> Silent Night
>  by FallBlau
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Silent Night
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	It was a dreary, winter morning that day in Ponyville as the young fillies and colts trekked to the town's schoolhouse.

A cold front had swept in from the north the previous day, leaving the ground covered in a fresh blanket of snow.

Scootaloo, whose shoes crunched in the frozen sod as she walked down the main street, passed town hall, bracing herself against the freezing wind.

It was still dark out, being so early in the morning, but the lights of the shops and houses burned brightly in the windows as their owners hurried busily here and there, preparing for another day of commerce– regardless of the weather.

In the front of the school, the children were in a great commotion.

Scootaloo walked up to the scene of the excitement, where the students had gathered around in a circle, only to be greeted by her friends – Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle.

“Howdy!” Apple Bloom greeted her cheerfully. 

“Hey,” Scootaloo said, smiling. “What's going on?”

“Snails put his tongue on the flag-pole,” Sweetie Belle replied. “Now he can't get it off.”

“Why'd he do that?” Scootaloo asked.

“Diamond Tiara triple-horse dared him,” Apple Bloom said.

“Pwease hewlp meh,”  he pleaded, struggling to pull his tongue off the wrought-iron post.

“I can't believe you actually did it! Ha ha!” Diamond Tiara exclaimed, laughing. “You're even dumber than you look!”

“It’s not fwunny!” Snails spluttered. 

“Try pulling it off slowly!” Snips suggested.

“I can't! It hwurts!” Snails cried.

Just then, the school bell rang, announcing the beginning of class. The children left the post and made their way back to the school, leaving the hapless Snails still frozen to the post.

“Guwys! Cowme back! Don't weave me hewe! Pwease!”

He vainly called out to his peers in a desperate attempt to free himself.

“You think we should we help him?” Scootaloo asked. “I mean...I feel really bad for leaving him there.”

“Nah,” Apple Bloom said. “He'll figure it out.”

“Yeah, he always gets himself into stuff like this,” Sweetie Belle said.

“I guess you're right,” Scootaloo replied, making her way to the schoolhouse with her friends.

In the classroom, the children chatted loudly as Ms. Cheerilee, their teacher, arose from her desk to address them. 

“Settle down everyone, please, settle down,” she commanded. “I know it's the last day before Winter Break and we're all excited about Hearth's Warming Eve, but we still have class today. Remember – once we're done with reading, we'll move onto math, and then the party! Won't that be fun?”

“Yeah!” the class replied collectively.

“Let me just take attendance and then we'll begin. Susie?”

“Here.”

“Mark?”

“Here.”

Ms. Cheerilee began taking the roll, calling out everyone's name meticulously to document their presence. 

In the meantime, Scootaloo sat idly at her desk, doodling on a piece of notebook paper.

“Hey, what are you drawing there?” Diamond Tiara whispered, leaning close to her.

Scootaloo covetously concealed the paper with her arm. 

“None of your business,” she seethed.

“Seems someone's being a bit rude this morning,” Diamond quipped. “Must be a drawing of something you don't want any other pony to see.”

“No, it's not,” Scootaloo whispered.

“What? You do want other ponies to see? Or don't you?”

“No, I don't,” Scootaloo said. “Stop asking.”

“Fine, fine,” Diamond said, throwing her hands in the air. “I won't ask anymore.”

“Good,” Scootaloo said, not taking her eyes off her work. 

Ms. Cheerilee proceeded down the list until all the students were accounted for.

“Um...” she said, scratching her chin. “Does anybody know where Snails is?”

“He's out front,” Sweetie Belle said, pointing to the door. “He stuck his tongue to the flag pole.”

Cheerilee sighed.

“Wait here class while I get a glass of warm water and see if I can unhinge him. In the meantime, begin looking over your reading assignment.”

The teacher retrieved a cup of warm water from the sink in the bathroom and proceeded out the door, at which point, the class resumed its previous commotion.

“So, what are y'all doing over the break?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Well, my sister has gone off with her friends to Canterlot to celebrate,” Sweetie Belle replied. “So, I guess I'll be spending the holidays with my parents. How about yourself? Is your sister going with them?”

“Actually, me and Applejack are gonna go and visit Babs and her family in Manehatten this year! I'm so excited!”

“Applejack and I,” Sweetie Belle corrected her.

“Oh, right,” Apple Bloom said. “I always get that mixed up. How about you Scoots? What are you doing for Hearth's Warming Eve?”

“Oh, you know,” Scootaloo said, chuckling, “the usual.”

“What's the usual?” Sweetie asked.

“Yeah,” Apple Bloom said, “What do you do for the holidays?”

Scootaloo paused a moment, thinking, deliberating over what to tell them.

