Chapter 8
Sky’s hoof was gone. It was the first thing Sabra noticed when he woke up, bunk rattling around him. His forehoof was cold, poking out into the cabin air, without any hint of warmth on the other side. For a moment he lay still, ears twitching as he searched for nearby sounds like a mongoose scanning the plains. He pushed aside the rumble of The Hummingbird’s propellers, cut away the faint howl of the wind and the distant roar of the storm, searching instead for living beings.
Captain Song’s steady, patterned breaths were the first sound he heard. Followed by faint signs of chatter from the fore of the vessel, muffled enough to be mostly indistinct, but still recognizable as masculine tones. A second or two more of listening, and he’d picked out who the voices belonged to based on their patterns and tonal inflections. Lieutenant Hunter, he thought. And Nova. Which explained why he hadn’t heard the unicorn’s own, distinctly light breathing pattern on the other side of the room.
But still, neither of them was Sky. Which meant …
Engines. The thought boiled up from somewhere in the back of his mind, a recess that hadn’t quite fully come to the surface yet. She said something about checking the engines, didn’t she? Yes, that felt right. Light flooded the corners of his mind as he woke up, bringing with it clarity.
She wanted to check the engines and mechanics, make sure that everything was working properly. The airship had been running for … This would be the fourth, he realized. Four days, then, without maintenance. The longest it had been used yet outside of tests.
So she wanted to make sure nothing went wrong. He pulled his hoof back, letting it slide back under the covers where it was relatively warmer. That must be it.
That, he admitted, or she’d gone to the facilities and would return any minute. It was hard to tell without knowing what time it was.
For a moment he lay there, but then his curiosity welled inside him like a spring, and he cracked one eye open. The common room was dimly lit, the overhead magilights still either off or at a low setting, but there was more light in the room than could simply be accounted for by them.
The sun, then. Sunrise, or close to it. Which meant the captain would be rising soon, as would the rest of the—
Wait. No. He caught himself. That was why Sky was in the back. Or at least, why he assumed she was in the back. Lieutenant Hunter had taken her position for the night, so that she could rest like the whole team would be.
It’s a rest day, he thought, tucking his chin a little closer into his blanket. That’s right. So perhaps the captain wouldn’t be waking up in a few minutes, ready to get the team underway. Or if he did wake up, he wouldn’t be taking the team with him.
That was, of course, assuming that most of the team wasn’t already up. So far it seemed that those still abed and those aware were evenly split. Unless Dawn was already awake and at work in her medical bay. Which was … possible, considering the sheer amount of materiel she was dealing with.
Still, if left to his own … He shifted again, worming his shoulder a little further under the heavy, winter blankets and taking solace in the fact that at last he had something somewhat warm to sleep in. Sky had redirected a vent for him, and between that and some surplus winter gear the captain had taken no issues with him using, he’d been able to at least make his bunk comfortingly warm.
Which still left the abrupt, occasional jerking of the airship itself to confront, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Though he had felt a lot more reassured with Sky around.
The Hummingbird jerked again, this time to one side and then back. He heard the voices from the cockpit switch in tone, reacting to the maneuver. On the other side of the room, the captain’s steady pattern hitched slightly, resuming as soon as the turbulence was over.
He must have slept aboard an airship before, Sabra reasoned. During the regency wars, perhaps. It would explain how the captain seemed to be the only member of the entire team that could sleep through almost anything. Almost.
He laid still for a moment, focusing his attention on his breathing, but the telltale slipping of awareness that indicated sleep was within his grasp eluded him, and he rolled onto his side. Perhaps then, a different kind of rest. He froze, holding his body absolutely still for a moment, and then let out a long, slow breath.
In. And out. Rhythmic. Patterned. In. And out. Steady. Sinking inward.
The Hummingbird shook again, upsetting his breathing, but he quickly recovered. In. Out. He extended his awareness, taking in every twitch of muscle, every pulse of his heart. In. Out. Slowly but surely, the outer world began to fade, a void growing around him as the physical faded away. It was odd to be holding such a relaxed position while attempting to meditate, but at the same time, it was merely a challenge to overcome.
Physical sensation began to fade, the steady, rhythmic sound of his breath and the gentle thump of his heart slipping away. Colors danced at the edge of his vision—or at the edge of his mind, he’d never been sure which—before fading as well. The real world slipped away … and the void took shape.
