O Blessed Night

by Dafaddah

A New Hope

Meteor

What a gorgeous night for a race! he thought. The milky way sparkled and danced in the sky, outshone only and most fittingly by Her glorious full moon.

“Meteor! Meteor!” The crowd roared as he streaked past the tallest tower of Canterlot castle.

The citizens of the Lunar Republic had gathered for this, the biggest race of the year. They filled every nook cranny of even the higher reaches of the castle. Their dark coats of glittering silver barding and long penants emblazoned with the names of their favorites made the slim white towers look as if they had been invaded by an army of restless giant insects!

Meteor grinned as he flew closer. No few of the pennants bore his name. It was only natural, as he was sure that at the conclusion of the contest he would become the youngest member of the Shadowbolts and favorite of the great leader herself! For most of the race he had faced no real competition, having left Leatherwing far behind in the opening moments of the race. His grin grew wider. He was the best, after all, and nopony – a shadow appeared in the corner of his eye! Meteor tucked his wings in tightly and spun at high velocity towards the ground, the lingering impression of a leering nightpony’s face in his vision. The racer passed him close enough to touch, and the spreading wetness in Meteor’s side left no doubt that the nightpony had been wearing a blade!

Leatherwing! How in the depths of Night did he catch up to me? Meteor flared his wingtips and banked out of his power dive. It was illegal to use offensive weapons in formal races like this, but the blades were so easy to get rid of after they were employed that most competitive racers used them nevertheless. Most did not include Meteor. He was too good a flyer to need a crutch to win!

Leatherwing, on the other hoof, was going to his lesson the hard way! But since there were only two laps left in the race, Meteor would have to move fast. He grinned. Moving fast is my specialty! With massive wing-strokes he regained altitude, eyes on the sky above him. It didn’t take long to find the cheat, as the next section of the course wound tightly around a set of minarets whose sides teemed with eager spectators. To miss a turn meant instant disqualification, so this was the slowest segments of the challenging course, especially for hack flyers like Leatherwing.

Meteor pulled his wings in and shot towards the minarets like a bat out of Tartarus. Leatherwing turned his gaze backwards. The leer disappeared from his face when he saw how quickly Meteor was catching up. He scowled began to beat his wings furiously, passing dangerously close to the towers.

Meteor has almost caught up when both ponies approached a narrow chasm between two minarets whose outer surfaces consisted of spiraling galleries packed with spectators leaning precariously outwards. Leatherwing cast an angry look backwards at Meteor, and with a slight curl of his wingtips crept within touching distance of the tower walls. With a sneer, he momentarily folded his wings and gliding sideways passed inches away from the crowded galleries.

Leatherwing was now less than a ponylength ahead of Meteor. He had just opened his mouth to tell Leatherwing just what he thought of the scumbag, when his foe rolled hard, knocking a young unicorn off her precarious perch. The filly crashed into Meteor and managed to clasp her forehooves around his neck. Without further thought Meteor continued his turn around the minaret, shedding speed. The moonlight revealed a pretty face smiling coily up into his own.

“Hi, Meteor,” she said breathlessly, batting her eyes.

Wonderful. A fan. He grinned back at her sheepishly, but kept silent. Best not to encourage her, he turned his eyes back to the course he was flying. And I never know what to say to fillies, anyway!

She looked like she had decided to take the initiative and say more just as they completed their circuit around the tower, approaching once more the balcony from which the mare had been displaced. “Sorry, miss!” said Meteor, pushing his hooves up through her forelegs and breaking her grip. She fell away from him and crashed into the group of ponies occupying the balcony as he shot past. A glance to the rear showed him that she had landed safely and was now waving enthusiastically in his direction.

With a sense of relief, Meteor took after Leatherwing, gaining altitude as the next segment of the course required the contestants to fly over a high cloud that was set higher still after every lap. The climb was followed by a hard dive to ground level, with the racers flying through a series of hoops and then past the review stands where She waited upon her throne.