“Just…nothing,” Scootaloo said at last. 

Sweetie Belle looked perplexed.

“Don’t you do anything with your mom and dad?”

“I never knew my dad,” Scootaloo said, shaking her head. “He went off to the war, long before I was born.”

“Oh,” Apple Bloom said, frowning. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Scootaloo said. “I have a picture of him over my bed. I like to think, in some way, he still looks after me.”

“What about your mom?” Sweetie Belle asked.

Scootaloo looked down.

“I don’t like to talk about mom. I live with my aunt.”

“Your aunt?” Apple Bloom asked raising her eyebrow. 

“Yeah, my aunt,” Scootaloo replied. “She adopted me when I was younger.”

“That makes sense,” Apple Bloom said, nodding.

“You should introduce us to her sometime,” Sweetie suggested.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Scootaloo replied.

“Oh? Why not?” Apple Bloom asked.

“She just doesn’t like other ponies around, is all.”

“Some ponies are like that,” Apple Bloom said, shrugging. 

It was then that Ms. Cheerilee reentered the classroom with Snails.

“Go and take your seat, dear,” Cheerilee said, pointing.

Snails nodded and sat down at his desk, beside his friend Snips.

“Was it very bad?” Apple Bloom asked, nudging him.

Snails opened his maw to reveal his tongue, which was red from where it had peeled off the frozen iron.

Apple Bloom cringed.

“That looks like it hurt…”

“Not werry,” Snails replied. “Some hot watew did the twick.” 

“Okay class,” Ms. Cheerilee said, standing at her podium. “Who would like to read today?”

The class’s hands immediately shot into the air as each student vied to read a passage. This wasn’t unusual, as the students had come to expect a sugary reward for their participation.

“Oh me! Me!” Apple Bloom said, stretching her hand up as far as she was able.

“Hmmm,” Cheerilee said, scanning the room. “How about…Scootaloo.”

Scootaloo, who was still busy drawing at her desk, was caught off-guard.

“Who? Me?” Scootaloo asked.

“Yes dear, would you care to read?”

“Uh…sure, I guess,” Scootaloo replied.

“Excellent!” Cheerilee said. “Do you remember the page?”

“Two hundred and thirty two?” Scootaloo asked, pulling out her book.

“That’s right,” Cheerilee said, beaming. “Class, I want you to give your undivided attention to Scootaloo while she reads.”

“Lucky,” Apple Bloom muttered.

Scootaloo turned to the page in her text-book, where there was a picture of a lady dressed in fine silks and decked in jewelry, standing against an idyllic landscape.

“Whenever you’re ready, dear,” Cheerilee said.

Scootaloo cleared her throat. 

“Once upon a time…”

“Title first,” Cheerilee interrupted.

“Oh, right…” Scootaloo said. “Um… Princess Anna by the Brothers Grim.”

A hushed silence fell over the class as Scootaloo began.

“Once upon a time…”

The class was held spell-bound as the young filly read them a story about a beautiful Princess who had grown up loved and adored, but was spirited away when she was eight by an evil witch who locked her away in a dark dungeon.

“Just when Princess Anna thought there was no hope of escape she saw the door had unlocked! The magical sand the crow had given her had worked!

“In a joy, the Princess danced out of the dungeon and raced back to her parents, who had given up hope long ago. When their long-lost daughter appeared before, they burst into cries of elation and welcomed their daughter back with open arms.

“Afterwards, the evil witch was hunted down and imprisoned in the dungeon where she had kept Anna. The Princess, who had for so long been missing, was reunited with her Prince who had promised to marry her those many years before.

“They got married the following spring, and went on to have twelve beautiful children. The Prince and Princess, who became the King and Queen, ruled over their Kingdom in happiness and prosperity until the very end of their days. 

“The End.”

The class applauded as Scootaloo concluded her reading.

“Excellent!” Cheerilee said, congratulating her. 

“Yeah, good job,” Apple Bloom said, nudging her.

“Thanks,” Scootaloo replied, blushing.

The school-day proceeded as it had been planned until noon, which was when the party started. All the children of the class had brought a variety of treats for the event, including: muffins, hay-chips, and cups of cider – which were handed out liberally. In addition, there was a plethora of holiday sweets and candies, which the children collected in their paper bags.

When the end of the day came, all of the students eagerly rushed outside to play in the snow before they went home.

“Care to come with us to my house?” Apple Bloom asked, donning her woolen gloves and hat. “I'm sure Applejack will be serving warm apple cider.”

“Yeah,” Sweetie Belle said. “Then we’re going make a snow-pony!”

“Nah, that’s alright,” Scootaloo said, waving her hand.

“You sure?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Yeah,” Scootaloo said. “I have chores to do at home.”

