The phoenix tilted her head, sticking her beak out through the bars; the pony sounded strange today.
“Useless.” The gray pony wheezed as he pushed open the door, stumbling into the room.
He didn’t use his horn.
“Whrt?”
“You!” He made it sound like an accusation. “I forgot about you.” He stumbled over to the table her cage sat on, his long beard knocking several sheets of paper to the floor as he leaned over to look her in the eye. “Do you know what you’ve done to me?”
“Mrk?”
The pony laughed bitterly. “Of course you don’t.” His head sank down onto the table. “You don’t understand a word I’m saying.”
She remained silent, leaning forward out of the bars of her cage as far as she could to look down on his wrinkled face; when had he gained so many lines?
“All those years. I thought you held the secret to eternal life.” He laughed again, but there was no mirth in the sound, no joy; there never was. “I spent so much time chasing eternal life, I forgot to live. And now I have nothing, and have achieved nothing.”
“Chirit.”
“Oh, sure, I came up with some spells, but they’re all pointless. Amniomorphic spells, the cutie mark swap… bah! None of them will keep me breathing a moment longer.”
The phoenix jumped back in her cage as the pony growled, his horn sparking with blue light, only to fade away a moment later, the pony’s shoulders slumping as he leaned against the table, breathing raggedly.
“So old, I can’t even throw a proper tantrum,” he grumbled, glaring at the phoenix as though it were her fault. “I suppose you would laugh at me, if you could understand.”
“Whr-tik-tik.”
His horn glowed against for a moment before fading, the pony grimacing as he lifted a shaking hoof to fumble at the front of her cage, his leg falling to the table several times before it finally opened. “Go; you’re free.”
The phoenix blinked; was this a trick?
“What are you waiting for? Go!” The pony wheezed, lifting his hoof before letting it fall back down to the table with a dull thump.
“Tik-tik?”
“What?” He swallowed, the motion clearly visible in his sagging neck, his breathing deep and ragged. Slowly, he turned his head, looking towards the hole in the wall over his nest of cotton. “Oh.”
The pony’s knees shook as he made his way across the room, his gait wobbling with every step. Grunting, he lifted his forelegs up onto his nest before he collapsed, his side heaving from his exertion; she could see his ribs beneath his thin hide. It took him some time before he managed to roll over, his eyes narrowing as they fell on her. “What are you looking at?”
“Chirik!”
“Very funny,” he groused, slowly lifting one leg up towards the nearly invisible barrier between the room and the sky, his hoof shaking as he pushed with all his might, a thin whisper of fresh air reaching her beak as his hoof fell back by his side. “Go.”
She cocked her head, peering at that sliver of blue sky. Tensing, she spread her wings and launched herself from her perch, only to quickly fold them back by her side as she landed on the pony’s chest. “Tik?”
The pony laughed again, the hollow sound turning into a cough. “Oh, now you want to stay? Want to watch me die, you stupid bird?”
“Whrt?”
“Yes, die. But you wouldn’t understand, even if you could speak.” He grumbled, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath he took. “You can’t die, not really. Not like us”
“Chirit.” She hopped down off his chest to the soft surface below, leaning forward to push her head up under his chin, fluffing her feathers slightly as the scratchy beard rubbed at her neck.
Slowly, the pony lifted his hoof once more to gently rest it over the phoenix’s back. “Useless. All useless. Shouldn’t have even tried.” His chest heaved. “Nopony lives forever.”
Granny Smith waited for a moment before she pushed open the door, shaking her head at the sight of the filly face-down in her bed.
“Go ‘way.”
“It’s been three days. I’m worried about ya.”
Applejack sniffed. “Well, ya shouldn’t be. I’m a bad daughter.”
“Aw, now don’t say that,” Granny Smith said, sidling up on the bed next to Applejack and draping a hoof over her shoulders. “It ain’t your fault.”
“I know.”
“You know, do ya?” Granny Smith leaned down. “So why don’t ya tell me why ya think one o’ the best Apples ever to fall out of the tree is such a bad daughter.”
Applejack shifted on the bed, shuddering. “You’ll hate me.”
“Now, don’t say that. I love ya. Might get mad at ya sometimes, but I only want what’s best for ya. Now, why don’t you tell your old Granny Smith what’s bothering you.”
Applejack sniffed again, slowly lifting her head from her pillow. “I left him.”
Granny Smith stared at her for a moment before shaking her head. “Land’s sake, girl, is that what’s been bothering you? You came home a-hollerin’; you did the right thing. It weren’t your fault it didn’t do him a lick of good.” She leaned down to give Applejack a kiss on the top of her head. “‘Twas that tree that got him, not you.”
Applejack’s ears drooped down the sides of her head. “I know that. Its just… he was alone, when he left us. No one was there to comfort him or say they loved him or nothin’.”
Granny Smith smiled, giving the filly a squeeze around the shoulders. “He knew you loved him, same as I do. He didn’t blame you one bit, I reckon. Probably was hopin’ you’d get help and it weren’t as bad as it seemed.”
Applejack sniffled, tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto her pillow. “I know, but… he was tryin’ to talk to me, when I ran. I should have stayed and listened, at least.”
“Applejack,” Granny Smith said, sliding her hoof up under her granddaughter’s chin to look her in the eye. “You did nothin’ wrong. If you’da stayed, you’d be wonderin’ if maybe you coulda saved him if you’d run to get help fast as could be.”