Meteor’s delay had cost him dearly. Other contestants would likely just have let the filly drop, leaving it to somepony else to save her - or not. In Equestria, only those who fought for survival prospered, and the rest got what they deserved. Still, Meteor was not the type of pony to let others do the heavy flying. He grit his teeth and let his anger at Leatherwing empower his wings.

Finally, he climbed high enough to pass over the cloud-gate and plummeted back to earth like a stone. Narrowing his eyes, he felt the rush of the wind whistle in his ears as he tucked his wings in tight and sought the maximum possible speed in his dive. At the penultimate moment, he spread his wingtips out and powered out of the dive, achieving horizontal flight inches above the ground. The hoops loomed ahead, each one less than a full wingspan in diameter, purposefully misaligned to challenge the racers into trade-off between speed and manoeuvrability.

Meteor sped through the three rings one at a time at an impossible speed. He purposefully swung out his dive so he could approach the first one at an angle, although for effect it made the target ring look like a narrow vertically aligned oval instead of a full circle. With a twist of his wingtips he flew sideways, squeezing through the obstacle.

He arched his back, tilting his wings to bank at breakneck speed, turning hard enough to cause the edge of his vision to start blacking out. He passed through the second loop at the midpoint of a perfectly timed barrel-roll.

Only one ring was left, requiring the tightest turn of the three. Meteor flared his wings suddenly, air resistance nearing tearing them off his back. With a gasp of agony he tucked them back in at the penultimate moment and roared through the last ring, leaving tufts of belly fur on the hard metal hoop.

It hurt, but Meteor whooped for joy as he banked back towards Canterlot and the last lap of the race. He could just see Leatherwing reaching the city wall ahead of him.

---

Scootaloo

Scootaloo moved out from underneath the unconscious creature she had hit on the head. It was much lighter than she first thought, but in the dark shadows of the cottage floor it wasn’t possible to get much more than a very vague impression of generally a pony shape. Deciding to take no chances, she took some rope from Fluttershy’s tool shed and bound the creature up tightly. Now that she stood above it, she remarked how small it actually was compared to an adult pony. The idea that she might have injured a young monster made her feel bad. But then she remembered the creature’s fangs, pretty much the only part of it she’d seen clearly.

Wondering what it was, she pulled on the rope, dragging the shape out of the cottage door and into the moonlight. Her eyes widened as she knelt to get a good look at it. Generally pony in shape, it had insectile wings, a horn and a smooth dark carapace instead of a fur coat. Small circular pits at random sealed the identification.

Woah! An honest to goodness changeling, just like in the books!

Scootaloo was leaning in close when its eyes opened, revealing elongated black pupils, surrounded by slim slivers of lighter grey or green, it was hard to distinguish which in the bright moonlight. The books also say the eyes should be a uniform greyish blue. How strange! She took another look at the rest of the creature’s body. It was relatively squat, with thick limbs. The impression was more that of a fat little foal than the adult changelings depicted in the books.

“Are you going to eat me?” asked the changeling, its eyes awash in emotions. Oddly enough, fear didn’t seem to be one of them. Scootaloo’s eyebrows rose.

“Ponies don’t eat animals,” she said, “we just eat plants.”

Huge eyes grew slightly wider. “That’s what Mother said, but I’ve seen ponies catch other ponies and eat them.” The eyes looked away and ragged ears drooped. “They were very sad when they were caught.”

Scootaloo felt her gorge rise. It wasn’t that the changeling had told her something she hadn’t already known, but rather to hear such of horrors in the voice of a school-age foal. This changeling has witnessed some of the worst things ponies can do to other ponies. The thought made her feel both sad and ashamed.

“How old are you?” she asked the creature.

“I don’t know,” she – it was definitely a she – gazed inwardly a moment. “Sorry!” she said, sounding quite disappointed, then a smile suddenly appeared on her face. “Say, how old are you?” she asked brightly.

