All the Lost Pieces

by Voltage Drop

Chapter 7

As I peered over the loft's edge, I could see little through the darkness, and it took many minutes of staring into the inky abyss before I worked up enough courage to slink down the stairs and start investigating the noise.

Descending was difficult, and along the way I realized how wrong my earlier estimate of only needing ten seconds to reach the door was. If my life depended on me outrunning a pursuer, then I was dead. Despite my fears, as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I began to realize that the windows and doors were intact and that, most likely, nobody had entered my house. A quick exploration of the house revealed an overturned bag of mason jars which someone had forgotten to replace after digging it out of the cabinet in search for enough place settings to seat everyone for dinner. I remembered them sitting on the edge of the counter earlier, and I supposed that their weight had shifted and sent them plunging over the edge; however, I still did a good once over of the house, going as far as checking the back porch through the rear door's windows.

Could someone have broken in? Unlikely, but I was still rattled.

After half crawling back up the stairs, I laid my weary self back in bed, prickled with embarrassment, and too worked up to sleep, so I simply stared through a skylight into the overcast night. Oh how I wished the clouds would part even for just a minute so I could see the stars I was named after; I needed to regain some sense comfort, and I thought their glimmering presence might help set my mind on the right track.

The overcast clouds never broke their blockade of the night sky above. I never saw Castor.

The rest of the night was not much better.

My headaches, nerves and jumpiness withheld any meaningful rest from me. It was sunrise before I stayed asleep for more than a few minutes and, even then, I never slept uninterrupted for more than a half hour. The old pendulum clock downstairs chimed eleven thirty before I had enough strength of will to rouse myself from bed.

Weakly, I stood. My body was sluggish, more so than what should follow a bad night's rest, as I staggered to my mirror to comb my unkempt mane and tail. I gulped on the thick lump which hung in my throat, trying to sooth myself by saying I felt this way the last time I had suffered a seizure and that I recovered from the feeling.

Looking at my reflection, I met my own gaze. Had I not already been acclimated to seeing myself sickly and withered, the shock of seeing my thin, pale face with dark bags under my eyes would have been overwhelming. Instead, I was only saddened, knowing how much it must hurt my parents to see me like this too. Fumbling my comb, I brushed my hair with coordination on par with a small child just learning how to groom herself. The result wasn't good, my mane was still shaved on the front half of my head, but I looked a little better, save for the bandages and helmet. I applied makeup to the bags under my eyes, masking the darkness under them, resulting in a reflection that almost looked healthy when I smiled, even if the smile was hollow.

I carefully descended the stairs and sighed when I reached their bottom. I had planned before the incident last night to get up early and clean my house. Several dirty bowls, pans, and utensils still made their home on the counter space next to the oven and the broken mason jars and their contents were still on the floor. And now that I thought about it, the tub still had a bath's worth of water in it, and the floor was probably soaked.

I sighed, having wanted this all to be clean so I could show Dad he didn't have to worry about me, but it was not in me to clean a single spoon let alone the whole house. Decidedly against doing anything, I flopped down on the couch and immediately fell into a fitful sleep.

The knock on the door which pulled me out of a delirious half slumber came a little after twelve. Hearing the noise, I weakly stood, walked over to the door, and opened it.

“Hi Dad.” My voice wavered despite my best efforts to make it chipper, and I felt the frayed state of the expression I had practiced earlier. I knew I was the picture child of misery.

“Castor, Hi.” He gave me a concerned look, “Are you okay, honey?”

Yes I am, everything is fine. A voice in my head begged me to say. I didn't want to put him through what I was about to. I shook my head, drawing a breath to steady myself. “No. I.. I had another seizure last night and... I was in the tub when it happened.”

Dad's eyes widened as I spoke. “Oh no, Castor.” He reached out to hug me and I threw myself to him and met his embrace.

“Dad, I was so scared you'd come in and find me dead in there. I'm so sorry, I was stupid to lay down in that water. I was stupid to stay here alone.”

“How did you get out?”

“I felt it coming on and managed to drag myself out.” I sniffed and rubbed my eyes. “It was so close, Dad. I had maybe thirty seconds, max, then I wouldn't have been able to do anything to save myself. How am I going to live like this?”

He continued stroking the back of my neck, “You're okay now. You're okay.” He paused and then tentatively added, “But I think you shouldn't pour a full tub of water anymore.” He pulled away and looked me in the eyes. “Are you okay now?”

