The usual drone of the city was drowned out in favor of the sweet, melodic voice of a cello that seemed to fill Quill’s and Speira's room like a rising tide. It sounded as somber and as dreary as a rainy summer day. The elder mercenary sat at the corner of his bed, his posture rigid and his eyes watchful. Beside him lay his leather armor, folded and cleaned with neat precision. Speria had noted, and not for the first time, how naked her mentor looked. Without the bulk of the armor you would almost suspect him as nothing more than just another aging griffon with a few too many grey feathers.
That’s a deadly thought, though. Speira would always remind herself when such thoughts came. In fact, she had to remind herself this very morning. However, she didn’t allow herself to think of such trifle for more than a second. It would only clutter her mind, and with the current task at hand, she couldn’t afford to let herself get distracted by it.
It had taken some rearranging, but a decent sized space had been cleared out in the room’s center. There, Speira danced. Her hooves glided over the hardwood floor, as silent as a specter, and her body followed with just as much grace. She stepped in beat with the instrument’s voice -- its source being a record player resting on Quill’s nightstand -- never straying too close to either of the beds flanking her sides or the wall to her rear.
Eyes shut and heart open, Speira allowed the music to guide her. Trust in your body, Quill’s voice echoed. Trust in the rhythm of your hooves and the beat that guides them. These were but a few of the tenants installed into Speira. They were as much a part of her as her beating heart and her expanding lungs.
As time dragged on and the laps Speira made around the room increased, the end of the song drew near. The crescendo. Speira felt her muscles sing with a strange, ebbing energy at the thought of that word, as if it was a jolt of electricity. Everything before that moment, the crescendo, was simply a warm up for the filly. “Child’s play”, as she would put it, though Quill would scold her if he should ever hear her say it aloud.
The strokes across the strings of the cello had been long and delicate, but now Speira could hear the thrum of the cello’s voice growing deeper as the hoof guiding its bow pressed harder. It wasn’t long before the strokes of the bow became shorter and rhythmic. With every second the beat increased, Speira matched its tempo. Her hooves rose and fell faster now. Yet still, she was no louder than a whisper.
The heart set deep within her began to hammer madly against her chest, but not with exertion. With excitement! Her expression remained as vacant and as stony as the one set upon her mentor, but inside Speira was beaming. This is what she lived for. She lived for the thumping of her heart, the rattling of her lungs, the beads of sweat tickling at her brow, the burn in her muscles...The kill…
The cello’s voice spoke so quickly now that it didn’t even seem to draw a breath. Speira’s hooves moved almost in a blur, her body now twisting and turning as it followed. A few times it appeared that the filly was about to run headlong into one of the beds. In truth, Speira probably should have. However, each time she drew near to either one, she always pivoted away from the oncoming collision, spinning cooly on her hooves with frightening ease. I live for the kill… I live for the kill. The final few cords crashed into existence like a waterfall, carrying Speira on waves of euphoria that washed away the burning in her legs and back. I live for the kill!
One finally pivot sent Speira soaring, her hooves gliding over the hardwood. For that single second, she was flying. Then the final note came and fell like a blow from a hammer. It was the only sound that marked Speira’s arrival back to earth.
And just like that… it was over.
It took several seconds for Speira to register that the music had stopped, that her body no longer moved by its command. Eventually, as the grip adrenaline had on her loosened, she began to notice that the ground beneath her was still and that the air around her was quiet. Her eyes fluttered open, almost reluctantly, and she found herself standing at the epicenter of her training ground. She had stuck the finish perfectly.
For several tiring minutes, the room lay still. The record player’s needle, it’s job completed, had raised into a rearing position for a rest while the record spun idly beneath it. Quill flicked the contraption off, his measuring gaze never once leaving the panting filly. The silence was infuriating and it almost seemed to strangle Speira. It was all she could do to keep her expression even as she looked over to Quill. As if from another world, some pony’s voice rose from the tavern below and pierced the silence momentarily. No doubt this was just an inebriated patron calling for a refill. There’s always one fool looking to get drunk before lunch simply so he can ruin everyone else's day.
“Well?” is what Speira wanted to say. “How was it?” She hated the quiet, but bore it with stoney faced indifference. In the heat of action, the warrior always knows what must be done. And even if they don’t, their body does. Speira’s instincts were sharp, even more so than the blades of her wings. She would never be without ally in the fray so long as she remembered her training and trusted her instincts. However, she was not in battle now. She was in the calm. She was in silence. Here she would be bereft of those old friends of hers.