It stretched around him, endless and infinite. A black expanse that held everything and nothing at the same time. He slipped down through it, his presence still and gentle as he descended. The lake came into view, its surface already splintered with ripples, bounding off of one another and bouncing from place to place. Even at such an early day, his mind was far from still.
He willed himself to calm as the lake neared. While stillness was preferable, it was not a sign of good. Stillness, after all, could mean death, a dearth of input or mindfulness. A still mind could mean perfect control, harmony with one’s self … or it could be a sign that there was nothing to be in harmony with.
By contrast, a wild, untamed lake could hold the same duality. It could represent the mind of the seeker, one who was constantly acquiring new knowledge to study … or it could be the mind of the ill-focused, a mind with no clarity and aimless pursuits of purposeless abandons.
His hooves touched down on the lake, his slow descent coming to a halt as he gazed out over his mind. Detached from the physical world as he was, he could “see” the ripples, eddies, and waves spreading out across his mind, see the turmoil each brought. And, as always, the largest concentration of ripples were traced back to one source.
What is life? The mere thought of his quest and pursuit sent new ripples rolling out like sound from a bell, sliding across the surface of the lake and almost immediately mixing with counterparts to form waves. He focused, and a stillness slid out of his presence and across the surface of the lake, waves and currents freezing in place. Then, slowly, but surely, they shrank.
But they didn’t vanish. There was too much … uncertainty. Too much for him to simply still his rampant thoughts, questions, curiosities, and, yes, fears and doubts with a single moment of focus.
Besides, it wasn’t the surface that held the true cause of his turmoil. It was what lay underneath. If the currents beneath the water weren’t calm, or at least controlled, the surface never would be.
Keeping the surface still, however, would make it easier to track each current back to its source. Satisfied that his focus on the surface was held, he let himself slip downward, the cool waters of the lake closing over and around him.
It was a strange, but welcome experience. Memories and thoughts flitted around him, both at once part of him and apart. Logically, if he went deep enough, he would find the part of his mind that was in essence “him” at the moment, building the void inside his mind. A common tale at the monastery held that if one sank into that part of the mind, one would find another void with another, deeper part of the mind, and so on into infinity until one became as immortal and in tune with the world as Zawati and found all answers.
That, or end up lost in one’s own meditation. Perhaps someday he’d try, see if he could locate such a space. But at the moment, there was one thing that dominated his mind.
The tangle. He wasn’t sure what to call it. It was almost like a mountain, rising out of the depths of his mind, a mixture of ideas, thoughts, and feelings all so tightly wrapped around one another that they generated their own currents. Volatile ones, at that, with surprising strength and force.
Never had he encountered its like before. And in the space of one’s mind, that was … unsettling.
He probed at it, floating closer and feeling a rush of thoughts and feelings spill over him. Emotion threatened his hold for a moment, his body rising, but clarity returned, driving the sudden passion away.
He could feel … confusion, emanating from it. As well as curiosity. The tangle was before him now, massive and stretching in almost all directions. What are you? What has my mind so … different? He reached out, hoof catching against a current and rippling through it.
Wellness. Security. Warmth. The emotions rolled through him, and he pulled his hoof back. He probed again, this time at another part.
Curiosity. Drive. A search.
That one he knew. My question. He could feel ripples rolling off of him, churning the lake around him. Have I truly become so …?
He couldn’t think of a way to answer his own question. Concerned? Devoted? Alarmed? Worried? Obsessed? He could feel other emotions and memories mixed in the tangle. Some were familiar, recognizable. Pride. Sadness. Trepidation. Determination. Others were … not unfamiliar, but certainly not thoughts he would have associated with the question.
Where? He could feel more currents tugging at him, pushing and pulling from different sides and angles. But largely pushing. Actively pushing.
He was losing focus. The surface of the lake above him was breaking, lifting and twisting as the currents began to press harder.
I understand. He rose, leaving the lake behind, the void fading away as he brought his consciousness back to the forefront of reality. There was too much wrapped in whatever was rushing through his mind, too much riding on it, even if he wasn’t sure what it exactly was yet. So much so that merely attempting to study it by force would be like trying to swim up a waterfall. He would simply fail.
