//------------------------------// // New Moon: Whinnychester // Story: Phantasmare // by Emperor //------------------------------// The moon was in its full phase this morning, the moonlight washing all those on the planet below in its divine light. One of its recipients basked in the glow of the moon, feeling at home with it; after all, the moon was a part of her Cutie Mark, even if it were in a lesser phase. Trixie looked out at the moon, book trailing behind her in a magical grip, letting out a yawn at the early hours she woke up to. With the disappearance of the Mare in the Moon several years ago, amateur and professional astronomers and selenologists alike had fumbled with their telescopes, releasing papers and books on the lunar geography that had been hidden by the Mare in the Moon. Trixie hadn’t kept up with the minutiae of it all, but the opening of an Equestrian library branch in Whinnychester had allowed for her to request copies of the most popular papers. It had freed her wages up for more personal research, such as the book she was toting behind her, a rare tome ordered from Canterlot. With a flick of her tail, Trixie turned off the light switch for the room, plunging her household into total darkness bar the moonlight streaming in through the window. Setting her book down on the stairs, Trixie opened the latch to the window, before setting up her telescope. With one last glow of her horn, Trixie cast a spell of her own devising to prevent the cool night air from rushing into her warm abode. Licking her lips in anticipation, Trixie closed one eye as she pressed the other against the lens of the telescope, her magic more delicately calibrating the telescope than hooves could ever hope to. It didn’t take long for her to hone in on the moon. With finesse, she zoomed in, exploring the craters that had been hidden by the massive illusion cast by the Mare on the Moon. It was said that, much like the waxing and the waning of the moon itself, magic itself had ebbs and flows in its presence on the moon, never quite hitting the crescendo and staying long enough for life to start on the moon and perpetuate. With Princess Luna, Avatar of the Moon, Discord, Avatar of Chaos, and a new Avatar of Magic all aligned with one another, it was believed the next time magic returned to the moon in full force that life could be established and sustained for the first time in recorded history. Trixie had heard about this, read about it, and even sent a letter off to a professor in Manehatten about it once, but in the end, Trixie would be sad if it happened. Ponies and other species had pioneered new lands in the past, her hometown of Whinnychester having been started less than a century ago, but if the moon was settled, it would become a resplendent mixture of greens, blues and browns. No longer would ponies be able to look upon the enthralling blue-white sheen of the Moon, untouched by any but for one. “I should probably tip the mailpony the next time he comes around,” Trixie said aloud to herself as she backed away from the telescope, wiping off a thin sheen of sweat above her brow. He had done good work, tirelessly delivering odds and ends such as her telescope that Trixie had ordered from all over the place, be it Canterlot, the Crystal Empire, Cloudsdale and many more. While her father had never been able to see the last few books she had brought home in her saddlebags, she had filled the empty shelves he had built in her time away from home and then some. Her own woodwork was amateurish compared to Wooden Chisel, but for holding books it would do. Trotting away from her study area where she had propped up her equipment, Trixie maneuvered through the downstairs area. A quick cast of her magical senses showed nopony around; it had never caught anypony, but Trixie had started doing it from paranoia and habit was difficult to break. Quietly, she used telekinesis to manipulate the latch from the underside of a wooden plank before lifting up a part of the floor, revealing a hideaway. The panic room her father had built in place had been discovered when the villagers were searching her house for a possible Changeling cocoon, and so it was no longer of use. Trixie had instead since torn out the remaining wall and expanded the large living area next to it, but the idea had stuck with her, and she had dug out a small underground section, protected against humidity and fire as well as snooping eyes. Trixie adored cliches as part of her performances, but she would forgo them in designing the new bunker: one had to know where it was, and the only way to open it up was through the telekinetic grasp of the underside latch. She had made a habit of putting her more valuable items in here, and the old book she had been reading about fairy tales involving the Mare on the Moon was one of them. With the book tucked away in the bunker, Trixie made her way back to the telescope, adjusting it slightly to account for the movement of the moon in the last few minutes. Seeing nothing new to entice her for the early morning hours, Trixie made to zoom out to focus on the stars, and then halted. There was a dark spot on the moon. Wait, was that really a dark spot? It seemed to be getting larger. And larger again. Had Trixie adjusted the lens without even consciously thinking about it? No, that spot was definitely getting