Zephyrus
The mare walks carefully. Not quite cautiously; there is no fear in her step. Just a well-taught deliberateness, each movement chosen with care.
She has heard her friends gush on many occasions about the path she walks, its quiet, its peace. But the rustle of leaves, the chirp and hum of insects, flitters of birdsong and the rushing of the brook—the ground was loud. Not like the city she calls home now. Up in the air, you can only hear the wind blow in from the north, the rush of air inside your lungs, and the beating of your own heart. Only your blood and flesh and bone and sinew, and the vast and empty sky. She doesn't mind the ground. But she always feels a little less free.
Birdsong flitters through her ears again, and this time she stops—there is something familiar. Another voice. Picking up the pace, she rounds the corner—
A still life floats above the water. Suspended in flight, her reflection dancing among the flitting fish below. A warm and callous spectre. A singular strand of pale pink hair hangs lonesome in the wind, brushed aside a thousand times before, in memories fleeting and strong.
The still life breaks. Fluttershy looks up. Smiles, soft and sad and merciless.
“It’s good to see you, Rainbow.”
A golden fin breaks the water, and her reflection ripples. She hums as warmth rises through her, pulling her mouth into a broad, beaming smile. The breeze swirls around her as her wings flap steadily, the cool winds fending off the summer sun. Her friends take flight in their underwater sky and she is content.
It is not often that the sky brings her relief. It is too open, unbound and untameable. Nature, for all its wildness, is grounded, and she can carve out her own little fiefdom with her friends at her leisure. In the air there is nothing she can hold on to, and she can feel herself losing her grip, as if she might float off into the blue, never to return. The sky is endless, and she is very small. Better to be queen of the riverside, a big fish in a small pond. No room for guppies in the ocean.
There is a rustling from the riverbank, an old and familiar careful tread. She looks up. Smiles, soft and sad and pitiless.
The cottage hasn’t changed. She’s not sure why she thinks it might have. The same chipped mugs, ugly mismatched floral patterns abounding. Hers still had the crack running through it from when she had dropped it, nearly ten years ago. The same stained teapot, the same slightly crooked photo above the same sagging couch. The same cozy atmosphere, maintained without fail for decades now.
Rainbow sort of hates it. And, watching her oldest friend fuss over the kettle, she hates herself for hating it. It reminds her too much of who she used to be.
The gentle trickle of tea from pot to mug reminds her of the running brook outside, and soothes something in her breast that she doesn’t want to name. This place is her fortress. It is hers to the foundations, to the roots that thread it and bind it to the earth below. The outside world is wide and harsh, but here she has faced living gods and chaos spirits and walked away unchanged, unafraid.
She can do the same with Rainbow. A breath in, out.
“I put your things in a box. It’s on the landing, upstairs.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“It was the least I could do.”
“No, Flutters, I mean you didn’t have t-”
She closes her eyes. Lowers the tea she was cradling, settling it. Grounding her.
“I think I did. We gave it our best shot, Rainbow. It’s been a long time.”
She opens her eyes again. Rainbow’s face has quieted over the years, but her eyes burn with the conviction of her younger years, of quests and monsters and new-found friends. Her heart aches at the warm familiarity of it.
“I don’t want to lose you. Not like this, not after so long.”
“You won’t. We’ll see each other next month, at Pinkie’s. Her youngest just graduated.”
“That’s not what I meant! We can still make this work, Fluttershy. I’ve stopped smoking. I’ll commute more often, work less hours.”
“It might work for a little while, if that was all. But it's not."
A soft snort, fond and bittersweet.
"And you’d hate it, Rainbow. The academy is your life.”
“You’re my life.”
“Not anymore.”
A pause, then gently:
“We’re allowed to grow apart, love.”
Rainbow sags back, blinking tiredly. The conviction is gone from her eyes, replaced with a dull acceptance, tinged with resentment around the edges. That too, is familiar. It tells her she has done the right thing.
There is a pause.
“Pinkie’s youngest, huh? That the pegasus? With the, uh, blue streak in the mane?”
“That’s the one.”
“Think she’ll bring that mysterious boy of hers? Pinkie’s been wanting to meet him for years.”
She laughs, bringing her tea to her lips.
“Perhaps.”
Smiles, soft and sad and sweet and weightless.
The mare walks carefully, balancing her box under one wing. Her steps are heavy now.
She stops, stares into the river. The fish flit about. She wishes she could find it in herself to care about these tiny creatures, but Rainbow has never loved animals the way Fluttershy does. And she has come to love them less.
Her face is tired. She looks old. Feels it too, in her bones. It’s a novel experience, and she doesn’t like it.
Rainbow sets down the box, then reaches back with a hoof and rummages through her saddlebags. A few moments produce a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter. She sets one between her teeth and takes a long, bitter drag, gazing over the river at sights she has seen a thousand times before. The smoke floats up into the open sky.
Eventually, she turns away.