So instead, he thought as the sounds and scents of the galley returned in a rush, the physical world snapping back with sharp, crisp clarity. I must give it time. Patience. He’d need to work through his thoughts and feelings, carefully examine them. Examine this new source of turmoil and unrest from all sides.
Which would … take time. He resisted the urge to sigh, instead pushing away the impatient feeling with an admonition. Clarity may only come with time. You cannot force knowledge nor enlightenment.
Though I could write one of my old teachers, Sabra thought as he rolled over, pins and needles rushing along his coat with the sudden movement. How long had he been meditating? Surely no longer than a few minutes. Ask them if they have ever encountered a … tangle … and what they did about it.
Then again, such a thing would take time. A letter to his monastery could take a month to arrive, plus another to return, unless he sent it by a priority service.
Maybe I should try the embassy, he thought as he shifted again, this time kicking one corner of his covers up and letting in a shock of cold air. The captain’s rhythmic breathing was still steady on the far side of the room, but he couldn’t hear any conversation from the cockpit anymore. Nor could he hear any sound of Nova in the galley. The shaman there, Akeelah. She may have an answer.
He flipped onto his back, forehooves clenched around his blankets, and braced himself. He sucked in a few quick breaths, then quick as he could, threw the covers to one side. A wave of cold rolled down his body as all the warmth he’d so carefully built up was swept away by the unyielding cold, and he grit his teeth together to keep them from chattering.
So … cold!
He sat up, balancing on the edge of the bunk and rubbing his forehooves against one another. The friction brought a little heat, but it didn’t steal away the chill the air held, sucking away at him. He took a long, forced breath, sucked in through clenched teeth and willing himself to ignore the cold, ignore the way his pelt seemed to be standing on end.
It’s just cold. It’s warmer than you think. You were comfortable under the covers. It’s shocking in comparison. The train of thought helped … but not much.
Still, there was little he could do about it but get moving. He slid off of the bunk, his hooves meeting the rubber-matting atop the floor with faint, muffled clops, and headed for the back of the airship. The first order of business was … well, the first order of business for most in the morning.
He kept alert as he headed to the bathroom—Head—listening for any signs of other activity. The medbay was quiet, which meant that Dawn was likely still asleep. With the padding around the doors and walls, he couldn’t listen to hear otherwise.
The head meanwhile was occupied, the door shut and the sound of rushing water roaring through it. Nova then, and showering from the sound of it. He waited for a moment, twisting his hoof against the rubber matting, and then turned away. He was simply going to have to wait. The downside of having one bathroom and shower, as opposed to the larger space in our barracks, he thought as he headed for a door that ran rearward. Behind it, he could hear a cacophony of mechanical noises, thumping and hissing. A small cabinet had been built into the wall next to the door, and he opened it expose several sets of large ear mufflers, each latched in place.
Everything accounted for, he thought as he released one the of sets of mufflers and slid them down over his head. The large cups slipped over his ears, resting snugly against the top of his head and cutting off the outside world, the sounds losing their high pitches and reminding him almost of what it was like to dunk his head beneath the water.
Just with less distortion. He closed the box, hearing protection secure—though the plastic band connecting the two halves was pressing down on his mane in a slightly uncomfortable fashion—and opened the door.
The once-faint sounds became a tumult with the heavily-padded door open, and he stepped through quickly, sliding it shut behind as to not bother anyone in the crew areas. The rhythmic banging sound was the loudest, pinions and parts moving in concert against one another this far back in The Humminbird’s innards. He’d left the hallway behind, as well as the rubber matting, his hooves now on bare metal grating as he trotted further back.
The space around him was open, or rather would have been if not for the large amounts of moving machinery on both sides, moving with dizzying speed as it used the heat from the boilers to create and transmit energy to the rest of The Hummingbird’s systems. Thankfully, it wasn’t in easy reach: Sky had gone ahead and made sure that the edge of the grated metal walkway was at least a few inches away from any moving machinery, as well as separated by heavy wire mesh covers that could be opened and folded back as needed. And even with that protection, there was a large, brightly-lit and brightly-colored sign right on the side of the entrance that quite clearly spelled out both in pictures and several languages—his own native Zebra included—that there was to be no loose or flowing clothing, hair, or jewelry under any circumstances, and to keep a close eye on one’s tail given how dangerous the machinery could be.
