> Shadow Pony
>  by PaulAsaran
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Little Thief
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Warm blood decorated Fine Crime’s coat, the coppery scent lingering like a heady perfume. His body felt light as a feather as his hooves moved almost fluidly up and down, up and down. His grip on the pegasus’ head was tight enough that he could feel the contours of her face, the bone in her cheeks, the softness of her fur. Her mouth hung open, jaw taut as the air rose from her throat, and Fine regretted having to cut her vocal cords at the outset.

That was okay; he’d heard enough screams by now to do a good job of imagining one. It tickled his ears like a lover’s tongue, sending a thrill down his spine.

A crack filled the air like a thunderclap. Fine kept pounding her head against the cement, breath steaming from his smiling mouth as if he were an engine of death. The impacts that shook his hooves began to feel less solid, like he was smashing a sponge rather than a skull. Her body convulsed rapidly, like a possessed marionette. Green eyes rolled back in her head; blood dripped from her ears and smeared the ground. At last her movements slowed to a stop, and the breeze from her throat died.

Fine paused and lifted her head to study her face, but it was too late; he’d missed that tender, sweet moment of passing. He might have cursed himself if he’d not had so much fun. He laid her head down gently and stepped back to admire his work with a grin. The sight made his blood boil and his loins quiver.

The body splayed out on the concrete; the shattered knees of her hind legs; the gaping wounds; black bruises on her left shoulder. The expression on her face when he’d begun working on that part of her had been so... delightful.

There, still sticking out of her chest, was the black unicorn’s horn, still attached to the wire necklace. He stared at it, delighting in the way the blood shone on it in the cold autumn air. He reached for it—

The ecstasy fled his mind in a wave that left Fine feeling indescribably cold. Replacing it was an awareness and horror that he’d grown intimately familiar with over the last several months. It was his lover and companion, and it hit his gut with all the force of a sledgehammer. So powerful was the blow that he promptly turned away from the body and vomited, and when he had nothing left to expel he just hacked for a while.

He stared at his shaking hooves, the mottled browns now obscured by a thin, oozing coat of blood. The stuff looked almost black in the darkness. Not for the first time, he wondered if adding his own blood to the mix wouldn’t be a bad idea. He shoved the thought aside as quickly as it had come; he didn’t deserve the easy out.

It took him a while to muster the courage to turn around. This had always been the hardest part, and he spent an untold amount of time whispering assurances to himself. Speak a platitude, take a deep breath, repeat.

“You should be used to this by now.”

Breathe.

“It’s not your fault.”

Breathe.

“You chose her for a reason.”

Breathe.

“She was a criminal.”

Breathe.

“That makes it okay.”

He held his breath, eyes closed and heart pounding. Slowly, he released the air, turning around as he did. It took a bit more effort to open his eyes and survey his deed once more. He focused on her face, the way her mouth hung open and how her eyes had rolled back. He knew so much about her – where she lived, where she worked, the fact that she lived alone – and yet he knew so horribly little. Would anypony miss her? Would the local police be glad to have her off the streets permanently? Perhaps tomorrow some friend would be sitting at a café, waiting for her to show up while sipping on overpriced coffee. How long before that same friend got tired of waiting?

How long before anypony noticed that she wasn’t around anymore?

Fine’s stomach roiled again. He barely managed to keep from retching, tears streaming down his cheeks from the sheer effort. As soon as he had control, he reached over to close the mare’s eyes and mouth. He thought about rearranging her body into a somewhat more presentable form, but cast the thought aside; it wasn’t like doing so would earn him any forgiveness.

He closed his eyes and sobbed. His father’s horrified face filled his vision, and that only made his throat clench even more tightly.

“Hello?”

Fine sucked in a sharp gasp, head whipping toward the street. Somepony was there, barely visible in the darkness. He moved without thinking, practically leaping round the corner into the next alley. He got a few steps in when a thought struck – he’d left the horn. The realization distracted him so well that he lost his footing and collapsed on his face. Ignoring the bits of gravel in his cheek, he jumped to his hooves and turned around.

No, he couldn’t run back. Cringing, he crept back toward the corner, heart thudding in his chest and throat dry. Please move on. Please. Oh, please.

His ears lowered at the sound of a sharp gasp and his heart sank to his hooves. What would he do now? Licking his lips – barely resisting the urge to spit from the coppery taste on his tongue – Fine glanced as far around the corner of the building as he dared.

Oh, Goddess, it was a filly. She couldn’t be more than seven. Had he not been so focused on keeping quiet, he might have groaned. Fine ducked back behind the building and held his stomach as the sound of the poor thing losing her dinner reached him. Now she was going to have nightmares and… and… by Celestia, he couldn’t imagine what something like that would do to a child.

He inhaled a deep breath and tried to think positive. At least he could be certain the filly would run off. She might tell her parents about this, but he’d be long gone by morning. All he had to do was not think about the years of psychologist visits she’d be undergoing after tonight. He pressed his hooves to his face, then jerked them back when he realized they were still coated in blood. He’d have to do something about that.

Fine perked an ear to the corner. The foal remained, her breathing labored. Sniffles and hiccups came from her, which impressed him; he’d expected her to be a sobbing mess by this point, rather than still trying to hold it in. Once again, he dared to peek around the corner.

Her horn glowed orange. Tears streamed down her light tan cheeks, which were puffed out from her struggle. Did she think she could heal the mare? The sight tore at his heart. Were he not covered in blood, he might—

His heart slammed into his throat as something jerked out of the body with a squelch. The flickering orange glow illuminated the black horn, which dripped fresh blood. The wire necklace dangled as it gradually levitated toward the filly.

No.

No no no!

Fine leaned forward, gritting his teeth and praying she’d drop the thing. The filly studied the horn, her face turned away from him. Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep rhythm with her heavy breathing and her knees were shaking.

Put the horn down. Put the horn down. Put the horn down. Put the—

The necklace slipped around the filly’s neck. Fine could only gape as she turned and galloped back into the street, the horn bouncing around her fetlocks. He looked to the corpse, then back to the filly just as she disappeared from sight.

Fine was running after her before he even registered the need. That horn… he needed it back!

He came to a sliding stop as logic hit him. He stared at his bloodstained hooves, glanced at his dappled body. His lips moved silently, his hooves trembled, his heart hammered. He’d lose her if he tried to clean up, but…

He glanced back at his flank. In the darkness, his cutie mark was especially hard to see. Even knowing exactly how it looked, he had trouble making out the camouflaged pony. “Don’t fail me now.”

Fine hurried to the street and looked about for signs of life. Nothing. This might be New Clusterdam, but it was also the Horseshoe District. Most sensible ponies didn’t go out at night in the Horseshoe District.

Quiet lay over the district, the streets lit up only by the stars and the bright half-moon. Most of the buildings were wooden; those few fortunate enough to still have paint were dulled and peeling. Windows were shattered or boarded up, and many of the doors were wide open or similarly obstructed. The houses were like squat monsters: too lazy to pounce but ever-watchful with their empty, dark eyes. A few had collapsed, the wood ruined by termites or flooding from the bay, the same flooding that drove off most of the residents some forty years past.

Fine slipped from shadow to shadow, his eyes set on the filly. She stopped running after a while and now moved at a brisk trot through the empty streets. She kept her head held high, but her bravado was hindered by her tail between her legs. At first, Fine had been relieved that she’d not gone directly to her parents. Perhaps he’d get a chance to take his horn back before then.

Yet as they travelled ever farther, worry built within him. Why were they travelling to the bay? Where were this filly’s parents? What the buck was she doing in a place like this, in the middle of the night, alone? Fine gradually found himself looking more for potential threats to the filly than keeping an eye on the filly herself. Didn’t she know the kind of ponies who roamed this neighborhood?

Ponies like him.

Ponies who had slipped into the darkness and lost their way.

Ponies who couldn’t go back.

A biting wind knocked the thoughts away, and he hurried to catch up.

To Fine’s relief, nothing emerged from the abandoned homes and shadowy corners to prey upon the filly. They had been travelling for nearly an hour when they reached what he presumed to be their destination. A tall, rusted metal arch rose over the place where the road became dirt and grass, the words Horseshoe Park spelled out on it. Well, mostly; some of the letters lay in the path so that the sign now spelled Hors sh e p rk.

Fine stepped over the letters with a sick feeling in his stomach.

The park had a decent size to it, albeit nothing extraordinary. Though overgrown and quickly turning to a proper forest, Fine could still make out half-standing playgrounds in the dark. The path they walked had been used frequently, the ground turned to dirt with bits of gravel. The filly certainly seemed to know where she was going, navigating the twists and turns of the park at a brisk pace. This didn’t help the nagging worry in the back of Fine’s mind.

The salty, pleasant smell of the ocean filled Fine’s nostrils. They passed a large, faded wooden sign that read Harmony Lookout. Fine could see a rise deep within the thick foliage, complete with a gazebo overgrown with vines. The filly walked a wide path around the lookout, and soon Fine found himself looking at the quietly shifting waters of New Clusterdam Harbor.

The buildings of New Clusterdam rose across the water like sentinels, shining brightly even now with a million yellow eyes. Manehattan could just be seen in the distance. There, towering in the dark like a quiet guardian, stood the Statue of Harmony. Fine had to admit, it was quite the view.

Fine kept to the trees, moving slowly to ensure he didn’t step on anything that would give him away. He saw the filly pause by an old rusty barrel of a trash can, her lips quivering and her hooves toying with the horn dangling from her neck. Slowly, she peered around the barrel. With a deep sigh, she circled around and continued on her way.

