The Solar Enigma

by Lionheart07

I:I A Heart-stopping Detour

The Solar Enigma

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Book I

Chapter I: A Heart-stopping Detour

“Winter either bites with its teeth or lashes with its tail” – Unknown

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Soarin hated winter. He hated ice condensing on his feathers, making flight not only more tedious but painful as well. He hated how snow made it difficult to see his surroundings and how speed made him colder. How night appeared faster and lasted longer. But mostly, he hated winter because it meant more courier missions.

Soarin had absolutely no idea why, as the Wonderbolts running courier missions struck him as odd. After all, he had trained for over eighty hours a week when he was a cadet. Flying from one point to another was not exactly aerodynamically challenging. Instead, Soarin hypothesized that Princess Celestia got some aberrant pleasure out of making the elite fliers of the Royal Equestrain Airforce perform mundane tasks. Of course, once he brought up his complaint about courier missions to Captain Spitfire he suddenly found himself during a lot more of them.

In fact, Soarin blamed courier missions for the mess that he currently found himself in. Flying stupidly through a blinding blizzard was not his idea of a good time after all.

The day had started off simple enough. Upon arriving at work, only a few minutes late, Spitfire had yelled and had made the entire team do pointless drills for a few hours and then had yelled some more. The rest of the morning had passed in a blur and before Soarin could even blink he had been stuck with a solo courier mission to Manehatten. Apparently, Spitfire had wanted to train the cadets and he was a bad influence.

Soarin had arrived in Manehatten and delivered his letter with his head held high and an imperial step in his strut. Soon after, a late lunch had followed, and Soarin found himself grateful to be in Manehatten as the food was absolutely ambrosial there. During his third course, the flier overheard two squabbling mares talking about a wild storm. Apparently it was going to hit central Equestria, the worst one in over a decade.

Wild storms were always a lot more dangerous than pony generated storms. Pegasus storms made sense; had an order to their chaos, whereas wild storms were just that – wild. So wild, in fact, that it was next to impossible for pegasi to control undomesticated weather; only those with extreme skill and training could hope to make even a slight difference.

However, it just so happened that there was a pie baking conference in Canterlot that night and Soarin had planned on attending no matter what. He doubted that Nightmare Moon herself would have been able to stop him. Spitfire normally would have been able to, but Soarin had operation Extinguisher ready to go in case he ran into the fiery Captain.

With such a crucial event on the horizon Soarin had had no problem trying to beat the storm back to Canterlot. After all, what was the worse that could happen?

Soarin had been cursing through the air, muscles working as his wings rose and fell majestically through the air – graceful yet powerful. A harsh humming had been coming from his mouth and his mind was lost on the pie-shaped clouds. He had briefly considered flying above the storm. However, lack of oxygen had quickly debunked that idea. Sure, in a short flight or trick, it would have been fine, but oxygen deprivation could become problematic on longer trips. So he had opted to remain closer to the ground.

It had only taken one snowflake to put a damper on his good mood.

And suddenly, Soarin found himself flying through a torrent of wind and ice. The storm moved in faster than a colt opening a birthday present. The heavy clouds blocked his vision and the wind was messing with his sense of direction. Pitching his wings he decreased his altitude to reorient himself.

Continually readjusting the feathers on his wings to account for varying wind speeds, he dropped to around twenty wing-lengths. Closer to the ground the air was slightly warmer and the visibility had drastically improved. Eyes darting around the area, Soarin noticed that he was fairly close to a small town. Recognition crossed his green eyes as he identified the large structure in the town center. It was Ponyville.

Banking his wings back hard, Soarin turned his forward momentum up and did a quick back flip. He took a deep breath, angled his wings and shot forward like and arrow. His increased speed was exhilarating, but also caused sharp pricks of cold on his exposed nose. Still, he hoped that with his new speed the storm would rapidly fall behind him.

It proved successful – the snow and wind both weakened before stopping completely. However, Soarin, noticing his proximity to Ponyville, decided to take a slight detour through a nearby forest. He hoped that his new path would allow him to sideswipe Ponyville, keeping him out of sight and out of mind of the locals.

Quickly getting into a rhythm, his muscles tinged appreciatively as he swooped and swerved between the green and brown shafts of trees. Content, Soarin began to hum again, a rough, yet harmonious tone vibrating from his lips.

“What are you doing?!” a curious and slightly high pitched voice asked.

The sound came out of left field. Instinctively pitching his right wing down and his left wing up, he threw his body weight to the right – forcing him into a barrel roll. Huffing slightly, eyes narrowed and darting around, he tried to identify the speaker of the voice. Only the greens of conifer trees and browns of dirt and twigs met his gaze.

“Wait,” the voice swiftly rose in pitch as its obvious excitement grew, “are you a Wonderbolt?”

Soarin flapped his wings and rose into the air, hoping that his increased height would help his search. However, upon doing so, his updraft caused a large volume of snow to cascade from a nearby tree onto the forest floor below.

Quite impressed by the size of his mini-avalanche Soarin chucked to himself with a shake of his head. He did not expect the bout of coughing that answered back. Wings snapping to attention, he narrowed his eyes as he examined the heap of fallen white powder; there was a blob of orange intermixed in the pile. Confused, he watched, eyebrows raised, as the orange blob stirred. A pair of wings appeared. And soon after, a small head emerged from the snow with purple eyes and a pinkish purple mane. It was a filly.

Landing on a nearby branch, Soarin folded his wings, a peculiar expression drawn on his face. “Uh kid, are you sure it’s a good idea to be out here right now?”