Ahead of him, he could see a small open space, a square room of sorts, though given the open nature of the rear of the ship, it was more of an open metal platform. Almost a cage, really, with all the mesh. Sky had turned it into a smaller version of her workshop, complete with smaller workbenches and—of course—plenty of toolboxes. He trotted forward, his eyes scanning the machinery around him, searching for any sign of Sky’s blue mane. Even through the ear mufflers, he could hear the faint, steady hiss of steam as pistons expanded and contracted, in time with the dull, staccato-mixed drumbeat of so many mechanical parts moving against one another. The heavy, deep clangs almost sounded like log drums performance, deep and moving, resonating in his chest, but mixed with other clangs and clatters that no log drum could ever replicate.
He stepped into the small workshop, eyes and ears both turning as he searched for a sign of Sky Bolt. Breaks in the machinery on all sides led to mesh-lined pathways, as well as a steep stairwell in the decking that led down to a lower level—cramped as it was. But Sky needed to have access to every bit of The Hummingbird’s innards that she could while they were traveling.
On the plus side, this close to the boilers he wasn’t quite so cold anymore. The engines generated a large amount of waste heat, even with all the insulated piping and Sky’s own superboilers fueling things, enough that he felt almost warm.
A faint clang caught his ears, out of tune with the rest, followed by a string of words, all indecipherable under the din of the steam engines and boilers. He turned, ears twitching against their confines, and took a few steps forward, looking to the port side of the engine room. There, poking out from behind a mesh covering panel around some machinery, was a tightly bound sky-blue tail. It flicked as he watched before moving a little further forward, all the but the very end vanishing behind whatever machinery was inside the metal mesh. Sabra opened his mouth, about to shout, but then caught himself.
That might be a bad idea, he thought as he heard another out-of-place clang, followed by more grumbling tones just barely audible against the constant, all-consuming beat of the engines. She’s clearly working on something. The last thing somepony needs when working on moving machinery is someone shouting at them. He sank back on his haunches, the grated metal warm but not quite comfortable beneath his flanks, and waited.
There was another clang, followed by a tone he recognized even without being able to hear the words as “Finally!” and Sky’s tale reappeared, followed by her hindquarters as she backed out of the mesh-cabinet. For a moment they moved from side to side, tail swaying, and he turned his eyes elsewhere for a second, giving her time to extricate herself from the machinery.
“Sabra!” He snapped his gaze back to her to see her face lit up with a wide, grease-stained smile. Then she paused, pursing her lips with a coy look on her face. “About how long ago did you start looking at the ceiling so intently?”
“I …” He could feel a blush heating his cheeks. “I didn’t want to look as though I was staring.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” she said, picking up the tool she’d dropped to the deck and swinging the mesh caging shut with a bang that was almost lost amidst the sounds of the machinery. Then she paused. “Were you?”
He decided not to risk answering. “What were you doing?” he asked. The question was almost a shout, to be heard over the constant clatter of the mechanics and through their ear muffs.
“That’s not a no,” Sky called back, before letting out a laugh. “I was greasing some things,” she said, holding out the tool she’d been using in one hoof as she walked into the workshop area. It was a long cylinder with a flexible looking hose at one end and a lever at the other. Thick grease encrusted the end of the hose.
“All this constant running,” she said, waving her hoof at the engine around them. “It wears stuff down. Gotta check on it every so often and make sure it’s greased up with the grease gun. Luckily,” she said, pulling a drawer open and putting the tool away. “I had Hunter take us down so it wouldn’t be quite as rough. Still a bit alarming when she jukes on you though, and you’re right next to a large crankshaft.” She shook her head, and he noted that her mane didn’t flap around her face, the long hairs carefully tied back atop her head.
“Eugh,” Sky said, rubbing a hoof across her side and smearing a long streak of grease along both, matting the fur down. Sabra could see dozens of other grease stains around her barrel, shoulders, and wings. “This stuff gets everywhere. And some of those spots I had to get to? They were a lot easier to reach when we were in the shop.” She shook her head again, spreading her wings and glaring at the grease stuck between the feathers. “This is going to take forever to get out. I look like a mess.”
