.”
Straightening up, she squared away her shoulders, looking at him expectantly.
“Yep, time to get hiking again.” Kneeling down, he pulled out his map. “That was the bend in the river back there”—he pointed on the map and then behind him—“so it should just be a straight shot north, into this valley here.” He pointed toward the distant mountains.
She took the map, looked it over, and began miming the motions he had just went through, pointing out the landmarks and their destination. “Soi’hastt rehew wre’ae gnoin? Siti tepryt rayf’awa. ”
“We’ll get there when we get there. But only if we start walking.” He held out his hand for the map, and she returned it. Stowing it away, he smiled and said, “You ready to find us a witch?”
She nodded happily. “Okay!”
It was indeed dark in the shadow of the mountain.
Whatever optimism the pair had held before had long since been choked out by the thickening boughs above. It was like dusk beneath these trees—their branches seemed to be conspiring to keep the sunlight from the forest floor. And yet somehow, between the gnarled roots and wide trunks, tangled plants still grew, scraping at their boots as they walked. Every so often, a mass of rock rose above the underbrush, like tombstones amid a dark graveyard.
The air here was heavy and laden with the scent of decay. Spike could smell the fallen branches, the rotting logs, the spongy lichens. This was an old wood, an ancient wood—it was the sort of place which birthed stories of monsters, where fear and the unknown met to conjure fantastical beasts.
Which would be bad enough, except such beasts could prove very real.
Spike led the way with his sword in one hand and Renée’s palm in the other. His footfalls fell heavy and quiet against the earth; their sound seemed to die as soon as he took a step. It was as though everything feared to make any noise in this place.
“Il’yeral d’toon keli hist alpec,” whispered Renée, inching closer to him.
He squeezed her hand tighter. “It’s okay, Renée.”
“Il’yeral d’toon keli hist alpec,” she repeated, more urgently.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. After all, we know we’re on the right track.” He chuckled as brightly as he could manage.
She looked at him like he had suddenly turned into a giant talking radish. “Ouy’rae zyrac.”
He gave her his best smile, and turned back to the forest ahead. He didn’t dare say anything more, for fear his little lie would be found out. He hadn’t been entirely truthful when he said there was nothing to be afraid of.
There was something out there. He had known it for some time now—little whiffs on the air, a flicker between the trees, the feeling of eyes on his back.
“Beware…”
Spike snapped his head around. Had he just imagined that? A glance at Renée told him “no”—she had the same wide look in her eyes that he did.
“Beware…”
Definitely not. This time it came from the opposite direction. He held himself steady, his eyes darting around.
“If you’re going to screw with us,” he said, “the least you can do is show your face while you do it.”
Whatever he was expecting to happen, he didn’t think they would actually oblige him.
It appeared with a hiss, a light amid the trees. First it was in front of him, then it was behind him, off to the side, then the other. He didn’t budge, didn’t rise to the challenge. He could feel Renée clutching at his leg, but still he remained motionless. Even as it approached, he forced himself to remain still, despite everything telling him to run.
A cloud of sickly green gas issued forth from the trees, gathered around its mangled hooves. Its fangs, needle-like and as long as his forearm, hung from its skull like stalactites in a cave, its lower jaw distended in a silent scream. A few stray wisps of mane wrapped around its jagged horn, spilling down its twisted neck and crooked spine. And in the hollows of its sockets, two dead eyes, alight with a murderous sheen, stared down at them.
Renée screamed, grabbing the hem of his cloak and hiding behind him. Spike felt his heart beating frantically against his ribs.
It shrieked. From its ghastly throat came a cry that shook the trees around them. It started low, climbing to an ear-splitting pitch, threatening to overwhelm him with its sheer volume.
And then it started forward.
Spike held his ground, his sword held fast. He forced his rapid breathing to subside, focused on taking deep breaths.
It howled again, sending a spray of slime from its teeth.
He took a deep breath.
It reared back onto its hind hooves, its mouth poised to consume the both of them.
Spike loosed his fire.
With a roar that shook the very air, searing green flame leapt from his jaw, scattering the shadows and ripping toward the monster. It tore the hideous face asunder, and with a whipping of his maw, he sent the tongue of flame lashing across the rest of its body. The blaze destroyed it utterly, shredding and consuming the beast until there was nothing left.
Nothing, save the figure at its heart.
The last flickering of the flames revealed a feminine form clad in a black robe. She wore her mane long, accented with the gold rings hanging from her ears and around her neck. What little was visible of her fur was striped in black and grey, and two cool blue eyes gazed back at him, twinkling with recognition.