“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” she asked, small wings twitching as her eyes widened.

“Uh… because it’s, you know, cold?” he said, a frown forming on his features.

“It’s not that cold. Actually it…” a cough interrupted her and she lifted up one of her hoofs to cover her mouth; her ribs visibly discernable. Recovering, the filly continued speaking, eyes alight with excitement, “You never did answer my question, are you Wonderbolt!?”

“Uh, the suit and goggles point to a yes, kid.” Normally he wouldn’t be so sharp with a filly, but he had been flying for over nine hours today. His wing muscles were starting to ache and his nose was burning from the cold.

“I thought so.” Her eyes drifted between his wings and nose, “Looking at your colors, you must be Soarin.” The fillies gaze snapped toward his mane and a smirk grew on her face. “It is true! You do have a long mane like a mare,” the filly started laughing, intermixed with light coughing. “That must mean that your team really does make fun of you.”

Soarin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He had no idea where ponies heard all this stuff. Seeing the filly open her mouth up to continue, he quickly cut her off, “well there is a big storm heading this way, so you might want to get to some shelter before it gets here.”

“Ok, I’ll go home soon. Can I get your autograph?”

By now he could hear the chattering of her teeth. “Sorry kid, I don’t have anything to sign and I’m in a bit of a hurry,” he sighed, “maybe next time?”

“Sure!” The kid hadn’t lost a single speck of her enthusiasm.

He took to the air and with a backward glance noticed the orange pony was still watching him. He saw her lift up one of her front hooves and heard another series of coughs come from the cute little pegasus.

As he disappeared into the cloud covered sky he hoped she would go home soon. That coughing sounded wet.

---

As he slowly cruised toward Canterlot, Soarin couldn’t shake the feeling of unease from his body. Leaving a filly all alone by herself in the woods didn’t seem like something an intelligent pony would do. Add in the cold and it seemed foalish. And that didn’t even mention the incoming storm; it seemed like something even a diamond dog wouldn’t do.

But, she did say that she was going to go home as soon as possible… It was the only justification he could come up with. Unfortunately, the excuse was weaker than a fly in a hurricane.

Spitfire had always told Soarin that he was too quick to jump into things without thinking, that he was too rash and impatient. The rest of the team had viewed it as a joke and had often invoked harmless bantering; Spitfire had never joined in – not even once.

Or course, Spitfire and Soarin had been close ever since they first met one another. Even so, she was hardly what he would have considered a friend. Instead, being almost a decade older, she had filled the roll of mentor much better. Always supportive, she had helped fill a void that his family was unable to. That didn’t mean that she had been nice; she had a temper worse than any dragon, gryphon or overprotective mother. Although, once angered, she had never resorted to cheap insults, with one exception.

And they had never been as close since.

A snowflake landed on his nose and jarred Soarin out of his thoughts. He slowed to a stop and hovered in place. The storm had caught back up with him; the wind and the snow was already picking up. Turning his head, he glanced in the direction he had come from. A white sheet was all that was visible, a canvas, waiting for an artist to draw upon its service. It was impossible to even make out any of the trees from earlier.

Sighing deeply, Soarin adjusted his feathers and pitched his wings. If something happens to her that I could have prevented, I’ll never forgive myself. Better to check and see if she is still there. If not, well… I’ll just have to assume for the best.

---

Even Spitfire’s punishments were preferable to Soarin’s current situation. The snow was so thick that it had already accumulated a hoof more. Not only that, but with the wind, Soarin felt like he was lost in a massive washing machine, white snowflakes swirling around erratically and in massive quantities. It was so bad, that keeping a sense of direction was impossible; getting lost was all but guaranteed. It was more of a question if he could find his way out when the time came.

Shivering, he forced his wings to continue to pump up and down. Thankfully, his uniform was enchanted to not get wet, which would drastically help with the cold. His goggles kept the snow out of his eyes, but Soarin still narrowed them as he attempted to fly in a straight line. Moving through the air like a drunken fool, he began to wonder if it was even possible to find the filly in the current conditions. If she has already left the forest then I will never find her. If she hasn’t… I will still likely never find her. Soarin sighed heavily. Maybe it’s best if I just worry…

A large reverberating smack echoed throughout the forest, quickly muffled by the howling of the wind.

Soarin rarely, if ever, crashed; his style of flight focused more on control rather than speed or endurance. And that was the forth tree he had hit, in the last fifteen minutes. Luckily – and ironically – his nose had already lost most of its feeling since his suit didn’t cover it.

Soarin shakily rose from the ground. Gaze darting around the area, he let out a stream of vulgar curses. Noticing that the wind was slightly more subdued near the forest floor, Soarin decided to continue his sweep there. Spreading his wings he pushed off from the ground. Gliding through the air he tried to keep his wits about him, but as more time passed he grew more concerned. He knew that if he didn’t get out of the cold soon he would start having his own problems.

Noticing a dark shape through the blizzard he pitched his wings to the right and headed towards it. Cautiously landing close by, the silhouette proved to be a building. I must be on the outskirts of Ponyville. Examining closer, the building was simple in both shape and design. It was a home, but while not boarded up, the windows had a faint coat of dust on the inside.

Carefully controlling his wings, Soarin slowly moved toward the leeward side of the building. He let out a large sigh of relief; with no wind it was considerably warmer on this side of the building. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath to revitalize his systems. He also perked his ears and tried to listen to the area around him. Sadly, he wasn’t able to discern anything from the howling of the wind and the whipping of tree branches. Opening his eyes with a disappointed groan, it became apparent to him that finding the filly in this type of weather was going to be next to impossible. Now was time to focus on his well being.

