Miss Doo was awake. As was the moon, casting her pale light on a wide bed of moths, making them glisten like water. Completely still, in the ocean of night. Cool, and suspended. Miss Doo, much like these insects, was made quite cold by the nighttime weather. But, much unlike them, she was alone and shuddering violently. Uncomfortably so. Perhaps this was why she was awake.
That, or it was the house-sized waterfowl, nestled among the glimmering insects and leering at Miss Doo with black, gelid eyes. Likely one or both of these two reasons.
Miss Doo lay in the grass, in the wake of the former campfire, clasping her wings to her chilly withers in a futile attempt to keep temperature. One of her crooked eyes wandered back over her shoulder to the large bird vigilantly watching her. Its feathers were white like snow, with a long and winding neck that spun about the top of its body. It was sitting there. Just sitting. One would think it sleeping if not for the large black eye trained directly at her, like an abyss of damp shadows cast over a frightened young foal.
Upon a meager glimpse of the bird, Miss Doo returned to a cowering hug with herself, much indeed like a frightened young foal. She clenched those eyes of hers shut. Her brow cast down, and she sputtered breath that was visible. Her unsleeping gaze then wandered open. There was Trixie’s back, fast asleep beneath a dark brown blanket. She peeked to the bird again. It was still staring, now pointing the side of its head at her attention.
Her heart was beating fast.
“Ps-s-s-s-st…” she whispered to her companion. “Hey…!”
No answer. The showmare didn’t much as stir.
“Hey. T-t-trixie…!”
She murmured. “Hm…? Don’t you want… autograph…”
“Trixie!” Her rasping whisper was moist. “Hey, are y-you awake…?”
“She is now…” She did not turn around. Her voice came clearly. “How can I… How can she help you, Miss Doo?”
“There’s a w-w-weird bird over th-there!”
Trixie’s head rose over her shoulder, beyond Miss Doo to see the crane among the stalks of perched moths. “No, Miss Doo,” she whispered. “That’s just a Wailing Crane. Go back to sleep.”
Wailing Cranes are mythical creatures. They often inhabit lightly populated forests, usually near water. They also wail. That is the story, per common household legend. In truth, they have graceful bodies similar to deer between their neck and knees, with four bird-like legs, not two. Their wings spread wide just as well as their inspiration. In addition, the thing about them wailing is true. Their scream does not wake the dead as they say, but it may rupture a pony’s eardrum if exposed for too long.
Miss Doo stuttered while she shivered in the cold. “I did-n-n’t know Wailing Cranes w-were real…”
“Miss Doo,” she yawned. “You and I may be the only two who know. Ponies these days don’t have the patience to even believe that mythical creatures exist, despite the obvious presence of our first two Princesses, due to the typically discreet nature of myths as well as the fact that—“
“Trixie, do you have another b-blanket?” she sputtered over Trixie. “It’s really c-c-cold tonight…"
The mare lifted her covers, revealing a bleak opportunity. “Trixie has one blanket.”
“Oh. Uh. A-a-are you sure?”
“No. Problem, Miss Doo. Hardly an obstacle.”
“Oh… k-kay…”
And so began Ditzy Doo's arduous journey to the coziness of Trixie’s heavy blanket. She tread over a few tufts of wet grass, shying to the edge of the covers. “You sure there’s room…?”
“It is far too inconvenient to conjure a larger one that will persist while she is unconscious. What we have must be enough.” Trixie turned, squeezing herself onto one side and leaving excess covering for her guest. “You may enter, and be warm, Miss Doo,” came her confident bravado. “No need to be hesitant...!”
Miss Doo was not. By the end of Trixie’s sentence (which had escalated and ended in surprise), she had made her way just fine beneath the warm and dense covering, until even her wings were hidden beneath the blanket. The edges of the cover rolled under, making a cocoon to keep warm. As a result, the mares became close. Legs draped over withers. A few joints locked with other joints. And their barrels became shyly acquainted. Fur tussled a moment, until they found a comfortable position, or rather, an arrangement. Yes, an arrangement. Fortunate that Miss Doo was such an agreeable pony.
“Ah! Actually, this is really nice, Trixie,” she whispered, nuzzling into a warm spot on the grass. “Thanks.”
Trixie’s reply slid along quietly. “Well, um… that… this is no… p-problem. Miss Doo.”
Her heart was beating fast.
“Let us adjourn to sleep before any more distractions arise.”
“Oh um. Yeah, okay…” returned Miss Doo disappointedly.
Unfortunate that neither mare could manage to keep her eyes closed for very long after that. Likely that each had something on her mind. Thusly came a typical tide of nocturnal silence, poorly punctuated by shallow whispers of words never spoken. A pity that the ponies faced the same direction (away from the Crane, of course), for their eyes could not meet in what may have amounted to a moment of understanding. No, instead they attempted to watch a nearby scene of darkness unfold.
Hm. Let us see… There was a spider.
A thing so small from such distance away. Its legs caressed the web at which it worked, drawing waves across the strings to make them glisten in this light. Soon after the last glowing string was drawn, the web was finished. Not a sharp crack of lines, but a soft and floating flower. And it quickly did its job, enticing a moth to its demise. But there was no struggle. Soon, the web’s mistress came to its aid. She wrapped up her guest, snuggling its body closer, and closer. Until. She punctuated its welcome with a kiss.