“You look—” He caught himself before he could say “like you always do.” Something in the back of his mind—self-preservation, maybe, said it was a bad idea. “Like you. Motivated.”
She flashed him a smile. “Thanks. But seriously, I need a shower once this over.” She folded her wings back in and trotted over to another toolbox. “What are you doing back here?”
He shrugged. “This was were you were.”
“Really?”
“Well … and the head was occupied.”
She let out a snort of laughter. “So you thought you’d come back here and s—” She let out a cough that didn’t quite sound authentic. “Bleck, sorry. See if I needed a hoof?”
He nodded. “And to talk. Keep you company.” Her smile widened, and he felt his own grow in response.
“Well then,” she said. “I’m open to all three. I don’t have much left to do back here, but you’re welcome to help out.” She stuck her head into one of the drawers and came out with an adjustable wrench.
“Here,” she said, passing it to him. “Carry this and follow me. There’s a fitting I want to look at.”
Again he nodded, and she turned and headed down the steep steps to the lower level. “Watch your head.”
“So,” she asked as he began to follow her down, calling over her shoulders. “How’s the meditation going? Still a little shaky?”
He waited until he reached the bottom of the steps and could spit the wrench into his hoof before replying. “‘Shaky’ isn’t quite the proper word for it. Tumultuous would be better. But yes, it is.”
“So you’re still digesting all that knowledge then?” Sky asked as she moved aft. He followed.
“I suppose,” he said. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure what it means. I feel as though it means I am confused and unsure. But is that a result of what I’ve learned? Or am I confused and unsure because of something else?”
“Are you confused and unsure, though?” Sky stopped, her head framed by the side of one of the large superboilers as she looked back at him. “I mean, sure, you haven’t got your answer yet, but I wouldn’t say you’re confused and unsure.”
“Hapana?”
“Hapana,” she repeated, one corner of her mouth turning up in small smile. “There are a lot of words I would use to describe you, Sabra, but confused and unsure isn’t one of them.” Her smile widened, and then she turned and moved deeper into the back of The Hummingbird.
“Well then,” he said, following. “What would you suggest it may be?”
“Wait, really?” Sky called as she stepped around another mesh cage, coming to a stop next to a collection of piping set just above the side of the airship’s hull.
“Of course.” He smiled as he passed her the wrench. “Your cutie mark may be for machines, but that doesn’t mean your knowledge in other areas isn’t invaluable. And of everyone on this team, you’re the one that … knows me the best. And I trust that.”
“Well,” Sky said, holding the wrench in one hoof as she checked a collection of nearby valves. She gave one a twist, a heavy hissing sound filling the air as the valve clamped down.
“There’s a secondary line,” she said when she saw his eyes looking at it. “It’ll pick up the slack. Hunter’ll lose a little engine power, but not enough that he’ll notice.” She adjusted a couple of smaller, nearby valves, additional hisses sounding, and then moved back to the collection of pipes.
“Anyway, like I was about to say.” She wrapped the wrench around one of the pipes and began to tighten the end down. “If anything, knowing you, and having gotten to know you over the last few months …” The wrench secure, she put her hooves against it and began to push, pausing only when another gust of wind from outside shook The Hummingbird.
“You’re intelligent,” she said, her voice dropping a bit as she strained with the wrench. He stepped forward, offering a hoof, but she waved him back. “I’ve got it,” she said. “I put it on there, I can take it … Off!” The wrench gave with a quick jerk, slowing as Sky eased off. “You’re determined, too. And neither of those are bad things.” She worked the wrench with her hooves as she spoke, loosening the pipe fitting. “You also contemplative, courageous …” The fitting popped free, water trickling out of one end as she tipped it up. The small stream ran down between the metal grating beneath their hooves, and his eyes followed it.
“It’s fine,” she said. “This place is waterproofed, and there’s a catch to collect that stuff.
“But,” she said, holding the fitting up to a nearby light and examining it. “I don’t think you’re confused and unsure. If anything, you’re contemplative. You’re like …” She paused for a moment, tapping her chin with the fitting and, he noticed, getting a clump of something stuck in the fur of her muzzle as she did so. “You ever seen a stone crusher make gravel before?”
He shook his head. “No, I have not.”