Realizing that it would be best to say the night at Ponyville Soarin took a minute to collect his thoughts. He was rubbing his chin with a hoof when he suddenly snarled viciously. The pie convention in Canterlot! I’m going to miss it!

Letting out a neigh of annoyance, Soarin started to take off and locate the nearest inn, resort hotel, or whatever this backwash town had available. However, as he was leaving a disturbance caught his eye; the snow near him was clearing indented, as thought somepony had been lying there recently. The size of the depression pointed to somepony much smaller than Soarin himself.

It was the perfect size for a filly.

Next to the pony shape there was another depression in the snow; irregularly shaped, the depression had a longer thinner part and something that looked like wheels. The best guess would be a wagon or cart of some kind, but it looked much too small for that.

Eyes snapping up, Soarin quickly scanned the area. There were hoof tracks leading away from the safety of the building, but they quickly became unrecognizable due to the weather. There was also a long imprint in the snow following parallel to the tracks, as if somepony had dragged something along with them. The hoof marks were irregular and bundled up in small groups.

Mind racing, Soarin quickly followed the tracks, but due to their small size he was unable to go far. Fortunately, the unknown object was more useful and he was able to follow those tracks for another few steps before the blizzard swallowed their existence. Pausing, the Wonderbolt perked up. All around him was white; it was similar to flying through a cloud. Even the building had disappeared from view.

In a situation like this, all I can do is assume, Soarin tried to reassure himself. Hopefully the area is fairly open. That would mean that the filly likely went in a straight line to get to her destination faster.

Taking a few steps back, he bowed his head and started forward. When the tracks became one with the fresh powder, Soarin merely pushed on, using his own markings to try and keep on the same heading.

“Anypony there?!” he called out into the wind. Unfortunately, it was a futile effort. The wind muffled his speech to such a degree, that anypony more than a wing or two away would have difficultly hearing it.

Soarin focused on lifting one hoof and placing the other. The snow was thick enough that even walking was a tiring exercise, so he focused on his breathing. By keeping it in quiet rhythm, he was able to keep both his muscles and nerves in check. He debated about taking to the air, but decided that it would be easier to tell if the tracks reappeared from the ground.

After a few minutes the elevation suddenly dropped slightly. Gritting his teeth, he pushed his muscles to work harder as he progressed through the slightly deeper snow. After a few strides Soarin felt his left hoof shoot out from under the snow. Quickly switching his weight to his other three limbs, Soarin bent down to discover what cause his slip up. With his front hooves, Soarin swept away some snow; there was ice underneath it.

Backing up slightly, Soarin stood up and examined his surroundings. It was difficult to discern anything about the area due to the white sheet that draped over the world. However, it was obviously a trench or canal or some sort. The snow laid flat over the center of the trench as there was little to no vegetation. The edges were a different story; the snow was chaotic, interfering with all manners of flora and rocks.

I have a choice to make here. Do I follow the trench…likely a river? Or do I continue on my old path? Soarin’s wings were fluttering slightly as he thought; eyes closed, he was concentrating deeply.

Making his decision, Soarin stretched his wings, tail and hooves before setting out. He steeled his nerves, bit his lower lip and pressed onward, following the streambed.

Soarin increased his speed to a trot. It caused his muscles to burn and protest, but the discomfort halted some of his anxiety. Not long after starting on his new heading, he saw something that put a bounce back into his step; the same elongated imprints that he followed earlier.

A goofy, yet satisfied, grin appeared on Soarin’s face and he perked his ears up, hoping to hear something intermixed with the wind. Following the, increasingly noticeable, tracks he moved even faster than before, ignoring any protest that his body was sending him. In the distance he was able to make out the outline of a bridge. As he approached, he observed that it was an old stone arch bridge, easily large enough for a wagon to travel across. He could also make out something orange lying underneath it.

Smile spreading further across his face; he couldn’t stop the chuckle that rose to his mouth. As he entered the shelter of the bride his smile quickly turned to horror. The filly was there, a light dusting of snow on her features, tail fluttering in the wind. She reminded Soarin of abandoned statue, lost and forgotten; she wasn’t moving.

She was dead.

I’m too late. Shaking his head Soarin berated himself, Stop! You can’t think like that. You don’t know for sure…

Reaching out, he gently shifted the limp figure onto her back and moved a hoof above her snout. Nothing. Ether she wasn’t breathing, or there was simply too much interference for him to distinguish between her breaths and the wind. Moving his head onto her chest, he closed his eyes, held his breath, and tried to steady himself. The heart was still beating.

Raising his head over her chest Soarin briefly looked around. It was like a sea of flawless white. The scene was almost ethereal in nature, the harsh reality of possible death almost forgotten in its exquisite beauty and dreamlike state.

Briefly closing his eyes, Soarin took a deep calming breath. “Okay, it’s go time,” he often spoke out loud in situations like this; it helped keep negative thoughts at bay. Soarin’s voice was also noticed by the filly, as she shifted slightly and gradually opened her eyes. The purple irises shifted their focused onto the snow covered flier.

“Are you an angel?” The exhausted voice of the filly sounded disturbingly peaceful.

An angel? Do I really look like one? Thinking quickly, he decided that it was better to simply agree with what the filly had said. “Ya, I’m here now so don’t worry, I’m watching over you.”

“Dad said angels don’t exist. Mom says he’s wrong.”

