Wherein There is a Homecoming
Conflicted.
I think that's the best word to describe my father's face.
He looks conflicted.
I can imagine what's going through his head. Is he supposed to be sad about his son's change of species or happy that his son still remembers him? I know I'm pretty happy about that second one. I spent so much time terrified that I was going to completely lose myself. It seems almost silly in retrospect now. I'm me. So long as I keep being me losing myself will be pretty hard. Change a bit? Maybe. Probably. But still me.
“You smell terrible,” my father mutters. “Is that...” he leans forward and sniffs. “Is that grape soda?”
“Sorry. I've been through a lot today,” I laugh. “May I come in?”
“Hell, boy. Since when have you had to ask about coming home? Get in here,” he says, stepping aside and pointing through the door.
I smile and step in, careful to make sure my treacherous tail doesn't get caught when the door closes. After the crab debacle I'm not trusting that treasonous limb. I don't know why it wants so badly to get me killed, but I'm certain at this point that the thing has a mind of its own and it seeks nothing short of my own oblivion. Which frankly doesn't make any sense. If I die then my tail dies with me.
...or does it?
I give my tail a glare just to let it know that I'm onto its game.
It twitches mockingly.
“What in God's name did you do to your hair?” my father pipes up suddenly, pulling my attention away from my tail.
“I turn into a hippogriff and you're concerned about my hair?” I ask incredulously. My father makes a 'get on with it' motion with his hand. All I can do is laugh and shake my head. “I was stuck for four hours in a van filled with children. Two little girls insisted on braiding my mane. I'm sure it'll spring back into its natural shape as soon as I get it undone. No idea how it does that, though...”
My dad peers at me thoughtfully, rubbing his stubbly chin as he begins pacing in a slow circle around me. I crane my neck to watch him and give my wings a nervous fluff. I guess he wants to know exactly what I look like? Once he's standing behind me he grabs my tail and hoists it up much to my shock and surprise.
“Yep. You're a daughter alright,” he states with definitive certainty.
I snap my tail away and drop down on my haunches. “Dad!” I squawk as my face flushes red and warm. “What is wrong with you? I could have told you I'm a mare!”
“Seeing is believing sometimes, boy,” dad replies matter of factually. Then he chuckles and shakes his head. “Or girl now? Heh heh. You know, I always did want a daughter. Older son and younger daughter, that's what I was hoping the Good Lord would provide. Looks like he gave an old man his wish,” he pokes my ear and I obligingly flick it. “Funny way of doing it, though. Works in mysterious ways. Ha!”
“Are you talking to someone out there, Anthony?” mom hollers from the other room. I pin my ears flat in anticipation of dad's reply.
“Yep! Our daughter dropped by to say hello!” he yells back. “Ain't that nice of her, coming to visit us again before we're dead?”
And that would be dad's grim sense of humor.
I can hear mom hurrying into the front room as quickly as her she can manage. Upon spotting me she makes a strangled gasp. The sound is like a knife in the heart. “You... you said you would call first.”
Huh. That wasn't the greeting I was expecting. Shock, sure. Disbelief? Of course. Sadness? Quite possibly. But complaining that I didn't call ahead? That's a weird point to get hung up on.
“I wasn't expecting to get here so quickly,” I admit. “My friends and I ran into some trouble and we had to split up.”
“Oh? What sort of trouble?” dad asks, glancing briefly over at mom. I'm not sure if she looks guilty or defiant. Wonder what that was about?
“A bunch of men in black style guys were rounding up ponies. My friend Surprise got herself caught and the rest of my friends and I took off. Then we got our Cloudmobile shot down by a missile,” I recount.
Both of my parents look shocked. My father shocked and relieved. My mother shocked and... yeah. That's starting to look guilty.
“Flying around in any sort of anything right now ain't a good idea, girl,” dad says solemnly. “Not after those bombings up in Seattle or after someone tossed a cruise missile over the boarder from Canada.”