darker. Letting out a yelp, Trixie realised it wasn’t a dark spot on the moon, but an approaching object that appeared to be launched straight at her house. Quickly pushing the telescope to the side, she cast the only spell she could think of to be relevant in the situation, a spell that would catch an object and slow its momentum without causing damage. The best analogy she had heard was of it being a bungee cord or perhaps a net. With baited breath, Trixie cast the spell over the entirety of her western wall, hoping to slow the momentum of whatever it was that was approaching. All too sudden, the object breached the outer limits of her spell, and it began to respond accordingly, decreasing the object’s velocity. It just wasn’t enough, and Trixie wailed in surprise as whatever it was bowled through her open window, knocking into Trixie and sending her rolling over the floor. “Urgh, my head,” Trixie moaned as she managed to get one limb off the floor, thankful that her horn hadn’t been injured. Cracked horns weren’t unheard of, but while they healed over time, they were very inconvenient in the interim. Slowly, she managed to make her way up onto her two back limbs, feeling as disoriented as if she had been partaking of distilled whiskey from the surplus grains of Whinnychester. She looked around herself, and at last saw what it was that had run into her: it wasn’t a Pegasus, but it was a winged pony, a batpony in fact, a member of a tribe that had diverged from the normal Pegasi several hundred years ago. Trixie looked closer, and blinked. The features on this batpony’s face looked rather familiar, and Trixie was able to identify her as female. Her fur colour, including her flanks, were of a uniform slate grey. Slowly, memories of a childhood friend who had she had seen a couple of times in the years since as a showmare that she had traveled to Canterlot for resurfaced. She knew this mare. She was Trixie’s cousin. “New Moon?!” Time healed all wounds, but some wounds healed slower than others. Days washed into weeks morphed into months passed over into years. Trixie felt the burden of time as if it were a giant wave crashing over her. She struggled to break the surface but the sheer force of the tides pressed upon her, leaving her gasping for air in her few moments of respite from time’s relentless march. News of the outside world passed Whinnychester by. There had been something about a giant centaur sucking up magic from the ponies of Equestria, but with their village being so rural, nothing had come of it. There were many things the orphaned unicorn had found to act as wave breakers. Trixie may have been psychologically crippled to the point of being incapable of leaving Whinnychester, but within its borders she was known and loved even with the loss of her parents. Within weeks, Trixie had spoken with Canola, a grain farmer who was one of her parent’s colleagues, and she was again a vital asset to the farmers. Unicorns were not exactly quicker than Earth ponies at farming, but they made for a deft hoof in auxiliary activities, capable of stacking bales of hay where others could not or sucking excess moisture out of the ground following heavy rains, and unicorns were few in Whinnychester. Trixie didn’t shy away from the more physical labour, however. While much of her time with the Alicorn Amulet was a blur, she distinctly recalled her muscle tone wasting away and gaining weight as her magic took over for any real semblance of grunt work she had previously performed, such as pulling a wagon along rough roads or smashing rocks. Trixie was still vain, and she had little desire to look on the plump side again. As the offspring of a hybrid coupling of Changeling and Ponyville, Trixie also had passive access to magic of the other two tribes, albeit in much smaller proportions. Her small pool of Earth pony magic helped to boost her endurance over time. Many a pony thought the average farmer a simple pony. Trixie didn’t disagree with the assessment, but she had nothing but the greatest of respect for them. The schedule set by the seasons, more natural than manipulated this far out, also suited her: she laboured as many as sixteen hours a day outdoors during the late summer and early autumn, then was able to retire to the warm indoors for the winter. It was here, as time passed, that Trixie was at last able to recover, no longer burdened by her own expectations of greatness, and instead learn whatever interested her for the joy of learning and understanding, instead of the need for fame and power. It had been one similar evening to this, watching the full moon and the countless stars in the night sky above that Trixie thought she could live and die in Whinnychester now, perpetuating the cycle of life. Trixie had never accounted for the winds of change. Little did she know that where all other ponies built walls, she alone would build a windmill. It started with a literal wind that blew a batpony into her parents’ house. “Urgh, my head,” the batpony on the floor moaned as she unknowingly repeated what Trixie had said only moments earlier, said head nestled in between her front limbs and wings. “Yes,” Trixie snorted, her nostrils wrinkling in distaste, “Your head, indeed. Perhaps you should get it checked to see why you decided to fly recklessly to the point you crashed. If it weren’t for my