“Right.” She tilted the fitting, checking it from all angles. “Well, it looks like this thing is okay. No signs of any weak spots.”
“Why check it?”
“Company sent out an alert,” she said, stepping back over to where the fitting was supposed to be and slowly screwing it back in. “They sent out a warning that there might have been a weakness in the metal that would give way under certain conditions, but gave a list of things to check for.”
“Why not check earlier?”
“Because we weren’t—and haven’t been—running under those conditions. Plus, there is a secondary if something had gone wrong, and the flaw itself is easy to find. Plus, I have spares aboard. But since I was here …” She reached for where she’d set the wrench atop a nearby pipe.
“But that kind of questioning?” she said, her fire-red eyes alighting on him as she tightening the fitting down. “That’s what I’m talking about. So a gravel crusher, right? It’s made up of these big metal jaws that angle toward one another. You …” She let out a grunt, tightening the fitting back down. “You set a gap at the end that at the widest aperture, with the size of gravel you want, and then you …” Another grunt. “Throw rocks and stones into the top. Or boulders, if you’ve got one big enough. Anyway, you get an engine to slap the jaws open and closed, and they break up the rocks. Each time they close, the rocks break and become smaller, so they drop further down when—almost there—the jaws open again. And then when they shut …” Her words faded out as she put her entire body into tightening the fitting down. “There!” she said, stepping back. “Now just the pipe.”
“But as I was saying, when the jaws shut, they crush those new rock pieces smaller still, until they’re small enough that they fall out of the opening at the bottom. With me so far?”
“Ndiyo.”
“So what I’m getting at,” Sky said, picking the pipe up in her hooves. “Is that there’s a catch to this. The smaller and more fine you want the gravel at the other end, the longer the process takes, and the more it can back up. So if you just want a rock the size of your hoof, you widen the jaws up, toss some rocks in, and it won’t take long at all.”
“But if you want sand,” she said, grabbing the wrench once more and tightening the pipe. “You have to wait a lot longer, and the machine sort of backs up a little, because it’s working hard to grind those smaller stones into something even smaller.”
“Have you had experience with one of these machines?” he asked.
Sky smiled, one hoof pressing down hard on the wrench. “Farm outside of Dodge Junction, remember? Lots of rocks in that soil. We rented a stone-crushing machine plenty of times. Until I built my parents one, that is. But yeah.” She held up a hoof. “Spent a lot of days as a filly tossing rocks into one of those and watching them come out as gravel, sand, whatever we felt we needed.”
“Back on topic though, the point was that the finer you wanted that stone to end up being, the more time it took. And you?” She pointed her upraised hoof at him. “Your mind is like one of those rock crushers, set to the finest setting of sand it can manage. You’re always looking for new knowledge, new ideas, new concepts. Not just because you’re searching for the answer to your question,” she said as she turned herself back to tightening the pipe. “In fact, I’d say you’re searching for the question because that’s the way you are.”
“You seek out all these ideas and knowledge and concepts, and you feed them into that head of yours, and you break them down. You see how they fit together, what they’re made up of. But where most ponies would be content with … I don’t know, smaller rocks maybe, you’re not content until you’ve looked at it from every possible side and angle. You think on it, grinding them down for days, breaking it apart and working to understand it. They want stones, you want sand. You study it in your mind over and over again, and only once you’ve gained everything you can from it do you let it pass through … and then you start the process all over again.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re thorough, and it’s one of those things I admire about you.” She flashed him another soft smile, and he felt a sudden surge in his chest, like he’d touched a stray lightning cloud, or maybe accidentally sipped more of that strange drink Nova kept bringing into the barracks. “You take your time thinking through things, studying them, digesting them. So it’s not that you’re confused or unsure, you’ve just dumped a lot into those mental ‘jaws’ in a short amount of time, and it’s taking time to chew through everything to break it down into manageable chunks.” She gave the wrench a final shove, then stepped back and looked the whole thing over.
“Stand back,” she warned, passing him the wrench. “If there was a weak spot, or I just didn’t tighten the piping well-enough, we’ll know as soon as I bleed the system and open the valve.” She trotted over to the valves she’d tightened before, flipping a few levers and then eying the pipe as she slowly loosened the main valve. A faint hiss filled the air, though whether it was steam, water, or some other substance Sabra couldn’t say amid all the noise. After waiting for a few seconds, Sky reached over and flipped the levers back before giving the valve a final spin to fully open it.