My brain isn't processing what my ears claim to have heard. I'm going to need confirmation. “Someone shot a missile at us from Canada?”
My father nods.
“From Canada?” I repeat.
He nods again.
“What?”
“See, that's how most everyone feels. Some folks are joking that we're going to go to war with Canada now.”
An odd thought occurs to me. “Did that missile that got shot over the board blow anything up?”
“Nope. Just dropped off the radar. News says it was a dud,” dad replies.
“It might have been another Equestrian. Another Wonderbolt like me,” I think aloud. “I know I used to be able to break mach speed. But there are others a lot faster than me. Like Fleetfoot or Rainbow Dash. A pegasus is about the size of a missile. Somepony might have flown over the boarder and been mistaken for one. They could have dropped off the radar by landing and hoofing it on the ground.”
“Well, missile ponies or not I'm glad you got here in one piece, girl,” dad says, reaching out to muss my mane as he had done when I was a filly. I'm short enough now that it's actually practical again. He pulls his hand back and grimaces at the scuzz clinging to his fingers. “Girl, you're a mess. Go get yourself cleaned. Ma was just finishing up dinner and no child of mine is going to eat while filthy.”
I give a nod and head off toward the bathroom, only to pause and glance back over my shoulder. “I... I want you both to know that I love you. And I might look different, but it's still me. Alright?” I give a hopeful smile and my father makes a shooing motion with one hand. Alright. Shower time.
As soon as the hot water hits me I'm in bliss. I close my eyes and let it soak into my coat for a few minutes before attending to myself. I needed this so badly. The braids all have to go of course if I'm going to wash this rat's nest of a mane. Thankfully that isn't too hard and I'm lathering myself up with gusto. I'm not going to miss the stickiness or smell of grape soda. Not even a little bit. Once I feel reasonably clean I shut off the water and give myself a solid shaking. Yes it looks silly. Yes I look kind of like a dog when I do it. But it flings away most of the water and cuts my towel usage in half.
With the forces of grime vanquished and my fur toweled out to the point that I won't drip all over the floor like a sodden cat I head toward the dining room and find my senses assaulted with the aroma of honey glazed ham. Oh goodness... I must have been really out of it to miss that on the way in. I clamber up into one of the chairs and do my best to sit comfortably. No easy feat, let me tell you. My body isn't shaped properly to sit like a human and the tail/wing combo does very little to make things easier.
I smile across the room at my mother when she walks in, but she quickly averts her eyes. Now there's a frown tugging at the corners of my beak. Yeah... I think I can understand how she's feeling. I just don't look right after all and it makes her uncomfortable. I just have to convince her that I'm not gone. Just... a little different. I'm sure dinner and pleasant conversation will help break the ice.
“The ham smells wonderful, mom,” I comment brightly. “Glad to see the Friday night dinner tradition hasn't gone anywhere. I really wish I could have been with you and dad on my birthday this year. You always made sure that when Brian or I had a birthday on Friday it was especially special.”
She gazes at me with an unreadable expression. I fidget uncomfortably.
“I haven't heard from Brian in a while. Not since the last Memorial Day get together. Do you know if he's coming this year?” I ask. Then supply a friendly smile for good measure.
“I need to go get the cranberry sauce,” mom says. Then she turns and leaves the room.
My wings and ears alike droop.
This feels all wrong. Mom's usually really talkative. She loves it when I drop by to visit. And so far it feels like she doesn't want me here. Or if she did want me here she wanted me here later. Maybe she had some sort of surprise she had planned for my arrival? That would explain why she was disappointed that I didn't call ahead of time.
My ear swivels toward the footsteps coming up behind me. “Hey dad,” I mutter right before I find myself on the receiving end of parental ear-scratchings. I give a purring murmur and lean into my father's hand. It's hard to explain how great 'grooming' feelings are to someone who isn't covered in fur, but believe me when I say there's nothing quite like it. “Do you know what's wrong with mom? She's... kind of avoiding me I think.”