Scootaloo couldn’t prevent her own answering smile. Either this changeling truly was a youngster, or a creature very good at pretending to be one. “I’ll be seventeen next month, as far as I or anypony can tell.”

The changeling’s grinned widened, clearly showing her fangs. “Oh goody! Mother said that mares of that age often fall in love, find a mate, and have foals, and that’s when I can feed the most from them!” She tilted her head to one side. “Just like at the farmhouse, where there’s a lot of love that tastes so good!” Her smile faded. “But with all the ponies coming and going I can never come very close. When you fall in love can I hide close to you, so that the hunger goes away?”

Emotivores. That was was word in the books. At least she won’t starve because I killed the carrot crop! Scootaloo’s own grin faded. A changeling with no ponies left to generate emotions has nothing on which to feed. Yes, even she will starve. Another death on my conscience!

The little changeling's expression grew distressed. “I’ll sit alone in the dark like a good little grub, I promise!” Her voice trembled. “I won’t talk to anypony, and nopony will ever see me!”

Scootaloo sighed. “It ain’t that simple, kid...”

“My name isn’t Kid, it’s Thora!” she objected petulantly, then looked away. A few moments later she turned her head back towards Scootaloo’s and asked hesitantly. “What’s your name?”

The sound of heavy hooves approaching drew her attention.

“Scoots, ya’ll know you ain’t s’posed to talk to the monsters! It just makes it harder to do what we gotta do!” said Big Macintosh in a somber voice. He strode heavily up to the bound changeling, pulling a heavy axe from scabbard on his back.

Thora stared at the stallion, a look of betrayal on her face. “You lied!” Tears began to fall down the shiny black chitin of her cheeks as she trembled visibly. “You are going to eat me!”

“No we won’t,” said Scootaloo, “I promise!” She was surprised to feel tears pooling in her own eyes. On impulse she laid a hoof one the changeling’s that stuck out from beneath the coils of rope. “My name is Scootaloo,” she said. Big Macintosh moved up on the other side of the bound creature. “Look at me, Thora, look in my eyes.” She concentrated, trying to think good thoughts. She thought of her dad. The little changeling smiled as behind her Big Mac raised the axe high.

---

Meteor

Meteor had almost caught up with Leatherwing. The batpony seemed to be having trouble gaining the altitude needed to pass over the cloud gate on this last lap. You gotta have the speed and the stamina! thought Meteor, and I’ve got both to spare!

He was a few seconds behind his opponent when Leatherwing finally made it over the cloud. A small dark object detached from the batpony and began to plummet towards the ground. No wonder he was slow climbing! But why carry something all the way up here?

Meteor heard a squeal of terror and saw a blur of frantically thrashing hooves as the object passed him on the way down.

A foal!

Meteor hesitated. Almost over the top! He looked down. But the foal! Tiny hooves flashed in the bright moonlight. One last glance upwards. Too far! The foal had already been plummeting several seconds before he passed Meteor. There’s nopony else in range!

Meteor screamed in frustration, tucked in his wings, and dove.

I’ll kill him when I catch up with him! The image of Leatherwing’s leering face made his blood boil. He looked towards his target. The foal fell, a limp ball trailing tiny limbs.

He must have passed out. Meteor decided to try something he’d thought of just his past week. He concentrated, flight senses creating a pressure wave just beyond the tip of his muzzle. His wing tips became a blur, beating faster than those of a humming bird.

He could see the foal getting closer. Unfortunately, so was the rocky ground below.

The wind pulled at his ears, mane and face, but still he focused every fiber of his being on getting just that tiny extra bit of acceleration. He felt a loud clap that shook him down to the marrow of his bones, and then heard the sound of thunder echoing, just as the foal came within reach and Meteor clasped him tightly to his chest.