spell, you’d be hurting a lot more than you do now.” “Huh—wha—?” The winged pony fumbled about, attempting to find purchase on the floorboards with her hooves. Nopony who saw her in that moment could state with a straight face that she was possessed of grace. Trixie found herself wincing; it was just painful seeing her old friend struggle to rise, as if she were drunk instead of disoriented. “Trixie? Is that you? It is you!” The batpony stumbled as she moved along, but finally made it over to where the unicorn was, wrapping a hoof around Trixie’s neck. Trixie tensed at the contact, neck stiffening under New Moon’s touch, but then the other mare wrapped a wing around her fur, and Trixie instantly relaxed at the soft velvety texture of the bat-like appendage. Years ago, Trixie had lived with New Moon and her parents when Trixie was attending magic school in Canterlot. She had spent many a day off school playing with the other filly, and as fillies were wont to do, had slept in the same bed with her. The soft wings of the batpony had always helped lull Trixie to sleep. She just hadn’t remembered such little things because of the traumatic ending that always came to the forefront when she thought about that time: being forced to drop out, not because of poor grades or money, but to hide her identity as the daughter of a Changeling and pony. Wait. Was New Moon crying? “Oh, Trixie,” New Moon said, tears washing down her cheeks, marring the slate grey colour of her fur. “It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you, how many years has it been exactly?” “Twelve,” Trixie said, having already done the math in her head. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Something had clearly occurred for New Moon to come out all the way to Whinnychester in the middle of the night in early autumn. It would be better for the other mare to start talking first. Unexpectedly, New Moon started shaking, and her crying intensified. Trixie startled at the choking sobs of her fillyhood friend. She found herself at a loss for a few moments before long-dormant instincts awoke. Slowly, Trixie wrapped her own forelegs around the batpony, patting New Moon’s back with her own hooves in a soft motion. Looking out the window at the full moon and the stars beyond, Trixie found herself humming out a soft tune, one she fondly recalled her own mother September Midsummer using to lull Trixie to sleep as a filly. Slowly, the heavy jerks of the other pony began to subside, New Moon’s loud sniffing calming down as tears streaks dried out on her cheeks, leaving spots of darkened fur. “I remember that tune,” New Moon said at last, sounding melancholic, “You used to hum it every night in bed until you fell asleep.” “Did I?” Trixie asked, mildly surprised. “It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten ever doing so.” “You did,” New Moon confirmed, her amber eyes wandering off into the distance as if she could see into the past. Considering some of the rumoured talents of Princess Luna, Trixie gave it a not-zero chance that a batpony might be able to do exactly that. “I remember you managed to get me to sleep one day after my father and mother…” Trixie waited for New Moon to continue after she had trailed off. Seeing her friend at a loss for words, she resumed humming. New Moon crumbled instantly. Retreating from the mutual embrace between Trixie and herself, she sat down on her haunches, hanging her head down so low it almost touched the floor. “My father’s dead.” Trixie felt as if she had been slapped. “No,” she whispered, finding herself unbelieving of New Moon’s words, even as memories of the batpony stallion who had hosted her during her brief attendance of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns rushed to the forefront. Cognito, better known as ‘Cogs’, had been Trixie’s uncle in a tenuous sense, much like New Moon had been Trixie’s cousin. He and Wooden Chisel, Trixie’s father, had shared a common origin: Changelings that had left their hive and struck out, forging lives in Equestria. Each had fallen for a mare, who had in turn fallen for a stallion, in spite of knowing the true species of their respective husband-to-be. Cogs had been fairly eccentric, taking the form of a batpony and joining the Royal Guard of Canterlot all so he could woo a batpony mare. It had worked, and New Moon had been the product of their coupling. Trixie recalled Cognito with some fondness. Whereas her own father had made carving, chiselling and sculpting his career, a welcome hand for the many farmers less than handy at repairing wheels and skis alike, Cogs had made tinkering with clockworks his hobby. “Yes.” New Moon continued to hang her head, unwilling to face the world at large. “What was it?” Trixie delicately asked, suspecting there was far more to this story. “Did he die on active service?” New Moon shook her head, “If only, especially after all the effort he went through upon enlisting to make sure the standard detection spells wouldn’t work on him. He was helping install new shingles on a friend’s house, only to trip over some shingles. He, I guess he panicked and his wings locked up.” Trixie wanted to stop her cousin right there, but New Moon continued, sounding far too detached for Trixie’s liking. “He, there was a section of a gate that was to be replaced, and someone had left the new section