“Your mother has taken this nonsense pretty hard,” dad sighs. “She's just worried about you is all. Worried that she might end up losing you.”
Ouch. Yeah... I can understand that. “I was worried that I might end up losing me, too,” I admit. “But the more I've thought about it the more I'm sure that I'm not going anywhere. Everyone changes, right? The only difference is that people don't usually change so suddenly. Or... you know... transform into mythical animals,” I look up at my father uncertainly. “What about you? How do you feel about all this?”
“Didn't I always say you could be whatever you wanted when you grew up, girl?” my father asks with utter sincerity.
“Dad, I'm serious,” I deadpan back.
“So am I. Are you happy like this?” he asks.
I think about that. It's a question I had pondered before. Do I like being a hippogriff because I like being a hippogriff? Or do I like being a hippogriff because the expired curse has altered my mind such that I enjoy it? To be fair the symphony of the sky really makes up for the downsides.
Finally I nod. “It was shocking at first because it was so abrupt. But now that I've gotten use to having my old Equestrian body I really can't imagine going back. This feels... right. It's kind of hard to explain. And being able to fly is a big plus.”
“And you still love Ma and I?” dad prompts.
“Of course I do. You know I do,” I insist.
Dad shrugs. “Well then girl, if you're happy and you still love us then I don't see any problem with it. You are what you are, human or hippowhatsit or albino cave slug. Doesn't make any difference to me just so long as you make us some grandchildren before they stick me in the ground.”
I give an exasperated sigh. “Daaaad... I'm going through a lot right now. It isn't really a good time to be thinking about foals.”
My hormones disagree with my assessment. They say that estrus is the best time to think about foals. And stallions. And enjoyable activities with stallions required for the making of foals. But those hormones are probably in league with my tail working to plot my downfall.
“Well by all means take your time,” dad replies. “All the time you like. I'll just be over here slowly dying and losing all hope of ever seeing my grandchildren.”
A shake of the head and a bemused smile. That's what dad gets for his... dadness. “You know me, I've always wanted to wait for the right person. Now I'm starting to suspect the reason I never found them is because I was looking for the wrong species.”
“Well praise God! There's still hope yet.”
Mom arrives with the last of the food and sits down across from dad. Still no eye contact with me, still no real acknowledgment of my existence. Surely once we start eating she'll loosen up a bit. I just need to get her to start talking to me so she'll know for certain that I'm still me.
Dad says grace and we dig in. The food is absolutely divine. Ham and mashed potatoes. Dad talks a bit about work. Mom raises a question every now and again about my life, things I wouldn't ever forget. She must be worried that I'm losing my human memories. That's a reasonable thing to be afraid of. Come on Geneva, just keep a positive attitude about everything. It'll just take some time for mom to come around. All I need to do is keep being myself.
“You know, I'm starting to wonder if Equestrian fliers are going to need to wear little radio transmitters,” I muse between mouthfuls of ham. “Air traffic is pretty tightly controlled, so they will probably want us to have some way to be in contact with control towers. That or maybe they'll just require us to stay below a certain altitude?”
“I thought you were all planning on going back to Never Never Land?” mom asks.
I can't help but wince at her biting tone. “Well, I know that some ponies want to try to find a way back to Equestria so Discord can be stopped. But... I don't know. What if we couldn't get back to Earth after we leave? I don't think I could live with never seeing either of you or any of my human friends again. I might go to help, but only if I'm sure I can return home.”
“Oh? Which home are you talking about?” mom retorts.
“Here on Earth, of course. Mom, it's been twenty five years since we were banished assuming time even works the same way in Equestria. I can remember some details of what my home there was like, but it's probably gone by now. Or turned into a tower made of cucumbers or something. My Equestrian parents moved to Griffinheim and they probably think I'm dead if they're even still alive. They've already mourned for me. I don't want to put you through that as well.”
