//------------------------------// // Fumbling In The Dark // Story: Eleven // by lord_steak //------------------------------// Shadow-Walker paced around the situation room, following customary stops at different stations under the low lights. Today he wore a blue blazer with a white shirt and a black tie. He stopped back at a central chair with a side desk, and sipped from a steaming mug. Fallow Fields had handed over the reins a good seven hours ago, emphasizing again how important this night was, how many good things were likely to happen. Shadow-Walker himself had already had two cups of coffee, and was well through a third. The same could be said of most of the rest of his shift’s staff; a few had more. But it was quiet, and all had been quiet all evening. Sudden movement at a station got his attention. A young-ish stallion suddenly sat forward, pushing in his earpiece forcefully. His was a pale gray coat with a near-black mane and tail, with brown eyes, and a cutie mark of a few metalworking tools over a sheet of copper. The stallion turned and urged, “Sir, we’re getting a distress call from Team B! The local tribes have banded and are attacking the camp!” “What!?” shouted Shadow-Walker as he got up and ran to that station. A few buttons pressed, and the crystal ball’s image splayed on the wall. A frazzled tan earth pony stallion with gray mane and tail, and a blood splatter across his face, hollered, “Command, this is Team B! We’ve got some local colour, to the tune of thirty-five to one! We need Evac!” Shadow-Walker’s eyes widened and breathing accelerated. Chunks of dirt sprayed behind the pony in the projection. “Acknowledged,” said Shadow-Walker. He looked at the stallion beside him and commanded, “Redsmith, dispatch extraction teams to the Stirrup Steppes encampment, Code 4, now!” Redsmith tapped a few buttons and spoke indistinctly into a receiver while the projected image fizzled into static for a moment. When it returned, the same stallion dodged a spear thrust, then head-butted the water buffalo that held it. He continued against his assailant out of the projection. A few thuds sounded, then a snapping crack. This stallion returned to the screen, breathing hard. Shadow-Walker asked, “What set them off?” “We think we may have found it,” panted the field agent. His gaze darted around as he said, “We were about to comb the area in the morning.” “At least that’s good news,” huffed the assistant director. “Hunker down and hold them off as best as you can until the extraction teams arrive.” The frazzled stallion urged, “Sir, we’ve already lost Hutch, Shoeshine, and Pennybags!” Stunned silence ensued. Redsmith looked at Shadow-Walker. The black stallion stood unmoving, his face between horrified, rage, shock, and disbelief. He uttered, “...just you and Webber left...?” “Yes, sir.” “Send the data you have, just in case,” Shadow-Walker said emptily. “Yes sir,” said the field agent. He fidgeted with a few papers while another bit of ground burst behind him while a few blue spell rays shone. With a hoof to his earpiece, Redsmith turned to Shadow-Walker and said, “Extraction Team ETA, three minutes!” Shadow-Walker shouted, “Hold on, Dusty! Just hang on a little—” “Data’s away, sir! Tell my wife I love her!” Dusty said, dodging a spell ray. “Dusty, don’t talk like—behind you!” Shadow-Walker hollered. A spear ripped out of Dusty’s chest. As his eyes glazed, he gurgled, “...aaaggh....” Dusty fell, leaving the image of a bull water buffalo behind him, one with an Oriental red hat of some kind and robes of a pale yellow, spring green, and brown from the same culture. The bull charged up a green aura in his horns, then the projection was nothing but static. Shadow-Walker sighed low and long, closing his eyes. Redsmith looked up at him. Shaking his head, Shadow-Walker murmured, “...dammit....” “Data transfer complete, sir,” Redsmith said solemnly. Shadow-Walker slowly turned towards the mission operator. “He got it all off.” Shadow-Walker nodded slowly. He walked over to the central table, took off his hat, and flopped haphazardly into the awaiting chair. There he took the steaming mug and downed its contents. Shadow-Walker stared at the few grounds that slipped past the filter and came to a stop at the bottom of the cup. He set it back on saucer, but not evenly enough for it to stay put. As the mug clattered against the table Shadow-Walker stood up with an angry sigh. Redsmith, who had been watching him this whole time, timidly asked, “Sir?” Shadow-Walker continued to look downward. He mumbled, “...get me the next-of-kin