Fine now saw that the overlook also formed an overhang for the path to go under, with a couple benches and what had probably once been an informational sign. Now the metal sign lay at an angle against the wall of the overhang, resting atop one of the benches. Fine felt his fears confirmed when the filly dropped to her barrel and crawled beneath it. He stared at the spot where she’d disappeared for some time, shoulders slack and heart heavy. What was he supposed to do now? He needed…

He lit his horn, casting the spell before she would have a chance to see the rosewood glow. Spell cast, he maneuvered through the thick underbrush, the fallen leaves and twigs kept silent via his magic. He didn’t know what he would do next, but it felt important that he get closer. Keeping his movements slow, Fine watched as the filly crawled backward from under the sign, something small held in her mouth.

At last Fine settled down, dropping to his barrel and peering through the bushes. Now that he had a closer look, he saw that the item was a box of matches. The filly approached a stone circle he’d not noticed before and set the box aside before turning to the trees.

Fine froze, eyes wide and heart hammering as the child approached. She reached the thicket only a few paces to his left and promptly began gathering sticks and leaves. She used both her hooves and her horn, though the latter continued to flicker weakly. He stared at it, trying to get a read on her magical ability. The only thing he recognized was distressing — she’d not been taught by anypony. At her age, she should have been in school at least a year. Shouldn’t she have learned something about using her horn? She could barely hold the sticks up.

He tried to think of excuses for her lack of knowledge. He didn’t like what he came up with.

The filly turned away, and he let out a quiet breath upon realizing he wouldn’t be noticed. She set most of the sticks aside and focused on piling the leaves within the stone circle. That done, she carefully arranged the sticks so that they all leaned against one another. There was no sloppiness in her work; she knew exactly how she wanted to arrange the pile. It spoke of experience.

Another chill wind blew through the area, making the filly shiver. She promptly took the matches, but then hesitated. Slowly, she pulled out a single match with her magic. Perhaps due to its size, she had a much easier time levitating it before her muzzle. She kept it there for some time, just staring at it. There was no expression on her face. Nothing at all. At last, she closed the box and lit the match. The leaves burned easily, and within seconds she had a small but pleasant fire.

The light cast shadows upon the filly’s form, and Fine suddenly found it much easier to analyze her. She was a light tan, with a mane of yellow. Her eyes were a pale orange, a decidedly pleasant color. Yet dirt covered her body, twigs and leaves littering her unkempt, tangled mane. The arrangement of the light on her did her no favors, revealing how her ribs were just beginning to show. Fine found himself unable to look away from them as the shifting shadows created mesmerizing lines that swayed in the firelight.

He only managed to pull his eyes away when she shifted, reaching down to raise the black horn in her forehooves. She held the item up to the light and slowly rotated it. Her eyes were wide. Her ears folded back, her lip trembled, her tail wrapped about her legs. She raised one of her hooves to her mouth, and her cheeks puffed out as her body jerked forward, but the filly fought back and managed to recover. The horn trembled in her hoof; for a brief moment, Fine thought she would drop it.

In the end, she gripped the thing in both hooves and doubled over it, quietly weeping.

Fine had seen many miserable things in the past year. He once thought he understood all the pain the world could offer. Yet now, seeing this filly all alone in the darkness he’d become so intimately accustomed to, he understood that he’d not seen anything. He could almost hear fate giggling playfully at him, delighting in the agony his heart now felt. Every time he thought he’d seen how bad things could be, something new would come along.

He’d walked alone in the darkness for a long time. He could still remember that horrible, bitter moment when he realized he could never go home. Fate had laughed at him then too. And now that immortal witch’s tendrils were wrapped around the throat of a poor, hungry filly. The shadows around the foal seemed to form leering smiles, and her sobs made up the delighted giggles.

Fine lay there, watching in silence, letting the pain wash over him. No matter how much he loathed what he was seeing, he couldn’t leave. The filly still had Sugarcube’s prize, and he needed to get it back. The thought of being without it left him cold and afraid.

Still, he didn’t move. Why didn’t he act? He knew he should. If he just walked up and took his horn back, how would the filly stop him?

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even muster up the will to try. Fine felt something else speaking to him over fate’s hideous giggling and his own deep desire, a long-buried voice that asked the most obvious of questions:

Why had she taken the horn?

On the logical side of things – and Fine considered himself very logical – he didn’t really need to know.

But he needed to know.

So he lay there.

He listened.

He ached.
> Day One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Fine was awoken by the shouting. He jerked awake to find himself in a gazebo overrun by trees and vines and shrubs. It didn’t take long for him to recall why he’d chosen to settle down here for the night. The shouting came from the overlook. Fine felt a twinge of worry and crept through the thick underbrush. Ignoring the clinging limbs and leaves, he turned his ears forward as the male voice rose again.

“At this rate, you’ll never pay back what you owe me!” The voice had a distinct accent, though Fine had difficulty placing it. “I’m a veteran, you little turd. What have you done that makes you think you can get away with stealing from me?”

“I’m sorry!” That had to be from the filly. “I’ll have more tomorrow, I promise!”

Fine winced at the pain implied by the sound. He was almost over the foal’s little nook; he wouldn’t be able to see, but he could hear everything.

“You’d better, you little zit. I didn’t spend fifteen years fighting griffons to have some snot-nosed brat take my hard-earned produce!” There was the sound of cracking wood. “I expect no less than ten bits tomorrow, you hear me? Otherwise I’m gonna break that little nub off your ugly head.”

Fine pressed himself to the grass at the sound of hoofsteps, his eyes on the overgrown path leading back to the park entrance. A zebra in a thin brown vest appeared below, stalking off with loud stomps. He never looked back, so Fine didn’t get a chance to see his face.

Not that it mattered; how many zebras could there be in this area? He’d learned enough that finding him again wouldn’t be hard.

He blinked. Had he seriously just considered that?

The foal’s crying redirected his attention, and he slunk his way down the slope and toward the road. After a few minutes, he reached the same hiding spot he’d found the night before. He hunkered down and peered at the area beneath the overlook. One of the benches had a board broken in two and the fire stones were scattered.

The filly sat outside her lean-to home, tears dripping on the stones at her hooves and a bruise on her cheek. She trembled like a leaf, visibly straining to regain control of her emotions. The sight left a horrendous pang in Fine’s chest, but he dared not show himself. After what seemed an eternity, the filly’s sobs came under control. She moved slowly to push the scattered rocks back into a circle one at a time, sniffling all along.

Fine closed his eyes and tried to drown out the pathetic sounds. The last thing he needed to do was fret over a child. He knew better than most that it would lead to nothing. Life sucked, and that filly was just another casualty. Help her and he’d be a casualty too. He’d seen far too many ponies become casualties – often to him – to think that bothering with this would make things better.

The horn. He needed Sugarcube’s horn back. No more, no less. He would wait for the filly to leave, find where she’d stashed the horn, then leave New Clusterdam and the accursed foal behind.

Sure of his path, Fine nodded to himself and opened his eyes. The filly had completed the stone circle and was just crawling out from under the sign. Fine barely resisted a frustrated groan; the damn pony had the horn! It dangled from her throat on its wire, seeming to taunt him as it swayed. He considered leaving his hiding place and confronting the foal…

…but couldn’t. He didn’t understand why, but he couldn’t. Maybe because he didn’t know how to handle foals. Maybe it was that she was a witness to his crime, and the last thing he wanted was to drag her into his accursed life. Whatever the case, he knew he couldn’t let her see him, so he held his temper and watched.

The foal held the horn in her hooves, raising it before her face and staring at it. Her lips set in a small but firm frown; her brow furrowed; her gaze became piercing. Something about that expression bothered him. He’d seen it before, but he wasn’t sure where. Wherever he’d seen it, he knew it didn’t belong on a pony so young.

At last she let the horn dangle from her neck. She sighed and, with her magic, pulled out a small, folded piece of cardboard, a decrepit pack, and a plastic basket. Slipping the pack on, she balanced the cardboard on her back and began to walk resolutely down the path, basket handle in her mouth. Fine watched her go and sighed in defeat. He thought about the body left in an alleyway, about how he should be far away from New Clusterdam by now, about Sugarcube and the horn he wished were hanging from his neck.

Despite everything his head told him, he found himself following the foal.









Fine hated sunlight. It pierced his eyes like a knife, to say nothing for how it drove away all the best shadows. Even so, he didn’t dare lose track of the filly.

She’d not travelled far at first, going into a small clearing of the park where four neat rows of flowerbeds were planted. The filly cheered up at the sight and, gathering some rusty tools from a hidden spot behind a tree, began to work with the flowers. She pulled out weeds, clipped old buds, and checked for bugs. After an hour’s work, she used the basket to gather water from a faucet down the road – the same one Fine had used to wash up the night before – and came back to water the plants.

By that time she was finally smiling. It looked nice, even with the ugly bruise on her cheek. Fine watched the whole thing from behind a tree, safe from both her eyes and the menacing sun. He analyzed her movements, her manner, her eyes, just as he analyzed everything he saw. One thing was clear: she loved these plants. Which was why it surprised him when she took a rusty pair of shears and started clipping off the flowers. Once a few dozen were picked, she set them all with great care in her basket.

When the last flower had been picked, the filly whispered thanks to the flowers and put away her tools. Reclaiming her pack and setting the cardboard on her back once more, she took the flowers and left the clearing. Fine couldn’t help but note the resigned look on her face. After one last stop by the faucet again to wash the dirt away, she left the park, blissfully unaware of the serial killer watching her every step.