“What were they like?” dad asks.
I blink at him. “Who? My Equestrian parents?” Dad nods in reply. “Well... I can only remember little fragments. Mostly from foalhood. They're kind of jumbled up with my human memories. It gets a little confusing trying to remember what's from my childhood and what's from my foalhood. I have to really focus and make sure I'm thinking about something I did with you rather than something I did with my Equestrian dad. He was a lot more serious than you are, though. I'm sure of that.”
“What are you talking about?” my dad replied with mock indigence. “I'm always serious.”
“I think a lot of griffins are that way. They're more inclined to being proud, practical, and no-nonsense than ponies are. My Equestrian mom was different. She was very kind and encouraging, but sort of strict too. I... think she wasn't sure of what to make of my more scholarly interest in magic, though.”
“Lance, would you like more potatoes?”
I'm really racking my brain now trying to ways to contrast my memories of my mother. I've been able to tease the memories apart, but there's still plenty of bleed over. I wonder if that's somehow symbolic of the two different personalities being wedded together?
“Lance...?”
“I think I should just count myself lucky. I have four wonderful people I can count as my parents,” I say brightly.
“Geneva, would you like some more potatoes?” my mom asks with more than a hint of sadness in her voice.
“Hmm?” I twitch an ear toward my mother and turn to face her. “Potatoes? Sure. They're really great, thanks mom.”
Sadness and anger. Mom passes me the bowl of potatoes and I start serving some up. I cast a nervous glance toward my dad and find him looking thoughtful. Had I just messed something up? Maybe I shouldn't have talked so much about Equestria? Maybe it would be better to talk about more earthly things.
“So that Memorial Day family barbeque is coming up,” I say, breaking the awkward silence. “I was thinking of bringing some bratwurst like I did last year. There's a little place that makes their own that's pretty amazing, way better than any of the big brand stuff. I tried some at a Christmas Eve celebration we were having at the church this last year and-”
“Stop pretending you're him!” mom snaps.
I lean back in my chair, ears flat. It feels like I just got punched in the gut.
“Mom... I-I'm not pretending to be anyone. I'm me,” I stammer.
“Oh you have Lance's memories alright, but you're not my son,” she seethes. “You might be fooling other people, but you're not fooling me. I can see all the little holes in your act. You think a mother wouldn't be able to recognize her own child?”
“Grace...” dad says, his tone equal parts warning and disappointment.
“Don't you 'Grace' me, Anthony! That thing is not our child!” she says, tears running down her cheeks. “It's not Lance! It's killing him! It's erasing him!”
“Mom, that isn't true! I know I look different. And I'm starting to remember things I've forgotten because of Discord's curse. But that doesn't change who I am!” I shout back, grief squeezing my heart. “What will it take for you to believe me? What do you want from me, I'll do it!”
My mother fixes me with a look of cold fury.
“I want my son back you alien bitch.”
There's something in her eyes that I've never seen before. Something I never would have expected to see. Something that cuts me to the very soul.
Hate.
My mother hates me.
I feel... frozen. Frozen as I stare into my mother's eyes. Frozen as she glowers at me with all the intensity that a parent would feel toward someone hurting their child. The emotion is knotting up inside me, building in pressure like water inside a kinked up hose. I slip off my chair and trudge into the living room. I climb up onto the couch and begin staring at a throw pillow.
Something snaps in my mind and everything comes rushing out at once.
I begin to wail. Not crying. Not quiet sobbing. Wailing. An awful mixture of animal and human sound coiled into a cacophony of heart rending grief. It feels like I'm dying inside. Maybe it would have been better to just let the curse devour my mind instead of having to experience this.
That's not a bad idea, you know.
The oppressive mental haze settles over me. I can feel the sadness and heart-ache already becoming dull.
You won't feel sad anymore.
Crushing my thoughts... crushing my feelings...