“No. I can function, but I'm sluggish and I didn't sleep at all last night. I siphoned out all my magic last night and now I just feel sick.” Even for healthy unicorns, completely depleted magic is not only unpleasant, but dangerous as well.

“Do I need to take you to the hospital? I will do that in a heartbeat if I need to.”

I shook my head. “There isn't a point. They couldn't do anything to help me last time, and this time is the same. I used my siphon and that helped, but I still feel terrible.”

“Are you sure you don't need to go?”

“Yes..." We were still standing in the doorway and I looked back in. “I should have invited you in right away instead of dumping myself on you.”

“No. It's completely fine. You had every reason to.”

We walked in and I filled him in on more of the details of last night. Dad offered to help me clean up the broken mason jars and he told me that he was going to drain the tub. The voice in my head chided back, I don't need help.

“That would be nice. Thanks.” I said instead, choking on my pride but thankful he was helping.

As he used a rag to swab up the tomatoes and jams which had splattered across the floor, I watched his movements and his horn glow as he moved pieces of glass into a bowl. I was still envious of all those who could use magic.

My body still was weak and uncoordinated, not permitting me to do much, but I was unwilling to just lay on the couch while Dad did everything. I stood and walked into the bathroom to wipe up the wet floors. “I know what you're thinking, so please let me pull the plug myself. I don't want you near that after last night.”

“The floor's wet. I'm just going to clean it up.” I took one my towels, threw it on the floor, and began sopping up the wetness despite my sluggishness.

It was a decent enough day outside, and a half hour later I managed to convince Dad that it would be good for me to go on a short walk and collect my mail from the office, since for the past few weeks it had been held at the station since I was unable to collect it. I had quite a bit of mail, and I didn't read through most of it at that moment since I wished to drop by the Canterlot Institute of Magic, otherwise known as the CIM, and talk with Dr Rushlight who lead the spell design team I was a part of.

We arrived by carriage to the CIM East Division's building complex, a very academic looking place, having a quite outstanding stature with its marble pillars and rich mahogany doors.

I stepped up the slate gray stairs and pushed through an immense set of heavy wooden doors, entering into a large room with polished tile floors and ivory columns which supported a mezzanine which ringed around the circular main lobby. The ceiling was a vaulted dome with a stained glass skylight in the center which, in the noon sun, cast onto the smooth floor a purple, six pointed star.

“You can wait here. I shouldn't take long,” I said as I turned to Dad.

“Are you sure?” he replied, turning his head around and looking at the steps to the second floor. “I'm not really comfortable letting you walk up stairs without help.”

“Dad. I'm fine. Stop worrying.”

“Well...” He seemed indecisive for a moment. “Okay. You know what you can handle.”

“Of course.”

Dad sat down on a padded bench near the door as I walked to the curved staircase rimming the edges of the circular room. With a moment's hesitation, I ascended the staircase and breathed a bit easier once I was at the top. From there, I followed a hallway to the left which lead to the office belonging to the unicorn responsible for heading the project of which I was an active member.

As I approached the door, I saw it to be closed and heard dampened voices from the inside. I sat upon one of the padded benches outside his door to wait and pulled out my mail, leafing through it to keep myself occupied. I came across one which was addressed from the CIM. Upon opening, it read simply:

Get Well Soon, Castor!

We miss you!

It was signed haphazardly by many of my associates here at the CIM, including a signature from Dr. Rushlight. Who would think that those few words would make me feel better, but they did and I smiled a true, honest smile.

Looking over the letter a few more seconds, I set it aside and continued looking through my mail until I came across a letter postmarked from Dr. Rushlight. It read:

Dear Castor,

It has come to my attention that you have recently suffered an injury which jeopardizes the position you currently hold within the CIM as a leading spell tester. While I am fully aware of your competency in the field of casting spells, I am afraid I will be forced to reassign you to a different position to comply with the demands of our work. Furthermore, I must apologize that upon your return to the spellwriting table, you will find your position filled with a replacement. Again, such are the demands of our work. I wish I could reassure you that you will have a place in our project when you return; however, all required positions are filled as we have two very adept unicorns testing the components of the spells which Key Lime and Ruby are writing. I wish to further discuss your prospects in person because I believe you deserve better than the detachment offered by a written letter. At your next convenience, please visit me in my office.

Formally,
Dr. Rushlight.