“Okay,” she said after another few seconds. “Looks like I’m done. But anyway, I don’t know. But that’s the way I see it.” She gave him a shrug. “Like you said, you’ve gotten a lot of knowledge lately. Maybe you’re just still breaking it down, seeing where all the pieces fit. Does that … help?” Her eyes widened as they stared into his own, and he nodded, smiling.
“It does,” he said. “It’s a new way of looking at it, but—”
“So I just added to the pile?” she asked, her smile letting him know she was joking as she moved forward once more.
“You gave me a new way to think about it,” he said, returning her smile as she walked past. “And it does ease my mind somewhat. Crushing rocks to examine them would take time, and the expression of sand as my result would be apt. Perhaps I’m simply impatient at my own …” He paused, searching for the appropriate word. “Digestion? We do not eat rocks, but—”
“No, that works,” Sky said, climbing the steep steps to the upper workspace. She waited at the top, taking the wrench from him before his rear hooves had even left the ladder. “I mean, it makes sense me. You think about thinking, Sabra. You’re a philosopher. It shouldn’t surprise you that the more you learn, the more you philosophize on others philosophies, or whatever. Bleh,” she said, sticking her tongue out of her mouth as she shut the drawer. “And that’s why I used a machine in my analogy.”
“It was perfectly clear,” he said, giving her another smile. “Both what you just said, and your analogy. You have a way with using machines, both in creating them, and in using them to bring your ideas across. It really is quite impressive.”
“Asante.” The grease matting her cheeks didn’t quite work to hide her blush, and once again he felt the same electric tingle run right down to his hooves.
“Hapana, asante,” he replied. “Your way of looking at things is, I think, invaluable.” This time there was no hiding the blush on her cheeks, nor the tingle in his hooves.
“Right, well!” Sky said suddenly. “Should we go see if somepony’s made breakfast? I’m starved.”
“After you,” he said, bowing his head and motioning with one hoof. Sky flashed him another smile and trotted for the front, a high kick to her step.
He followed, relishing the feeling in his chest even as he fell back into his own thoughts. He was no fool. He knew what was causing the lightness in his chest, the spark that coursed through him whenever she smiled. How the touch of her hoof at night had left him at ease enough to sleep through the storms The Hummingbird weathered.
He followed Sky out of the engine room and toward the common room. It was clearly another stone in the crusher.
But maybe … Maybe he was all right with that.
Maybe.
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My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
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9748308
Yeah, it's a tricky balance. I've made sure that if this were the first of the books someone read, they'd still be able to follow along, and get enough put in front of them to keep everything straight.
But it's a bit like the MCU: Rise and Beyond have a lot of details referenced in here that you may not notice without keeping fresh on both. That's just how series work. You can read this one without those two and have a great story, but if you want to pick out secrets or spot some lore, it'll be time to pick up the expanded world!
9750286
Honestly? Me too. It won so many awards, and is in such high demand, that it's still "good luck" to getting a copy. I really want to get one though. It's apparently really fun.
9760202
Oh, just wait. Enjoy the calm while it lasts ...
9765890
Alicorn Nova would be hilarious. Actually alicorn any of the cast would be hilarious.
And everything has a reason.
No spoilers!
A bit alarming would be an understatement to me. :P
That is an insightful view of Sabra's quest.
I think my dad would appreciate the safety precautions of the engine room. He's an engineer and has worked in gas refineries and I've heard him talk many times about safety.
9768468
AAAAAGHH!
So GDocs has this weird thing where when importing into something like Fimfic, it'll just copy over old fixes and the fix for some reason, making a new typo like this one. Drives me absolutely mad. Something to do with the way its comment system works.
Super frustrating though, because the original will just have one or the other, but the import both.
Finally admitting to yourself that you have feelings for Sky Bolt, Sabra?
I love a good romance. We will see were it leads em in the future. Whats the time they patroling? Do the guard in ready position check from time to time the situation ? What about situation reports to the royal sisters?
How to identify romantic feeling does not tend to make it into the studies of most monks, so it's no surprise Sabra is having issues figuring this out.