//------------------------------// // Chapter 7 // Story: Sparkle Day // by Potential Albatross //------------------------------// Luna counted the seconds in her head in time to the ticking of the watch sitting on the work stand next to her. Through her telescope, she saw a flurry of shapes gliding through a thin layer of distant clouds before they disappeared into a dark blue thunderhead. The signal came as expected from the southern flank: two long bursts of the frigate’s horn. From a mile away, the sound would have taken about five seconds to reach her. She lifted the her eye from the scope momentarily to glance at the watch and confirm her count. Three minutes, thirty seconds. So far, everything was on schedule. The flank detachments, if they were doing were their jobs as directed, would appear as lost clusters of airships cut off from the main group by the clouds, panicked by the sudden thrust of the dragon assault. The horn sounded again — the same pattern, so this time it was just for effect. The hope was that the dragons would interpret it as a distress signal. Anything they could do to convince their foes that the entire Equestrian fleet was falling apart in the face of their advance. The dragons had based their entire attack around the idea that the Equestrians were incapable of sufficient coordination without Twilight to facilitate. Luna hoped to prove them wrong in decisive fashion, but only after convincing them so thoroughly of their superiority that the sudden reversal in their fortunes would be just as crushing the rain of cannonballs that would greet them when they found the bulk of the fleet. In about fifteen seconds, the reconnaissance wing — Wonderbolts, acting in their original capacity for the first time in generations — should be passing by overhead from due East. She positioned her scope to watch for their appearance and allowed herself the briefest flicker of satisfaction as they broke through the cloud cover precisely on schedule. Next to her watch, a dozen pins glowed blue and rearranged themselves on a rough map of the engagement area. She looked up and found the captain with her eyes. “Captain. Quarter turn to starboard. All cannons ready,” she said. “Aye, Princess.” He bellowed out the orders and the ship began to turn. A quarter mile to the north, Nimbus mirrored the maneuver, creating an overlapping fire zone to the east of both ships. Halfway to Nimbus but several hundred meters above, Cumulus would be positioning to drive the attackers into that fire zone moments before they emerged from the strategically placed cloud cover. The scope at her eye once again, Luna tracked the airship to confirm that it, too was on schedule and immediately suppressed a sigh. It was as she feared; her forces were neither disciplined nor skilled enough for this level of choreography. Cumulus was in position. Its escort ships, however, were nearly twenty seconds behind. They would be drifting right across the larger ship’s field of fire at exactly the wrong moment. Cumulus’ cannoneers would not fire, Luna knew. The containment would fail before it began. And for nothing — those gunships were lost whether Cumulus shot them down or the dragons tore them apart. “Captain, direct messenger to Cumulus.” Even as she gave the order, Luna knew it was useless. Even if she could get them word in time, they’d hesitate. Enough would refuse that it would make the entire maneuver worthless. Captain Sails was watching her expectantly, quill at the ready. “Fire on contact, obstruction notwithstanding.” Keeping his expression stoic, the captain took down the message, rolled it into a messenger tube, and passed it off to one of the pegasi standing at the ready on the deck. He hadn’t seen the gunships himself, but he would certainly know what an order like that meant. Luna turned back to her scope. Three minutes even. What could she do in that time to salvage the situation? She could leave the deck and take position above the fire zone herself, using magical attacks to take on the role Cumulus was meant to play. That would give away both her presence and position, probably the most tactically valuable information the enemy could hope for in this engagement. Unacceptable. She could teleport to the gunships and try to spur them to move. Too late for that — they were at full speed now, committed to their course. Also, teleporting now would limit her options later. She might not finish this battle from the deck of an airship. With that in mind she’d need to preserve as much energy as she reasonably could. Two minutes and forty-five seconds. Another set of horn blasts, this time from the north. As expected. “Final push on the cloud cover, Captain,” Luna said, not letting her dread over the coming disaster affect her tone. Her orders were again repeated, and a flight of pegasi left the deck to give the westernmost storm clouds their last nudge eastward. She could fire the cannons herself. By the end of the first volley, Cumulus’ cannons would have clear shots to the east, there’d be no concern of anypony failing to fire at the critical moment, and none of the cannoneers would spend the rest of their lives haunted by the compatriots they’d shot down. That would be Luna’s burden, instead. She could accept that. She could make it to Cumulus in fifty seconds. She’d need another ten to get below decks and