They walked for nearly three hours, leaving behind the Horseshoe District. Fine followed with the patience of a practiced hunter. Their journey took them to the much brighter and nicer Songbird neighborhood. She only stopped when she reached a small park, settling down on the grass close to a playground. A couple mares were present with their youngest foals, but it was too early for the older kids to be out of school.

Fine settled himself under a tree where the thick leaves protected him against the worst of the sun’s rays. He sported a drab brown coat he’d nabbed from a carriage stop along the way and munched on a bagel he’d bought with some pickpocketed bits. He kept his attention set on the filly, wondering just what she was up to.

The filly set her pack and cardboard down. Rummaging through the pack, she pulled out a small tin can with the label missing and set it down in the grass by the dirt path. She next pulled out what appeared to be a coin. By its red color, Fine suspected it was a carriage pass. She sat and set the coin on the tip of her hoof.

She flicked her hoof, and the coin flipped into the air.

And kept going.

Fine followed the coin as it rose up and disappeared in the sunlight. He stared, perplexed, then looked to the filly. He blinked; the coin was back in her hoof. Taking a moment to rub his eyes, he craned his neck to get a better angle, but the coin was certainly still there.

She flicked her hoof, the coin rose. This time Fine watched her hoof with a peering gaze. She moved it in a swift twirling motion… and there was the coin.

He sat back, mouth agape. It was about all he could manage. He watched blankly as the filly practiced the move another two dozen or so times, not once messing it up or accidentally revealing the trick.

Then she shifted to a different one. She raised both hooves to an equal height before her and, with yet another flick of her fetlock, tossed the coin from one hoof to the other. Fine watched intently, wondering what was supposed to happen. She flicked her other hoof and caught the coin…

Fine stared; somehow the filly was now carrying two coins, one in each hoof. She tossed the coin in her left hoof, and now there were three. That was when things got truly ‘magical,’ as the single coin seemed to fly back and forth over and over again, almost in a blur, bouncing between the two other coins without ever touching her hooves. She kept this up for nearly thirty seconds before clapping her hooves together; when they parted, she raised them both up as if to display them to an audience.

There was only one coin.

Fine rubbed his chin, curiosity piqued. He ignored the filly’s next coin trick in favor of studying her. She was small and still lacked a cutie mark. He was certain she could be no more than seven years old, and yet she knew magic tricks? Not even the kind of tricks requiring a horn, but magic of the ‘stage’ variety.

This kid was talented.

The filly spent all morning practicing her routine, revealing a little over a dozen tricks of various types that she’d mastered and another half-dozen that she apparently didn’t have the hang of. There were only two times she attempted to use her horn: once when she tried to lift a frayed rope from inside her backpack but couldn’t get it high enough for whatever she planned, and another involving something that Fine couldn’t determine. The latter she seemed quite determined to learn, going back to it over and over again, but the poor thing never managed more than a few white sparks that barely left the tip of her little horn. Whatever she was trying to do, it just wasn’t working.

At around noon, the filly finally took a break. She stuffed all her things into the backpack, but left it behind as she walked off for a nearby bathroom. Fine thought nothing of this at first… until she walked right past the doors. She instead went around the back of the building, pausing only to look around and make sure nopony saw her.

At first, Fine considered leaving this alone; if she was using the bathroom, he had no intention of watching. Yet why would she do so from behind the stall rather than in it?

Time passed. Fine wondered how long she would stay back there. Surely she couldn’t be using the bathroom, time was stretching on for too long. Should he reposition and check to make sure she was okay?

Just as he was preparing to move, the filly reappeared. She hurried to the mare’s room as if her life depended on it, but she wasn’t fast enough for Fine to miss the green on her cheeks. Good Goddess, the filly was eating grass? Fine figured she was hungry but that… that disturbed him far more than anything he’d seen so far.

Well, aside from that jerk of a zebra.









When lunchtime came around, so too did the ponies. The park had a surprisingly large number of visitors for a weekday, but perhaps that was common here. Ponies out on picnics, many of them locals taking a break off work and the like. All the faces made Fine uncomfortable to the point that he seriously considered retreating to some hidden corner to wait it out.

He did hide, but not from the crowds. Fine knew that his presence would be noticed if he stuck around watching the filly in the open for so long, so now he found himself a hiding spot in the brush. Letting him get away from the sheer number of ponies around was a bonus. He made sure to nab a couple scones from a passing picnic basket before returning his full attention to the filly.

He was just in time to see her set the cardboard panel against a nearby tree. He stared at the scrawled whatever that was on the front, but couldn’t make sense of it until she turned it sideways. It was a sign, apparently. The wobbly, unclean letters of black marker spelled out:


SonFlowErS flowers

a bit

mAgic ShoW


Fine took in the poorly written words, which offended his writer’s sensibilities. Well, former writer’s sensibilities, and he had to take into account her apparent age and lack of schooling. In fact, from that perspective the sign was pretty good. The filly pushed the can a little closer to the path and set her basket of flowers under the sign.

Then she worked. Fine could think of no other term for it. She began calling to ponies who passed by, offering them flowers and a magic show, putting on a smile and performing some of the presumably easier tricks. She wasn’t very loud and couldn’t seem to draw the attention of anypony who wasn’t nearby.

Yet she was relentless.

“Excuse me, sir, buy a flower? Only one bit.”

“No thanks, kid.”

“But it’ll look nice in her mane.”

“She looks nice enough as is.”

“Honey, buy a flower from the dear.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Then I’ll take one, sweetie.”

“Thank you!” The filly eagerly placed the little purple flower in the mare’s waiting hoof, grinning wide as a lone bit found its way into her waiting can. “Would you like to see a magic trick?”

“We’ve got horns, thank you.”

“Okay, thanks a lot, lady!” The filly waved enthusiastically as the couple walked away, flower tucked in the smiling mare’s mane. Her partner merely scowled.

An instant later, the filly was calling to a suited stallion just preparing to sit down in the grass opposite the path. “Hey Mister, wanna buy a flower? I can do magic, too.”

The stallion promptly walked off to find a different spot to have lunch.

There it was, the expression Fine had been waiting for. The filly’s face fell, her ears folded back and her tail tucked around her side. Her eyes slipped to the can with its lone bit. Then, just like that, she was smiling again and calling to the next pony to dare walk within range.

She kept going, the little trooper. Fine spent all afternoon sitting in the bushes and watching her. She spoke to every pony she could, never travelling far from her sign. She didn’t attract much attention; indeed, most ponies just walked right by her. Every now and then a pony or two would pause to watch her perform one of the magic tricks she’d been practicing all morning, and a few would buy flowers. Fine kept count; twelve bits in three hours. He was tempted to steal a bit or three and buy a few.

The ponies thinned significantly after the period Fine assumed accounted for a lunch rush. The filly took a break then, starting by dumping the contents of her can and counting the coins one at a time. She did this three times, and by the third time she was grinning from ear to ear. Perhaps this was what she considered a ‘good’ day. The thought made Fine nauseous.

The break didn’t last long; soon the foals from school had invaded with their parents. The noise of screaming and laughing children made Fine’s head hurt, but he bore with it and kept his eye on the filly. She worked even harder now, and her magic tricks drew the attention of some of the other kids, many older than her. Some of the parents promptly dragged their protesting foals off to another part of the park, looks of disapproval or guilt covering their faces. Others were kinder, buying a flower or two and stomping for the magic tricks. Most paid the little performer no mind at all.

At least the foals were nice to her… up until they noticed the bruise on her cheek and the horn around her neck.

Then it began.

“Is that a real horn?”

“Where’d you find it? I want one!”

“Did you fall and hurt yourself?”

“Magic trick blow up in your face?”

“Nah, her daddy did that. Pint Size had bruises just like those.”

“Her mom could have done it.”

“Is that why you ran away?”

“I bet it’s her dad’s horn.”

Amid parents hurrying to hush their foals – if not dragging them off outright – the filly’s face turned red and she lost her energy. She made a point of looking up at the sun and acting surprised before grabbing her things and stuffing them in her pack. She left the park so quickly that Fine couldn’t keep up without being obvious.

He left his shelter and moved at a leisurely pace, but his mind was running circles. He stopped at the exit to watch as the filly fled back in the direction of the Horseshoe district.
	
> Week One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Sunflower. That was the filly’s name. No last name, just Sunflower.

Fine watched her from afar, always hidden but never having her out of sight for very long. Her routine went like clockwork every day: come morning, she’d visit the flower bed and gather some to sell, in the afternoon she’d go to a public location like a park and sell her flowers while performing tricks, and in the evening she’d trek home with her meager earnings. She never bought anything, instead hiding her bits in a sack under her sign. It wasn’t the best hiding place; Fine discovered it on the second night while she was off using the bathroom. Then again, he was really good at finding things.

Every day, the zebra came by to collect what Sunflower supposedly owed him. Sometimes he came in the early morning, waking her up by kicking her sad excuse of a home. Other times he was waiting for her to get back from her little run around town; on those days he was particularly mean. The amount of bits he demanded varied from day to day, but never fell below ten. If she didn’t have enough… well, by the end of the week she had two bruises to fill in for the one that had healed before.

On the fourth day, Fine followed Sunflower to a small monument of some local figure, where she began her usual work. She’d yet to go to the same location twice. Fine settled himself down in a shady corner beside the stairs of an office building, doing his best to look like some homeless bum. The deception proved easy, partially because the homeless aspect of it was true. He even slipped over to a nearby construction lot and rolled in the dirt a bit to make himself look the part.