right where he fell off, spikes faced up. It punctured his specular gland.” Trixie’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh. Oh.” The unicorn didn’t know too much about Changeling biology, but the two biggest things that differentiated them from their more dominant equine cousins were fairly obvious: their capacity for transformations, and their ability to feed on emotions, primarily love, and use them as a source of energy. Although harvesting of energy was a magical trait of the Changelings (and thus had been passed down to Trixie and New Moon alike), it was an organ unique to Changelings that was the seat of their transformation abilities, and retained most of the emotional energy Changelings gathered. If the specular gland was badly damaged or destroyed, an active transformation would disperse, and the Changeling would no longer be able to use the talent his species was named after. With most of his love energy gone, Cogs would have been unable to even use it for a healing spell. Trixie could see the scene playing out in her head even now. Cognito the batpony had been impaled in the exact wrong spot, unveiling Cognito the Changeling in a perverse mirror of her own father’s situation. With most of his power gone and in shock from trauma, there was no way Cogs could have recovered. Trixie had enough tact to not ask if he had died instantly without suffering. She had to discipline her wayward thoughts from wandering down a tangent on if he didn’t. Instead, she changed the subject, “Then, why are you here, in Whinnychester that is?” New Moon sighed. “I wish we had continued to trade letters once we grew up. I should have once I heard what happened to your father.” Seeing Trixie blink rapidly in surprise, the batpony explained further, “I joined the Royal Guard, just like father. When we heard about a Changeling being discovered out here, he investigated and found out a Changeling had ‘replaced’ Wooden Chisel.” “Oh,” was all Trixie could muster, feeling as if she had swallowed whole rocks and they had settled at the bottom of her stomach, a feat she had only thought members of the Pie family capable of. “You are a guardspony?” “Was, and yes, we heard about your little ‘incident’ in Ponyville,” New Moon said, and then looked away. Trixie’s heart went out for her even as she blushed slightly at the reminder of her two encounters in Ponyville. The look on New Moon’s face was so forlorn, if she didn’t already feel sad for the other pony she would now. “When a Changeling is discovered to have ‘infiltrated’ the ranks, the military investigators work fast. They ordered me to report to my commanding officer to explain how I didn’t notice that my own father had been replaced by a Changeling. Mother told me to flee.” “Wait, what?” Trixie stopped New Moon there, “Why? I thought you and I were virtually indistinguishable from any regular pony?” New Moon turned back, grimacing. “You haven’t been to Canterlot in ages, have you? Since the Changeling invasion during Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’s wedding, there’s always been paranoia stirring underneath the surface. Working the day shift wasn’t too bad, but ponies were getting really jump at night. It was finally beginning to settle down, but a Changeling dying in public has created an, an almost-panic. Mother, mother told me to leave to avoid the blowback, that it was a better solution than being tried.” Two separate lines of questioning burned in Trixie, but she decided to ask about her aunt first, “What about your mother? Did Frigor flee as well?” New Moon shook her head and said, “If Canterlot discovers she married a Changeling willingly and harboured him even after the edict following the invasion requiring ponies to report any suspected or known Changelings, she’ll be shunned, but she legally can’t be touched. We checked, spousal privilege overrides the edict, I think whoever wrote it never even thought a pony would marry a Changeling. Me, me however, I don’t get benefits for being a daughter, and it’s worse since I have a higher duty as a Royal Guard, especially if they think I helped father devise a way to counteract the Guards’ detection spell. I would’ve been locked away for at least a decade for certain.” That was when Trixie at last realised what had been tickling her mind incessantly. “Moonie,” she slowly asked, finally remembering the pet name she had given her cousin so long ago, “Exactly how long have you been flying for?” The batpony mare forced a smile, and Trixie finally took note of the little details: the dirt that caked New Moon’s grey fur, the bloodshot whites of her eyes, even the stench of sweat that clung to her that Trixie had so far been able to ignore. “Since late morning yesterday,” she said, and now Trixie could even hear that her words were pained, the other pony no doubt being extremely sore from her long flight. Trixie narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, no. Unless you led the Royal Guard here, I’m drawing you a bath right now. A nice, warm bath, and then we’ll decide what to do from here. Here, come with me.” New Moon’s ears perked up at the mentions of a warm bath. “That *gasp* sounds amazing,” She said, letting out a squeak of pain as she got up from her sitting position and put pressure on her back hooves again to trot after Trixie. “So,” Trixie began talking