Oh Celestia, I can't lose this job. I just can't. I sat there in a silent panic, reading and re-reading the letter, hoping beyond hope that I was misinterpreting it.

Several minutes later, the door to his office swung open. “Thank you again, Doctor, for clarifying those questions I had concerning the composition of that particular section of the spell.” A young unicorn mare stepped from the office, “I was sorry to hear about the loss of one of your assistants, but I am glad to have the opportunity to be a part of this project.”

She was my replacement.

“Of course,” Dr. Rushlight replied, neither of them having seen me yet, “Castor was an excellent mage. But hopefully you will be able to fill in for her.”

“You're talking about me like I'm dead.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Rushlight replied, looking out the door at me, eyes brightening when he saw me. “Oh, Castor! Good to see you. We've been worrying about you these past few weeks.”

I stood from the bench and walked to the doorway. “A lot of ponies have as well, including myself. It's been rough, but I'm about well enough to get back on the team.”

“You must be Castor.” The mare told me, extending a hoof to shake. “I'm Meadow Zephyr.”

I met her extended hoof with my own, giving her a quick once over. She was a pale yellow with a navy blue mane.

She looks like me.

I let go of the hoofshake, rubbing the front of my helmet with a foreleg. “So, you are replacing me? Heh.” The laugh was a bit too forced. “Didn't take long.”

“Well, this is important work. After all, we are making sure they get clean water.”

That was true. A little over a month ago, a small mountain villa's underground water supply had become contaminated with lead and other toxic materials when the channel cut by an underground river collapsed and was filled with the tailings of an abandoned mine. Their water was rendered undrinkable, so several geological universities were contacted to find a solution. After an initial assessment, it was determined that for the foreseeable future, the groundwater would remain contaminated by the tailings from the collapsed mine. The CIM was contracted to provide a spell to coagulate the suspended metals into a solid aggregate which would fall like pebbles to the bottom of the purified water. Without this spell, the villa would be forced to continue importing water for an unknowable period of time, likely years, which ultimately would be an unsustainable effort. It would be inhumanely selfish of me to expect that I would not be replaced immediately.

I smiled a false smile back at Meadow Zephyr. “Of course,” then added, “Oh, by the way, I hope I wasn't interrupting.” I looked to Dr. Rushlight. “Am I coming at a bad time?”

“Not at all. Please come in.” he said to me.

Sitting at his desk and moving a stack of papers which rested upon it, he sighed and closed his eyes. “Castor, what I am about to tell you is one of the most difficult things I have ever been forced to say-”

My stomach went hollow – this was not good.

“First, I want to clarify that you are fantastic at what you do, and it pains me that someone so young, so talented, should have her abilities cut short like this. Second, I know that you are an excellent spell writer... but that is not what you are here for.” He sighed and looked me in the eye. “I am afraid I cannot keep you as an assistant.”

I choked on the lump in my throat. “Oh.” The word squeaked out of my mouth. “Are you sure?”

“I've tried to keep you on with this project, but between Kettle Steam and Golden Locket, the writing of the spell is well covered and there would be nothing you could do.”

“What about other spells? You know I am fully trained in composition – I'm almost as good at that as I am casting. Request the council to arbitrate another task for me to start on. When this is finished, we will have a head start.”

“I'm afraid it isn't that simple. The overseer of finances has, despite my persuading, refused to add a fifth salary to the team's expenses.” He put his elbows on the table and pressed his front hooves together, “I even inquired the other supervisors about any openings they might have and, simply put, they only are in need of unicorns with upper level spell casting abilities.”

“Wait, you're saying...” I sat shocked in silence for many long moments. “There isn't... anything for me?”

Dr. Rushlight shook his head. “No. But the first opening I get, I promise you will be back on the team, and I have let the rest of the CIM know that you are a good spellwriter with a solid background with the organization. I am certain you will be back working here in a matter of weeks.”

A matter of weeks. If I could be certain I would have an income after that period, the wait would be bearable, but as it stood, I didn't have money enough to last that long.

I was pleading now. “Isn't there anything? Anything at all?”

Again, Dr. Rushlight shook his head. “Like I said, I've checked everywhere, and dedicated spellwriters are not in as high a demand at the moment because any race, earth pony, pegasus, or unicorn can write a good spell. Just give us some time, and I am sure the CIM will get back to you soon when a position opens.”

