The roar sounded hungry.
The predator-aware rabbit brain in the three of us took notice; Streak's pencil went flying into the blue leaves as the three of us jerked our head to peer in the same direction.
It took five heart beats before I picked out green-looking branch as thick as my leg. I cast Force, sending a bolt that boiled the sap where it struck the tree, exploding the branch with a bang. Before the splinters peppered the ground above where the severed branch landed, something enormous crashed through brittle brush and bounded away.
The zebra healer accompanied us down another path. Though longer, it ended in fallow fields not far from Ponyville Way. We picked our way through loose dirt to a flat, straight irrigation path.
It took ten yards for Streak to launch us into the air. I stood at the front of the wagon, the product in neat cereal box-sized bales shoved to the rear. I didn't want to be reeking of the fresh, incredibly fragrant weed.
With the wind in my face, as we crossed over the Everfree, I thought about the zebra's comments. Many ponies wasted their lives doing things they had to do, maybe searching for what they wanted do—or being denied it.
Flowing Waters had offered me the moon, and today I had proven to myself at least that I would eventually fulfill the requirements. I just had to gain my bearings, not become overwhelmed, and learn not to faint doing it.
Easy peasy, right?
But I had abandoned a life without want back home. Would a physician's life satisfy me? Perhaps a good question was why didn't my current life disgust me?
I had a sense that something was broken and somehow I was destined to fix it. Vague. Too vague to pin a living on.
"Say, Streak, if air hauling is your special talent, why is it that you're a punk working as an errand filly for Running Mead?"
She looked back briefly, saying breathlessly, "Spear me through the heart, why don't you!" She flapped and lunged through the air, carrying us over the Ponyville plain.
Once we landed in Palisade Park, and she had a few minutes to cool down, we found a previously hidden tarp to tie down over the load. As Streak packed her tack away and restored the simple hitch, she asked, "Why do you want to know?"
I shrugged into the harness she held up with the bridge of her nose. "Because I think I know why I made all the wrong decisions I made and ended up here. I was wondering if you knew yours."
"You'd make a bad diplomat."
"Maybe." We plodded along a secluded path until the Strand ended, then along a service path as we left the Cliffside district. We'd soon be in the Lower. It seemed logical that the constabulary wouldn't expect product to be shipped in from the better parts of the city, so I wasn't worried. I was just as glad I wasn't the only pony wearing a cloak on this rather cool night.
"Well," Streak started with a sigh. "I'm nowhere as educated as you are. For a pony from my background, there aren't many options. Cleaning, cooking, postal service. But I found I had this talent. Hitch me to a wagon and I can haul anything, even jumbo loads, long distances. Not many ponies are stronger than me. Unfortunately, they're mostly stallions and they keep it that way. It'd have been better if I didn't have the silly cutie mark; maybe then I'd be happy being a drudge."
I nodded and she continued.
"But I can't be happy, and the stallions in Vanhoover won't hire me. They say I'll ruin things. In the nomad city, a guild runs the air service and they refuse to admit me. I come from Vanhoover, they say, as if that were a reason. The only wrong decision I made is not finding a way to be patient. Ya need plenty of gold bits to buy a moving van, the cargo blankets, and gear to pack and unpack stuff you haul. I need enough gear to credibly take on jobs hauling goods between customers and clients, or furniture between old and new homes, and I need bits to pay stallions to hustle the crates. That's the difference between a few years and a decade, and I can already feel I'm losing my edge. I'm going to have to compete for business. I must be able to haul the most the fastest. Ten years from now, will I?"
I huffed. "You've got it together better than I do. I'm impressed."
"I've always thought you a snob, but coming from you, that's praise."
"You're welcome. For me, I've got plenty of avenues to follow, but I keep on taking detours. I've got an offer to become a physician."
"A doctor, really?"
"Or I could fall back and go into town government."
"Riiight." She quieted. "Well, maybe. But with a criminal background?"
"Somebody has to catch me first, remember. I could remain a thug, but I am beginning to think there's no future in that."