“Oh, alright then,” Apple Bloom said.

“I guess we’ll see you later, huh?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“I can stop by sometime later, right?”

“Actually…we’re leaving tonight.” Apple Bloom said.

“Yeah, same with me,” Sweetie said.

“Oh well,” Scootaloo said, looking down. “I guess this is goodbye –at least for a while.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Apple Bloom said. “We’ll be waiting for you at Sweet Apple Acres.

Scootaloo smiled.

“You guys are the best,” she said, as they all embraced one another.

“What are friends for, right?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“Have a good trip you two,” Scootaloo said.

“We’ll try,” Apple Bloom said, smiling.

“Won’t be the same without you, though,” Sweetie Belle said.

“Aww, come you guys,” Scootaloo said, blushing.

“Well, I guess we’re off then,” Apple Bloom said. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye!” Scootaloo called to them as they left.

Scootaloo watched as they faded into the dreary bleak of the wintery day before she turned back inside the schoolhouse to retrieve her bag.

At the table, where all the snacks and refreshments had been served, Cheerilee was busily tiding up – picking up discarded wrappings and other trash.

“Need any help, Ms. Cheerilee?” Scootaloo asked

“If you could sweep, that would be a great help dear,” she replied.

“Oh, alright,” Scootaloo said, nodding.

She picked up the broom and dust-pan which lay hung in the corner of the room and began to sweep the floors between the rows and columns of desks.

“I really appreciate the help,” Cheerilee said, throwing away the last of the used plastic cups.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Scootaloo said. “Don’t mention it.”

“Well, it’s awfully nice of you. You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?”

“Not really...” Scootaloo replied.

“I just don’t want your mother wondering where you are, is all,” Cheerilee said.

“Well, no worries of that.”

“If you say so,” Cheerilee said, turning her attention to erasing the board.

“You did an excellent job reading today,” she remarked.

“Really?” Scootaloo asked.

“Yes,” Cheerilee replied. “You even got all the hard words right. I was impressed.”

“Well…thanks Ms. Cheerilee,” Scootaloo said, blushing slightly.

“Any plans for the holidays?” she asked.

“Nothing besides the usual,” Scootaloo replied, shrugging. “How about you?”

“The same,” Cheerilee said, smiling. “Just a little time to myself to sit back and relax.”

“I guess your plans don't include spending time with special somepony?”Scootaloo asked, chuckling nervously.

Cheerilee rolled her eyes.

“No, no special somepony. Just myself.”

“Do you not ever get lonely?” Scootaloo asked.

“Sometimes,” Cheerilee replied softly.

Scootaloo nodded.

“Yeah...”Scootaloo said, looking down. “Hey, Ms. Cheerilee?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Why, of course, you can tell me anything.”

“But you gotta promise not to tell anypony.” 

Cheerilee giggled, crossing her heart.

“I promise.”

“I....I get lonely too...”

Cheerilee raised her eyebrow.

“Whatever do you mean, dear?”

Scootaloo looked down.

“I just get sad sometimes being by myself,” she muttered.

“Do you not have anyone at home?”

“There's my aunt...” Scootaloo replied. “But she never pays me much attention.”

“Oh, um..”

Cheerilee found herself at a loss of words at the young filly's revelation.

“It's alright, Ms. Cheerilee,” Scootaloo assured her. “I usually have my friends to play with– but they're going away for awhile. So it looks like I'll be by myself for a while...”

“You don't have to be,” Cheerilee replied, smiling slightly. “Tell you what – why don't you come by my house sometime?”

“Your house?”

“If your aunt approves, of course. I always do all sorts of crafts around this time of the year. You could help me.”

“You...you really mean that?” she asked.

“Sure! Here's I'll give you my address.”

She tore off a piece of paper and scribbled it down.

“There,” she said, handing it to her. “Feel free to stop by anytime.”

Scootaloo didn't believe what she was hearing.

“You're allowing me to come? Why? I'm nopony special.”

“But you did help me clean up – which I appreciate greatly. It's the least I could do to reward such an act of kindness.”

She handed Scootaloo the piece of paper.

“Well...thanks Ms. Cheerilee. I'll be sure to stop by sometime if I have any free time at home.”

“Speaking of which,” Cheerilee said, “Shouldn't you be going soon?”

Scootaloo looked up at the clock – its hands showed it to be a little after three.

“Oh, I am late!” Scootaloo said, finishing her work. “I don't mean to leave, but I nearly forgot that I have chores at home.”

“Well, I won't keep you,” Cheerilee said.

“Are you sure?” Scootaloo asked. “I mean, you don't need any more help?”

“No, I got it,” Cheerilee replied. “You go on home. I don't want you to get in trouble.”