Fine kept his eye on Sunflower for the entire day. It wasn’t a pleasant experience; this was a major thoroughfare for the city of New Clusterdam, yet the poor filly earned practically no attention. Ponies were all over the place, hurrying to and fro on their errands and trying to get to this meeting or that store. Most ignored Sunflower entirely, and those who didn’t only shot her disgusted looks. One or two simply averted their eyes and pretended not to notice the dirty, homeless filly offering to sell flowers at their heels.

Sunflower proved no less determined here than she had at the other locations, but it did her little good. Fine could see her drive withering with every stranger who gave her the cold shoulder. By noon her attempts to sell flowers had yielded no bits and her enthusiasm had been drained entirely. Fine stared at her, uncaring if anypony saw, as she slumped against the leg of the statue and pouted at her hooves, her yellow mane a deplorable mess.

He turned his eyes away, staring at his hooves with a grim frown. If only he could find something to push down his kind heart. The thought almost made him burst out laughing. A serial killer with a kind heart? What would he think of next, time travel? Yet as ridiculous as it sounded, Fine knew better than to discount it. He’d never been mean-spirited, just… unlucky. Woefully unlucky.

And now he desperately wanted to keep Sunflower from getting another bruise. He knew getting attached to this filly would be a terrible mistake. Bad things happened around Fine Crime. He’d only be dooming her if he became involved. The unpleasant half of the world had him in its iron grip and would happily snatch up anypony who dared get too close.

Then again… perhaps it already had a claw on her. The idea sobered him instantly, replacing his mild amusement with a true conundrum. If he did nothing, Sunflower might remain homeless forever, yet if he acted, she may end up worse. He stared at the sky for a while, pondering this situation and feeling lower than dirt.

What was it about Equestria that made things so good for some and so terrible for others? For him it was a mental disorder, but for Sunflower? What had happened to put her in this lowly state? Why did she have to be stuck living under an old sign in a park? Didn’t New Clusterdam have foal services like the rest of Equestria?

Though it took nearly an hour of consideration and self-conflict, Fine at last climbed to his hooves and left. He went straight to a nearby hotel, one of the high-rises. A visit to a bathroom gave him the opportunity to wash the dirt away, then he waited until the clerk at the front desk left for lunch to slip behind the counter. The keys were in a locked drawer, but Fine’s attentive watch caught the clerk slipping the key under the cash register. Within seconds, Fine had the spare key to one of the occupied rooms. He took three dozen bits from the register while he was at it. He didn’t like taking so much money from any one place – he preferred his thefts to be unnoticeable and of minimal impact – but these were special circumstances.

Fine began his regular routine with hotels. He entered the room with caution, quickly determining that nopony was home before climbing into the shower for a proper scrub. That done, he took advantage of the hotel guest’s hair gel to slick back his mane into something very different from his usual wild style. An investigation of the closet and dressers eventually produced a tie and a cheap but suitable black coat. Now having all the appearance of a businesspony, Fine left the hotel with head held high and a confident smile. Nopony so much as gave him a passing glance.

He returned to the monument to find Sunflower still there. She seemed to be taking a break, although by her downtrodden expression it seemed more like she’d given up. An outdoor café stood just across the street from the monument; Fine sat himself on one of the table’s cushions. A waitress came by to take his order, not even noticing that this cultured and well-dressed gentlecolt was the same dirty bum who’d been taking up space by the stairs a few steps away.

Fine ordered two meals, with instructions for the second to be boxed as a to-go order. That done, he looked in time to see Sunflower walking around to the other side of the monument, disappearing from view. He considered the wall just behind it and knew there couldn’t be much space back there.

“There she goes again. It’s deplorable!”

Blinking, Fine’s turned his ears in the direction of the soft feminine voice. He determined that it belonged to the earth pony mare sitting at the next table with her presumed husband. She was a small thing, white-coated with an orange mane. Her stomach, on the other hoof, was anything but small; it bulged to near-bursting with all the mass expected of a mare within days of giving birth. She lay on a long cushion, rubbing her swollen belly as she stared toward the monument. Her husband appeared just as displeased.

“I know, sweetie,” her unicorn husband replied with concern, “but she can’t be helped if she won’t let anypony help her.” He was green from hoof to mane, and seemed to stick out from his surroundings like a chipped hoof.

“And now she has… is that a knife?” She fiddled with her salad and sulked. “I wish I knew what happened to her that was so bad.”

Fine could hold his curiosity in no longer; he leaned over his table to address the couple. “Pardon me, I couldn’t help overhearing. Does that filly come here often?”

The mare looked to him as if just noticing he was there – something he was quite accustomed to – before nodding with a pout. “Yes, every Thursday. She has a weekly routine; you can always find here if you just know what day it is.”

His interest piqued, Fine turned his eyes back to the monument. He reminded himself to stay in character. “Does she not have parents?”

“Nope,” the husband replied, staring at his half-eaten sandwich. “Either she’s abandoned or… well, you know. I just can’t believe that in this day and age there are still foals like her out there.”

The mare sighed and turned to Fine. “Foal services have tried to take her in, but she always runs away. My sister in the police department told me that Sunflower did get caught once a few months back, but she escaped by jumping out of a moving carriage. It’s a miracle the poor thing didn’t get crushed under the wheels.”

This was certainly news, and it helped to explain why she was out there in the first place. It created a few more questions, though. “So… what? Have they just given up?”

The husband nodded, still not willing to look Fine in the eye. “Little Sunflower is pretty good at getting away. They can’t keep sending ponies out to catch her all the time.”

Mother-to-Be scoffed and took a sip of her juice. “I know it’s supposed to be practical, but I still don’t agree with it. That foal needs a home! She’s back there eating grass when she should be playing carefree foal’s games in the park with a full belly. There’s no excuse to not devote every effort to giving her that.”

“Even if she won’t accept it?”

She grimaced and stared at her belly. Her hoof massaged it and she winced, perhaps responding to a kick.

Fine smiled at her stomach. “How much longer?”

This, at least, brought a smile to the mare’s face. “Any day now. My little cookies are just about done baking.”

Fine eyed the cookie cutter mark on her flank. “Cookies?”

“Twins.” The husband had the kind of grin only an expecting father could have, or so Fine presumed.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you!” The mare gave him a warm smile and continued to rub her belly.

The husband’s smile faded as he looked towards the monument. Sunflower was just coming out from behind it, rubbing grass from her lips and looking a little more determined. “I’d never complain about being a father soon, but… to be honest, we actually considered inviting that filly to come home with us. We ran the numbers, though, and there’s no way we could afford it.”

The mare sighed and shook her head. “I still say we should try. Being poor and having a roof over your head is better than having nothing and living in the streets.”

“We’d not just be poor, Sweet Treat, we’d be going hungry. We’re dipping out of our savings as it is for these little sojourns, you know that.”

Fine, who had been watching Sunflower grab her basket and preparing for a few more hours of work, turned his attention back to the couple. “Sojourns?”

The mare nodded. “Every Thursday we come here to eat. We shouldn’t, we can’t afford it, but… it gives us an excuse to give poor Sunflower some bits. She won’t accept them any other way.”

“I see.” He looked to see the filly back to hawking her wares and doing little tricks for the ponies passing her by. “They’re all ignoring her.”

“She never makes good bits here,” the husband grumbled. “Sometimes I wonder why she keeps coming back to this spot.”

The mare slowly began to stand, groaning at the effort required. “Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to watch this anymore. A good day to you, sir.”

Fine watched as they crossed the street, the mare moving slowly and swaying with the weight in her midsection. He directed his ears forward, just in case. As the couple passed by Sunflower, the husband plucked a few flowers from the basket with his magic and dropped four times their labeled value in her little can. She began to protest and correct them, but stopped when she saw who it was. She muttered a small “Thank you” and watched as they left, her ears folded and head low.

Fine ate his walnut-encrusted pasta in silence. When he left the café, he dropped all of his ill-gotten gains into the tin can and left the box of salad and bread, the heartiest meal on the menu. He did this when Sunflower wasn’t looking and had disappeared into the crowd before she had a chance to notice what he’d done.









The mule clerk at the front desk of the Frank Neighville Memorial Library cocked her head at Fine’s request. “Newspapers? Are you some kind of historian?”

“I wish,” Fine replied with a smile. “I’m actually a private investigator. Need to find somepony, and I think looking through old newspapers will help.”

“Well you came to the right place. Come on, I’ll show you to the periodicals.” She stood and circled around her desk to guide him through row after row of bookshelves and cabinets.

Fine liked libraries. He’d skipped many a schoolday to visit the Seed Library back in Las Pegasus and go on paperback adventures. Aside from his old stallion, it was one of the only things he missed about the place. The Neighville was bigger, and the outside had a lot more flair in its design, but inside it was still just a library. The quiet atmosphere accompanied by rows upon rows of tomes left him feeling… relaxed.

The mule glanced over her shoulder to study him through her horn-rimmed glasses. “What time period were you looking for?”

“Recent,” he replied, pulling out of his reverie with a quiet sigh. “Within the past five years should be good enough.”

She smiled, a predatory glint in her eye. “So what are you after? Criminal? Tailchaser? Maybe a debtor?”

Fine chuckled at her suggestions. “Fishing for gossip?” He sobered quickly as he considered his answer. “A foal. I’m looking for a missing foal.”

Her ears drooped. “Oh. Oh, dear. What happened?” Her pace quickened.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Poor filly can’t be more than seven by this time.”

“I see.” The clerk turned to a large oak door with the word ‘Periodicals’ emblazoned on it. “We store the newspapers here. The newer ones will be on the third floor.”