“Can it be true?” she whispered, stepping forward on quivering hooves. “Spike, is that you?”
“Yeah.” He lowered his sword, letting the rest of his breath out in a ragged laugh. “Yeah, it’s me, Zecora.”
“This is impossible, all a dream.” She shook her head. “No, you can’t be who you seem.”
“I assure you, I’m real as real can be.”
“But, you wield a blade, and stand so tall! Surely you aren’t the little dragon I recall.”
He smiled wearily. “A lot has changed.”
“On that we can agree.” She tilted her head. “Indeed, is that someone new I see?”
He smiled, stepping aside. “You have no idea. Zecora, this is Renée.” He gestured toward the zebra. “Renée, this is Zecora.”
Slowly, Renée lowered the edge of his cloak, peering over it with a whimper. Zecora’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open slightly.
“It’s okay, Renée.” Spike put a hand on her shoulder, urging her forward. “Zecora’s a friend.”
Zecora stepped closer, lowering her head down to her level. “Hello little one, I’m pleased to meet you. Perhaps, if I try, we can start anew?” She smiled, offering her hoof.
Renée looked at it, then to Zecora’s face. Then she started crying.
“Y’know, I always knew you were as scary as the townsfolk thought you were.”
Zecora sighed in exasperation, lifting her teapot and pouring it into a pair of cups. “I said I was sorry how many times? Please, have I not suffered enough for my crimes?”
He grinned. “You made a little girl cry. Your sentence is eternal.”
Placing the cups on a small platter, she carried them to her guests. “Then for my sins I must atone, lest the punishment be overblown.”
Spike took one of the offered mugs, handing the other to Renée. She sniffed at it distrustfully; it was only when he took a sip that she did, as well.
He sat back, letting his gaze wander around the surroundings. It was a different hollowed-out stump, but the jars of potions, the wild masks, and the simmering cauldron all brought Spike spiraling through time back to Zecora’s old hut. Were it not for the little details, the missing pieces of decoration, he almost couldn’t tell them apart.
“Now, Spike, you must have reason to journey into the wild,” Zecora said. “Am I correct in thinking it is this child?”
“Nail, meet hammer. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about her.”
She frowned. “If there were anything I could say, I would think it would be clear as day. She is like nothing that I have seen, in any place that I have been.”
“Yeah, I’m in the same boat, there. Is there nothing else you could tell about her? Like, anything magical about her or something?”
“Herbs and potions are my expertise. Deeper magic I cannot do with ease.”
He grimaced. “Believe me, Zecora, if I knew anypony else who could even begin to scratch this, I would have sought them out.” He looked away. “I’m afraid friends like that are in short supply these days.”
She bowed her head in thought. “I will need deeperroot and horn of sky. With those ingredients, her fate, I can scry.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Zecora.”
She swept over to one of the cabinets, and began assembling the ingredients. “While I prepare this special brew, is there more you can tell me about you two?”
He chuckled. “Well, where to begin?”
“There is one thing I wish to know.” Zecora, said while she ground up the ingredients with a mortar and pestle. “You say her name is ‘Renée’. How so?”
“I only know that because she told me.” He shrugged “We’ve worked out a few details as far as communication goes. That was one of the first.”
“I see, it shows you have been through thick and thin.” She clipped a few strands of Renée’s hair, much to the latter’s surprise. “Have you any idea of her origin?”
“I don’t know where she came from. I can only say where I found her, and that was up in the forests east of Vanhoover. Maybe she was being held in the fort near there or something. Whatever the case, it seemed the Royal Guard wanted her to stay put. We had a heck of a time avoiding them.”
“I can only hope your escape was swift,” she said, adding the sprig of hair to the bowl and grinding it with the pestle. “The servants of the crown are not to be trifled with.”
He nodded. “Don’t I know it. I’ve been watching the skies closely, and I haven’t spotted any tails yet. But then, when you’re being hunted by ali—”
He cut off as the bowl suddenly exploded. A font of white smoke filled the hut, setting all three of them coughing. The smoke began to glitter, and like some miniature firework, the points of light formed a pattern. For a moment, there hovered a six-pointed star, burning bright against the misty backdrop. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, drifting away with the trails of smoke.
“Zecora…” Spike said, wide-eyed. “Was that…?”
She nodded, slowly. “All the signs I read are plain to see. They say she is an Element of Harmony.”
Spike looked at Renée, and she looked back at him.
“Well, that’s certainly something,” he said.