“Alright,” Scootaloo said, heading for the door. “I'll see you later then.”

“Have a good holiday!”

“You too!” Scootaloo replied as she shut the door behind her.

Outside,the cold wind had picked up and was blowing harder than it had before. The snowy downfall continued ceaselessly, which made the long road back home all the more difficult for the young filly. 

When she finally reached home, she was relieved.

It was a modest dwelling– a thatched-roofed cottage that looked like any other house around it. It had a mailbox out front with a stone step-way leading to the door where a large holiday wreath had been laid atop the knocker.

Scootaloo eagerly approached the front door and made her way inside.

The inside of the house stood in stark contrast to its warm and inviting exterior. Its rooms were dull and faded, with few fixtures or decorations visible through the murky darkness, besides a few faint pictures, mounted on the walls, above iron candelabras that had never been lit.

There was a sense of gloom that lingered in the air when one entered the abode. Its gothic molding and faded walls showed signs of age and neglect, which contrasted with the unusual rigidness and order by which its furnishings were kept.

Scootaloo made her way to the kitchen where an orange earth pony with a green mane was waiting, tapping her foot impatiently against the floor.

“And where have you been, young lady?”

Scootaloo dropped her bag in the chair.

“I'm sorry. I was helping the teacher clean.”

“You were helping the teacher clean? Well aren't you just an angel? Do you think I'm dumb?”

“No, Aunt Ira.”

“Then don't lie to me!” 

“I'm not lying! It's the truth!”

“Oh I'm sure,” she said, throwing another log on the fire. “But now you're behind in your chores. I'm going out to the market. I expect you to have this kitchen clean by the time I get back. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma'am.” 

“Good,” she said, grabbing her jacket. “I don't think I have to remind you of what should happen if you don't.”

Scootaloo looked down.

“No, ma'am.”

“Then hop to it,” she replied, and slammed the door behind her.

Scootaloo sighed as she surveyed the the kitchen, which was a vast assortment of dirty dishes and utensils. 

She retrieved the soap and sponge from the cabinet and began setting to work as she filled the sink with hot water.  

It was not a new chore for Scootaloo, but it was the one that she hated the most. Whenever she washed dishes, a chill ran up her spine. She loathed the slimy touch of soggy food bits and hay running through her fingers as she scrubbed the kettles and plates, which is why she tried to finish the rest quickly.

A half an hour later, the tableware was washed and set out in a neat array by the sink to dry. Now came the hard part – scrubbing the floor. 

She filled a bucket and, using the scrubber, set out about washing the massive kitchen floor.

She did it in a synchronized pattern. One, two, three, rinse. One, two, three, rinse.

Scootaloo began to feel a stabbing pain in her hands as she stretched and pulled the scrubber along the cold stones.

The task was a torment on the poor filly, until she decided to take a break.

She reclined in one of the wooden chairs at the table and rested her back, which by this point, was throbbing. She groaned a bit as she examined her progress.

She was about half-way done cleaning the room. The rest, up to the cabinets, was still covered in grime and soot.

Scootaloo sighed.

“It's not fair,” she mumbled to herself as she closed her eyes.

In a state of exhaustion, she quickly felt herself drifting into the soft realm of sleep until she shook herself awake.

“No, I can't yet,” she said. “I have to finish this first.”

She set back to work with new vigor, eager to finish what she had started.

With fresh zeal, she quickly finished up the last bit of the cleaning until she stood triumphantly over a clean and orderly kitchen. 

“I'm done!” she yelled, throwing the scrubber into the bucket.

Scootaloo felt a jubilant sensation rising in her. She drank from the fountain of joy and quickly became drunk. She spun around the room, giggling and dancing as basked in the feeling of accomplishment after her ordeal. And then...

CRACK!

Scootaloo's heart sank.

She immediately turned and saw her aunt's vase – her favorite vase – shattered in a million pieces all over the floor.

Dismay suddenly replaced happiness, and sent the young filly into a panic.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!” Scootaloo bawled as she waved her hands. “What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”

Scootaloo got the  broom and pan from the pantry and started to sweep up the bits and shards. 

“Aunt Ira is going to kill me when she gets home...”

Her soul filled with fear as she thought of the moment her aunt opened the door and witnessed what she had done. She would be furious!

She pounded her hands against her head.

“Think, Scootaloo, think!”

She scanned the room, desperate for a solution where there was none to be had.

“I got it!” she said at last. “I'll ignore it. Yeah, she probably won't notice it's missing anyways.”

Scootaloo paced the floor, before throwing up her hands again.

“Oh, who am I kidding! I'm dead when she gets home! But...”

Scootaloo scratched her chin.