The fragile voice was stuttering badly, Soarin could barely make out the words she was saying. He found it much simpler to just agree, “That’s right.” Looking down at the filly he saw her eyes start to close. “No, you have to stay awake or I can’t work my magic.”

“You have magic?” A bit more enthusiastic this time, still deathly quiet, but at least he could make out the words, even with the wind.

“Of course I do, all angels have magic.” To be honest, he knew next to nothing about the theology of angles, he was simply trying to keep the filly talking and therefore awake.

“You’re an angel?”

Upon hearing that, Soarin felt a buildup of panic. He wasn’t sure if short term memory loss was a symptom of hypothermia. He rattled his brains, but was unable to remember anything of the sort.

Even so, Soarin knew that the filly needed to get out of the snow, right now.

Soarin was never what somepony would consider smart, but he did react better than most to extreme situations; they just never seemed to faze him like they would others. It was for this reason that he was often chosen when the team had to do rescue missions. In fact, while Soarin was far from the fastest or cleverest of his comrades, he had one of the best success rates in Wonderbolt history when it came to this type of mission. In his five years of service and over a hundred cases, twenty of which were critical, he had only ever failed once. While this was not technically a mission, someponies life was in danger and he would do everything he could to succeed.

Bending down, he made sure to carefully pick up the filly; she was drifting back out of consciousness so Soarin decided to keep the conversation going. “So what do you want to do when you grow up?”

He quickly settled the filly onto his back with her facing forward. It would be difficult enough to hear her when they were out in the wind, but with her mouth close to his ears he hoped it would be possible. Preparing to move out, he folded his wings in an awkward position over his back to give the filly as much protection from elements as possible. It was uncomfortable and a little painful, but he was fine with that.

“I want to be like Rainbow Dash.” The filly’s voice seemed to perk up. The name seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn't quite place it. The good news was that her long term memory seemed intact.

Moving out from under the bridge and back into the full force of the storm, Soarin’s mind quickly went to work. Going back to the house earlier would be an option, but this bridge was built for a reason. There must be a road connected to it and ponies use roads so…

“Oh and who is this Rainbow Dash?” Soarin replied curiously. He climbed to the top of the bridge. Kneeling down, he brushed off some snow with his front hooves; shaped cobblestone lined the edge of the road. Hopefully this would be enough to have caused disruptions when the snow landed on the ground.

“The best flier in Equestria, she can even perform a sonic rainboom.” Hearing the filly speak again caused him to pause for a second. It was difficult but at least he could make her out, even with the powerful wind – thankfully not yet a gale.

“I thought the sonic rainboom was just a complete myth?” naturally Soarin knew this wasn’t true, but it seemed a good direction to take the conversation.

Moving forward with narrowed eyes, Soarin was able to keep track of the road. The snow was indeed lying funny due to the rocks bordering the edge, which made it easier.

“Pft, Rainbow Dash is so amazing that even if something was a myth it wouldn’t be for much longer with her around.”

Not even a second later, Soarin’s eyes lit up in excitement and his tail stood on end; he had found what he was looking for: a sharp turn in the path. Quickly turning up the cut in the road, he prayed that it would lead to a building of some kind.

“What about the myth that Princess Celestia turned water into grape juice to impress the ancient draconians? Can Rainbow Dash do that?” A silhouette of something large appeared near the end of the path.

“Rainbow Dash wouldn’t do something lame like that, na she would turn it into punch, pie and some super cool stunts. And ice cream, she would never for…” Unfortunately, a series of vicious coughs broke up the filly’s speech.

Hearing the word pie made his stomach ache, he had burned a lot of energy and could really use a pie or three right now. Keeping his eyes focused on his target, he reached a yellowish wooden house. The filly was still coughing. Fearing the worst he quickly knocked on the door, while shouting, “We need help right now! Anypony there?!”

Impatiently, he waited as he heard what sounded like hooves approaching the door. Noting the hesitation and hearing them pause he anxiously called out, “This filly is going to die if you don’t open this door right now!” Not the wisest thing to say when the filly could still hear him, but he needed them to get inside immediately.

The door started to slowly creak open. Feeling he had waited long enough, he quickly pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped passed the startled cream colored mare into the house. The room had a very basic feeling to it. There was all the standard furniture that one would expect in a home, but besides the usual personal items the room hosted an excessive amount of celebrity magazines and a lyre propped up in the corner. He spotted a mint colored unicorn mare looking at him suspiciously from across the room. She had yellow eyes, with a light blue and white mane and tail, both of which were unkempt. There was also a lyre cutie mark on her flank.

Well that explains one thing.

Hearing the door close, Soarin quickly launched into explanation, “I found this filly outside in the storm. She needs help right now.”

The mint colored mare’s shoulders relaxed and her gaze softened. “We got blankets and stuff, what do you need?”

Soarin’s goggles had started to fog up, so he took them off before replying, “Uh, I thought we only had to, you know, get her warmer.”

There was a period of very uncomfortable silence. “You think?” was the sarcastic reply from the mint colored unicorn. “Isn’t it your job to know what to do when stuff like this happens?”

“I’m a combat and rescue pilot, not a doctor. I can’t remember what you’re supposed to do for hypothermia.” Shivering and ears drooping he continued, “I’m sorry, I’m doing the best I can.”

The mint colored mare’s posture didn’t change, but her expression softened. She opened her mouth when a voice spoke up from behind, “Oh please don’t fret Soarin, I will take care of the little filly. Simply be a dear and place her on the bed in my room please.”

Glancing over his shoulder, the cream colored earth pony was regally walking toward them. Her cutie mark was three pieces of candy, colored with the same teal shade as her eyes. Both her mane and tail were navy blue and pink, stylized to curl slightly.