contact info for Dusty Roads, Silk Webber, Maple Hutch, Shoeshine, and Heavy Pennybags....” Redsmith nodded. He sighed himself, and turned back to his station. “...of course, sir.” “Chin up, Redsmith. We have to carry on, for their sakes,” Shadow-Walker said somberly as he returned to the centre table, righting his mug. “I’m trying, sir,” said Redsmith. He looked over at his boss. “How do you do it?” “With difficulty. Wish this was the first time I’ve lost somepony on a mission,” grumbled Shadow-Walker, fumbling through the drawers. A door closed somewhere. The younger stallion asked, “Does it get easier, sir? Dealing with the loss?” “No, Redsmith. It doesn’t.” “Shadow-Walker, why does it feel like I just walked into a funeral?” Fallow Fields asked. He had on a wrinkled polo shirt and pajama bottoms. “We lost Field Team B, sir. All of them,” Shadow-Walker lamented. “The native tribes of the Stirrup Steppes wiped them out.” “Damn...,” frowned Mr. Fields, his eyes narrowing. Shadow-Walker pressed a few buttons on the central desk. A hoof-drawn map appeared on the main viewer. Numerous markings lay about, labeled “village.” Shadow-Walker said, “They managed to send us their data before the natives annihilated them.” Near the top of the image was an irregular-shaped area, enclosed by a dotted line, with “Blue Shard?” written in the middle. Scratching his chin, Fallow Fields said, “They think they found it, huh?” “Yeah. We should send a night scout to verify, what with all the local resistance. They weren’t kidding when they said there were more natives than the initial scouts reported; that’s...what, twenty, twenty-five villages? They originally thought there were only nine,” said Shadow-Walker. A tapping on his shoulder stopped him. He looked and saw the mission operator bringing him a large, yellow envelope. “What’s this, Redsmith?” “Next-of-kin contacts.” Fallow Fields took the printout in his telekinetics before Shadow-Walker could get it. He said, “I’ll make the calls in the morning, Shadow-Walker. We don’t need to rouse them now in the wee hours, since there’s nothing they can do.” “Of course. I’m surprised you woke up,” Shadow-Walker said. “Remember what I said earlier?” prompted the director. He rubbed his eyes with a long sigh. After a quick glance around the room, he muttered, “May as well get the full update, since I’m already down here.” “Ah yes. Local watch reported it was as though Celestia disappeared altogether, again,” Shadow-Walker said. Fallow Fields’ eyes widened as his lips tightened and nostrils flared. “Just vanished in her own library, didn’t teleport or anything of the like. She reappeared a few hours later, still in the library, much to the surprise of the Night Watch.” “Please tell me you have something good to report,” Mr. Fields growled. “Well,” Shadow-Walker sighed and shook his head. “That’s the thing.” “Team A?” “No change.” “C?” Shadow-Walker gestured to a different set of workstations. “Transport vehicle is still en route; ETA is 8:35am Canterlot time.” “Well, I suppose unchanged is better than a setback,” muttered Mr. Fields. “And the Lone Ranger?” “Last data we received from her was an image an abandoned school building. That was almost five hours ago. All has been quiet since,” Shadow-Walker reported. “Nothing at all?” “No, sir. Nothing.” Not exactly suppressing a grin, the director triumphantly accused, “Finally showing some concern for her?” “Too much rides on her not to,” grumbled Shadow-Walker. He sighed, looked his boss in the eye, and confessed, “You were right. There are so many ways this could go wrong. The waiting for an update is trying.” Nodding, Fallow Fields answered, “I know all too well. And, what about Ms. Heartstrings?” A picture of a high-rise hotel appeared on the main viewer as Shadow-Walker gestured commandingly to Ms. Weaver. “Checked into the Iron Hills Inn about five and a half hours ago, room 316. Some reported a bright flash slipping around the edges of the room’s blinds.” “Get a spell-reading team over there, stat!” Fallow Fields snapped with a glower. “Already there. There’s a very strong field coming from her room,” Ms. Weaver reported. “When they arrived twenty minutes after the flash, there wasn’t anything. Half an hour later this field came up. They can’t get a reading from the outside, and it’s too risky to try barging in. Said something about dangers of disintegration spells, with the current power readings.” The director spat on the floor with a growl. “Looking more and more that we should’ve stopped that train.” “I still think Ms. Heartstrings’ presence will be worth the hassle,” said Shadow-Walker without a shadow of a doubt in his expression and tone. Fallow Fields turned to leave, growling, “You’d better be right about this, Shadow-Walker....” Bon-Bon came to. She found herself in a dark and xerothermic place, with a semi-prismatic swirling haze drifting around, weak in the oranges and yellows, and totally devoid of green. All was black behind that. She tried to stand up and found no surface, nor a sense of falling. There no ambient noise of any variety. She could see her legs through the mist but could not feel no trace of its presence. Yet her legs weren’t darkened as one would expect in low light. There was nothing there though, just a black a void with an odd billowing fog that had neither feel nor substance. “Hello...?” Bon-Bon tentatively called out. Silence answered her. She twisted herself around and found minor variations in the mist’s ebb and flow in every direction. Nothing appeared brighter nor darker, closer nor further. All was empty. “What is this place?” “You are nowhere, and this is nothing,” answered the wicked male voice from before. Bon-Bon slowly turned her head as her blood turned to ice. She still saw nothing there but the haze. Her eyes continued darting about as she demanded, “Who and what are you!?” Sounds of evil laughter came at her from all sides. “Wouldn’t you like to know...?” “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t!” Bon-Bon snapped. “Hmm...what kind of answer can I give? What kind of answer would you like?” Her eyelids twitched. Still looking around, she shouted, “The truth!” The same malevolent voice replied, “Well, that’s nothing you need to worry your pretty little head over.” “Like hell it isn’t!” “Seriously. You can sit back and relax while I do the work. Take a load off,” the voice somewhere in the mist suggested. “No! I have work to do!” “And I’ve got it covered.” Bon-Bon scoffed. Spinning about and flipping, she yelled, “You don’t know why I’m here!” “Oh, but I do. Better yet, do you know why you’re here?” the evil voice asked. “I don’t think you do.” “Bullshit!” spat Bon-Bon. “Such language! Temper, temper, Bon-Bon. You really need to take it easy.” The little pony’s eyes welled up in anger. She scratched at the teardrops before they drifted away, snarling, “What do you even want from me?” “You will get me blood,” said the blackness. It paused, then added, “Not yours, so don’t sweat it. Just pop a squat.” “I will not!” “Will too,” it answered, and would have sounded petulant if it weren’t for the threatening overtones. Wheeling about, but unable to stop her angular momentum, she said, “No! I’ll take this straight to Her Majesty, and end the schemes of the Elevens, and you!” “If you could just hear yourself! You really don’t know why you’re here,” the menacing baritone said, even snider than before. “Just relax, as I’ve said. You don’t want to hurt yourself.” Bon-Bon screwed up her face as she barked, “Why don’t you go play a nice little game of ‘Hide & Go Fu—’ aaaAAAAAAAAAGHH!!” She clutched her belly through the shriek, the infernal combination of searing, freezing pain wracked her body, centred on her navel. A mocking laugh sounded around her, and the voice ridiculed, “Aw, you went and hurt yourself. What did I tell you about the language?” “What is your problem!?” Bon-Bon cried, unable to withhold the tears. “You will learn obedience,” commanded the voice. “Not to you!” Another bark of laughter rattled against Bon-Bon. Somewhere a lyre sounded, but far in the distance. The male voice said, “Give it time, Bon-Bon, give it time. You will assist in bringing about a new world order, and see to it that one and one are one. Now we will get to work.” “No! I will—AAAAAHHH!!” The music tickled at Bon-Bon’s brain as it grew louder, sounding familiar. The voice turned downright demonic as it declared, “You will assist. I am your master now, and you will do as I say.” Lyra!? Is that you? I thought I recognized the piece! Bon-Bon focused all her will at seeing the warmest smile of them all as she screamed, “I AM NO ONE’S SLAVE!!!” And all went white. Bon-Bon opened her eyes. She was in a dingy, decrepit classroom well-after dark, with old school desks shoved and piled in a corner. The chalkboard had a lesson about who to call for a good time, and depictions of male anatomy. She pushed herself to all fours. Her ears pricked up. She still heard the lyre. Tears struck again as she whimpered, “Lyra...?” She knew this music: Whinninov’s Study In E Major. Lyra played it all time. It was a solo piece for the lute, but