Fine followed her in, not bothering to ask about the strange design. The periodicals section was poorly lit and felt a little cramped, which was perfect for Fine. Filing cabinets reaching up to the tall ceiling were against the walls while shorter ones just taller than his horn made up the inner rows. He let the clerk lead him up a circular flight of stairs close to the door. On the third floor, she led him along a few crisscrossing hallways, occasionally whipping her head around as if to be sure of her directions.

“Here we are.” She paused next to a set of filing cabinets just like all the rest. Small labels next to the handles revealed the print dates of magazines and newspapers within. “Each item in each drawer has an index applied to the inside of the front cover so that you can check the subjects rather than looking at each page and wasting time.”

“That’s good, thank you.” Fine turned his attention to the oldest of the set, horn glowing as he opened the drawer.

“Just set the items in the baskets located here and there and we’ll sort them later.” The clerk turned to go, but paused and gave him a sidelong glance. “And… um… good luck in your search.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

Fine waited until she was gone to get to work. He searched through every newspaper, looking up orphanages and crime reports and missing pony lists. Before long he had a hefty stack of papers, which he brought to a reading space in the middle of the cramped room. Reading by the light of a lone overhead lamp, he moved the papers into piles sorted by their information potential. He kept going back for more, his piles growing larger and larger by the hour.

He ate nothing, drank little. Sometimes he paused to wonder if all the effort was worth it. He questioned what he was doing and why. Sunflower should be nothing to him, yet something about her situation bothered him relentlessly. How he wished he’d not left Sugarcube’s horn behind the other night; he’d have never known about the blasted filly and might have been all the way to New Horseleans by now. Yet here he sat, scrounging for information on the past of a filly he shouldn’t be caring about.

That bothered him the most: he cared. Why did he have to care? He was a Bloodmane – a murderer, no matter how unwilling – and him caring for Sunflower’s fate could only lead to more pain in her life. Why couldn’t he walk away? It would be easy to take the horn back and disappear.

Yet no matter how often these dark thoughts came back to him, he kept searching. He wanted her to be happier, though he had no idea why. Because he was a ‘good guy?’ Maybe he was when it really came to it, even if he didn’t deserve the title. Whatever the reason, his heart bled for that filly. He would find out why she was in her situation and – more importantly – why she refused to let anypony help her out of it.

An announcement that the library was closing went unheeded. Sometime afterwards, the clerk came back. She stood nearby, ignored as he continued to work without acknowledging her presence.

After a few minutes, she left.









Fine trudged through the park, morning dew chilling his fetlocks as he stepped through some tall grass. His eyelids were as heavy as his steps and the morning sun made his head throb. He’d spent the whole night in that library. It wasn’t his first time spending an evening in such a place – among all public facilities, libraries tended to be the most comfortable to sleep in. There had been no sleep this time, though, nor had there been any results. Whatever happened to Sunflower, it had failed to make any news.

He had investigated so many leads: reports of murders, foal disappearances, kidnappings, child abuse, domestic abuse, orphanage closures, and so much more. He was certain that none of it had to do with Sunflower. A wasted night. All Fine wanted to do now was sleep… but not before he obeyed that nagging, hateful need to check up on the accursed filly.

The familiar salt-water smell was in his nostrils and the faint sound of the waves tickled his ears. He went through the painful ordeal of lifting his head against gravity and found he was approaching the bend to the overlook. He would have to get off the path soon if he was to avoid being seen by Sunflower.

Just as he was about to turn off, he heard hoofsteps. He paused to listen and realized they were too heavy to be Sunflower’s. Having a hunch, he pretended to admire the birds in the trees. As suspected, the individual who came around the corner was the zebra.

This was the first time Fine was able to be close to the bastard, and he made it a point to study him. The zebra was shorter than him and kept his mane cut unusually short. He had some scruff on his chin this morning, something Fine was sure he didn’t have before. More noticeable were the three parallel scars running along his chest, partially concealed by his vest. They looked like the mark of a griffon’s claws.

The zebra paused when he noticed Fine watching him. His amber eyes were hard and he bared his teeth. “What are you looking at?”

Fine offered a weak smile. When he stepped back, he made sure it seemed like a hesitant motion. “My apologies, friend. I’m simply not accustomed to seeing zebras in Equestria.”

“We ain’t friends, friend.” He walked forward, bumping Fine’s shoulder with his own. The hit was strong enough to make Fine stumble back into a tree. “You best stop gawking at me like I’m some bucking freak or I’ll pound your skull in.” He walked on with head held high, grumbling something about Equestrian natives.

Fine watched him go with a scowl and pocketed the coins. He felt like he knew what his next task would be, but not now; now he had to check on Sunflower. He slipped into the trees and made his way to his usual spot.

Sunflower was climbing to her hooves. She lifted her face to reveal it covered in soot and ash; Fine realized the bastard zebra had shoved her face in the remains of the fire. His scowl deepened. What if the ashes had still been hot?

The filly didn’t cry, but she glared at the ashes before her, not bothering to gather the scattered rocks again. She began to dig through the grey mess, a pale powder rising into the air as she worked. At last she found what she was looking for: Sugarcube’s horn. She raised it in both hooves and shook the ash off.

Then she stared. No words, no tears; she just looked at the horn’s pointed tip. She set her lips in a thin line, her eyes focused and angry and her breath coming in a slow, calm rhythm.

Fine felt his blood run cold, for what he saw was horribly familiar. Long ago, that expression had appeared on another face, hard and angry and wishing things were different. It appeared recently, too: in bathrooms, in still pools, in store windows. It was an expression that didn’t belong on a little filly. At long last, Fine thought he understood why Sunflower had taken the horn.

More frightening, he thought he knew what she intended to do with it.

One thought filled Fine’s brain. He had to get that horn back. Sunflower had to be kept from making a terrible mistake, one that would haunt her for the rest of her life. He almost stepped out of hiding to do exactly that, but his head overruled his heart before he could take more than two steps. He retreated back into the brush, relieved to see that she hadn’t noticed his momentary lapse in judgment.

Fine couldn’t just take the horn from Sunflower. That would do nothing; she’d only find a replacement. No, she had to be shown that better paths were open to her. This had to be handled carefully, for if Fine couldn’t turn her around in some way…

She might become like him.

The thought made him shudder.

And so Fine retreated back to that dilapidated gazebo. Sunflower would be okay for one day without him watching over her. He needed his rest and time to think. He would figure out how to get Sugarcube’s horn back, and if the overrated Celestia might finally deign to smile on him, perhaps he would also save a foal’s life.
	
> Week Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Fine was back in Songbird Park. This time he sported a brown vest and a baseball cap, his horn poking through a hole designed for just that purpose. He didn’t much care for the outfit, but it was something different from the last few times he’d followed Sunflower, which was what mattered. He’d been forced to get more creative with his work, using dye stolen from a local barber to lighten his coat to a simple yellow. He figured it would last him another two or three days. His mane had lost most of its black dye and, knowing it only aided his disguise, he made no attempt to hide the bright red hair.

He lounged on a bench, not worried about being seen despite the bright sun overhead. He would only stay an hour – just a regular Joe on his break, might look suspicious if he stayed longer. Sunflower was just down the nearby path, working her magic for a group of foals too little for school. Though she grinned and laughed and went through the motions, there was a distinct anxiousness that Fine had come to recognize. It was aimed at the parents, who seemed no less uncomfortable with the presence of this presumably homeless filly entertaining their kids.

At least Sunflower was making a good profit today. This park appeared to be her best spot to work. Once again, Fine wondered why she kept changing venues when she had two or three really good ones throughout the city. Of course, Fine always made sure to slip a few ill-gotten coins into her can when she wasn’t looking. By now she was starting to get wise; Sunflower knew somepony was sneaking her extra bits, and every day she grew more and more alert.

To Fine, it was like a game to see how long he could go without being caught by the filly. He certainly enjoyed it, and approached it with strategy. No secret coin deliveries today, oh no; Sunflower would wake in the morning to find the coins already deposited in her can. Fine had figured her out well enough by now to be able to walk right behind her without being noticed. The thought put a grin on his face.

That grin faded when he saw something entirely unexpected; a green unicorn standing just opposite his bench on the path. It was the expecting father he’d spoke with last week, only… not so happy. The stallion’s mane was a mess and his eyes bloodshot, the expression on his face weary. He stared at Sunflower as if she might be somepony else entirely.

Fine glanced towards Sunflower as she offered a trio of blue flowers to some fillies, all smiles and sunshine to the casual observer. He looked back to the unicorn, who couldn’t take his eyes off her. Fine almost spoke, but he halted his lips upon realizing his appearance. The absence of this pony’s young, bulging wife had Fine on edge, but he didn’t know that stallion, and the stallion didn’t know him. Nor would the stallion recognize him… and Fine had no desire to be recognized.

So why did he feel like something needed to be said?

They remained that way for a long time, Fine observing the unicorn and the unicorn observing Sunflower. No words were ever spoken, and the stallion never noticed Fine’s quiet vigil. After what seemed like an eternity, he at last turned and trudged for the exit, head bowed and sobs barely controlled.

Fine almost hated himself for seeing potential in the situation.

Almost.









The zebra was waiting this time. He caught Sunflower off guard and struck hard enough to knock the filly off her hooves. Fine, still behind the next bend in the path, cursed himself and kept hidden, though his horn glowed in preparation.

“You little zit!” The zebra loomed over Sunflower, steam snorting out his nostrils as he glared upon her. “Trying to hide from me, are ya? Where were you this morning?” He kicked Sunflower just as she was getting back to her hooves. “Answer me!”