As she walked through the room she was glaring at the mint colored mare. It wasn’t exactly hostile, but it wasn’t warm either, more annoyed and degrading, similar to an older sibling forced to deal with a younger one. Soarin had no idea what relationship these two ponies experienced: friends, partners, family or simple roommates.

The mint colored unicorn sneered at the other pony before speaking. “Oh and you know how to treat hypothermia Bon Bon?”

Bon Bon’s expression falsely warmed, like a filly divulging a personal secret. “Of course I do, my mother was a nurse, I grew up around this stuff.”

“You… you did?” The voice of the unicorn was stumbling slightly, a shocked expression morphed on her face.

“Yes, now help me…” Bon Bon looked at the filly on Soarin’s back and yelped with recognition, “Scootaloo! Oh how awful, bring her to my bed please. Lyra could you fetch some blankets please.” Lyra nodded her head and charged up her horn. Some blankets came floating from the nearby hallway closet. However, beads of sweat were forming on her forehead and her breathing was slightly heavier.

“You know her?” Soarin was honestly surprised; it was easy to forget how small a town like Ponyville was when he had only lived in larger cities.

Bon Bon was busy trying to get Scootaloo settled in, so Lyra answered him, “Kinda, she goes around with these other two fillies, Apple Bloom and Sweetie Bell and they cause a whole hoof-full of trouble.” Lyra chuckled with a reminiscence glance at the bed ridden Pegasus. “Everyone around here knows about those three.”

Lyra moved forward and observed over Bon Bon shoulder. The earth mare was wrapping the little filly up in blankets when Lyra spoke, one again, “At least she’s not shivering anymore.”

“When hypothermia gets extremely severe, the body will stop shivering to conserve energy. This means that we have no idea if she is actually getting better. The best we can do is make sure that she is warm enough. Now we have a couple of important things to do. See her hooves?” Bon Bon lifted up one of Scootaloo’s hooves, which Soarin noticed had a bluish tint beneath her orange fur. He recognized it immediately.

“Frostbite” Apparently Lyra did to.

“Correct, now the best way to deal with frostbite is to submerge the limbs in lukewarm water, not any hotter than room temperature. However, since Scootaloo has it on all four limbs I think the best thing to do is to douse some towels and wrap them around the hooves.”

Bon Bon’s words caused a wave of relief to spread over Soarin. She knew how to handle the situation; the filly was going to be just fine. For the first time in a few hours he felt a true smile grow on his face. Thank Celestia everything worked out. Now all I need is some… okay, a lot of food.

---

After settling in Scootaloo, Bon Bon had tried to get Soarin to remove his uniform, stating that wearing wet clothes was bad for hypothermia. He had explained that it was enchanted to stay dry and that he was quite comfortable. The glare that he had received told him that she thought otherwise. He held his ground and eventually she had given him a blanket and told him to warm up by the fire.

Soarin had followed her advice and after a few minutes Bon Bon had joined him. She said that Lyra was going to watch Scootaloo for a while. Then she had started talking, and talking; ten minutes went by and she was still going.

“According to Filly’s Dream Oracle you like golden manes and tails the best because they remind you of the beauty of the sunrise,” Bon Bon said with a calculating expression on her face. “But what I want to know is what you think of pink?”

Bon Bon smirked and moved a hoof through her mane. “I can dye it for you if you like. But the navy blue stays, it matches your mane and would look wonderful” She tilted her head slightly to the left with an affectionate smile. It was very cute and Soarin could not help the color that rose to his checks.

Deciding it was best to switch the topic of conversation, Soarin quickly said, “I couldn’t help but notice that you and your friend don’t get along too well.” After hearing his own words the Wonderbolt winced at his tack. Holding his breath, he prepared for her response.

“I’m so sorry about our behavior earlier, we are normally fairly good friends but due to… complications, things have been tense between us.” Soarin exhaled in relief, glad that his question hadn’t angered or upset the mare. Instead, her words had been sweat, and Bon Bon was slowing inching closer and closer to the esteemed celebrity.

“I think you’re aiming out of your league there Bonny B,” was Lyra's exasperated response from the door next to Scootaloo’s room. Bon Bon quickly turned to face her friend.

“Out of my league!” Bon Bon reared back, scandalized. “How preposterous, are you instituting that I am not pretty enough? Or perhaps not well behaved or smart enough? And you think you are any better? Don’t make me laugh; you wouldn’t know a pedicure from a ponicure. And don’t call me Bonny B, Heartstrings!”

Regrettably for Bon Bon, all her tirade caused was for Lyra to roll her eyes and rebuttal in a flat, monotonic voice. “All I am instituting is that you aim big, but fall short.”

Leaning forward, Bon Bon grabbed one of Soarin's front hooves and, with tears glistening in her teal eyes, said “Oh Soarin, tell her that she’s wrong. I’m beautiful right?” Bon Bon paused, all tears vanishing at once. “At least prettier than her,” she said jabbing a hoof toward her friend.

Soarin sat there, flabbergasted. What in the hay do I do? I don’t want to hurt Bon Bon’s feelings… but I also don’t want to give the wrong impression. Looking around, he noticed that even Lyra was watching him with curiosity glinting in her eyes. Just like that one time with High Winds when she… no Soarin bad memories, don’t go there. Moving his gaze back to Bon Bon, her smile was starting to fall; he was out of time. Taking a deep breath he opened his mouth, “Oh you…”

Suddenly, a procession of ailing coughing interrupted the discussion. “Look, this is cute and all but I think Scootaloo should be our priority right now,” Lyra remarked with a disappointed look at Bon Bon.