You won't have to feel anything anymore.
Maybe... maybe I just...
I... No... this... no... bad...
Thinking is... hard. But... the hurt... Just... just let it go...
Not hurt. Not injured. Not hungry.
This is good. A good place. Soft. Feel tired. Rest. Yes, resting good. Rest on the soft place until the tired goes away. Smells safe. A good place.
Something touches me. Making sounds. Familiar smell. Look at it. Prey? Not hungry. Danger? No... this thing is... what is it?
Oh, just a scrawny old weak human. It's going to try to make you feel pain again, you know. I wouldn't let it if I were you.
Pain. Hurt. Pain bad. Growl at the thing. The thing comes closer. Growl louder. But the smell? A good smell. Herd? Pride? Makes sounds. Sounds... Geneva.
Geneva...
The pain comes back. The pressure comes back.
Come on, put those claws to good use. Gut him like a fish. It'll be good fun for all.
The human wraps me in his arms. He pulls his body close to mine and begins grooming my mane. He keeps making that sound. Geneva... Geneva...
That name.
Geneva.
My name.
I gasp as though coming up for air when I break through the mental fog. Oh... oh God... I was giving in. I was losing my mind. The stabbing ache of grief cuts through the psychic haze like a torch in the dark. And the embrace of my father banishes it completely. He's hugging me. Running his fingers through my mane. Speaking comforting words.
“...dad?” I manage to squeak.
“Oh thank God,” he mutters. “What was that? You were acting like an animal.”
My voice hitches on a sob a few times before I manage to speak. “It's part of Discord's curse. If we give up we start losing our minds. If someone doesn't snap us out we turn into an animal. A mundane animal.”
“You were giving up?” he asks sternly.
“I...”
“No child of mine is giving up. You're made of sterner stuff than that, girl. Do you understand?” he asks. I give a weak nod and another sob. Dad sighs and begins running his fingers through my mane again. “You silly sniffly catbird, come 'ere.”
We sit there on the couch together for... a while. It's nice. Just comfortable quiet while I pull myself back together. Eventually I break the silence. “Is... is it really as bad as mom says? Have I really changed that much?” I'm almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Yeah. I think so,” dad replies with a sagely nod. “Your personality isn't unrecognizable. But it's different. Some bits have been exaggerated. Others may as well be gone. You react to my teasing differently than you used to. And you never used to wear your emotions are your sleeve like you do now. Pardon the comparison, but you've got a personality like a cartoon character with everything blown out of proportion.”
I make a strangled squeaking sound. “So... you don't think I'm an imposter, do you? That I'm killing or erasing the old me?”
“Eh,” dad shrugs. “I don't know. That's a bunch of philosophical stuff that's way over my head. But I do know that you're happy with what you are now. And that you still consider Ma and me your parents. And you still love us. And one way or another I'm getting a daughter out of the deal. Even if I was losing my son it wouldn't make any sense to go and disown my new daughter now would it?”
Heh... that's certainly one way to look at it. I stifle a yawn as exhaustion weighs down on me. Physical, emotion, and even magical. “Thanks dad...”
“Thanks nothing. You still owe me grandchildren.”
~~~~~
Geneva had fallen asleep with her head on Anthony's leg. The old man smiled down at her. She was so familiar and yet so different. But one way or another she was still his child. He couldn't help but admire her beauty, for she was a beautiful thing. Maybe not quite in the normal human terms of the word, but she still had a certain wild and elegant aesthetic about her. And after all, what kind of father would he be if he didn't think his daughter was one of the most lovely creatures alive?
Anthony gave the hippogriff's mane another loving tussle and slipped off the couch. He was going to have to have a little chat with Grace over her treatment of their daughter. Stress or no, talking to anyone like that just wouldn't do. Especially not someone who's gone through so many troubles of her own.