It’s a test, she thought. A test of patience. Just because the dust of battle has settled does not mean that you have yet won. Speira hoped that such a thought would have made Quill proud.
As she suspected, a test it was, and apparently, it was a test she passed. After a considerable amount of deliberation, Quill gave her small nod of approval. Speira felt the still thrumming muscles of her body relax as she sighed.
“Not bad, my dear,” Quill said at last. “Not bad at all. I feared you might not wait for the crescendo. That always seems like your gravest misstep; rushing to the finale. However, you showed great restraint just now. Perhaps I’m finally getting through that bull’s head of yours.” He spoke this last bit foundly with a smile playing at the edges of his beak. Speira, forever the child of few words, said nothing as she approached Quill.
Quill’s eyes wandered over to the record player as he allowed his thoughts to roam, but snapped forward when he felt Speira’s lingering gaze. She stared up at him intently, her ears drooping back over that pink mane. Mentor was not Quill’s only title. The second, and most important, was father. Years of parenting had sharpened a sense that Quill never even known he had. The sense of intuition.
“You need something, my dear?” He asked, already knowing the answer. She doesn’t need anything, he knew, She wants something.
“Yes sir, I just wanted to ask…” Speira hesitated, her eyes flickering downward momentarily. The courage she had managed to steal was trying to slip its way through her hooves. Suddenly a spotlight had been switched on and it took every ounce of self control Speira had to keep herself from squirming under its malignant glare. None of this went unnoticed by Quill.
Recomposing herself, Speira continued. “Now that I’m done with my training, I just wanted to ask if I might go out and see the city, papa.” With it finally said, Speira felt pounds lighter.
Quill clicked his beak, appearing to ponder the filly’s request with grim intensity. Suddenly that weight was back and it seemed to only grow with every agonizing second. Speira feared that if she had to wait much longer that her legs might eventually buckle and snap. Oh, how she hated to wait. And oh, how Quill knew it.
In truth, it took no more than a few seconds for Quill to reach his answer. The child had not only performed her exercise superbly, but she had also learned another lesson in the process: to get a little, you have to give a little. This request had been germinating in her since their return from the frozen north. Two days at least, Quill was just about certain of that. He knew the question would eventually come simply from the way the filly oogled at the city. However, instead of asking outright, she waited for just the right moment. This moment. The moment when Quill felt such welling pride for his daughter that he feared his heart might actually burst. He would allow her request. How could he not?
But you’ve made one mistake, my dear, Quill mused. You should have waited, at least until after you had cleaned yourself up. I might have still seen your intentions, but I would have also seen the tact you employed.
“Maybe. You did perform quite spectacularly just now, and I know it must be getting terrible cramped waiting around in this dusty, old room,” Quill said, drawing out his answer as long as possible. He hadn’t been expecting this to a garner any reaction from the filly, but he poked and prodded at Speira’s patience nevertheless. To his pleasure, Speira gave no rise whatsoever. That’s my girl.
“However…” Speira’s heart sank. “I’m guessing you weren’t wanting an old turkey like me trailing after you. That’s why you asked if you might go and see the city, isn’t it?”
“Not at all, sir,” Speira said reproachfully, “That’s just how the question came out, I promise.” Crimson lapped at the filly’s cheeks. Quill couldn’t help smiling at how adorable she looked when flustered.
“Never mind that,” he said with a chuckle and a wave of his talon. “I was only teasing.” That brief flash of joviality passed, but what followed was the stern expression he had worn when studying her dance. From father to mentor in the blink of an eye.
I knew this day would come eventually. My little Speira is growing into quite the mare. However, in more ways than one I guess she’s no less an adult than the ponies I pass on the street. More so, if truth be told. A hard life will do that to a child. Suddenly his gaze became cloudy as the next thought followed. And just like any adult, she wants to taste the world for herself.
Quill’s beak clicked furiously again as he mulled these thoughts over, analyzing them like foes. The mentor in him spoke and said that their little sparrow needed to learn to fly on her own sometime and this was the perfect first step. There was no pony in the Crystal Empire short of an Equestrian Guard that could get the best of his protege. Speira was strong, sharp, watchful, and cold. Everything Quill needed her to be so that she could face the life set before her with an unburdened heart.