Oh sweet Celestia, thank you, thank you! He wasn’t happy that the filly was sick, but at least she had saved him from the awkward moment. As warm sweet relief washed over him, like a tide, he reminded himself to thank the filly at a later date.

“She should be fine, she’s awake and, as long as we can keep her warm, she should recover.” Bon Bon’s face was crimpled in confusion.

“I was just in there watching her when she started coughing again. Only this time, I noticed that something was coming out. She was coughing up blood. Now I might not be a doctor, but I’m pretty sure that is not a symptom of hypothermia. Unless you wish to inform me otherwise?” Lyra said sarcasm and concern rolling off her in waves.

In an instant, the balloon of calm and relief was punctured. Instead, Soarin felt cold dread fill the void.

Bon Bon hesitated; raising a hoof to her chin, she slightly narrowed her eyes. “I can’t recall anything about hypothermia causing something like that, but I am not professionally trained so…” She was obviously deep in thought. “Was the blood extremely clear coming up or did it look bubbly?”

“Seemed clear to me, deep scarlet red to.”

“I guess it’s best if I take a look at this.” Bon Bon sighed, clearly crestfallen. Soarin figured it was best not to ask questions and followed her though the hallway into the adjacent room.

Scootaloo currently inhabited Bon Bon’s room. Soarin hadn’t been able to get a good look around before, but was able to examine it easier now. The walls were a smooth navy blue and the carpet was a fluffy magenta. There were a few paintings scattered on the walls and a walk-in closet on the far side. The young pegasus was residing in a queen sized bed, framed by rose wood; a moderately sized window was located above the head of the bed frame.

Soarin looked over at Bon Bon and Lyra who were arguing about something. Ignoring the two squabbling mares, he moved closer to the bedside. He was surprised to hear a muffled whisper come from the bedridden pegasus.

Unfortunately, Lyra and Bon Bon were making too much noise, so he couldn’t determine what the filly said. However, the two mares evidently heard her as well and they both quickly quieted down. Bon Bon was doing some sort of analysis that he had no idea of and Lyra was standing on her back two hoofs with the front two crossed. It was a peculiar expression, one that he had never seen before.

He liked it immediately.

“Every time I see you two together you always seem so happy, why are you fighting?” The voice of the filly was still extremely reserved, but it did seem to hold more life than before.

Bon Bon continued with her analysis, but responded with a warm mothering smile on her face, “Oh sweetie we were not fighting, we were merely…”

“Fighting” was Lyra’s quick interruption. Scootaloo’s smile grew and a chuckle fell out of her lips that morphed into a cough. More blood landed on the pillow. Throwing a glare toward Lyra, Bon Bon continued with her work.

Feeling like a third wing Soarin merely listened in as the proceedings progressed.

“I feel really cold, Bon Bon…”

“It’s okay sweetie I’m watching over you, don’t worry.”

“And if she messes up, I’m always here to cover for you kid.” Lyra had a full blown smirk at this point, and Scootaloo seemed to try and smile, but was unable to sustain it for more than an instant.

“I want you to tell me how you are feeling, does your throat hurt? Any chest pains?” Bon Bon’s voice was a songbird: fluttering and sweet – nectar for the ears, but not without underlying intention.

“Just cold. Really, really cold…” The orange pegasus looked miserable. “I can’t feel my hoofs, and it’s really hard to breath.” Soarin heard her try to take a deep breath, but her wheezing turned into coughing and more blood came out.

Something about the situation made Soarin fidgety and nervous. It wasn’t the blood; he was used to blood. Instead, the scene carried a semblance of familiarity, like an old experience. Laying down and using his front hooves to block his sight, he closed his eyes and tried to think.

Think, think! What has symptoms like this? Nothing came to mind. Come on! You might be stupid, but you’re smart enough to remember this! Unfortunately for the pegasus, memorization had never been his strong suit. He listened to Lyra and Bon Bon talk to the filly for a few minutes; she had yet to respond again.

Sighing, he got up; there was no point to remaining on the floor, he was not going to remember. Looking over to the small purple eyed filly, Soarin watched her for a few moments. She didn’t look peaceful, she didn’t look happy. She looked hurt, confused, cold and tired. Her ears were sagging and her eyes seemed heavy. Soarin couldn’t see her wings under the blankets, but he was sure that if he could they would be drooping. Suddenly, the filly’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and she completely collapsed.

The memory hit Soarin harder than a train would.

“Scoots are you okay?” Bon Bon’s voice broke Soarin out of his trance and he immediately leaped forward and pushed the cream-colored earth pony out of the way. Bon Bon had a scandalized expression on her face, but her narrowed eyes soon shot open when she realized that Soarin was holding his head over Scootaloo’s heart. Soarin sat there for a few moments before his fears were confirmed. Scootaloo’s heart wasn’t beating.

She had gone into cardiac arrest.

“I completely forgot!” Bon Bon's terrified voice rang out. “When hypothermia gets really bad, it's possible that the victim can go into cardiac arrest. It has something to do with cold blood circulating from the extremities into the heart...”

Soarin ignored her and was moving the covers off the filly. There were so many of them that he was not having an easy time of it and was quickly getting frustrated. As he worked he called out in a loud voice to interrupt their impromptu medic, “Do you know how to do C.P.R.?”

Silence.

Snarling he turned to the cream colored mare and asked, again, in a harsher voice, “Do you know how to do C.P.R.?”