“Maybe I don't have to be. All I have to do is keep cool long enough to slip away. Then when she finds out, I'll be long gone. Then I'll come back later, and she won't be as angry. That can work!”

Scootaloo pulled out a trash-bag from underneath the sink and dumped the debris inside. 

“Now...where to hide it?”

She initially thought about going outside and putting in the dumpster, but she was quickly dissuaded from that course of action. If Aunt Ira saw her foot-prints in the snow, she would know she left the house, and she'd be suspicious. She had to hide it in the house – but where?

At last she decided to cram it under her bed.

“There,” she said, putting down the bed curtain. “Now, just to...”

At that moment, she heard the front door squeak open and shut. 

Scootaloo rushed into the living room to see her aunt stumble into the house.

“Scootaloo!” she called. “Where are you?”

“I'm here,” she replied softly.

Aunt Ira belched.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, swaying slightly. “Did you clean the kitchen?”

“Oh Auntie,” Scootaloo said, holding her, “Have you been drinking again?”

“That's none of your business!” she snapped, “Now get out of my way!”

She pushed the young filly to the side and staggered into the kitchen, taking a seat at the dining table.

“You haven't answered me yet,” she said, slurring. “Did you clean the kitchen?”

Scootaloo looked down.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why are you...like that?”

“Like what?” Scootaloo asked.

“You're acting...strange.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she replied.

“Don't act smart with me!”

“I'm not acting smart with you...”

“What are you up to?” Aunt Ira asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Nothing!”

“You're up to something,” she said, teetering as she got up from the chair. “Tell me what it is!”

She seized Scootaloo by the arm.

“Please!” Scootaloo yelled. “I haven't done anything! Stop! You're hurting me!” 

“It's going to hurt a lot worse unless you tell me!”

She gripped the poor filly's arm harder.

“Ow! Stop!”

“Tell me! Or so help me, I'll-!”

“I broke your vase! Please! Don't hurt me! It was an accident!”

“You what!?”

“Please!”

“You broke my vase!?”

“I didn't mean to!”

“Where is it!?”

“I threw it away!”

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

The blows came as swift as lightning on the helpless filly, who shrilled with pain after each strike.

“Your clumsy little piece of filth!” 

The blows and insults continued, until at last there was only a crumpled, weeping mass lying on the floor.

“Get up!” she commanded her. “Get up!”

Scootaloo could barely move, let alone stand to her feet. Shaking, she grabbed the nearest chair, only to be yanked up by Aunt Ira. 

“I should have known to never have brought you into my house,” she seethed. “I knew you'd be nothing but trouble! Just like your mother!”

Scootaloo spat some blood on the floor.

“Don't...talk about...mom,” she wheezed.

“I'll talk about her anyway I please! This is my house! And you'd do well to remember that! I'm the only one who's ever taken care of you or done anything for you! Unlike your whore of a mother!”

Scootaloo punched Aunt Ira in the gut.

Her aggression was immediately answered with a slap across the face, which sent her tumbling back to the floor.

Aunt Ira staggered about, trying to regain her balance.

“I think...” she said at last, “I know what you need.”

She dragged the sobbing filly outside, through the snow, to the back yard, where an wooden shed was located. She slung the door the door open and tossed her in.

“A night in there will teach you some respect.”

Aunt Ira slammed the door shut, using the folding wooden latch to lock it from the outside, leaving Scootaloo to weep in the dark.

In the confined silence that she found herself, the young filly cradled her bruised and battered face in her legs as she bawled on the cold, dirt floor. It seemed like an eternity that she let the tears flow from her eyes as she wallowed in the greatest of sorrow and degradation. 

She could hear her Aunt's words ringing in her ears. Over and over again, she felt their sharp sting cut into her like a thousand piercing knives.

“My mother was not a whore...” she breathed in the dark.

She repeated it, time and again, as if to make it a fact through constant repetition.

Finally, though, when her voice cracking and her lips were dry, she stopped. These affirmations did not, however, abate the feelings of hopelessness and despair she felt growing inside of her.

She sighed as she placed her hand on her eye, which was still pulsing.

“This wasn't suppose to happen,” she said as a new onset of tears rushed from her eyes. “What am I going to do?”

Scootaloo looked up to the ceiling where a faint crack in the metal showed a sliver of the moon's pale light shining through. It filled her with a brief sense of wonder as she tried to touch the light that was before her.

“Just like everything else...” she said, peering at the moon through the crack. “It's always just beyond my reach.”

She sat back down in resignation and held herself as she felt the cold draft nip at her exposed wounds.

“I'm not worthless...” she said, throwing a rock. “I could be something. Something great. Something nopony has ever been before.”

As she allowed her mind to wander, she found herself recollecting memories of earlier that day, when she stood before the whole class and read.