Grace was sitting in their room watching the news coverage of the tensions on the Canadian boarder and the growing concern regarding the pony sightings. Her face was flushed and her eyes red. She had been crying just as surely as Geneva was. “Is it still here?”
“Your daughter is sleeping on the couch,” Anthony replied levelly.
“That alien isn't Lance,” Grace huffed.
“Didn't say she was,” Anthony said with a shrug. “But she's still your daughter. If she wasn't then what you said wouldn't have hurt her like it did.”
“I'm so afraid we've lost him for good,” Grace said, her voice trembling. “Every time I hear... every time Geneva speaks I can hear what's left of Lance in how she talks. Every word makes it seem more certain that he's gone.”
Anthony shrugged. “People change.”
“Not like that,” mumbles.
“They do after head trauma. Or strokes. I looked this stuff up after those folks in the fancy suits showed up at our door,” Anthony said. “Lance has gotten a whole new brain. It's no small wonder that Geneva is anything like him at all. Chalk it up to new memories and new brain chemistry. She's still Lance. Or as close as she can be given her species. People change, Grace. I wasn't an obnoxious old coot when you married me after all.”
“You were always an obnoxious old coot,” Grace laughed. “It just took a few decades for your outside to catch up with your inside.”
Anthony sat down on the bed with his wife and for a time they both stared at the muted screen while the little ticker scrolled along the bottom. Finally husband broke the silence.
“Did you tell them she came here?”
Grace heaved a sigh and shook her head. “No. After all that talk of cages and guns I just... I don't know, Anthony. Ponies are starting to come up in official channels, but no one seems to know who was in change of rounding them up if they were even aware it was going on. It makes me wonder if those 'agents' are really a government agency or something else completely. I couldn't find anything out about them. If something clandestine is going on then I don't think giving them Geneva is a good idea. We'll need her if it's possible to get Lance back.”
“What about what she wants?” Anthony asks.
Grace scowled. “What she wants is all a result of whatever was done to my boy.”
“And even if she can be given Lance's body again will she have his mind? Or would she just be Geneva in Lance's body?” Anthony muses. “She would throw no small stink over having the sky taken from her. And what if you're wrong? What if Geneva really is Lance and you just disowned him?”
“I don't know,” Grace said. She dropped her gaze and studied her toes intently. “What are we going to do, Anthony?”
“Well, I can tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to go eat some cold ham, watch the news for a while, and then go to bed. And tomorrow I'm going to keep bothering my daughter about getting me some grandchildren. And then I'm going to go to work,” he declared. “And you should apologize to your daughter profusely. And if you know what's good for you make some of those strawberry chocolate cookies Lance loved. I'm willing to bet Geneva will be just as fond of them.”
~~~~~
I was scarcely paying attention to what was going on. I had finally managed to get my talons on the second volume of Morning Mist's Arcane Aspects of Meteorological Magic. The series is by a unicorn author and covers the finer points of weather magic and the principles underlying it. A properly talented unicorn can manipulate weather too, but they're much more meticulous and cerebral about it. This particular volume covers many of the details and differences between pegasi, unicorn, and griffin weather magic. There is even some stuff on hybrid hippogriff magic!
It's all so interesting! Dad had encouraged me to explore my magic however I like, but mom was a little uncertain about how much I could possibly learn from a centuries dead unicorn. So far I'm learning a ton. Apparently hippogriffs usually just inherit either pegasus magic or griffin magic. But in rare cases they get a blend of both. I'm not sure yet which case I am, but hopefully there's something in here that would help me figure it out.
“Oh come on! Hurry up and pick one of them,” yelled one of the ponies in my flight school class. We are going to be playing some kind of cloudball game I think? I wasn't really paying attention when they were talking about it. Too busy delving for ancient arcane knowledge.
I finally look up from the book to see everypony else has been chosen for teams already. Or... almost everypony at least. Sitting next to me and doing her best to hold a cheerful smile is a gray filly with a blond mane and yellowish eyes that can't ever seem to decide on which direction they need to point.