I wanted to cry, to scream at the unfairness of this, but not in front of the doctor; I had to show a strong, controlled face before we went our separate ways. I knew this was outside his control, but it just wasn't fair!

“The CIM drew up your salary so that you get paid for your last week of work.” Dr. Rushlight started, “Now, that said. This does not sit well with me, so I pitched in what I could, and so did most everyone else on the team.” He reached into a drawer in his desk, leafed through some papers, then pulled an envelope which clattered loudly with currency when he put it on the table. “The total amount comes up to around a full month's pay, so it's like you are getting paid through the end of next week.”

Breathlessly, I reached out and took the envelope. “Thank you.” The words were strained to the point of a whimper when they were uttered from my mouth, I didn't think Dr. Rushlight could hear them.

“Thank Kettle Steam. It was his idea.”

I held the envelope and mindlessly looked at it, rubbing on my helmet where my horn should be as I realized this was the last time I was to be paid for my abilities to cast spells. Sorrow stung in my chest. “So, I guess that's it?” I eventually asked.

“I'm afraid so. Again Castor, I can't tell you how hard this was for me to do. If you find work elsewhere and they begin asking about your background, I only have good things to say about you, so give them my office number and address and I'll put my best word in for you.”

“Thank you. Do you maybe know of anyone outside the CIM that is in need of a spellwriter?”

“My work keeps me at my desk most of the time so, aside from a few academic connections, I don't know anyone who is in a position to look for someone of your talents. I'm sorry.”

“Okay... and, you promise to hold any openings for me and let me know?”

“Of course, Castor.”

“Thanks.” I expected him to say something else, but in the following period of uneasy silence, I realized that there wasn't much else to be said. “I guess I should go now...”

“I promise you Castor, if anything opens up I will let you know.”

“Thank you.”

Lethargically I stood and walked out in a daze. I was in shock, too shaken to feel anything my legs dumbly carried me down the hallway to the workspace I had shared with my colleagues.

Suddenly, I was pushing open the door to the room without having remembered gotten there. Inside, Kettle Steam and Meadow Zephyr looked from chalkboards scribbled with magical notation, and Golden Locket placed a beaker filled with water back onto the chemistry table. Harmony Strings, the team's other unicorn, disengaged the spell she was casting when she saw me.

I mustered a pleasant expression that I knew, in contradiction to my best efforts, must have looked shocked and weary. “Hi. Looks like I'm not working here anymore.”

Excluding Meadow Zephyr, those in the room expressed their condolences and offered words of encouragement. Kettle Steam and Golden Locket even promised to keep in touch after I was gone, but I knew they were just being nice. Without the convenience of being in the same place, I knew we would inevitably fall away from each other, most likely never speaking again after I left the room despite the assurances otherwise.

I promised them I would keep in touch as well and thanked them profusely for my final paycheck.

Slowly, I exited the room and walked back back through the hallways until I was out of earshot.

“IT'S NOT FAIR!” I screamed, slamming my hoof against the wall and immediately breaking into tears. “It's, just not fair.” For several minutes, I sat quivering in one of the chairs outside someone's office, ignoring anyone who passed by me while biting back on the tears. After a few minutes, as the tears began to fade, I wiped my eyes and slowly walked back to the main lobby. Descending the curved stairwell to the first floor, I saw Dad looking anxiously in my direction.

“Bad news?” he asked as I neared him.

My head drooped, “I am afraid so.”

“What happened?”

“Dad... I don't have a job anymore.”

“Okay...” He said, exhaling and rubbing a hoof across his face. “Okay, we will find a way to work through this.”

I sat down on the bench, gripping my head. “This is more than I can handle. I feel sick.”

He sat down next to me and rubbed my shoulder. “Do you feel like going home?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Yes.”

“I'll go hail a carriage.”

“Thank you.”

When the carriage arrived, I laid myself in one of its seats and shielded my eyes against the outside light, desperately trying to ward off yet another migraine. When the carriage finally arrived home, Dad walked me to the front door of my house. “You feel okay being alone now?”

“Yes. I'm going to try to sleep.”

“Okay.” He hugged me around the shoulder. “I and your mom will be back later tonight.”

With him gone, I shuffled upstairs and lay on my bed with only the ticking clock downstairs as company. What am I going to do now? How am I going to pay rent? What about food? Should I move someplace else?

I rolled onto my stomach and buried my head under a pillow. I'm so useless now. I don't want anyone seeing me like this. They think less of me... I'm so useless. Where should I look for work now? Should I wait until I feel better? Will I ever feel better?