Yet, the father advised otherwise. He urged Quill to wait just a bit longer, maybe a year or two. She was still just a child after all. By the end of that year Speira will, without a doubt, be made of better seasoning, ready to face whatever lay in those streets beyond the walls of their room.
Yes, just a child who’s cutie mark is barely a year old, Quill agreed, then adding cruelly, A child who has tasted blood and has taken the lives of her own kind. How many other pony children here in this country can boast such a statement?
The tension in the air increased until Speira was sure she would choke on it. Finally, mind made up, Quill’s eyes found Speira’s once more.
“Before I answer, I would like to know where you plan on going, my dear. A father can’t simply let his daughter wander without knowing where to find her if he must.” Oh papa, Speira thought, We both know you’d find me well enough even if I didn’t tell you.
“I just wanted to go to Market Street, or maybe even to the bazaar by the main gate. There were some things there that had caught my eye and I wanted to see them again.”
In all her years, Speira had never seen anyone with a poker face that matched Quill’s. Some had come close, sure, but not a single one was his equal. This is why when the tiniest chip of emotion in that stoney face broke through, Speira felt herself almost recoil in shock. Speira was too young to decipher the emotion she had seen, but any other parent who’s had to raise a child through “hard times” could tell you what it was in an instant. Shame.
“I’d have no bits to send with you,” Quill said. “I’m sorry to say it, but there will be no room for excess till we resupply ourselves. And even then, I’m not so sure....”
“Don’t worry, papa, I only wanted to look.”
“Is that so?” He studied her a moment longer before saying, “Well then… perhaps it would do you some good to go about on your own for a bit.” Elation threatened to bubble up from Speira’s heart, but she quelled it quickly. She didn’t want to give herself up just yet.
“Thank you, papa,” she said evenly, feeling herself flush at the way he smiled in return.
“No need to thank me, though I appreciate it. Go, clean yourself up before you go. I can see and smell the sweat on your hide from over here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once she was alone in the bathroom and she had the hot water running in the tube, Speira let loose a squee that had been building up in her lungs for over a minute. She pranced around the bathroom in manic glee, unashamed of how childish she appeared in the mirror over the sink. And why should she be ashamed? There was no one here to witness her jubilation. That said, Quill grinned and pretended not to hear her over the sound of falling water.
***
Once freshened up, Speira was all but ready and raring to set out. There was, however, one issue to deal with before she did so. Her armor.
“You take it,” Quill had answered sternly. The armor lay on Speira’s bed, a deadly glint shining along the sharp edges of the wings’ metallic feathers. Speira stood just beside it, looking to her mentor hesitantly.
“Are you sure, papa?” She didn’t know why, but the idea of taking the armor with her felt wrong somehow. Almost as if she was stealing it from Quill.
“Yes. The simple fact you would ask that question shows me that you're mature enough for me to trust it to you… wholly…” Though Quill’s words spoke with pride, his expression remained dour. “You’ve grown into quite the warrior, my little Speira, and I would not send that warrior into the world bereft of her weapon. To do so would be wrong of me.”
“I’m just going out for a bit.” Speira sounded slightly embarrassed. “I’ll be back soon, no longer than an hour.” Her gaze fell to the floor, and there it remained. It felt as if her eyeballs were as heavy as billiards in their sockets.
“That is not the point. I would try to explain, but… I think you are too young to fully understand the worries of a parent.”
Speira, almost afraid that Quill might change his mind, nodded absently. It took no more than a minute for the filly to dress herself. How many times had she donned the enchanted armor in her young life? Many times, but now she did so with a bit more motivation than usual. Before Quill could even have the chance to turn full circle, the armor was hugging Speira’s frame tightly and she was busy fastening her cloak over it.
Once the filly was shrouded in her usual black and her extra appendages were hidden, she looked up at her mentor expectantly. Neither said a word. It took a second for Quill to realize that she was waiting for his leave.
Quill cleared his throat uneasily and nodded down at the filly. “If there is nothing else, then you may go. Be safe and be smart, my child.”
Though her face remained calm as she nodded back, her heart had resumed performing jumping jacks behind the wall of her ribcage. This time she did not stop the sensation. She allowed it spread along her chest and drizzle down her limbs like warm rain. The sensation lifted her up and carried her across the room. It felt as if she might drown in it.