“I could be like that Princess,” she said, “and be in a story myself. Princess Scootaloo – wouldn't that be something? Ponies would admire me,and tell me how pretty I am and they'd all love and care about me. Then I'd be happy...”

She shook her head.

“And then I'd be happy...”

She looked back up at the moon, whose silvery edifice was now obscured by a dark cloud.

“But what do Princesses do in these sort of situations? I know I don't have a Prince Charming waiting out there to save me. Prince Charming wouldn't even care about me...or a crow with magical sand, for that matter. "

She sighed.

“I guess I'll have to save myself...”

She scoured the shed, overcome with a new desire to escape.

“I'll leave,” she said, grabbing a garden trowel. “I'll leave and never come back. That's what I'll do.”

She started digging at the base of the shed's door, hoping to tunnel her way out of her prison. 

“But where will I go?”

It made little difference to her where she went – anywhere was better than staying here.

She scraped and gouged the hard earth, until she had blisters on her hands. No matter. What did blisters or sores mean her to now, when freedom was so close?

At last, after what she could have guessed had been hours, she had made a sizable enough impression that she was sure she could squeeze through. She delved head-long into her hole and, with a little bit of wriggling and coercion, was able to pull herself out on the other side.

She smelt the fresh winter air brush against her face and was overcome. She had done it. She had made it outside. But what to do now?

She decided to make a break for it. No matter the things she left behind in the house – those meant nothing to her now. Possessions could be replaced, and she wasn't about to give up her new-found freedom for them – that was, until she remembered her father's picture still hanging over her bed.

She stopped dead in her tracks the moment the faded photo's image came to mind. It was the only tangible connection she still had to him in the world.

She wrangled with the idea of retrieving in her mind. Was the risk of getting caught worth it?

She knew, however, that she was never coming back, and knowing her aunt as well as she did, there's no telling what might happen to it if she left it her hands. 

There was only one thing to do.

The young filly sneaked quietly up to the front door and opened it. 

Inside, the house was dark, as usual, and not a single thing stirred. Scootaloo preceded cautiously, trying to make as little noise as possible as she delicately traversed the wooden floor.

On the living room couch was her aunt, snoring loudly, in what she presumed, was a drunken stupor. 

Scootaloo breathed a sigh of relief as she made her way to her room. She knew that it was impossible to wake Aunt Ira when she got like this.

She entered her room and retrieved the picture of the dashing young soldier, posing in his dress uniform. She folded it up along its creases and put it into her bag, gathering something other things in the meantime, as well.

When she was satisfied that she had everything she needed, she made her way back along the way she had came. But just as she was about to open the door, she heard a faint murmur: “Scootaloo...?”

She froze where she stood. Her body shook with fear at the thought of receiving yet another beating.

She slowly turned and saw  her aunt turn and mumble in her sleep.

She breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door, stepping outside once again into the cold winter evening.

By now, the steady snowfall had been replaced by a ceaseless blizzard, which ravaged the town mercilessly.  The night was pitch dark and the only thing that was visible were the gas street lamps of the town, which glowed like spectral beings through the murky air.

Scootaloo made her way straight to Sugar Cube Corner. It was only a few blocks away she was sure it would be open.

She was wrong.

There were no lights visible in the pastry shop, not even in upstairs windows where the Cakes lived. 

She pounded on the door.

“Please, somebody, answer!” 

After several punches, the snow broke off the door panel, revealing a sign. It read:

“GONE AWAY FOR WEEKEND

WILL REOPEN MONDAY”

Scootaloo sighed as she remembered what her friends had told her.

“That's right...They're all at the event at Canterlot...” 

She slumped against the door, covering her face against the icy wind.

Where to go now? Neither of her friends would be at home and she didn't want to go pounding at random pony's doors – that was dangerous.

There was no time to think. She couldn't stay out here in the frigid chill, or she'd surely freeze.

She bundled up as she set off once more through the raging elements. 

She wandered the streets, looking for a sanctuary where there was none to be found. All the windows and doors  were firmly locked for the night. 

She finally stopped to rest, exhausted and hungry, in a gutter close to the city center.

She felt the coldness wrack her body, causing her joints to ache and her teeth to chatter. She wanted to move, to get away, but felt she was no longer able to move. 

She shivered, holding herself for warmth. 

As she rested her legs, she felt as if her mind was getting hazier. Her sight was starting to become blurry and she felt that she couldn't get thoughts together.

“What's happening to me?” she asked, her teeth clattering.

She tried to get up, only to wobble and fall back down again. 

“Ow...” she groaned. “I can't move...why does it hurt so much...”

The cold seemed to envelop her body, wracking her with pain. 

“Why me?” she asked.