Lyra transposed the key signature for the lyre. Bon-Bon walked out the door. She still heard it playing, with the same pacing and inflections that Lyra used when playing the piece. Bon-Bon looked up and down the hall. She was still in the old elementary school. She turned left, and the music quieted. An about-face later, it picked up its volume again. She started towards it. The icy, burning feeling returned, but she pushed through it. She saw the black mist again. I don’t care. If that’s Lyra, I’m gonna find her. Burn and freeze me all you want; I’m not stopping! And so she went. Following the music, she turned down street after street, ignoring the pain, and her black mist... ...down some major thoroughfare... ...by the White Wings stadium... ...past downtown... ...right by six hoodlums who took cover at her approach... ...past Grand Central Station... ...to a high-rise hotel. The sign above its entrance read “The Iron Hills Inn.” The pain had not ceased. She pushed open the double doors into its luxurious foyer and lobby. She walked toward the counter. The concierge pony stood agape while the night attendant slipped behind a pillar. Bon-Bon stopped the night attendant from sneaking away. He hyperventilated as her black mist skittered across the floor at his feet. She said, “I’m looking for a mint-coated unicorn mare.” “Oh. Yes. Um...wait, what’s your name, miss?” he sputtered. “Bon-Bon.” His face didn’t ease, but his voice forced some cheer into itself. “Oh! You’re the one she was waiting for! Room 316. Here, let me get you a key.” A few tears leaked out of her eyes, and the mist stopped. The attendant returned with the key. She barely had it in her hooves before she galloped away and up the stairs, the crying truly taking hold as she shouted, “Thank you!” She was out of sight, up the grand staircase, before the attendant could open his mouth. He shut it again, and looked at concierge. His colleague simply shrugged. A few quick blinks, and he halfheartedly quipped, “My pleasure? Um....” Lyra played a neoclassical piece on her lyre from memory, sitting on a barstool in the middle of a seven-pointed magic circle. This one was markedly smaller than the circle Celestia described. The music was one of her favourites, especially by Whinninov. His Study In E Major was one of a few pieces she knew where she didn’t have to imagine the rest of the orchestra. She had already played it a good two dozen times this evening, and had just finished it again. Please reach her...please, Bonnie, hear me.... Lyra sighed. Her mane floated freely in the magic circle’s circumference. She looked down at her lyre. A teardrop hit her leg, passing between the two rightmost strings. She looked at the new wet mark, and how quickly it blended in with the others. Lifting the instrument again, she started playing the piece once more. Whinninov’s Study had been a practice for the composer in invoking bittersweet emotions. Over the course of playing through it so much in one night, Lyra’s interpretation had shifted towards the bitter, sad end of the spectrum. This time around was close to a lament. And the tears kept coming at their slow pace. The piece wound its way into the E minor variation of its theme. Lyra played in more of lacrimoso tempo and play than an ordinary adagio as marked on the sheet music. She even held notes longer than usual as the tears sped up. A scraping of a key in the lock was immediately followed by the door flying open. Lyra stopped the music and turned. There in the doorframe stood a tearstained Bon-Bon, still crying, and breathing heavily. Lyra gasped as their eyes met, and her tears flowed freely. She tried to speak but only a garble came out. Bon-Bon’s crying picked up the pace as she barely could whine, “Lyra....” Gulping air, Lyra sobbed, “Bonnie....” She dropped the lyre as she rushed and met Bon-Bon halfway. The door closed on its own. The two very best friends hugged tightly with wracking sobs, hugging as if this would be their last time. Neither one could speak, nor did they try. Cheek-to-cheek, their tears intermixed as they refused to let go. Gaining control over breathing did not occur for another twenty minutes. They managed to sit down on the bed, still with one hoof around the other, and the other held together in their lap, both of them as if they were bipedal, leaning their heads on each other’s. They rubbed each other’s free hooves, and face. Their eyes met many times, content just to look into each other’s freely. Two sets of cheeks turned red during a long gaze after they had the sobs and waterworks in