“But Granny, I always hear ‘bout the last words of all these ponies in school. And every one of ‘em had somepony there when they died. Every one of ‘em. And they’re all so deep and meaningful. What if pa had somethin’ important ta say, and I didn’t stay and listen?” Applejack shuddered, pulling her head away to look out the window. “I didn’t even run to get help. I just ran away ‘cause I was scared.”
“Now you listen,” Granny Smith said, her voice stern. “You mighta been scared, and you mighta run, but you ran home and you got help after that tree fell. I’da been scared too. But you ran home and you got help. Ain’t your fault it all went wrong.” She shook her head. “As for the rest of it, you know as well as I do that most of that’s just hooey ponies make up to sound deep, puttin’ words into other ponies’ mouths who ain’t there to say they said otherwise.”
Applejack rubbed at her face with her hoof. “You mean it?”
“Sure do. Your pa loved ya, and you did your best to save him. I’m sure he don’t hold it against you that you weren’t there at the end.”
Applejack shuddered, shifting against Granny Smith’s side.
“I know. How ‘bout you go downstairs and have a nice big slice of apple pie.”
“You made pie?”
“Had to find some way to get you outta your room,” Granny Smith said, smiling fondly. “Go on, I won’t tell nopony if you take two. Just leave some for your brother.”
Applejack smiled weakly. “Thank ya, Granny.” The filly pushed herself up against her grandmother, nuzzling up at the older pony’s chin before slowly sliding off the bed, walking unsteadily to the door as her grandmother watched her go.
“She’s a good ‘un. Always takin’ responsibility for everypony else and not lettin’ anypony tell her otherwise.” Granny Smith sighed, shaking her head. “Too bad about her pa, though. Welp, nothin’ for it but to keep on goin’.” She rose to her hooves. “Still, woulda been nice to find out where he buried all them bits.”
“This is it, Spike! The Sanctum of Starswirl the Bearded!”
Spike didn’t share Twilight’s enthusiasm, holding himself close to her back as he shivered into her mane, not sparing a glance for the frozen tower. “Ugh, it’s freezing. Why did you have to bring me along, anyway?”
“Spike! You know why this is important.”
“Because you want to listen to some old wizard talk?”
“It’s Starswirl the Bearded!” Twilight stomped her hoof on the frozen steps.
“Can we argue inside? I’m cold.”
Twilight sighed and shook her head, her horn lighting up as she pulled open the great wooden doors, the rimed-over surface cracking as chunks of ice tumbled off them onto the stone landing. Spreading her wings, she leapt inside, slowly skittering to a halt as she pulled the door shut behind them with a loud thump.
“We’re inside! Oh, this is so exciting! No one has been here in hundreds of years. Can you believe it?”
“Yeah. It’s still freezing,” Spike grumbled, letting go of Twilight to cross his arms across his chest, shuddering. “So what’s the deal with this spell of yours, anyway? I thought you said there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“There isn’t,” Twilight said, trotting towards the spiral staircase in the center of the tower.
“So how are you going to talk to him? He’s been dead for, like, forever. If there’s no ghost, how does your spell know who to talk to?”
Twilight shook her head. “The spell doesn’t talk to anyone. When a pony dies, they leave a psychic imprint on their surroundings, reflecting their last moments in Equestria. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to hear Starswirl’s last moments!”
“Why would you want to listen to a dying pony? Isn’t that kind of personal?”
“Because it’s important!” Twilight jerked her head, peering up towards the top of the tower before redoubling her pace. “Clover the Clever said that his dying words were so profound, mere ink on paper could not convey them. Do you know what that means?”
“She was a lousy assistant?”
“No! That there are words that are so deep and meaningful that they can’t even be written down! That’s fascinating! A whole new branch of unknown vocabulary. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Exciting. Right.”
Twilight sighed.
The pair fell silent as they wound their way up the tower, Twilight’s frown turning to a smile once more as they approached the top of the stairwell, her horn lighting up to yank the door open before she even reached the top step. “We’re here!”
Spike looked up, tilting his head to peer past Twilight’s horn. “Isn’t much to look at.”
“Well, Clover took everything important when she left. Anything that was still here probably would have rotted away by now.” Twilight stepped into the empty room, her horn lighting once more to carefully pull the door closed behind her. “Now Spike, you ready to take a note?”
Spike hunched his shoulders, rubbing his claws together for several seconds before he nodded his head. “Yep. Just gotta get your ink out of your saddlebags.” He reached down. “And hope it isn’t frozen.”
“It’s not THAT cold.”
“Speak for yourself. So what am I writing?”
“The last words of Starswirl the Bearded!”
Spike blinked as he straightened up, an inky quill clutched between his claws. “I thought you said they couldn’t be written?”
“Right! So I want you to try and write them and see what happens. Now hang on!”
Spike tightened his legs around Twilight’s sides as her horn flared, the bare stone blazing with violet magic as her spell took hold before suddenly extinguishing itself as a faint, wheezing voice filled the room.
“It can’t end like this. Tell them I said something… profound.”
“…profound,” Spike muttered to himself, before brightening as he pressed the quill into the parchment at the end of the sentence. “Got it!”
Silence hung in the room for a long moment.
“What?” Twilight shouted shrilly, stamping her hooves on the ground. “That can’t be it!”
“I don’t know what to say, Twilight; I wrote it down just fine. I guess she really was a lousy assistant, huh?”
“But… Clover the Clever said that his words were so deeply meaningful, mere words couldn’t express them! They moved her, Spike!”
“I dunno. Sounds to me like she just couldn’t come up with anything good either,” Spike said, chuckling to himself as he leaned back on the terribly still mare. “Right, Twilight?” He paused. “Twilight?”