"But that's not it. None of it is your special talent."
The cutie mark. Of course, she'd say that to a blank flank. I took a deep breath as she directed me off the service path, across the sidewalk and onto a northbound avenue. "There's the whimsical choice. I'm telling everypony that my boyfriend left to become a soldier of fortune overseas."
"At, what, sixteen?"
"Eleven. He's like you. His gift is special."
"But more in demand."
"Something like that. These last three years have taught me combat magic short of being a front line soldier. I could become a soldier of fortune—"
"—and find him? Nah, we both know that won't happen. Doubtless he's found an exotic foreign mare with long legs and twirly eyelashes and has fallen madly in love. He jilted you, didn't he?"
"That he did."
"Good riddance. I hope you find your own dream soon."
"I hope one day soon you leave Canterlot and I never see you again."
"You too." She stopped and lifted a hoof. I reached over and clopped mine against hers.
We unloaded the wagon in a roll up garage, but as Streak was locking it up, Tailor appeared. He pointed to stairs that led to a second floor with a balcony and an apartment with a row of dark windows. I made note of the address and the street, and the placement of trash cans, lamp posts, and water plugs. I decided teleport spells were my best bet if anything were to go wrong.
Inside, lit only by the light of the street lamps coming through the open drapes, I saw a familiar silhouette on a shadowy sofa. Yellow magic levitated a squat glass with chunks of ice that clinked as he swirled it.
Streak said, "I'll just be leaving."
Running Mead said, "Please stay. This concerns the three of you."
I said, "But mostly me."
He said, "For one so young, you are perceptive. I first wanted to congratulate you on your last job. You eliminated the irritation quite spectacularly. I couldn't be more pleased."
Everypony in the room understood the euphemism well. Streak, standing beside me, turned and looked at me, perhaps reevaluating our earlier conversation. I studiously held a flat expression. I had left Detective Fellow unharmed but for a cut ear and bruised dignity, and with civilians entering the warehouse floor, and the police swarming around afterward, I doubted anything had happened to him. Whether for spotty news reporting, or intentional misinformation, Running Mead seemed to have a different idea of my last job's outcome. Since he didn't ask for a report, I decided it best not to correct him.
If he was waiting for a thank you to his complement, he was going to wait a long time.
He swirled his drink and sipped it. "Remember that comedian you paid a call on?"
"I thought my performance was top notch that night."
He put his drink down on a table. "And it was. Streak reported the whole thing."
She chuckled weakly. "I was positioned on the roof. Quite dramatic. Scared me, even."
Running Mead stood and paced in front of the sofa. After a few moments, he said, "The foal turned informant."
My whole body went cold, down to frogs of my hooves. I knew where he was headed and I didn't like it.
"I'm only effective at certain jobs."
"That means you failed with the comedian."
"You agreed sometimes it wouldn't work when you hired me, but it usually does. You wanted fewer incidents the constabulary might be interested in. I gave you that."
"But now the constabulary is interested. This time, you need to set an example for those who might think they can get away with unbecoming behavior toward their debt holders."
"There are certain things I won't do, Sir."
"Don't sir me. There's gold bits to be made this time. Plenty of them."
"I won't—"
"—dirty your hooves? Come on, Grimoire. There are certain things in life that if you do them once, they change you into something else. Your first stallion, for instance."
"Been there, done that."
He picked up the drink, swirling it. "It's the same when you eliminate a pony. You may as well learn and improve your skills."
"I— No."
"'No' isn't an answer, Grimoire. You do understand you have no choice. You come from a town outside Horseshoe Bay? You're friends with Sunset Shimmer, Princess Celestia's protégé. You were sighted leaving the Quill and Sofa Factory Outlet Store. Do I have to paint it out for you?"
"I won't do it."
He tapped the side of his head with his hoof. He suddenly slugged down his drink and set it on the table, causing the ice to circle within the glass. As he approached me, I smelled the whisky on his breath. "Well, I'm just going to have to convince you, aren't I…?"