take control of the cannons. She’d give herself five more just to be safe. Another minute to fire the volley and return to Cirrus. That would leave her out of contact for at least two minutes. A long time, particularly at the very start of the battle, but she didn’t see any alternatives. She would have to hope that her planning and maneuvering to this point had been good enough that her forces could get by without her for that long. Two minutes even. In fifty-five seconds, she had to leave. There was time for one last survey with the scope. Luna’s telescope wasn’t made for warfare. Much larger than a standard military scope, it required a stand, typically not a luxury for which any naval vessel had space. Even then, it was unwieldy for anypony without strong telekinesis skills. Luna only used it today because it happened to be the finest telescope ever constructed. Crafted by a pony with exhaustive understanding of the science of optics, the magical technique to shape perfect lenses, and the passion for the tool itself to labor until the assembly was nothing short of flawless. Focus at any distance was effortless. Clarity was unmatched. Luna’s mark had been etched onto the metallic blue surface of the assembly just above the eyepiece. If she rotated the assembly half a turn on its mount, a magenta star would face up instead. What would Twilight think of her using her gift this way? Luna scowled as she pondered the question. Which Twilight? The Twilight who had given it to her five-hundred-and-some years ago might have been appalled. The Twilight who had summarily executed a dragon and dozens of wyverns to make a point weeks ago likely wouldn’t care at all. In the weeks since Elder Peak, that Twilight had hardly spared a word for her outside status reports and planning, and Luna wasn’t sure whether she prefered it that way. Which Twilight, she wondered, would wake next in Canterlot — if any? Luna shook her head. She couldn’t let herself get lost in those thoughts right now. Twenty seconds remained before she had to fly. She counted through each of them with a calm dread, knowing that very soon she’d be taking lives and watching lives taken. The deck crew watched her with a mix of apprehension and awe. They didn’t know she was leaving. Until the moment she did, the legends were alive for them. Everything they’d heard in the academies or from aging officers — who claimed, but certainly didn’t have, personal experience — regarding Luna the Tactician or Luna the Commander. As her strategy began to fall into place, they came to believe. Most generations never saw her in action. Those that did breathed new life into the stories, each time making her better, faster, more clever. All that, despite the fact that she failed them each and every time. Ponies were a strange lot. It was time. She flew. --- The first salvo was away. It was more successful than Luna had dared to hope. The vanguard, all gryphons and wyverns, had burst out of the clouds in a formation so tight Luna had to wonder what they’d expected to find. Even against a fleeing, disorganized, and lesser force, it would have been inadvisable. Had they forgotten entirely about the range of Equestrian cannons, or had Luna done such a good job convincing them that they’d already won that they had abandoned any semblance of caution? As the remainder of the oncoming forces were pushed downward into an even worse position, Cirrus horn blew the expected signal, right on schedule. Smaller ships around the periphery of the engagement moved in to close the net. Far above, the Wonderbolt teams turned as only they could and sped toward the thunderhead where the bulk of the enemy forces presumably still waited. They would soon find themselves faced with a very unpleasant choice: cannonfire, or lightning. Luna allowed herself a slight smile. She’d known, of course, that Captain Sails would continue to execute the plan in her absence, but it was always good to get confirmation. Even on the fire deck of Cumulus, spirits were higher than expected. One of the errant gunships had been shattered outright by the salvo. The other had lost two of its balloon chambers and was going down, but there would be time for the crew to escape. Only pegasi served on airships that small. The cannoneers appeared to have blamed both losses on enemy action, though that was obviously impossible. The only ranged weapons their enemy had shown thus far were the spears gryphons sometimes liked to throw, and they were well out of range for that still. Most of the crew was too inexperienced to be thinking such things through at a time like this, though. Luna wasn’t even sure the cannoneers had noticed her presence on the deck, or that she’d taken control of nearly half the cannons on the ship to ensure that the first blow was delivered as planned. The important thing was that they were still focused on the battle. That the very first casualties of this war were not only Equestrian, but brought about by Equestrian fire, was something that could be mourned later. Without a word, Luna ascended the stairs from the fire deck to the command deck, then glided over the aft railing into the sky beyond. Her instinct was to charge back to Cirrus at full speed so that she could reassume command of the fleet, but going too quickly might attract attention. Restricting herself to the comparatively