as New Moon started shampooing her dark-grey mane, “Why here, exactly? Why Whinnychester? Why not some other town?” With a quick glow of her horn, she re-heated the water in the tub. When the house had been built, a large bathtub had been one of her mother’s few demands of her father, which he had complied with. As all three were unicorns, filling it up with water and keeping it heated hadn’t been issues, but Trixie found it excessively large, several pony-lengths in length and width preferring to use the smaller upstairs bath. In this case, however, she felt it a necessity to pamper New Moon. With the amount of dirt that had clung to the batpony, it was already on its second run of water. “I-it was what mother suggested,” New Moon said. “She didn’t know very many other Changelings, father didn’t introduce many to her. We went through the list, but all the ones we knew of lived in larger cities, too risky to hide out there. Your, Wooden Chisel isn’t around anymore, but you at least knew what he was, and you lived with us when you were younger.” She winced as she encountered a particularly vicious knot in her mane, attempting to untangle it. “It was either here or taking refuge in the Badlands.” Trixie mirrored her wince at the mention of the Badlands, and said, “Yes, I can empathise with that. Then, what? Do you intend to stay here? I don’t mind, I have more than enough room. You can stay as long as you want, I’m certain there’ll be work out on the fields if you want it.” “No!” New Moon hissed, before her eyes widened. “I mean, sorry, but I can’t! Look at me Trixie.” She brought a hoof up to her chest for empashis. “I’m a batpony! It’s not like we’re a common sight in Equestria! All the Guard needs to do is release a Wanted notice saying they’re looking for a batpony female, anypony worth their salt will connect the timing with my appearance in town!” She seemed frantic again, and Trixie needed to find a way to calm her down. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” Trixie said, “Don’t most Wanted posters come with pictures and descriptions? Most ponies can’t even tell two batponies apart, all we need is some mane and fur dye and they’d be clueless.” Even as she said that, she attempted to backtrack, realising just how offensive that had been, “I mean—“ “I know what you mean, and I forgive you, tact never was your strongest subject,” New Moon said bitingly. “But have you forgotten, Trixie? Have you forgotten about my Cutie Mark?” What was that about her Cutie Mark? Trixie hadn’t even paid attention to her cousin’s flanks since she had arrived, more concerned with catching up, and then drawing her a warm bath and supplying the myriad toiletries she had on-hand. Eyes wandering, she looked over to remind herself of what New Moon’s Cutie Mark had been. There was none. Oh. Oh. “Now you remember?” New Moon asked bitterly. “I’m one of those albinos.” “Y-yeah,” Trixie said, sitting back down in a daze. “I, I completely forgot about it. Even in all my travels I haven’t met another pony suf—, er who has it.” “You can say I’m suffering from it,” said New Moon, who had sat down on her plot, holding her rear legs in close to her torso, head just poking out above her knees. “I grew a thick skin, y’know? It’s nowhere near as bad these days, the Guards are professionals after all.” Trixie wrinkled her nose. She wanted to offer comforting words to the other pony, but couldn’t find any. Cutie Mark Albinoism was a rare condition, but it was a real one. Occasionally, a pony would gain her Cutie Mark, only for the Cutie Mark to be ‘invisible’, of a concept that was specifically a non-visible representation. As a filly, New Moon had loved gazing out at the night sky. She had especially loved the nights around the new moon, where the lack of solar reflection let the stars shine brightest. It had been unfortunate for her that instead of getting a Cutie Mark of the night sky, she had gotten one of the new moon. A batpony might’ve been able to hide out in Whinnychester for a long time. A batpony without a Cutie Mare would’ve been noticed within days. Whoever issued the ponies of interest notices would not be so foolish as to leave out New Moon’s most discriminating trait. Trixie wracked her brain for a solution. For once that night, she didn’t find herself at a loss for one. “I know what we can do.” “Huh?” New Moon asked, looking up from her fetal position, “You do?” “Yes!” Trixie declared giddily, standing up on all four hooves, and suddenly she was in the bathtub along with New Moon. New Moon yelped, staggering backwards in an awkward manner, kicking up drops of water everywhere, “Hey, warn me when you do that! This bathtub might be big but we’re not fillies anym—wait a minute, you can—“ “Can teleport, yes I can,” Trixie verified, her horn pink to pick up a brush, using it to work her way through New Moon’s mane. The other mare, for her part, stopped fidgeting after a few seconds as she remembered how the two had brushed one another’s hair when they were younger. Trixie said, “I may have spent over two years in Whinnychester without ever leaving, but that doesn’t mean I’ve done nothing! For every drop of sweat I’ve left behind on the fields there’s, there’s been this thing inside me, pushing me to improve myself, not fanatically to the exclusion of all else, but with zeal. I like to gaze at the