He was wearing a belt this time… a belt that held a machete. Fine crouched, ready to pounce.

Sunflower sobbed and clutched at the horn that still hung from her throat. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to hide, I just—”

“Liar!” Another kick. “You were trying to get out of what you owe me, weren’t ya? Do you have any idea how lucky you are? You know what we did to thieves back in Zebrica?”

“P-please, I didn’t—”

“We cut off their hoof!” He gestured to the blade at his side. “I brought Ol’ Cutter. Used this baby to slice off griffon talons for trophies. Guarantee it would have no problem at all taking one of those little hooves of yours. One chop!” He touched the handle with his hoof. “You want me to use Ol’ Cutter?”

“N-no!” Sunflower shook her head frantically, still lying on her side in the dirt. “I’m sorry, it won’t h-happen again!”

“It better not. Now give me that can.”

Sunflower jumped to her hooves and pulled off her pack, hurrying to offer up the can in both hooves. She sobbed as he jerked it from her and spilled the coins on the ground.

“Well, you did good, didn’t you? This why you tried to avoid me, you greedy little thing?” He scooped up some coins and stuffed them in a pouch. “I’m taking twenty-five today, to teach you a lesson.” The zebra glared at Sunflower as she sobbed. “What, you’re gonna bucking cry over this? You should be smiling, you little zit! You’re lucky I ain’t taking every bit from your greedy hooves.”

He kicked the can so it smacked her in the face. “Don’t make have to do this again. If I do, Ol’ Cutter’s gonna be the one talking.”

He walked within only a couple paces of Fine Crime, but didn’t notice his presence in the shadows… or his venomous gaze. As soon as the zebra was gone, Fine slipped closer to Sunflower for a better look. She lay on her side, tears forming rivers on her cheeks, but her crying was stifled. The can lay nearby, her few remaining coins scattered in the dirt.

The horn, black as night, lay nearby. Sunflower’s eyes locked on it. Already her expression was shifting, away from despondency and closing on something… darker.

Fine slipped away unnoticed.









The zebra’s home was a dilapidated structure in the suburbs just outside New Clusterdam’s Horseshoe District. It sat right at the edge of a road in terrible need of maintenance, in a valley between two hills which both had what appeared to be abandoned homes. To Fine – hiding behind the house along the way – the place looked perfect for the zebra’s type. He eyed the pots of poison joke spread throughout the yard of the zebra’s neighbor, who almost certainly didn’t have a license for the things.

Fine lingered outside for over an hour, watching the zebra’s home and waiting for his opportunity. The lights emanating from the windows were dim and shaky, suggesting candles. A light rain came, and still Fine waited, sitting under the cover of an awning and observing the house.

At last the lights went out, and Fine approached. He began by circling the building: making note of windows and doors, scanning the interior, looking for hiding places and potential weapons. The investigation made him long for his old notebook, the one he used to write his observations down in. Ah, for the good old days when he was just a colt roaming Las Pegasus’s shady areas and giving tips to the local crooks. If only his father back at their penthouse suite knew what he’d been ignoring his schooling to do.

He didn’t enter the house immediately, instead waiting for another hour to ensure the bastard was well and truly asleep. Getting inside was painfully simple; for all the locks on the back door, none of them were hard to pick with magic. His entry made, Fine began mapping out the interior – places he hadn’t been able to see from the windows.

The zebra’s house wasn’t anything of note, just four rooms and a short hallway. The place was in severe need of maintenance, much like its neighbors. Fine was grateful that concrete made the foundation, else he was sure he’d be fighting creaky, termite-ridden floorboards. As it was, he managed to move silent as the shadows themselves, his motions long-adapted to minimizing his presence.

The zebra was paranoid; he had another set of locks on his bedroom door. He struck Fine as the type to think that somepony was out to get him.

He was right.

Fine hovered over the zebra, who snored while lying on his back, one leg raised high in the air in an undignified pose. One hoof lay over the scars on his chest, occasionally scratching at them. Fine watched, a cold anger within him, and pondered the incredible ease required to slice the zebra’s throat. He thought back on little Sunflower, the way she’d been kicked around and the look in her eyes as she stared at Sugarcube’s horn.

No, too early. Fine had to savor it, had to wait for the right time.

His attention turned to the junk that littered the room. Despite the room’s messiness, everything appeared to be very organized. Fine eyed the titles on a nearby bookshelf, recognizing many from the bookstores he would sometimes visit when bored. Mostly adventure and war stories, and there was a whole shelf devoted to zebrican literature. Fine flipped one open out of curiosity and found it full of rhyme and verse. It made him wonder why the zebra didn’t speak in rhyme. Perhaps he’d been in Equestria so long it had grown out of him?

There was a small safe behind the door. Keeping his horn as dim as possible and having one eye on the zebra at all times, Fine worked the knob until he’d deciphered the code – an effort of about a half hour – and examined the contents.

Baba Groot. He found the zebra’s name on a medal hidden near the back of the safe. Apparently it had been awarded to him for meritorious action during the Selene River incident in Grypha. Fine was impressed… up until he located the letter of conviction and some folders. What he found was disturbing at best: the murder of griffon cubs, as well as the rape of a few of the zebra mares in his unit. Finalizing the deal was evidence that he’d falsified his records. He’d been at the Selene, but not on the side of the Empire. Baba Groot saw he was on the losing side and falsified records to fool the loyalists into believing he’d been fighting for them all along.

Obviously, they’d fallen for it. Even given him a medal for things he didn’t do. The griffons didn’t stay fooled, though.

With accusations like this, Grypha would certainly have a warrant out for his capture or execution, and Zebrica would never have accepted him back. No wonder he’d fled to the trusting, warm embrace of Equestria. Even then, he had to be keeping his history secret from the authorities, else he’d have already been deported.

Fine put the files back in the safe and locked it up… although he kept the medal. He could pawn it off in another town for some decent bits. It wasn't as if the bastard had actually earned it.

He roamed the house some more, soon finding himself in what appeared to be Baba’s office or study. There was a worn and torn couch before an end table covered in forms and letters. Fine sifted through the paperwork and soon found a number of invoices, receipts and the like. It seemed Baba owned a vegetable stand somewhere in town, buying his produce directly from the farms and selling at a slightly inflated price. It all looked legitimate, and the prices on the receipts actually seemed reasonable for the area.

Fine thought on the things he’d overheard Baba saying to Sunflower. What had he called her, a thief? Had she taken some of his produce and been caught in the act? Yet, as Fine looked over the receipts again, he realized something was off; the prices were far too low for that. If Baba was making Sunflower repay some debt for stolen produce, she’d have to have nabbed a huge amount of goods to justify taking as much as Baba had since Fine had started observing the filly.

Perhaps Sunflower just didn’t know the value of a bit. Or maybe she thought she was being punished for doing something bad, unaware that her punishment didn’t fit the crime. More and more scenarios ran through Fine’s head, each one more damning than the last.

He started to reconsider the idea of slicing the bastard’s throat in his sleep. Yet again, he pushed down his anger. Baba Groot would get what he had coming… in time.

Fine continued his investigation, scanning every nook and cranny of the building. He found the zebra’s financial stash hidden behind a worn, grey landscape painting. Baba Groot wasn’t rich, but he certainly wasn’t suffering. Fine helped himself to a pile, using a worn curtain as a makeshift pouch, which he deposited by the back door while he continued his rounds.

It was in the kitchen that Fine discovered Baba Groot’s criminal activities hadn’t stopped once he reached Equestria. Realizing one of the countertops was unusually clean, he managed to locate a small handle. A large section of the countertop popped off with minimal effort, and there he found more papers. These, he realized after some inspection, were invoices for some particularly rare goods: firebird eggs, a brand of poison joke extract called Blue Wild, cases of Eagle Paw wine, stolen museum pieces, even an invoice for a gun, truly a rarity. It wasn’t all illegal, but whatever wasn’t had extremely restrictive trade requirements and cost a fortune on the regular market. And looking at those prices…

Baba Groot was a smuggler. And, judging by the names on the invoices, he still had connections in Grypha. It seemed Fine had stumbled on just one piece of a larger operation. Smirking, he took only one of the sheets of paper, making sure it had enough information to lure authorities to this house, and also making sure it was in the middle of the stack so as to not likely be missed. That done, he slipped the countertop back in place and made for the back door.

The police would be finding something very interesting in their mailbox come morning.









Days later, Fine sat at the café across from the monument yet again. A nice pasta of glazed almonds, spinach, alfalfa, and grilled mushrooms sat half-eaten before him, courtesy of Baba Groot’s ‘confiscated’ funds. The same meal sat in a to-go box on the other side of the table, ready to be delivered to Sunflower. The foal was working by the monument, as ignored as ever by the local businessponies.

More than a few eyed her not-quite-healed bruises. Fine half-expected child services to show up at any moment, yet as the minutes passed his hope went unrewarded.

Fine was back to his regular colors and with his mane dyed to the usual black – this time applied legally at the same barber shop he’d stolen from, with a big tip to the proprietor. He’d done another hotel run and was looking like a million bits in a crisp black suit. Though he looked and smelled great, he couldn’t help feeling like trash.

Every day, Baba Groot took from Sunflower. Every time he did, and every night by the fire, Sunflower would stare at the horn she’d taken from Fine. Her manner grew darker with every passing day.

What had Fine done? He watched. He’d yet to do anything meaningful for the filly, much less get Sugarcube’s horn back, and that ate away at his insides. He stared at Sunflower, not even bothering to hide his interest. Every time he saw that horn around her neck, he could see her standing before a dark doorway, her ears perked to whispered words of comfort and promise. She stood at the threshold, staring within, contemplating the darkness. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it?