moderate pace of an average pegasus’ sprint, she kept her wings tucked in as tightly as she could without losing too much lift, to keep her profile slight. It grated on her to be out of contact for the full minute it would take to return to Cirrus at this pace, but the open air did offer greater visibility than the deck of an airship, so the time was not completely wasted. As the first spears of lightning flashed in the distant thunderhead and the consequent thunder rolled out to meet her ears, more gryphons and wyverns streamed out into the open. There were far too many of them already. Luna frowned as she revisited her assumptions about the enemy forces. Spike’s ill-fated conquest centuries ago had drawn recruits from the margins of many cultures. The disaffected fringe had found a focal point in him and done what disaffected fringes do when suddenly empowered — specifically, rampaging until put down. The princesses had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that this new effort boasted similar support. Based on the number of gryphons in the air before her, though, Luna wondered if this wasn't the actual Imperial army, or a large part of it. If the elder dragon had convinced the Gryphon emperor to join his effort, he was playing a very different game than the princesses had thought. The wyverns were also a problem, not just in their existence but what it said about the current draconic mindset. Just before Elder Peak, they had seen something on the order of a hundred wyverns. Luna had assumed there were probably a few hundred more where those came from. There were at least a thousand here, that Luna could see. How long had they been breeding these beasts, and how could they control them? Wyverns grew progressively more willful the larger the group. Luna couldn’t imagine anyone, dragon or no, deploying them in such numbers, unless their objective was outright destruction. This wasn’t a war of conquest; whatever the dragons took would be razed, not occupied. There was no end of forces spilling out of the clouds towards them, but she had yet to see an actual dragon. That wasn’t especially surprising; just as she wanted to keep her presence and position unnoticed as long as possible, they would remain hidden until they judged their appearance would have the greatest impact. Luna landed on Cirrus’ command deck and strode back to her previous station with a forced casual air, broadcasting to any with the time to notice that her brief absence and subsequent return were routine and wholly unremarkable. “Report,” she ordered in the general direction of the captain as she rearranged the pins on her map again. Captain Sails was carrying on a shouted conversation with the fire crew lieutenant on the deck below, while also finding time to complain to the helmspony about a few degrees of heading correction he felt should have been made by now. At her command, he quickly finished both interactions and made his way to her side. “All according to plan so far, Princess,” he said, a bit too excitedly. Luna studied him as he spoke. Bright eyes bounced between Luna, his crew members, and a sky full of enemies. The cheer in his voice spoke to a premature optimism brought on by the success of their first maneuver. The captain of Equestria’s flagship was seeing his first combat, and while he undoubtedly knew intellectually how quickly fortunes could turn in battle, the excitement of the moment didn’t leave room for second hoof knowledge. “Deep breaths, Captain,” Luna said sternly. “What say you of the enemy’s numbers?” He straightened at the reprimand, then looked across the sky with more sober eyes. “Substantial. More than our estimates. Falling quickly, though.” “What don’t we know that we should?” He considered for a moment. “How many we haven’t yet seen. Whether what we see is the composition of the whole force, or just the vanguard. Specifically, whether there are any dragons in attendance.” Luna nodded. The answers were satisfactory, though she could think of a few more besides. “And how will we answer those questions?” “Scouting, Princess. Scouting and careful positioning.” Any cadet could answer that question, of course, and hearing it ought to make the captain feel like a cadet. It was better that way — in his long service, he’d cultivated a confidence that shouldn’t yet extend to true battle. He needed to carefully consider every action, not let instinct guide him when he had no serviceable combat instinct just yet. “See to it,” Luna said, turning back to her scope. “Yes, Princess,” Captain Sails replied. Now came the difficult part. She’d laid her plans and taken what action she could. If all went well from here, she would spend the rest of the battle standing on the deck of this airship, supervising the deaths of her ponies. Nearly half the fleet’s ammunition would be spent by now, and she had ordered that a quarter be kept in reserve for later surprises. Once the cannons slowed, the enemy would close the distance to her ships and the pegasi would fly to engage them in the air with spears and wingtip blades. They’d acquit themselves well enough against the gryphons, Luna was sure. Against the wyverns, it was harder to be optimistic. The guard had dusted off the engagement guides on the subject and drilled most combat flyers in their approved techniques, but realistically it was too much