hoof. Bon-Bon’s breathing shuddered while Lyra just held her breath altogether. Their faces inched closer together, meeting nose to nose. Lyra stared longingly, though Bon-Bon’s eyes trembled. Bon-Bon moved in and nuzzled her muzzle against Lyra’s. Their eyes closed as they held the side of the others’ face. Lyra pressed in as she finally exhaled with a contented coo. Bon-Bon wrapped her over hoof around Lyra’s shoulders. As they lifted their heads and sat back to a normal distance, their lips brushed against each other’s for split second. Faces flushing crimson, eyes widening, and hooves darting over mouths all came in unison with the gasps. Their breaths were both uneven. The two sat petrified, nothing more than blinking occasionally, for a good minute or two. Lyra’s voice quivered, “B-B-Bonnie-e...?” Bon-Bon breathed, “Ye-e-es, Lyra...?” The two held their mutual wide-eyed stare at the other. Both sets of cheeks became even redder. Lyra stammered, “I...uh....” “Um...,” Bon-Bon trailed off. Lyra broke the eye contact, starting, “Yeah...that, uh, was—” “Lyra, I’m so sorry!” Bon-Bon interrupted with a shout, burying her face into Bon-Bon’s neck. “They summoned me, and—” “It’s okay,” Lyra reassured her very best friend, stroking her mane. Bon-Bon rose up with a hoof on Lyra’s chest, protesting, “It’s not okay! I missed our Friendiversary because of this! I....” Bon-Bon started crying again. She leaned forward as she hid her face in her hooves. Lyra began to choke up, saying, “Bonnie, it’s not your fault.” “But Lyra-a...!” Bon-Bon stuttered over her tears. “Shh,” whispered Lyra as she pulled Bon-Bon in close. “It’s okay, and it’s not your fault.” Rocking slightly, the two sat a moment. Bon-Bon moaned, “I didn’t want to go back...I didn’t....” “I know,” Lyra said. Bon-Bon sat upright again, her face very serious. She winced a moment, got up, stood in front of Lyra, then gravely started, “Listen. They di-i-idd...ow.” Bon-Bon exhaled hard with her mouth in a perfect “O” as a puff of black mist left each of her eyes. Lyra gasped. Her face and voice were a quaking, unsmooth blend of alarm and worry, blurting, “Bonnie...??” Bon-Bon took a deep breath, and tried again, “They impla-a-a-a-aaAAAGGHH!!” Bon-Bon clutched her stomach and gritted her teeth as black mist poured out of her eyes. Lyra’s countenance was a horrified one. Both her hooves covered her mouth. A few tears leaked as her hooves then went behind her head. She murmured, “Oh no....” Barely audible, Bon-Bon half-hissed, half-whined, “Lyra...help me....” Lyra got up and held Bon-Bon tightly as her tears resumed at full steam. Gasping for air, she whimpered, “We’ll get through this together. I’m not gonna leave you.” “How are we gonna ge-e-ett-t thro-o-ough this? G’aahh...,” yowled Bon-Bon, almost falling down as she writhed. “I don’t know...I wish I knew,” Lyra sobbed. She looked Bon-Bon in the face with tears and determination. As she retook control of her breathing again, she suggested, “Maybe we’ll be able to think clearer in the morning?” Bon-Bon sighed in fatigue with a slow nod. Cracking a small grin, she muttered, “Sleep sounds wonderful.” “Yeah. Yeah, it does,” said Lyra, almost sounding normal. “Do you want the bed closer to the window?” “Well...please don’t freak out...,” Bon-Bon said, biting her lip. “Uh...oookaaaay...??” “Could...could we share a bed?” Bon-Bon asked as her cheeks flushed again. The redness quickly went away as fear suffused her words, along with growing physical agony, “I can’t stand the thought of being alone, not a-a-after what the-ey did! I’m so scared, Lyra! I ca-a-an’t...aah...!!” Bon-Bon gasped breathless, falling to a knee. More of the black mist dissipated out of Bon-Bon’s eyes. Lyra shook as she pulled her back onto her feet. Terror took over Bon-Bon’s face and voice as she whispered, “Please....” Lyra stood shaking in her hooves. Bon-Bon’s pleading expression held on as she brushed Lyra face. The unicorn gave a sad smile as she said, “...yeah. We can do that.” Bon-Bon lay awake in the bed as Lyra’s steady breathing was the only sound in the room. The earth pony’s left forelimb had become the unicorn’s nighttime plushy. Bon-Bon stared into the darkness. She had not slept. She tried closing her eyes numerous times, but her fears kept niggling at her brain. I don’t know what we can do, Lyra. I wanted so bad to tell you everything, but that thing they put in me...it hurts so bad, whenever I tried to speak. How did it do that? Why does such a thing even exist? “You’re starting to get it, aren’t you? Took you long enough,” echoed the