Fine wanted to slam that door closed. He wanted to drag her away from it, no matter how much she kicked and screamed. That horn was the key to the doorway, and he had to get it away from her. Problem was, it wasn’t the only key; taking it away was a temporary solution. Besides, if he did try to take the horn and bar her way, would that not just encourage her to try harder? Would she just find another door, equally ominous and full of temptation?

He couldn’t let her go in. He couldn’t let her join him in the darkness. He had to make her understand that once you were in, you never came out.

But how to do that?

“It’s all wrong.”

Fine blinked, his black thoughts shattered by a familiar voice. Ignoring the way his stomach had been tied in knots over the last few minutes, he sat up and realized that he had company.

White coat, orange mane. The expectant mother.

Not expecting anymore.

She sat on the cushion perpendicular to Fine’s spot at the table, slumped forward and shoulders sagged. Mane and tail tangled, coat uncombed, eyes bloodshot, just like her husband earlier in the week. No, worse than that; she appeared haggard and perhaps even malnourished. He had simply been… downtrodden.

“The world seems so nice,” she whispered. “Then the rug is swept out from under you, and you find yourself on a street corner selling flowers just to get by.”

Fine had no idea what to say. There was no need to ask what had happened, but somehow expressing sympathy for a dream lost seemed… pointless. So he just sat and listened. That was something, right?

“I’ve lived a very fortunate life,” she continued, never taking her eyes off Sunflower. “Never hungry, never needed money, good schooling. Everything was perfect. Now I… I wonder if all that good was just balance for the one big hit.”

Why was she even saying this to him? Because she recognized him and needed somepony to talk to? What about… “Where’s…” Fine bit his lip as her bloodshot eyes shifted to him. “I mean… um…”

“He works.” Her gaze fell back to Sunflower. “It helps him cope.”

Fine stared at his food and said nothing.

“Is that for her?”

She was looking at the to-go box. “Yes.”

The mare turned her head away, ears flat. “Why don’t you… do more for her?”

He sighed and leaned against the table. Oh, if only he could say. “What would I do? She flees from authority and I sure can’t take her in.”

“Why not?”

The question came so quickly that, even anticipating it, Fine was caught off guard. He focused on her once more, taking in her body language. Stiff shoulders, not meeting his eye, focused on Sunflower and…

Oh.

Fine pressed his hooves together atop the table and afforded his most ominous frown. An act, but he needed to get his message across. “Do you know what I am, miss? I’m the boogiepony.”

She turned to him at last, her confusion apparent. “You?”

“I had you pegged the first time I saw you.” He looked her up and down, pretending to inspect her. “Innocent, happy, trusting and sweet. I, on the other hoof, am the pony who smiles in your face and keeps a dagger ready in case you don’t buy it, and don’t be surprised if your wallet’s missing after the encounter.”

Her eyes grew steadily wider with every word, such that by now they were practically dinner plates. “B-but you look so—”

“Decent?” He snorted and turned his eyes to Sunflower. “Don’t they all? I’m a bad pony, Miss Sweet Treat.”

“How did you—”

He raised his hoof and her teeth clicked. His eyes didn’t leave Sunflower. “You know why I do what little I do, but can’t take her in? Because I’m a monster. I hate what I am, and I am not about to drag that filly down with me.” He stood and put down some coins, enough for a substantial tip to the waiter. He looked to Sweet Treat, who fidgeted under his gaze.

“I know what you want to do. I suggest you do it soon. Sunflower is at the precipice of leading my kind of life, and will take the last step if somepony doesn’t intervene. That somepony cannot be me.” He set a hoof to her shoulder, ignoring her flinch. “I know you’re hurting right now. I know you’re afraid that you’re letting your emotions get the better of you. Even if your motivations are selfish… I think life owes that filly a favor. There’s nothing wrong with being selfish every now and then.”

He turned and walked away. “My condolences to you and your husband.”

He didn’t look back, for it would ruin the image, but as soon as he was behind the next building he broke into a gallop. Not caring a whit about the ponies he shoved aside, he ran around the entire building and only stopped when he was halfway down the alleyway heading back to the street. He took a moment to catch his breath, removed his coat, and ran his hooves through his mane. Taking off a disguise wasn’t much of a disguise, but it might be enough.

That done, he walked to the end of the alleyway and leaned against the wall, just a stranger relaxing. He had a good view of the monument and Sunflower, and if he leaned his head just a little…

There was Sweet Treat, still staring at where he’d been sitting not a minute before. As much as he didn’t care to, Fine thanked Celestia for letting him remember her name. Now he just had to hope his words had struck a chord.

Time passed. Sweet Treat eventually turned her attention back to Sunflower, but the mare’s depression was replaced by a clear anxiety. Her ears flicked to some unknown rhythm and she tried, more than once, to stand. Every time she would catch herself and sit back down. Fine cursed to himself every time. “Come on,” he said beneath his breath. “Come on, get up.”

Sweet Treat bowed her head with a defeated expression, and for a moment Fine feared the worst. Then her ears perked; she’d spotted the to-go box he’d left behind. Fine held his breath.

Seconds passed. Maybe minutes.

At last, Sweet Treat grabbed the box. Fine grinned as she stood and crossed the street, her steps tentative and her head low. Sunflower saw her coming and waved. Her lips moved, but Fine couldn’t hear what she was saying from such a distance. He could imagine it easily enough; a vendor greeting a regular customer.

Sweet Treat set the box down before Sunflower. When she spoke, the filly’s eyebrows rose and she eyed the box. Sunflower waved her hooves in denial, cheeks going pink, but Sweet Treat nudged the box with a smile. Slowly, as if her hooves were tied to weights, Sunflower took the box and set it next to her pack. She wouldn’t meet the mare’s gaze.

Fine leaned forward, barely breathing. “Ask the question. Come on…”

Whatever Sweet Treat said next, it caught Sunflower’s attention. The filly’s eyes grew wide once more and she took a step back. Sunflower sat, perhaps trying to appear less intimidating, but it mattered not; Sunflower shook her head frantically. Already she had her pack open, tossing in her things as fast as she could. Sweet Treat raised her hooves in a calming – or perhaps imploring – gesture. It made no difference. Within seconds, Sunflower had thrown her pack on her back and was in full retreat down the sidewalk.

Fine turned his head to watch her go, jaw hanging loose. He’d just handed that kid a way out on a silver platter, and she just… ran away?

Anger began to bubble beneath the surface of his mind. He jerked his head to Sweet Treat, who hadn’t moved. She merely sat with her head so low it nearly touched the cement, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Follow her, you stupid…” He stepped into the alley, teeth grinding and shoulders heaving. He stomped, stomped again, reared forward and bucked the brick wall. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. His eyes went up to the sun. “What the buck does it take for a bad pony to do something good for a change, huh?”

He caught movement in the corner of his eye. He looked just in time to see Sweet Treat running in the same direction that Sunflower had gone. She was carrying something in her mouth…

The can. Sunflower had left her can of bits.

A tiny sliver of hope ran through Fine. He grabbed hold of it and refused to let go, trotting out of the alley and following. He would make sure the mare didn’t lose her way. Whatever happened, he would make this work.









To Fine’s intense relief, they reached Horseshoe Park without a hitch. He kept back so as to not be noticed and was pleased to see that Sweet Treat was doing the same thing to Sunflower. Her hiding was amateur – it took all Fine’s willpower not to walk up and offer suggestions – but it sufficed to keep her hidden from the filly. The mare paused to stare at the dilapidated sign at the entrance, and though Fine couldn’t see her face the droop of her head said enough.

They walked along decrepit paths, the setting sun hidden by the thick trees that filled much of the park. Fine crept along, ever the shadow, while Sweet Treat possessed all the stealth of a dragon, her hooves crunching over the gravel. He imagined that only the distance between her and Sunflower kept the filly from taking note of her. Sunflower herself had slowed to a mere walk long ago, head and shoulders slumped and hooves dragging. It wasn’t a walk of exhaustion.

Fine saw him first: Baba Groot. The zebra was hiding in the treeline by the path. He made no move to intercept Sunflower, but that didn’t keep the hair on Fine’s back from rising. Fine slipped into the cover of darkness and waited, anger already rising within him.

Baba Groot didn’t notice Sweet Treat – or she him – until after he’d stepped from the treeline. Sweet Treat paused abruptly, can still in her mouth, and he jumped as if she’d just screeched in his face. The two stared at one another, but it didn’t last. Sweet Treat’s attention went back to Sunflower, who just turned off on the path to the overhang, and tried to hurry after her.

The zebra stepped in front of her, his eyes hard. “What do we have here?” He reached for the can, but Sweet Treat backed away. “Where’d you get the can?”

A moment’s hesitation, and Sweet Treat put the can down to speak. “Do you… know Sunflower?”

Before she could react, he snatched the can and looking inside. “Not a big payout today. Buck, and right when I needed it most.”

“What are you doing?” Sweet Treat took a tentative step forward. “Sunflower worked hard for those bits!”

“These are mine!” Baba Groot stomped closer and loomed over the mare, who promptly backed away in a crouched position. “You best get out of here, stupid pony, before you get hurt.”

It seemed as though Sweet Treat would do as she was told, but then something changed. She stood tall and matched the zebra glare for glare, though the wobble in her legs was obvious even from Fine’s position down the path. Fine didn’t like where this was going; he crept forward, keeping to the darkness and ready for just about anything.