to ask. It would take at least three pegasi cooperating to bring down a wyvern. On their very first sortie, her troops would do well just to swing their spears the right direction, let alone coordinate with their comrades in any real way. If Celestia had stayed, one or the other of them could have gone out to help. How many would that have saved? Luna hoped that whatever Celestia found was worth the diversion. “Princess Luna, report from below,” Captain Sails called out. “The only waterborne forces they’ve spotted so far are old Zebrikan trading vessels. They appear to be crewed by canids.” Luna turned to look at the captain, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “No sign of weapons, then?” “No, Your Highness.” It seemed like a move borne more of enthusiasm than any tactical consideration, which she supposed fit with what she knew of the Canidan psyche. They had always been keen to jump into any war that would let them strike at whoever they currently considered their great oppressor to be. They weren’t much known for their contributions to said wars, though. Even for them, sailing hopelessly towards an Equestrian armada seemed extreme. She couldn’t safely assume they were merely suicidal. “They’re to be destroyed if they enter cannon range,” Luna ordered, then reconsidered. If, as it appeared, the bulk of the attacking force had come by air, there was less need to hold the surface of the bay. She could afford to give the canids a chance to save themselves. “Actually, have our sea forces fall back to the coastline. Only if the canids follow will they need to be sunk.” Captain Sails assigned a messenger to carry the orders below, then Luna stopped listening for his voice and let it fade into the din of the battle. It seemed that most of the enemy forces had finally come into the open. Whatever remained in the clouds didn’t mind the lightning, which left one obvious possibility and a few less likely ones. She was content to let them keep their cover for the time being, if it meant less for her ponies to contend with in defense of the airships. The fastest surviving gryphons were nearly on them now, wyverns and slower gryphons coming in behind. The regular percussion of cannonfire had faded into the occasional pop; clearly no longer enough to dissuade the oncoming swarm. “Prepare sorties,” she ordered, amplifying her voice across the deck. A moment later, the signal blasted from Cirrus horn, its deep tone rumbling through the planks beneath her hooves. The deck guards took their positions and hoisted their spears, trying not to look nervous. They would be tasked with making sure operations on the command deck were not disturbed. Below, in the landing bay, many more would be lined up, arming themselves at pike racks and preparing to fly out and meet the enemy in the air. Most of them had joined the service knowing they were unlikely to ever see action — the rest had fantasized about a glamorous sort of warfare that didn’t actually exist. Very few of either group would hesitate even as they began to see what they’d actually committed themselves to. Luna wasn’t sure whether she found that heartening or tragic. There was room for both, she supposed. The first flyers streamed out from Cirrus and the other ships, rushing to meet the enemy before they drew near enough to damage them. There were still far too many enemies in the air. Luna set her jaw and fought off the feeling of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her as her ponies first met their foes. Her job wasn’t done. She still had to watch, plan, and coordinate. That was why she couldn’t be out there herself; she had to ensure it was a trade worth making. --- At some point in the last two hours, the gryphons had managed to rip the port forward compartment of Cirrus’ balloon. She knew it had been the gryphons, because the wyverns had long since lost capacity for any action so deliberate. They seemed to just be tracking motion at this point, as likely to lash out at sudden movement from a gryphon or even another wyvern as they were to attack the ponies or airships. It was nice to see that the dragons’ new control methods had their limits, at least. In this exhausted state, the wyverns were much less capable than they would be independent of whatever magic was being used upon them — useful to know for future engagements. The compartment had probably been leaking for some time, but the ship was only now beginning to list noticeably to port. As of her last survey, neither Cumulus nor Nimbus had sustained similar damage — at least not visibly. Several smaller ships had either been downed or forced to retreat, however. Her flyers — those not yet injured or killed — were beginning to tire. They’d done well, aided by the fact that the wyverns were now as much a danger to gryphons as ponies, but were at the limits of their abilities. Still no sign of dragons or any other creatures they might have enlisted. Luna knew they were out there, waiting for her to appear just as she waited for them. She had hoped to outlast them, but her options were running out. She’d started planning for this eventuality as soon as she’d seen the enemy’s numbers. None of her ideas truly pleased her, but it was time to pick one. The best, as she judged them, was costly — particularly in terms of image and morale. Celestia probably wouldn’t like