As the door swung open at her touch, Speira found that she had to take a breath to steady herself. She prayed that Quill hadn’t noticed the overwhelming emotions that coursed through her veins like hot lead, but she knew better. The old bird saw everything.
Here we go. It’s only me now… for a little while, at least… only me…
With that thought, Speira took the next step towards adulthood. Quill watched her take this step with weary eyes that almost seemed to glisten with moisture.
***
Though the bar stank of spilt ale and was stuffed with warm bodies, when Speira pushed open the front door and stepped outside, all of the stuffy idleness was washed away. It made all that ducking and weaving pass the staggering ponies inside seem trivial. The air outside smelt clear and clean, and she could not help but to relish it.
Though she had been in and out of this tavern many of times in her young life, this was the first time she departed from it as a party of one. She found this strangely freeing. By no means had she ever felt that Quill was a burden to her. Yet as she stood on the top step leading into the Speckled Gem, Speira had never in her life felt so light on her hooves. It was as if she weighed no more than a scuttling leaf.
A gentle breeze crept its way up along the street and found Speira. As it pushed itself against her, she wondered childishly if she spread her wings out from under her cloak if the gust of wind might carry her along with it. It’s possible, she mused with a small smile. They’ve never carried me higher than a few yards before, but… today might be different… maybe I could-
She never got to finish that thought, much to her chagrin. As she daydreamed, a pair of burly stallions, both donning hardhats, made their way to the Speckled Gem. Speira only noticed them when one of the ponies let loose a raucous bray of laughter. By that time they were already mounting their way up the steps of the tavern. The other stallion, who had been grinning widely, suddenly noticed the filly and fixed her with an impatient scowl.
“You got lead for brains, girl, or do ya make it a habit to stand in doorways?” He only said about half of this before Speira nimbly leapt off the side of the steps and out of their way. She didn’t spare so much as a glance back to the two disgruntled ponies. Why should she? There were so many better things in this city to see than the ugly mugs of two working horses.
“No time like the present,” Speira said to herself, already knowing where her first stop would be. That was when the smile --the smile that Quill adored with all his heart-- lit up Speira’s face.
***
The room felt practically arctic without the filly, or at least, it did to Quill. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring forlornly at the record player. It stared forlornly back. They both seemed to dearly miss the young girl who had danced for them only half an hour ago. Quill tried to will his thoughts away from Speira, but it seemed to be an effort in vain. Where’s she going? How is she? Who’s around her? These are only a few of the questions that turned revolutions in his skull.
“Oh lordy,” he sighed, “she’s only been gone ten minutes and I’ve already got empty nest syndrome.” Though the words sounded pitiful, he couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Empty Nest Syndrome’ was a phrase Quill had only heard the ponies use, which he found highly ironic. However, he figured the ponies were on to something.
“Leave it be, you old bird, she’ll be fine. Just fine. If there’s anyone in this jewelry box of a city that can take care of themselves, it’s Speira.”
Though he knew what he said was the truth, Quill found no comfort in it. After a moment longer of staring at the record player, Quill decided that he needed to do something to keep himself occupied. But what?
His gaze drifted to the dufflebag at the foot of his bag. There was a paperback he kept in there to nibble at from time to time between jobs. Hearts Across Detrot, it was called. A penny dreadful if ever there was one. However, the story had been somewhat enjoyable so far. It was enough to keep his mind occupied at least. Now, however, Quill wondered if he might even make it past a single page.
“Probably not,” he answered. “My skull feels abuzz with hornets.” Then what? What do I do?
Quill looked at the record player once more. The record, A Waltz Through Prance, sat patiently on its plateau. It awaited for the longing kiss of its lover, the needle. That bringer of sweet music.
Who am I to deny such a love, Quill thought, chuckling to himself. Besides, maybe music is just what I need. I doubt it, but anything is possible I suppose.
With the turn of a few knobs, A Waltz Through Prance began its gradual revolution. Quill adjusted the needle and lowered it slowly. The edges of his beak curved up in a weak smile as the song of the two lovers filled the room. A lonesome cello sang its dreary tune, the voice of the instrument deep and rich. Quill knew the name of the sang even without glancing at the setlist stamped on the records label.
‘Roses in December’ was the song’s name. It had been the song that Speira had danced to not so long ago. The moisture Quill had willed away at Speira’s departure returned with bitter vengeance. This time, there was no need to resist them.