Of course Bright Eyes and I are the only ones left. The other students have a whole list of nasty names they call her. Derpy Doo. Herpy Hooves. Ditzy Dweeb. Clueless Klutz. She insists that she doesn't mind, but I'm not sure if she really means it or if she's just trying to avoid making a squall over it. Her magic is absolutely phenomenal, but she has a lot of trouble controlling it. Her propensity to get lost in her own little world doesn't help, either. That's a condition I can really relate to.
I heave a sigh and stuff my book into my saddlebags. The two team captains are still arguing whether or not they should just start the game without us. One is suggesting the other trade one of their good players for both Bright Eyes and me.
“Birdbrain and Derpy Doo count as, like, negative one ponies each,” one of the captains huffs. “As soon as the game starts they'll just stare off into space or get in the way. That wouldn't be fair. Just pick one of them already.”
“Guess we're the center of attention again, huh?” Bright comments, well, brightly. Her attitude is just so positive despite all the horse-apples she gets. It's amazing. Makes me wonder if she's going to get a party-pony talent when her cutie mark appears.
“Yeah, I guess we are,” I reply. It's hard to be in a bad mood around her so long as she isn't accidentally knocking a cloud column over on you. But that only happened twice.
“Is that book neat?” she asks.
To which I grin widely. “Oh you bet! Magic theory is really cool.”
“You probably shouldn't have your book out here, Geneva. What if you drop it?”
“Ah, books have really low terminal velocity,” I laugh. “I can just dive for it.”
“Fine! I pick Herpy Hooves,” the team captain huffs. “You get Birdbrain.”
Bright Eyes and I get stuck far afield, no doubt in the hopes that neither of us will have to interact with the ball in any meaningful way. To be utterly honest I don't care. I lay down on my back in the cloud field and pull out my book again. Bright is sitting nearby working some soft cloud into abstract shapes.
“Hey Geneva?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you ever wondered why we can walk on clouds but not water? Clouds are just little drops of water, right?” Bright wonders aloud.
“I think there's some chapters on that subject in volume three,” I mutter. “I haven't gotten that far yet. But volume three should be a lot easier to find a copy of than volume two.”
Several peaceful minutes pass without incident.
“Hey Geneva?”
“Yeah?”
“I think the ball is coming this way,” Bright says, her tone slightly frantic.
I lower my book just in time to get a beakfull of cloudball. With a startled squawk I flail my arms in a belated and futile effort to defend myself. In the panic of the moment I let go of my new book and it vanishes through the clouds.
“Oh no...”
The other ponies are yelling behind me. Probably about ruining their game. But that's the last thing on my mind right now. I need to save my book. I unfurl my wings, hop into the air, and then plow straight through the cloud field. Or at least that was the plan. Turns out that the cloud field is packed tight enough that diving through it is impossible. I end up thumping headlong into it comically instead.
Come on Geneva, think! There's no time to fly all the way around! What am I going to do? My dad told me not to lose that book! It cost a ton of bits to get it in the first place! I can feel anger and frustration building inside of me like a bottled thunderstorm I rear onto my hooves and roar with everything I'm worth at the impassible barrier in my path.
My roar explodes like a thunderclap, ripping a hole clean through the hard packed clouds and leaving a wide open gap in its wake. I don't even pause to contemplate what had happened before diving through the breach.
A few hours later I arrive home with bad news and good news. The bad news is that I got in a lot of trouble for blasting a hole in school property. The good news is I saved my book. And? I gained my cutie mark! Two tornadoes, one red and one blue arranged to look like air pressure arrows. My parents are so proud of me that I only netted a moderate amount of punishment for blowing up the cloud field.
~~~~~
Day Eight
Seventeen Days Remain
I awake on a couch to the aroma of warm chocolate and strawberry wafting through the house. I'm... where am I again? I came to visit my parents, that's right. I flew here from... somewhere else. But how did I fly all the way across the Marelantic ocean to get to Griffinheim?