it, but she’d forfeited her vote when she’d decided to skip this battle. She drew herself up to her full height and took a deep breath. “Captain,” she called, and felt the attention of the entire deck crew snap to her. They were waiting for a brilliant order or some rousing snippet of motivational nonsense. “Sound the retreat. Prepare to abandon ship.” There was argument in the captain’s eyes, but none of it made it as far as his lips. Luna felt a twinge of sympathy as she watched his sense of duty gradually override his immediate emotional response. This ship was likely as much a home to him as anyplace. He might not even have a house of his own anymore, having lived so long aboard Cirrus. There wouldn’t be time to recover his personal effects from his cabin. Maybe he shouldn’t have stored them on a warship, but it hadn’t ever been a problem for the last dozen or so of his predecessors. The horn sounded, and the other ships of the fleet began their slow turns back toward Baltimare. Cirrus’ helmspony began to follow suit, but Luna’s magic held the wheel in place. She caught his eye and shook her head. “I’ll take the helm. Evacuate.” Ponies were rushing off the deck now, non-pegasi first to allow them to reach the landing bay in time to board the evacuation carriages. In moments, only Luna and Captain Sails remained. “Princess,” he said, still visibly shaken. “You’re not—” “No,” Luna interrupted. “I’ll rejoin the fleet in Baltimare. Other matters need my attention first, though.” “Of course,” the captain said, doing a poor job of feigning understanding. “Is there anything else, then?” Luna’s eyes fell upon her telescope. It would be an insult to ask him to take it, as he left so much of his own life behind. He’d eventually convince himself it was an honor, but that didn’t change the reality of the matter. With an effort, she dismissed the idea. “No. Get to Nimbus and coordinate the retreat. They won’t follow, but if they do, you’re authorized to use all available resources in defense of the city.” “Yes, Princess,” he said. He seemed at a loss for a moment, staring blankly across the deck. Luna allowed him a few seconds of reflection, then felt compelled to order him away — he had limited time to spare for sentimentality. Before she could say anything, he straightened, saluted, and disappeared down the stairs. Then it was just Luna, alone with her watch and telescope. Three minutes should be enough time for everypony to get clear — two was the limit they drilled for, but allowances had to be made for inexperienced crew. When time was up, she spun the helm to rudder Cirrus directly into what remained of the storm, then descended to the fire deck. Very few ponies were aware of the fact that the armor around the fire deck of a Cirrus class airship was designed such that closing a few reinforced doors could make a sizable segment of the ship almost completely airtight. Standard stocking orders for the ships also specified many times more gunpowder than was necessary to fire a full complement of cannonballs. It only took a few minutes for Luna to make her preparations. When she returned to the command deck, it was covered with gryphons. This was neither surprising nor problematic. The glory hunting that defined their warrior culture would make boarding the flagship an irresistible opportunity. They likely even entertained fantasies of capturing it intact. Those nearest the helm and her watch station she tossed over the side as she strolled back to the bow. About half of the remainder either didn’t know an alicorn when they saw one or had contracted terminal cases of Gryphish optimism; they had to go as well. Luna leaned over the bow railing when she reached it, craning her neck to look down the front of the airship’s hull. Swarming with enemies, as expected. Cirrus was too great a prize for them to pass up. She swivelled her telescope to look back in the direction of her fleet, reassured herself that it was escaping unharmed, then frowned. By now, the dragons ought have emerged to redirect their minions. Surely the fleet was a more important objective than this abandoned ship. Either they’d left their forces to fend for themselves, or they were approaching this even more cautiously than Luna would have guessed. It would have to do — if they wanted to sacrifice their entire aerial army just to avoid revealing their positions, that suited her almost as well. The ship was plowing into the thick of the storm now, the main rotor still turning reliably even as the rest of the ship was being torn apart. At least one more balloon compartment had been punctured; there was now a distinct downward slant from stern to bow. It wouldn’t matter; nothing short of the balloon’s complete and immediate destruction would have much effect at this point. Luna took one last reflective look around the deck. Unlike many in the service, she wasn’t one to attribute consciousness or feeling to a ship, but she could still appreciate a well made tool. Cirrus had served its purpose for almost five centuries, which was almost five centuries longer than most guard projects of similar scale. This was at least a suitably dramatic way to end that service. Taking a pair of discarded spears in her magical grip, she spread her wings and shot from the deck, dissolving the cloud around her as she went. Time to take away the hiding