She replied in no more than a whisper, “Kind of, but I’m not sure…” turning away, Soarin knew she was going to be no help. She was going into shock herself and glancing over at Lyra all he saw was a confused and horrified mare.

It was up to him. He had given CPR before, knowledge of the procedure was required for all Wonderbolts; luckily, he had done it often enough to be comfortable with the process. However, he had never given it to a filly before; he could only hope that it wasn’t too different.

Soarin was about to find out.

He quickly moved the filly to the floor so that he wouldn't be fighting against the compressibility of the bed. Moving into position, the stallion placed his two front hooves over her chest and took a calming breath. With calculated force, he pushed his hooves down.

Counting in his head, Soarin worked up to thirty repetitions. After thirty he quickly lifted the muzzle of the filly with hopes of opening her airway. Placing his head next to her mouth, he listened and watched her chest for movement.

No response.

He placed his mouth on the fillies' and made sure to completely cover the entire area. He had to keep her head tilted back so that the airway would remain open. He quickly turned his head to the side, took a deep breath, then turned back and exhaled. He watched her chest rise and fall. He tried again.

In and out, the chest rose and fell.

He tried again, thirty chest compressions, two deep breaths.

No response.

After four complete sets Scootaloo was still not breathing. Almost three minutes had passed; they were running out of time. Running through ideas in his mind he looked over and saw that Lyra was still standing there, looking nauseous and lost. But Lyra was a unicorn.

Like a full grown dragon had hit him full force, Soarin knew what he had to do. Quickly jumping from his position he rushed over to Lyra. She was still unresponsive and in shock. Putting his hooves on her, he forced her to look into his eyes. “Lyra, listen to me, where is your M.E.D.?”

No response.

Starting to lose his temper, Soarin opened his mouth and prepared to increase his volume but Lyra interrupted him, with no more than a whisper, “In the hallway closet…”

Immediately dashing out, he started to look for the device. An M.E.D. or Magically Enhanced Defibrillator was a device used to try and jump-start someone whose heart has stopped. Powered by magic, the invention was a major leap in technology. In fact, Princess Celestia was so impressed with the device, that she made owning one mandatory for every unicorn that passed through magical education.

Without delay, Soarin galloped into the hallway and headed straight for the closet. He threw the door open, paying no attention to the force used; the wood tore and snapped, as the door came off its hinges. With little regard, Soarin started digging and tossing objects around. After finding what he was searching for Soarin grabbed the device and immediately charged back to Scootaloo. He attached the two pads to her chest and connected the two cables correctly.

Scootaloo was up to almost four minutes with no response.

Quickly turning to Lyra he waved his hoof in his direction. Much to his surprise the unicorn approached him, although with hesitation.

“Listen to me Lyra. Right now every second counts. I’ve done everything I can do, but I need your help to save this filly’s life.” Soarin felt something wet drop down his check, “Please, things would have never gotten this far if I hadn’t been so stupid.” Lowering his head in shame he quickly tried to stifle any more tears; now was not the time.

Feeling a hoof on his chin Soarin glanced upward. Lyra looked nervous and scared, but said in a shaking voice, “Okay, just remind… tell me what to do.”

Straight to business, Soarin told her, “When I say clear, I want you to feed your magic into the machine, okay?” as he hooked up the cable to the end of her horn.

“How do I know how much to put in, flyboy?” she asked with some confidence rising in her voice.

Soarin stayed quiet for a second, “I have no idea, but we have to try. In 3…”

“2”

“But…” It was like someone opened the floodgates. Once again all of her confidence was gone, instead replaced with ice cold petrifying terror.

“1”

“WAIT!”

Soarin couldn’t wait, it was go time.

“CLEAR!”

He pressed the button that would allow for the magic to flow and turned to Lyra. Her horn was glowing and the machine sent out a shock, which jolted the filly. Looking down at the filly he saw her unmoving form; it was unsuccessful. Refocusing his attention on the exhausted mare, Soarin noticed her drooping posture and labored breathing.

“Lyra we only have one more shot at this. I need you to put in as much magic as you can. Can you do that for me?”

“But I’ve always been weak with magic, in school I could never…” Lyra was quickly deteriorating into pure panic. Her eyes were darting around, not focusing on anything and her heart rate was increasing; she was going to hyperventilate.

Soarin needed to take control of the situation now, before it got any worse. “LYRA! Look at me.” She turned and faced him with tears in her eyes. He said, in the calmest voice he could muster, “Relax, breath, in and out.” Upon seeing her comply, he added, “I know you can do this, I believe in you.”

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and signaled with a nod of her head.

“Clear in 3… 2… 1…”

“CLEAR!” Soarin watched this time as Lyra put her entire effort into it – sweat formed on her brow and her magic aura was much more pronounce. The shock jolted the filly and he looked expectantly down at her. This time when the tears came he didn’t try and stop them, but instead lowered his head into the floor and slowly started sobbing into the carpet. Staying like that for a moment to regain his composure, he raised his head, a smile blossoming on his tear stained face as he let out a chuckle.

The filly had started breathing again.

---

After the emergency, both Soarin and Lyra needed a breather so they both retreated to the living room to give Bon Bon time and space to work on Scootaloo. A few minutes passed in relative silence before Lyra finally spoke up, “How did you do it?”

The question woke Soarin out of his stupor, “What do you mean?”

“How were you able to keep yourself calm? I’ve never felt so weak before in my life, I hated it.” Lyra’s voice had regained some of its sarcasm, but the blade was still mostly dull.