As she gazed into the wintry mist she thought she perceived a figure moving towards her through the shadows.

“Who's there?” she asked, barely able to talk.

The figure inched closer to her, its features becoming clearer as it approached her.

“Dad?”

A white earth pony, clad in golden armor walked up beside and smiled.

“Dad? Is that you?”

The soldier knelt beside her, taking off his helmet, revealing his auburn mane.

“How ya doing, champ?”

“Dad!” 

They embraced one another as the young filly was overtaken by joy at the sight of her father.

“Dad, I've missed you so much!”

“I've missed you, too” he said, rubbing her head. “What are you doing out here in the cold?”

“I...I ran away.”

“It's no matter,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm sorry I've been away so long...”

“Oh dad,” Scootaloo said, tears streaming down her face. 

The old soldier smiled.

“I hate to rush things, kid, but I don't have much time.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean you have to go, kid. You can't stay out here.” he said. 

“But where? Where do I go?”

He pointed to her pocket. 

She instantly went for it and pulled out the piece of paper with Ms. Cheerilee's address on it.

“My teacher? Are you sure?”

“What have you got to lose?"

“But dad...I don't think I can make it.”

“Sure you can,” he said. “I know you can. You're a tough kid. Here, give me your hand.”

She grabbed his hand and instantly felt a radiant warmth fill her body, giving her fresh impetus as she was lifted off the ground.

“Boy, you're strong” he said, chuckling. “I think one day you're going to make a fine Wonderbolt.”

“You think so?” she said, sniffling. 

“I know so,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

"What about mom?" she asked.

"I'll tell her what a fine young woman you're growing up to be," he said. 

Scootaloo teared up again.

"I love you, dad."

"I love you, too," he replied. "Now be a good girl and go make me proud."

Scootaloo looked at the address – she recognized the street. It was one that she passed everyday on her way to school. 

She tucked into her pocket and turned back to her father, only to see that nopony was there. 

“Dad?”

The apparition had faded into the stillness of the night wind, but not in Scootaloo's heart.

With new energy, she set out once again through the city streets, ready for whatever awaited her when she reached Ms. Cheerilee's home.

When she did arrive at her teacher's dwelling, it was a wondrous sight. 

Nestled a piece away from the other houses on a perch overlooking the town, there was a quaint little cottage that was alive with lights. The windows were bedecked with holiday decorations of every sort and the path-way leading to the house was lined with candy-canes.

Scootaloo wearily approached the door and rang the door-bell, and then waited.

A moment later, her teacher appeared the door.

“Scootaloo, I...”

Cheerilee didn't have time to utter another word before the young filly collapsed in front of her.

“Scootaloo!”

She saw as her teacher pulled her inside the home and then everything went black.

When she awoke, she was laying on a red couch in front a fireplace, above which was a mantel with various cards and photographs.

Scootaloo gripped her head as she felt a sharp pain radiate from her cranium.

“You gave me quite the scare there,” Ms. Cheerilee said from across the room.

The school teacher sipped on her mug as she rocked in her chair.

“Don't worry, I've addressed your wounds. Looks like you've taken a pretty bad beating.”

“Yeah...” Scootaloo said, getting up.

“Would you like some hot-chocolate, perhaps?” Cheerilee asked.

“No, I...” Scootaloo replied. “I just...”

“It's alright now,” Cheerilee said reassuringly. “When I found you, you were half frozen to death. Whatever happened?”

“I...I got lost,” Scootaloo lied.

“Lost?” 

“Yeah, I lost my way in the blizzard.”

“That still doesn't explain the cuts and bruises.”

“Oh, those,” Scootaloo said touching her eye, which was now bandaged. “Some kids beat me up.”

“Some kids did this to you!?” she asked, astonished. “Do I know them?”

“No,” Scootaloo said, waving. “You don't. I don't either...”

“Why did they beat you up?” she asked.

“Oh, I don't know...” Scootaloo said.

“Well, I'd just as soon as hand them over to the guard,” Ms. Cheerilee said, visibly upset. “Anypony who would do that deserves to be locked away.”

Scootaloo groaned as she laid back on the coach, her head still throbbing.

Cheerilee got up and approached and sat down beside her. 

“Are you alright, dear?” she asked.

“I'm fine...” Scootaloo replied. “Just tired...and sore.”

Her teacher put her hand on her forehead.

“You seem to be running a temperature, too.”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Cheerilee..” Scootaloo said.

“What for?” 

“For falling over without warning you...”

“You couldn't help that dear. The only thing that's important now is that you're here.”

Cheerilee pulled the quilt over the young filly.

“Ms. Cheerilee?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I stay here for the night?”

“Of course,” Cheerilee replied, smiling.