Wait...
No, that's wrong. I'm not in Griffinheim. I'm in the United States. In the city of Monterey. And I'm not visiting Warm Front and Galahad. I'm visiting Anthony and Grace. My human parents.
I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. I can remember more than I did yesterday. I remember the end of my early days in fledgling school and a few years of flight school. I remember friends, Bright Eyes and Snowflake. Are they trapped here on Earth too? How would I even find them? I remember things I read. I remember learning the fundamentals of flight and weather magic in minute and arcane detail. I remember using what I learned to make some... very unique flight tricks.
I remember...
I remember the smell of strawberry chocolate cookies. I roll off the couch and head for the kitchen where I find my mother absently watching the delicious treats cool. I shrink back through the doorway at the sight of her, though she's already seen me.
“Geneva?” she says uncertainly. “I... made some cookies for you. Your favorite.”
Slowly I clop into the kitchen, worried that the other shoe might drop. My mother hands me a cookie and I just... kind of look at it. Then back up at her, my vision blurring with tears.
We embrace.
And we weep.
I eat the cookie.
How sweet it tastes.
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3048903
Litterally the moment i got the email saying you updated it, i jumped for joy... Wait... Why am i still typing this... Buck this
Whew. Was worried she did rat Gen out. Love her father. Fun old coot.
i'm just relieved the mom didn't rat her out...also how they discussed Geneva's memories made me think of the Chameleon Arch from Doctor who.
Damn it... Atleast the cliffhanger isn't as big as the other... I can live another day without desperately wanting MOOOOAAAAR!!! Crap... Maybe not
Have fun with that
3049281
You just highlighted an unintentional use of past tense that I didn't catch when I was editing *fixes it*.
Blast it all, how do these things manage to slip past me? Must be the hobgoblins.
3049353
I just pointed out an error?... what XD
Um wow I didn't know ...
New chapter! WOO-HOO!
And... "Seventeen days remain"?
I don't remember seeing that in the previous chapters. 
That can't be a good sign...
3049353 It is them! They stole my left shoe!
3049712
Countdown proper started in chapter eleven. I had intended to put the countdown on every day after Zero in, but I totally spaced it. Whoops!
3050542
So does that mean you have the whole story planned out now? That's great!
Still gives me a baaad feeling, though. *hides face under his hooves*
I have to ask cause I've been wondering about this for awhile... seventeen days until what?
3052482
That's an excellent question.
3052482
Well, I'm going to take a guess and believe it shall be the following...
t.qkme.me/3s9zad.jpg
3052816
And I found you something to use when it's seven days.
cutelypoisoned.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/a-cky1xcyaa_jal.png?w=604
3053497
too funny bro
i cant stop laughing
3053497
So what your saying is we have an incomeing shit storm?
derpicdn.net/media/W1siZiIsIjIwMTIvMTIvMTcvMjNfMzlfMjdfODMzXzE4NTkwMV9fVU5PUFRfX3NhZmVfdHdpbGlnaHRfc3BhcmtsZV9wYXJvZHlfbWVtZV9hcnRpc3RfbWVnYXN3ZWV0X2ltX29rX3dpdGhfdGhpcyJdXQ/185901__safe_twilight%2Bsparkle_meme_parody_reaction%2Bimage_artist-colon-megasweet_speech%2Bbubble_i%2527m%2Bok%2Bwith%2Bthis.png?download=true
I can't believe her dad just lifts her tail to check her gender. Ha! I love Geneva's human dad! Crazy old dude! "Gimme some grand kids!".
"cruise missile over the boarder" - you mean border
"shot over the board blow..." again, you mean border
"Somepony might have flown over the boarder" border
"tensions on the Canadian boarder" border
But other than that, no errors in this chapter.
3097877
Im with you! Great dad!