As the Anemometer Spins

by Paracompact

Breakfast

Rumble always bore his sore muscles as marks of honor; every wincing ache was a reminder that he was giving his training his all.

But he had to admit, mornings were a little rough. Every muscle, every inflamed ligament and tendon cried out as Rumble forced them back to work after eight hours of disuse. It was all he could do to stumble—grimacing with every hoofstep—down the hallway and into the bathroom where he could wash away some of his pain with a cold shower.

Just one more day, Rumble assured himself as he massaged his wings. Just one more day, and then you can rest. Five days of training, two days of rest. That’s the schedule, and you’re going to follow it. Rumble peered longingly down at his cutie mark: a single, bold, white feather. I’ve done it for months now, and I can’t wimp out now. Not while Eddy’s getting faster by the day.

Feeling refreshed, Rumble made his way down to the breakfast nook. His older brother Thunderlane was already awake, cleaning dishes from what must have been his morning meal.

“Mornin’, little bro,” Thunderlane greeted. “I just got done spicing up a new recipe of mine: pumpkin muffins! I think you’d really like it. Want me to make you some?”

“No thanks, I’m good.” Rumble habitually reached toward the same pantry he always had, and pulled out the box of high-protein quinoa. He trotted past Thunderlane and grabbed a clean bowl.

Thunderlane frowned slightly. “I promise it’s low-calorie. Know how you’ve been wantin’ to slim down, and everything.”

“Again, thanks for the offer, but I have a precise diet to adhere to. One wrong meal and I could be paying for it the rest of the week.” Rumble sat down at the table, and poured himself a petite serving of quinoa grains. He evened out the top of the cereal with his hoof, to be sure of the portion size.

“Hmph. Your loss.” Though he had already eaten, Thunderlane decided to pull up a chair opposite his little brother and take a seat. “So, how’s school been?”

“Fine.”

“You doin’ all right in math?”

Rumble perceived the angle he was going for. “Yeah, I’m trying to pick up the slack.”

“Oh, I wish I’d kept up with math. Or even paid enough attention to it myself, when I was your age.” Thunderlane chuckled. “What sort of things are you learning?”

“Trig identities, and stuff.” Rumble discreetly picked up the pace at which he ate.

“Ah, trigonometry: the study of angles and tri… angles. Hey, I’d never noticed that before! Anyway, they say trig is really the most useful kind of math you can learn.”

“It really isn’t.” Rumble finished the rest of his quinoa in one mouthful, and unseated himself. “Look, big bro, I know you’re just looking out for me. Want to make sure I get a well-rounded education and all. But come on, you’re a Wonderbolt! You know training is important.” After all, not all of us are born like Eddy…

“Uh-huh. Of course it is!”

“So how would you like it if a truckload of bricks fell from the sky and built a school around you? Forced you to waste seven hours of your life every day? It’s pointless when you already know what your calling is and how to get there.”

“Rumble, bro… I just don’t think you should put all your eggs in one basket, y’know? What if becoming an ace flyer just… doesn’t work out for you like it did for m—”

Thunderlane caught his tongue too late. Rumble tensed up, and strutted toward the front door in a show of indignance. (He tried to conceal the aches this sent coursing through his shoulders.) Before leaving, he hollered back at his brother: “If you’re so fearful for my chances of becoming an ace flyer, then all that means is that I’m still not training hard enough!”