Soarin honestly replied, “I’ve been trained, I simply do what I can and you can’t ask for anymore than that from anypony.”

“Well, if you would look in a mirror once in a while, maybe you will realize how amazing you really are because it’s not at all normal.” Apparently Lyra had a whetstone on hoof; her voice was rapidly regaining its edge.

Soarin shrugged his shoulders. “Meh, you can’t have met too many ponies than, I generally don’t get afraid. I find it much more impressive when somepony overcomes their fear and still does the right thing. Like yourself, for example.” A blush appeared on the mint colored mare.

“I disagree, that makes what you do even more amazing, because you don’t need a prompt.” Her voice was stuttering slightly.

Suddenly Bon Bon entered the room from the kitchen and set some food down on the table. “Now save some for me, I need to go check on Scootaloo real quick”

“YES, food!” Soarin immediately jumped out of his seat and surveyed the gold mine before him: half a dozen apples and a few pastries. Horse-apples! It’s only a snack.

“Hey flyboy, I was thinking…” Lyra, who still had a bit of color on her checks, was trying to get a word in, but Soarin wasn’t paying any attention to her. Instead he grabbed an apple in each hoof.

“Oh this apple is great, it's really fresh. You can’t get them like this in the city.”

“Soarin…” He was still oblivious to the increasingly frustrated mare.

“Well you can, but it costs like 50 bits an apple.” Finally with an aggravated snort, Lyra took a pastry and prepared to take a bite.

“Are you sure you should be eating that, all the carbs won’t help your figure.” Soarin had already finished both apples, having eaten them in one bite, core and all.

“Wait what?” Lyra dropped the pastry back onto the table with a look of disbelief crossing her face.

“Ya, you know, you’ll get fat. Oh let me try one” Soarin, faster than a striking snake, grabbed one of the pastries on the table and ate it in one bite. “Mhhhhhh, a bit too buttery, but oh well. You going to eat that?” he asked pointing at the pastry Lyra had discarded.

“So I can’t eat them, but you can?” Lyra’s left eye was starting to twitch and both narrowed dangerously.

“Yup, I don’t have to watch my figure because I’m a male…” Soarin suddenly noticed the danger he was in, the mare was red-faced and livid. “Pegasus! I’m a male pegasus and pegasus can eat a lot because…

“IS THAT SO!”

Too late, she had already started on her rant. Soarin reached for another apple.

“OH NO YOU DON’T, IF I CAN’T EAT, THEN YOU CAN’T EAT EITHER!”

The food disappeared. And to think, I thought they outlawed cruel and unusual punishment. He was trying to be helpful and thought about saying that – but after looking at the screaming mint colored unicorn decided better of it.

Soarin tuned her out; it wasn’t hard, not after years of experience with Spitfire. Resting his head against the couch he closed his eyes. A few minutes passed and Lyra was still going full force. He yawned, causing the mare’s volume to increase two fold.

Bon Bon came back into the room and said something to Lyra that calmed and quieted her down almost instantly.

Soarin opened his eyes and looked at Bon Bon in awe, “How did you do that? Is there an off switch or something? That was amazing!”

In retrospect, it was not one of his brightest moments.

It took another few minutes for Lyra to calm down and even after she had gone quiet, she was still shooting glares at the Wonderbolt every few seconds.

“I’m worried about Scootaloo, she is still coughing up blood and she was unconscious for a long time. I have no idea what is causing it and after my,” Bon Bon sniffled, “poor attempts it seems best that she go and get professional help.”

“By going out in that… Are you insane Bon Bon?” Lyra asked, while pointing to the rattling window, completely covered by a screen of white.

“It’s her only hope, she has been coughing up a lot of blood, it could be serious. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Sighing Soarin knew it was the right choice, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. “I’ll take her, but I do not know the way.”

---

Soarin had spent the last next fifteen minutes going over the area between their current residence and the hospital. He had wanted to know every detail; in this type of visibility it could mean life or death. Luckily, Bon Bon had a map of the area and he had tried to commit as much of it to memory as possible. It wasn’t to scale, which caused some problems, but at least it had given him an idea of the town’s proportions.

Now, Soarin was getting ready to make his departure into the wild beyond. He was wearing a feminine saddle that Bon Bon had given him. They hoped that it would better hold Scootaloo, cocooned tightly in blankets, on his back. Soarin just hoped the straps on it would hold.

Bon Bon gave him a farewell kiss on the cheek. Whereas Lyra just glared, but he could see in her eyes that she was worried.

Walking to the front door and opening it, Soarin realized that it had gotten much colder after the time he had spent inside. The visibility was now so poor that he would be lucky to see his tail if he looked backwards.

As he stared out into the rampaging chaos of the storm, Soarin couldn’t help but think, oh Celestia why me?

It might have just been a whisper in the wind, but Soarin swore he heard a reply, “Would you have it any other way? If you could have chosen to ignore all the events that had happened tonight and gone to that pie conference would you feel refreshed, happy even? Or would you rather be out risking your life for somepony you don’t even know?” He thought that he could hear a chuckle, “No my little pony I think you are doing just what you know you must do.”

Sparing a glance back at the small broken filly on his back, he knew that the voice, real or not, was right. He would do anything to help somepony in need. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know them; it was the simple idea that he could and would help them that mattered. The idea that anypony he helped could go on to invent a new spell, become an actress or a professor was amazing. He merely gave them a chance and simply hearing about their accomplishments was sweeter than any pie could ever be.

And with that thought he steeled his nerves, smiled, and stepped out into the void, only to disappear completely from view in a few seconds time.

---