There I lay, assaulted by these thoughts and many more as my attempts to sleep were thwarted.

I can't stand this any longer.

Standing, I looked around myself for anything to keep my mind off the worries which wrapped around and smothered me like a thick, wet blanket.

Somehow, even with my absence, the house had gotten dirty. A thin film of dust covered the second floor railing and some of my furniture, and spider webs hung in corners.

Hugging the rail tightly, I walked down stairs to the the kitchen where my cleaning items resided. Opening the cabinet, I, like a thousand times before, reached out to grab the rags and bucket with my magic. The ever present pressure in my head spiked and a metallic taste filled my mouth.

Mentally cursing myself, I leaned in and pulled several rags out with my mouth, spitting them back out when I tasted them. Those things are revolting!

It was something I had never considered, but now that I was aware of it, I was going to throw these rags into the wash bin the instant I was done with them.

With the supplies, I cleaned the surfaces of my house; though, I still struggled with coordination and didn't do a good job.

I kept myself busy until five when I sat down for a long break. My hind legs under me, I laid my chin onto my crossed front legs, eyes alert and ears up like a guard dog as I stared at the pail and rags which had been used more by my hooves that day than they had been all other times combined.

Not entirely sure why I was doing it, I closed my eyes and focused my senses, reaching out with my truesight to observe my surroundings.

Flashes, gentle like the glow of embers rising from a fire, glimmered in my truesight as if glimpsed from the corner of an eye. They carried with them a presence of familiarity, whispering that, should I catch one long enough to observe, I might for the briefest of moments see the world around me as I once did.

Castor, what are you doing? You know you can't see anything.

With each scintillation, I cast my focus out to study the fields of, what I figuratively refer to as white light. Don't get your expectations up. I told myself each time I saw an image flash in my truesight. Laying there, I closed my eyes again and called upon a lifetime of mental discipline to work out a clairvoyance meditation. Just focus.

Two dull glows radiated to my left, then nothing for five minutes.

Focus Harder. I ordered myself.

A dim sensation streaked in front of me, leaving dancing embers of white in its wake.

Just reach out and see it like you've done all your life before.

An amorphous gray blob expanded in my truesight like phantom shapes burned into one's eyes after staring into light.

Yes. Hold onto it.
The blob swelled under my focus, then contracted into oblivion.

I started over.

Five dull glows tinged the edges of my vision.

Yes, just focus. Repeat the steps.

A blazing white burst streaked from top to bottom, burning a swath of dancing pinpricks of white in my truesight.

Touch them, pull them together.

The pinpricks gravitated towards the center of my focus and coalesced together into a single conglomerate.

Come on... Do something! I could feel the outline of my surroundings not through sense, but through memory. I could see faint outlines bending and twisting in front of my mind as if staring into the darkness. The shapes, contours and features were vaguely defined, but I couldn't tell if it was memory or truesight from which the vision came.

The bucket in front of me: I could clearly remember its form, I knew what it 'looked like', so to say, and I strained my mind in the darkness to see it.

The white blob in my truesight shuttered and faded against my efforts to hold it in my mind. But as it dimmed, there, ever so clear in my mind, I for a breathless moment saw the outline of the bucket.

I sat up and smiled.
It's a phantasm Castor. Don't believe what you saw.

But how could I deny my very senses?

Those aren't your senses.

Then what were they?

Dreams. Empty hopes.

I couldn't accept that.

Don't lie to yourself.

I wasn't. I actually saw with my mind.

Remember the tests. Remember your failure.

I sat there arguing with myself until I heard knocking at my door which I opened to see my parents standing there. “How are you, dear?” she asked.

“Awful. I guess Dad told you about what happened?”

“My poor daughter.” She hugged me, “Just relax and I'll take care of dinner for you.”

“Thank you.” Escorting them in, I helped her unload her saddlebags.

“Go on, lay down on the couch. I've got everything taken care of.” Mom said. I wasn't about to argue the point, so I lay on the couch and dozed off until around six thirty when I was awakened by Dad gently nudging my shoulder.

“Dinner's ready Castor.”

I rose from the couch where I had collapsed and shuffled over to the dinner table in a haze. Scooping some pasta onto my plate, I stared at the spaghetti and realized that I couldn't stand the sight of food even though I hadn't eaten anything at all that day and my body needed to regain its severely depleted magic.