baritone from before inside her head with a chuckle. Bon-Bon’s eyes shot open wide as her lungs stopped. She shuddered in the bed. Her breathing returned, but hyperventilated. She stammered, “Wha-a-at are you s-s-sa-aying?” In her mind she heard the wicked laughter, and the voice said threateningly, “Do what I want you to do, or stuff I could give a damn about, and everything’s peachy. Do what I don’t want you to do, and you’ll hurt yourself. You’ll have it down soon. And if not, well...I could intervene.” “What do you want from me?!” she growled softly. Bon-Bon looked over as Lyra smacked her lips, mumbling indistinctly. “Obedience. That is all.” Bon-Bon snarled, “You’re barking up the wrong tree, and you kno-o-oow...aaagh...damn....” As she winced and held her belly with her free hoof, the other presence said, “You were saying? I will have your obedience, one way, or another. You remind me of the fight David Buckham put up against me, but his will was stronger than yours. Caused himself an awful lot of undue pain, but he, too, gave obedience. Will you learn from his mistake, or repeat it? We’re in this together, whether you like it or not.” Bon-Bon stared off vacantly for a moment as her mouth went dry. Lyra clung onto Bon-Bon’s forelimb tighter. “And the blood you spoke of earlier? That’s what we’re doing ‘together,’ is it?” “Again, it’s not yours. Stop being such a worrywart,” demanded the voice, sounding more annoyed than before, but just as evil. “Whose blood are you after?” Bon-Bon hissed, her voice a mixture of anger and fear. The baritone mocked, “Go to sleep. You’ll find out soon enough.” Bon-Bon’s jaw clenched and her right eyelid twitched as she scoffed. In a whisper she spat, “Why won’t you give me a straight answer!?” “Well, there’s no need to get your bridle in a twist over such trifles. Get some rest. I’ll get you to work in the morning. I may just give you a little gift, once you start to get it right. It is, after all, a question of when...,” it answered, followed by some wretched snickering. Bon-Bon’s limbs went limp. Her eyes rolled back a little and stared at the top of the headboard as she sighed in frustration, exhaustion, and defeat. She gazed at nothing again for a moment, then turned her head. A magic-powered alarm clock shone in red, “03:38 AM.” Bon-Bon sat up, freeing her foreleg and looking at the old wallpaper. Still asleep, Lyra muttered, “...but mom...she’s my world....” A blush edged into Bon-Bon’s cheeks. She stared at the sleeping Lyra for a moment. She felt a grin coming on. Well...sounds like she feels the same...ah, to hell with it. I want her, and since that thing is bound and determined to take over my body.... “Lyra...,” Bon-Bon called, unable to mask the nervousness. The minty unicorn’s eyes fluttered open with an incoherent, “Huh...wha?” Bon-Bon urged Lyra with a head gesture. Her blush had not let up. Lyra cocked her head to one side and rubbed her eyes, then blinked several times. Bon-Bon sighed with a slight grin, and said, “Please sit up.” Lyra did so with a look of confusion, which continued in her voice, “Bonnie, what’s wrong?” “There’s something I have to do,” said Bon-Bon with a gulp. Lyra hesitated with scrunched eyebrows. “Right now?” Bon-Bon slowly began to lean in. “Yes, right now.” “Um...,” started Lyra as her cheeks turned red. “Uh...right now, er....” “Lyra...while my mind’s still my own...let’s just do what we’ve always wanted to,” said Bon-Bon as she held Lyra by the side of her head. Their lips met. Lyra’s eyes may as well have been pie plates. She held her breath while the rest of her face was of total disbelief. She saw Bon-Bon’s eyes were closed. Breathing through her nose, her shoulders eased, followed by her eyes, and then they just closed as well while her own hoof cradled Bon-Bon’s face. The two were still, taking in the softness of the others’ lips, their own pounding heart, and the quiet ecstasy racing through their minds. Lyra felt something else wet hit her hoof. Slightly opening her eyes, she saw Bon-Bon was crying. Lyra blinked, then broke the kiss and asked, “What’s wrong?” “I’m scared to death about what they did to-o me-e,” Bon-Bon said, hurting. “I don’t kno-ow ho-o-o-oOW LO-ONG I...aahhck...I ca-a-an fi-i-I-IGHT I-I-IT...!” She took several deep, quick breaths while Lyra watched, fretting. Bon-Bon looked up at Lyra, begging in agony, “Please, come what may, stay with me....” Lyra noticed her hoof was still on the side of Bon-Bon’s face. She gently stroked the earth pony’s cheek and nodded. “Come what may,” she said, and leaned in for another.