places. Wyverns, who had been swarming around Cirrus for lack of a more obvious target, began to track her, though they’d never catch her if she didn’t wish to be caught. She took a wide circular route around what remained of the storm. The dragon was almost as surprised as she was when she nearly collided with it. It was young, its wings barely developed enough for it to fly at these heights for any length of time. Its midnight blue scales almost matched Luna’s coat, and explained why it had been so hard to find hidden among the storm clouds. Luna reflexively dodged a tail swipe before she’d consciously realized they were fighting, then sent one of her spears spinning at its neck. It didn’t do any visible damage, but did startle the dragon such that the follow up from her other spear nearly scored a direct hit on its left eye. Recalling the spears, Luna flew closer, daring the dragon to lash out again with claws or tail. Instead, though, it inverted and presented its back to Luna, beating its wings wildly to put more space between them. She saw a flash of green fire from its head — probably calling for help — before she teleported forward and landed a powerful kick to its snout. It reared back its head in pain, loosed a blast of flame at a place where Luna wasn’t anymore, then roared with renewed rage as Luna’s spears caught up with it from behind, the tip of one lodging underneath a scale on its neck. Luna folded her wings in and let herself drop rapidly, hoping to disappear against the mottled blue of the sea far below before the dragon could spot her again. Something was wrong. She was willing to believe that the dragons had not interfered in the battle until now because they wanted to draw her out before showing themselves. She was willing to believe that, without the dragons’ guidance, their forces were so tactically inept as to focus on Cirrus long past the point when the ploy should have been obvious. They had seen the same thing in the wyverns at Stonehoof, after all — increased capacity for cooperation, diminished individual reasoning. But to take such a dependent force and place it under the command of an inexperienced drake made no sense. If there were any other dragons present, they should have come to their companion’s aid by now. It was starting to seem like this wasn’t a battle the dragons cared about winning. If that was the case, why commit such a large force to it? It was true that the elder dragon considered the mortal races disposable, but surely he’d at least want some return on his investment. Perhaps this wasn’t actually as large a force in his reckoning as it was in Luna’s. At every turn, they’d been surprised by the numbers of the wyverns. If he had another swarm like the one he’d sent today, or more even, he might think the forces he’d sent were a fine price for the destruction of Equestria’s flagship. And if he had other forces elsewhere, this might not even be his primary attack. Luna’s mind went immediately to the mammoth attack in the south. If that was the true threat, Celestia, having gone to face it alone, might already be defeated. Or perhaps both fronts were a distraction — Canterlot was virtually defenseless at the moment, provided attackers approached by the north or west. Luna’s train of thought was derailed by the sudden, immediate need to raise the moon. That was surprising. She hadn’t lost her sense of time; she knew that it was two hours, thirty six minutes, and about forty seconds since the first cannon volley, she’d just forgotten about the part where all those elapsed seconds pushed afternoon into evening. She could delay, but it would only get more distracting the longer she waited. A moment after her horn began to glow, the dragon’s talons took her. What it hoped to accomplish with the maneuver was not immediately clear. Luna calmly finished raising the moon as she mentally plotted her teleport. Then the sound of the explosion reached her, followed by the shockwave. Had she been flying back in the direction of Cirrus? She supposed she must have been. When the actual force of the explosion hit, she was ripped violently from the dragon’s talons as both were tossed backward into the night sky. The world spun. Luna didn’t fight it at first, waiting a moment to gauge the direction and force of her tumble before she spread her wings slightly to correct it. Her triumphant laugh as she began to stabilize became a startled cough as what must have been half Cirrus’ hull hit the back of her head. The world spun again, though this time she only felt it, as her vision had gone dark. She fell for what seemed like a long time, during which she wondered groggily about a number of things: how cold the water would be when she hit, whether her vision would return unaided, whether the dragon had survived the explosion, whether the fleet would have seen the explosion from their position and what they would make of it, whether Celestia was faring any better than she was. At some point, she realized she was no longer falling. The wind still tugged at the fur of her coat, but the dropping sensation in her stomach was gone. She tried to open her eyes, then remembered that they were already open. “Hey,” a purple voice said. Could a voice be purple? She decided that it could, at least for as long as her senses remained so completely muddled. “I was thinking we should talk.”