I took a bite chewed it slowly. Bleh. It tasted good, but I just couldn't stomach a single morsel.

“Aren't you going to eat anything Castor?”

I looked over to my Dad when he spoke. “Huh?”

“You've hardly touched your food. Are you feeling alright?”

Realizing my parents had already finished half of their meal, I suddenly felt like I had just missed a gap in time. “I blanked out for a minute.” I took another bite of food and had to force myself to swallow it.

“Castor. Your father and I have been talking and... well... I don't think we're comfortable with you living here alone.”

“I'm fine...”

“No Castor, you're not.”

“...” I didn't answer.

“It's just... After what happened last night, Minscy and I didn't want you to have another seizure without anyone to be there with you.”

“That's right,” Mom said. “I mean, what if you were to fall down the stairs, of, heaven forbid, collapse in the tub like you nearly did? I was horrified when I found out what nearly happened!”

I twirled my fork aimlessly in the spaghetti until I dropped I sent it clattering to the floor dragging spaghetti with it. Before I could even reach down to grab the fork, Dad got up from his chair and picked it up.

“I'll get you another one.”

Fussing over me like this was unreasonable – it was like I was a foal again. “So are you wanting to stay over tonight?” I asked.

“Only if you want one of us to. And please don't take it that we think you can't take care of yourself, it's just that we don't want anything to happen to you.”

The rest of dinner passed in silence which was only broken by the occasional clink of cutlery on the plates. I downed one or two more bites of food, but by the time they were washing their dishes, it still looked like I hadn't even touched what was on my plate.

“Aren't you going to eat anything more?” Mom asked.

“I'm too upset to take another bite.” A pained expression flickered onto her face. “I'm sorry, but it's not something I can help. I'm going to put it away in the ice box for tomorrow.” I stood to go get a container, but Dad walked by and whisked away my plate.

“I'll take care of it for you sweetheart.”

I can take care of myself! nearly sprang from my mouth, but I was too tired to have another argument and dropped it. I walked across to the living area and sat down on the love seat. In the kitchen area, my parents tidied up, washing the stove, cleaning dishes, and such. “Do you want any help?” I offered.

“We're fine. Do you feel up to a game when we're done?”
You think I'm a child? “You sure you don't need any help?”

“It's fine. We don't mind.”

So I sat there, feeling useless as they fawned over me like a foal. I tried to ignore the thought – they were trying to be nice by helping – but that did little to help.

Not once during this entire night did either of them use their magic either. Physically, they carried dishes, washed pots, wiped surfaces: no magic was ever used! If I were blind, would they go about with their eyes closed? Were I like Dante, would they drag themselves around by their front legs?

I fumed for several more minutes before I realized I was angry at ponies who were trying their best to help me.

Just drop it Castor. Drop it!

Sighing, I tried to ignore the nettling urge to confront my parents.

I'm useless, I can't even clean dishes. I rolled slightly to make myself more comfortable. I can't do anything now. They're doing everything for me now because I can't do it.

That was it; I wasn't going to put up with this self badgering any longer. “I feel horrible... really sleepy, so I'm going to bed.”

“Okay dear. Well be finished soon and I'll be out of your hair. Would you be alright with your Dad staying over tonight to keep you company?”

Be calm Castor. Don't start an argument. “Yeah. That would be fine.” I stood and started towards the stairs.

“Let me help you walk up.” Dad came to where I stood at the base of the stairs and wrapped a foreleg around me.

“I'm fine. Really. You don't have to help.”

He rubbed my shoulder. “I know, but watching you walk up the stairs makes me nervous.”

You can't do anything, Castor. Shoving Dad's foreleg from my shoulders, I snarled, “I can do this. Just Leave Me Alone!”

He blinked and backed a few steps away from me, standing in shock as I slowly ascended the stairs. He finally spoke when I was about halfway up. “Castor, I was just trying to help you.”

“I've gone up and down these stairs before, so that means I can do it now as well.” To prove my point, I released the deathgrip I held on the hoof rail as I climbed the rest of the distance to the top.

“Please be careful.”

I didn't say anything else until I reached the top of the stairs and started towards my bed. “Goodnight.”

Comments

[FTR2017]

The classic battle between adaptation and pride... quite a human thing to suffer when disabled.

But, as it is, it is one of the most distressing situations one previously autonomous person could suffer: to be reduced to a state of dependence.

Good job portraying that in this chapter.