night sky, just like you do! I like to read!” “But above all else, magic! Somewhere along the way I came to detest my own magic, seeing it as a tool and nothing more, even allowing myself to get conned into using an artifact to further my power for revenge. Somehow, someway, my love for magic has reignited itself,” Trixie said. New Moon’s spirits had been clearly uplifted by Trixie’s impassioned speech, as she was back up on all fours again. “What can you do?,” she excitedly asked, amber eyes positively glowing with an inner fire. “Illusions,” Trixie replied. “It’s nowhere near as perfect as what our fathers could do. It won’t physically change a thing, so I wouldn’t dare change your species, or even your height or weight, but the colour of your fur and giving you an actual visible Cutie Mark should be enough.” New Moon’s eyes widened. “You can do that?” Trixie nodded, “Yes,” she said. “Not right away, however. You need to explain to me how these detection spells the Guards have works as best you understand it. It may take me a few days to reverse-engineer it to revise my illusion cantrip to beat them.” Her eyes narrowed, “The only real problem is I’ll have to renew the spell’s magic every night.” “Huh? Why?” “You weren’t born a unicorn,” Trixie said. “You may have magic inherited from your father, but not the right kind in sufficient amounts that I can anchor it to your own body’s internal magic. I can tell you haven’t trained your spell manipulation very much.” “Oh. Ah,” New Moon said with dawning understanding, sitting back down. “You’re right about that, though. No horn makes it difficult for me, and I never saw much of a point to it when my wings were always enough.” She began to muse, not even noticing as the brush that was still in Trixie’s magical grip moved down to her tail, untangling still more knots. After a few minutes, she spoke again, “But wouldn’t there be a danger of the spell running out of magic during the day?” “Not really,” Trixie admitted. “For you, it should last at least a few days. Renewing it nightly is just me being paranoid. I don’t want to risk what happened to our fathers occurring to you as well.” Instantly, the unicorn knew she had said the wrong thing, because New Moon froze up, mouth stuck open, amber eyes watering. As fillies, they had had more emotional temperaments, and so Trixie fell back on the tried-and-true offensive mechanism. “Hey, you,” she whispered to New Moon, striding forward in the tub. “Come here.” The batpony was skittish and whimpered, but relented under the strong grip of Trixie’s strong forehooves, her tension washing away in the warm water and the warmer hug. “Let it all out, Moonie. You’ve been flying for nearly a day, haven’t you? It’s alright, Trixie’s here.” New Moon met her eyes, and Trixie met them back with an expression that told her she was safe here. There was nothing, and Trixie worried that in the face of her father’s death New Moon had retreated inside so deep she wouldn’t dare poke her head out again, and then… “WAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” The batpony buried her head in Trixie’s shoulder, her body trembling with great, wracking coughs and sobs. Trixie just sat there, waiting it out as a good friend, cousin, neigh, sister would do. Hours later, Trixie found herself curled up along with New Moon next to the fireplace, heavy curtains in place over all the windows to block out the morning light. It was fortunate it was the middle of the autumn season – by now, her presence wasn’t a requirement at the farms, and she could stay indoors harbouring an unknown pony with nopony else the wiser. Having toweled both herself and New Moon off, she had marched the other mare downstairs. Stoking a roaring fire to life had always given Trixie a feeling of safety, and she knew it was the same for the now ex-Royal Guard. It had been mere hours since the two had met once more, but Trixie knew her presence was now a security blanket for her rediscovered sister. Then, New Moon spoke. “Australe.” “Hmm? What’s that?” “The name I’ll go by when outside of this house.” “…I see. Is there any reason for that name?” “It’s…My father once told me that if him and mother had had another foal, that’s what they would’ve named her. It’s…his death mean it’s no longer possible, but, but I’ll take that name up in his stead. I don’t know what I’m going to do now, but at least, at least I’ll be able to give that name a life, no matter how pitiful it is.” Trixie said nothing to that, letting the room lapse into silence but for the crackling of the flames. Several minutes later, she looked over to New Moon to talk again. The batpony was asleep. Trixie let herself smile. A wave of exhaustion suddenly passed over her. If she hadn’t already been laying down on the floor it would’ve staggered her. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion borne of staying up for too long: it was an emotional exhaustion, from hearing of the death of somepony she considered her uncle, and hearing the words from the mouth of somepony Trixie now realised she had, did consider a sister. Trixie remembered how the death of her own mother, and later her father had affected her. She pitied New Moon. The unicorn laid her head down, resting it in the crook of New Moon’s neck. Within minutes, both ponies, each born of Changeling and pony, were sound asleep.