“And in the morning we can call your guardian and-”

“No!”

Scootaloo began trembling again as the thought of Aunt Ira's wrath came to mind.

“What's the matter, dear? What's wrong?”

“Don't send me back there!”

“Why not?” Ms. Cheerilee asked, concerned.

“Because...” Scootaloo said, looking away. “Because...”

She began to cry again, silently weeping into her pillow.

“Scootaloo, are you alright? Here, let met get tissue.”

Her teacher fetched a box of tissues that lay on the counter and used them to dry her student's eye. Scootaloo, after regaining some composure, took one and blew her nose.

“Now, what caused all this?” Cheerilee asked.

Scootaloo shook her head.

“I lied to you,” she said meekly. “It wasn't bullies who beat me up – it was my aunt.”

Ms. Cheerilee's face instantly lost its color and she looked on with an expression of dead seriousness as Scootaloo related the story of what had happened that evening.

By the end of it, Ms. Cheerilee stood stiffly, holding her hands in rage.

“So please, Ms. Cheerilee,” Scootaloo said finishing, “Don't send me back...please.”

Cheerilee looked down.

“I'm not going to send you back...”

Scootaloo breathed a sigh of relief.

“Though, I think tomorrow,” she continued, “we're going to have a talk with the mayor about this.”

“I'm not in trouble, am I?” Scootaloo asked, concerned.

“You? No.” Cheerilee said. “But I don't think you'll be seeing your aunt again, anytime soon.”

“Please, don't hurt her,” Scootaloo pleaded. “It was I who broke the vase, after all.”

“Yes,” Cheerilee said, “but she had no right to treat you like that. No pony should have to be treated like that...”

Scootaloo shook her head.

“But if I can't go back...where do I go?”

“We'll find you a new home, sweety,” Cheerilee replied. “One with parents who actually care about you.”

“That sounds nice,” Scootaloo said, closing her eyes and yawning.

“Do you need anything else, dear?” Cheerilee asked, petting her mane.

“Would you stay up with me, please?” Scootaloo asked.

“Of course I will,” Cheerilee said. 

“Thanks,” Scootaloo replied, holding her teacher's hand.

After a moment, Cheerilee laid down herself, holding her student close to her as she gazed at the fire.

“Hey, Ms. Cheerilee?” Scootaloo whispered.

“Yes?” 

“Why are you so nice?”

“I don't know,” Cheerilee replied. “I guess it's just my nature. I love children.”

“Why don't you have kids of your own?”

Cheerilee remained silent for a moment.

“I tried, once,” she said at last. “But I can't...”

“I'm sorry...”

“No, it's alright,” Cheerilee said. “I guess we're all dealt our cards, so to speak, when we're born. It's just how we play we while we're alive is what really counts. But just because I can't have children myself, doesn't mean I can't make a difference in the lives of others...”

“You've made a big difference in my life, at least,”  Scootaloo replied, snuggling closer to her.

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” Cheerilee said.

“"Well, if a mare cant have a foal, will she always be alone?" Scootaloo asked.

"Of course not, Scootaloo. Some mares adopt fillies who don't have a family of their own.”

“Hey, Ms. Cheerilee, can I tell you something?”

“Anything, dear.”

“I've never known my mother – she died giving birth to me. And my father was in the war. He didn't come back either. But every year I make them a card....” 

She got up and limped to where her bag was on the counter, pulling out the piece of notebook paper she had been drawing earlier.

“Here,” she said, handing to Cheerilee. “I want you to have it.”

Ms. Cheerilee slowly took it from Scootaloo's hand and opened it. 

On the inside, written in ornately decorated lettering, it read: Happy Hearth's Warming Eve, Mom and Dad.

“Oh, Scootaloo...” Cheerilee replied, looking it over. “I don't know what to say.”

“I think you deserve it more than any pony,” Scootaloo said, laying back down on the coach. 

Cheerilee held her student close to her as they basked in the fire's warmth.

“What do you want for Hearth's Warming Eve this year?” she asked her student.

Scootaloo thought long and hard over that question. 

“A mom – one who will take care of me and treat me kindly.”

Cheerilee smiled.

“Would it make you happy to live here with me?”

“More than anything in the world.”

“Then I will do it.”

“You mean it? You really do?”

“With all my heart.” 

Scootaloo embraced Cheerilee and began to shed tears – not of pain or anguish, but of joy.

“Oh, Ms. Cheerilee, you've made me the happiest pony in all Equestria!”

“Not 'Ms. Cheerilee' anymore,” she replied. “It's 'mom' now.”

They held each other – two lonely souls who had found solace in one another. And as the winter storm raged outside, they basked in the warmth and love that the other provided on a cold and silent night.