The ground was approaching way too fast! Meteor spread his wings and stretched every muscle to its limit, trying to turn in time to avoid the approaching rocks. With another yell of defiance, he poured everything he had into his wings... and felt his rear hooves touch the ground. He held his wings, shedding airspeed until finally, he dropped lightly to the ground.

He scanned the sky ahead just in time to see Leatherwing cross the finish line first. He sighed and sat on his haunches. Having nothing better to do, he examined the foal in his grasp. It was a little filly, sleeping soundly as if her life had never been in jeopardy. “Well,” he told the sleeping infant, “you had better amount to something big when you grow up, kid, ‘cause I just blew the race of the century because of you!”

---

Big Mac

There was a peal of thunder and then an intense flash of light so bright it hurt the eyes. Up in the sky, a circle of color swept slowly towards the horizon. Big Mac’s eyes grew wide, the axe still held firmly in his mouth.

“Wait!” shouted Spike. He picked up his magelamp and approached Scootaloo. He pointed a claw at her flank. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked in wonder.

The mare turned and stared at the colorful image now gracing her thigh. She swallowed, speechless. As Spike moved the light in closer another patch of color showed from between the coils of rope.

Big Mac lowered the axe, and put it back in its scabbard. “Well,” he said, “will you look at that! The critter’s got one too!”

Spike, Scootaloo and finally the changeling turned their gazes to follow Big Mac’s. Thora smiled as she looked back to Scootaloo. “Wow!” she said “Mother never told me ponies could do that!” She bent her neck to get a better look. “What is it?” she asked in her young filly’s voice.

“That’s a cutie mark, Thora.” Scootaloo had finally found her voice. She looked at at Spike and Big Mac. “I’m ready to go back home now, and Thora’s coming with us.” Her expression made it clear the point was not up for discussion.

Thora briefly shifted into the shape of snake and slithered out of the coils of rope. She rose to resume her normal pony-like shape. “Oh goody! I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the farmhouse where the food is!”

---

Applebloom

The girls were still sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Spike and Big Mac to return, hopefully with Scootaloo, when a peal of thunder struck.

“It weren’t supposed to rain tonight!” Applebloom rose from the bench and went to look out of the window.

“What in tarnations is that?” she said, pointing out towards the sky.

The other mares rushed to the window, expressions of amazement on their faces as they saw the receding arc of color in the sky.

“It’s a rainbow moving across the sky!” said Sweetie Belle in hushed tones. “I haven’t seen colors like those since, well... before.”

“Ah think you’ll get to see a few more colors tonight, girls!” said Applebloom. She pointed at the mares’ hindquarters.

Diamond Tiara looked at Sweetie’s flank, then Applebloom’s, and then closing her eyes briefly, turned to look at her own. Her eyes widened in amazement before a glorious smile burst onto her muzzle. “Girls,” she said. “Looks like we’re all due for a cutecinera!”

---

Meteor

Meteor chuckled as members of the Shadowbolts flew down from the night sky, no doubt to congratulate him on saving the foal... and to tell him he was disqualified from the competition. He was more than a little surprised when they raised their spears as they approached.

“Meteor, put down the foal and fold your wings!” He did as he was bid. Wow, they’re really peeved that I blew the race! he thought. The Lieutenant of the Shadowbolts, Flash Sentry, approached him and slapped both wing cuffs and hobbles on him.

“Hey, guys!” he asked, nonplussed, “What’s the problem?”

The Lieutenant stepped back and looked at him as if he was something the had discovered stuck to the bottom of his horseshoe. “Meteor! You are under arrest for high treason!” He waved to the other ‘Bolts. “Take him to the First Citizen!” The Lieutenant gritted his teeth as he glared angrily at Meteor’s posterior.

Meteor turned his head to see why the officer was looking at his flank. There was a patch of color there that hadn’t been there before, something he recalled from his foalhood so many years ago. His eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets.

“Great nebulas!” he exclaimed in wonder, “I’ve got a cutie mark!”