A small gasp; Trixie mumbled. Miss Doo had squeezed her shoulder. “Miss Doo…?”
She whimpered. “Ah! Oh. I’m sorry… it’s just… I looked over and it’s still staring at us…”
Trixie swallowed, and inhaled before continuing. “Miss Doo, the Crane is responding to your anxiety. If you calm down, it will, too.”
“Oh…!” She was not put at ease. “How does it know… what I’m thinking…?” she whispered.
“Miss Doo… Don’t you remember what Trixie said?” she replied on a tender sigh. “The Crane is a mythical creature, made of magic, or ‘Metamass’. As such, its existence and behavior is predicated in part by your own perception of it.“
“No, I... still don’t really get it.” Her voice was breaking. “Just forget it. I’m sorry, I’ll just try not to think about it…” She left quiet air at the end of her capitulation. Her words had dropped off into an empty space, leaving only one more trying breath to quietly huff away before silence took once more. There was leaden air as she tried to close her eyes again. But her face, crinkled with despair, could not see that her eyelids would find rest.
The so-called “Great and Powerful” was in a similar situation, wearing a disgruntled mask of concern. Her eyes wandered, side to side in the dark; the gears in her mind were turning. A spark came to her. So, with care not to unfurl the cozy seal beneath the blanket, the showmare moved. Rotating to her hooves, she turned to face Miss Doo, and they met face to face. Though, Trixie’s face was further up than Miss Doo’s face. Miss Doo is taller than Trixie by a few inches, otherwise.
Mustering all of her tenderness, she spoke. “Do you remember what she said about your eyes?”
Miss Doo whispered, confused. The breath of her words reached her companion. “What… what who said…?”
She smiled, by only a hair. “What Trixie said, Miss Doo.”
“Oh, um… that I fly badly because I see badly…?”
“Sure, something like that. The Crane is mythical; it’s made of magic. It is steered by your perception and understanding.”
“So… what do I do to make it stop? If I see so badly…?”
“Not see, but think and understand it in a different way.” She paused to contemplate Miss Doo’s obvious confusion. “Trixie will explain,” she started, voice winding into her usual clarity as her pointed words evolved. But, barely making any progress into her explanation (something about “accumulated manaflux” or “mesophysical summation of Meta vectors”), Miss Doo’s mood did not improve. Her face was still downcast, something still missing in her eyes. Trixie’s brow furrowed as her words trailed off, an odd look washing over her features. The space between them was like a tepid cloth muffled by breath and cotton. The dumb to the deaf. Fog heavy with melancholy.
So strange it is that two mares so close could be so far away.
Until Trixie’s voice returned, crisp with moisture. “Do you… know the legend, Miss Doo, of where Wailing Cranes come from?”
“No. I’m not smart.” returned Miss Doo, slightly crisper.
“Well, Trixie will tell you,” she kindly came again. She smiled. Almost a smile she would give up on stage.
“The Wailing Crane watches over the forests with its dark, brooding eyes. Though, it is not nearly as frightening as its instigators would have you believe. No. No, no no. It is a mythical beast, made of magic and wishes, which means it has a story just like you and just like Trixie.
“Sparrows, bees; tiny rabbits, squirrels and peaceful doves all call this small and kind forest home. They build houses, and raise their young. Hardly will they antagonize. Each has a wish for a peaceful tomorrow. And remember, each and every living thing that sees and wishes has just a little bit of magic. After years and years, that magic carves a path and a spell is born. Tiny at first, with little wings and a hungry, gaping mouth. Small and helpless all alone. But it did not stay small forever, because it fed on the wishes of its creators until it became the legend that you see now, Miss Doo.”
“O-o-oh…” She turned her head, looking back at the beast. It had retreated its neck, but not its gaze. Miss Doo passed a little look of understanding.
“It watches over them now, granting the forest’s wish to stay safe. It never wails at mice, or butterflies, but it is always wary of a pony with bad intentions. You startled it, and it startled you, but all is well once we understand each other.”
Miss Doo turned back around to face Trixie, and the Wailing Crane closed its eye.
“I… I didn’t know that,” she said. “Thanks. That’s really cool.” She smiled.
Trixie let herself beam, though it was late so she was humble. “No problem, Miss Doo, for Trixie, the legend that she is, must know how to tell a good story.”
“Heh. Yeah, I guess so…” And at that, there was nothing more to be said. Silence wandered until Miss Doo’s eyes grew properly heavy, and her lids inched closed. She slowly turned opposite underneath the blanket. Contentedly. “Goodnight, Trixie.”
Trixie opened her mouth to continue, but then did not say anything.
“Hey, um, I’m sorry I mess up so much,” from Miss Doo. “I’m kind of a screw-up most days. But I’ll try to make it up to you sometime!”
“Um. Miss Doo it is all quite alright, really. Trixie aptly handled your mishaps.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I guess you did.”
Silence.
“Miss Doo…?” Trixie asked.
She did not answer.
“Miss Doo? Are you awake?”
She still did not answer. Trixie tried once or twice more to get the sleeping mare’s attention, but the back of Miss Doo’s head was not very receptive. So instead, Trixie turned beneath the blanket again, found the scribe, and read.