“Give me back the can, or I’ll—”

“What?” Baba Groot stomped closer, getting right in her face. “What will you do, huh?”

Fine gritted his teeth; Baba Groot was in a perfect position to spot him if he moved or ignited his horn. He kept perfectly still, barrel to the ground and legs tensed. Let this end peacefully…

The zebra’s leg shot up; Sweet Treat was on the ground before she even had a chance to shout. Her head had snapped sideways from the blow, and she was looking right at Fine as a result. The two locked eyes, hers filled with pain and surprise, his with just surprise. She started to stand, but Baba Groot delivered a kick against the back of her head, which snapped down and whacked the dirt. Her body went limp.

“Great, add assault to my charges,” Baba Groot grumbled, picking up the can. Apparently not noticing Fine, he turned and galloped after Sunflower. As soon as his back was turned, Fine hurried to Sweet Treat.

She was breathing, but unconscious. Fine saw no blood and he had no way of knowing if she was seriously hurt or just temporarily out of action. He looked down the path, then back at Sweet Treat, guilt and anger and uncertainty playing a game of tug-of-war in his mind.

It was Baba Groot’s words that finally solidified his thoughts. Add assault to his charges? But he wasn’t charged for anything in Equestria… was he? Possibilities swarmed through Fine’s mind at a mile a minute until, finally, one jerked to the forefront. If the police had finally come after Baba Groot because of the evidence Fine delivered to them, he’d be on the run. And if he was one the run…

…what business did he have left with Sunflower?

That thought was enough to kick Fine into gear. He galloped after the zebra, all fears for Sweet Treat’s situation replaced with a very real horror. One way or another, he knew that this time he had to act. His hooves pounded the dirt and gravel in time with his rapid heartbeat as he thought on the past two weeks. The way he’d watched that poor little filly struggle just to get by, how he’d grown to root for her, the way he’d been secretly supporting her. He cursed himself again and again for standing on the sidelines so long.

“Keep away from me!”

Fine slid to a halt; he was right at the bend leading to the overhang, and that had certainly been Sunflower. Mind working fast, Fine slipped into the trees and made his way towards the voices; it was time he used his stealth for something other than hiding.

Baba Groot snorted. “What do you think you’re going to do with that little poker? Come on then, give it a go! Let’s see what ya got.”

Fine increased his pace as he realized that he may be too late. He’d just have to hope the zebra was too distracted to hear the noise.

Sunflower shouted in pain. The sound nearly froze Fine’s heart.

“That’s what I figured. You little zit! I came here to tell you to keep your yap shut about me before I slipped off the map, but now? I think I’ll drown you in the bucking bay!”

Fine reached the road. Baba Groot stood over Sunflower, who was crawling away. She had blood on her lips and Sugarcube’s horn lay useless in the dirt before her.

“I bet it’s your fault the Equestrian scumbags are crawling around my place right now, huh?” Baba Groot stalked after her, lips pulled back to give him a vicious visage. “I should have cut off your hoof when I first caught you stealing. Well, now I’ll settle for the whole—”

Fine leapt from the shadows the moment the zebra was in the right position. Baba Groot noticed, but too late; Fine’s left hoof smacked the side of his head. Fine reared back to deliver a second blow, which the fast-thinking zebra blocked. Baba Groot didn’t get another chance; Fine shot a beam from his horn, the most basic of unicorn defenses, and got him in the eye.

Baba Groot screamed and jumped back, covering his face with both hooves. Fine saw his opening and delivered a two-legged buck right in the bastard’s gut; the zebra collapsed in a fetal position. Fine grabbed his head and lifted it.

Whack.

Whack.

Whack.

On the third time his head impacted the ground, Baba Groot went limp. Fine dropped him and inspected the zebra. Still breathing.

Satisfied his work was done, he turned to discover Sunflower lying on her back and gaping at him. The adrenaline fading, Fine merely stared at the filly. His breath came in slow gasps and steam billowed from his nostrils, but his anger was rapidly fading to anxiety. He’d revealed himself, so… what now?

Sunflower blinked, seeming to come out of a trance, and the first thing she did was turn around and grab the horn from the dirt. When she turned back, there was so much anger in her expression that it outright pierced Fine’s heart. She gave him one short, suspecting look, and then charged for the unconscious zebra. As soon as she got there, she sat back and raised the horn, prepared to stab it into Baba Groot’s head.

Fine’s rosewood aura wrapped about the horn just in time. Sunflower struggled with it, pulling and grunting and growling as she fought to deliver the killing blow. Fine felt his heart breaking at the sight… but no, it wasn’t too late. He’d stopped her. And now…

He approached, looming over Sunflower. He made sure to maintain as intimidating a posture as he could, head held high and eyes hard. His message had to be delivered loud and clear. One slip up here could mean the soul of a foal.

“Let go!” Sunflower glared up at him, her hooves still clutching the horn. “He has it coming!”

Fine glanced at the horn, then locked eyes with her. “That belongs to me.”

She paused, brow furrowing. She looked to the horn, then to him, then to the horn again. Understanding dawned on her face and she jerked away from Fine with a gasp. Tail tucked between her legs, she trembled at the edge of the path.

Fine raised the horn so that it hovered just beside his face. “This horn belonged to the very first pony I killed. It’s important to me, and I don’t appreciate you taking it.”

Sunflower whimpered and crouched low, her eyes like saucers.

He floated the horn towards her, and her eyes focused on it as it hovered just before her face. “Do you know what this horn represents, Sunflower?” A pause to wait for an answer he knew wouldn’t come. “It represents pain and suffering, not just for those I hurt, but also for me. I walked a very bad path when I was your age. I had no choice.”

The aura faded and the horn fell to the ground at her hooves. Sunflower leaned back a little, still trembling.

At last, Fine let his harsh expression drop. He looked upon her with all the concern he truly felt. “Look at me, Sunflower.”

Her eyes jerked from the horn and locked with his.

Fine prayed to Celestia that his words would seep through.

“You have a choice. You don’t have to walk down the same road as me. That path is one of shadows and darkness and endless pain. If that’s the road you want to walk down—” he gestured to the zebra lying at his hooves, “—you be my guest. He’s all yours.”

He went quiet, letting the idea seep into her. Sunflower stared at him, no longer shaking. Her eyes went to the horn, uncertain and fearful.

“But,” he went on just as it looked like she would reach for the item, “you have a choice. There’s a mare here, right now, in the park. You know her. She gives you bits at the monument every time you go there.” Her eyes widened once more, but he pressed on before she could speak. “She can give you a better life, if you would only give her a chance. I don’t know why you’re living out here, but you don’t have to.”

He stepped forward, and Sunflower stepped back in turn, another whimper escaping her throat. Yet all he did was bow his head to look her in the eye. “I’m asking you to give that mare a chance. Please, Sunflower. There are already enough monsters in Equestria. You don’t need to be one too.”

Silence. Sunflower stared into his eyes, and he into hers. The horn lay between them, simple and innocuous and pointing right at her. At last, after what seemed an eternity, the filly spoke.

“Have you been watching me this whole time?”

He nodded.

“Will you still watch me?”

He shook his head.

“Even if I… take the horn?”

“I’m not going to watch you become a monster,” he whispered. “And if you take the other path you’ll be a lot happier without somepony like me around.”

She looked at the horn. “But… I’m tired of being hurt.”

He set a hoof under her chin, making her look him in the eye again. “Being able to hurt doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt. It just means there’s more hurt to go around.” He nodded to the horn. “That has caused me a lot of pain, Sunflower. I promise, it will hurt you too.”

A long, quiet pause. Sunflower’s gaze kept shifting between Fine and the horn, and sometimes to Baba Groot’s unconscious form. She chewed her lip and fidgeted constantly. Finally, her horn began to glow, and she lifted Sugarcube’s horn in a flickering aura. Fine tensed, worry and hope swirling chaotically in his mind as the horn hovered between the two of them.

Sunflower heaved a deep breath…

Then threw the horn towards the bay.

“Hey!” Fine, heart smacking against his ribs, jumped as if to catch it, but was too slow. Acting on reflex, he lit his horn and just managed to catch the thing before it could hit the water. He spun around back to Sunflower and pointed at the rescued horn. “What the hay was that?”

Sunflower crouched once more at his glare. “Y-you said it hurts you. I th-thought…”

With a sigh, Fine let the necklace drop over his head. The weight of the horn against his chest was both comfortable and sickening at once. “It’s too late for me, Sunflower. Even if I lost the horn, my pain wouldn’t stop.” He tapped the horn, which swayed like a pendulum at his touch. The familiar motion made him smile.

He turned that smile on the filly. “Thank you. I was afraid for a moment.”

She bowed her head and turned her eyes on the zebra. “What about him?”

Fine’s ears perked to a sound in the distance. “Don’t worry about him. I promise, he won’t bother you again.”

Sunflower looked up at him… and her eyes went wide at his sneering grin. “W-what are you gonna do?”

Fine merely tapped Sugarcube’s horn… then turned to trot into the trees.

“Sunflower!”

The filly bounced and spun around as the sound of galloping hoofsteps grew louder. Fine peered through the brush as Sweet Treat came to a stop before the filly, gasping for breath and eyes wide. She tried to speak but couldn’t manage to get any words out. Sunflower backed away slowly, tail tucked between her legs. Her eyes shifted towards Fine, however, and upon seeing him her legs stiffened.

“P-please don’t run,” Sweet Treat at last managed to huff out. “Are you okay? Th-that brute didn’t… didn’t hurt you, did he? Oh, please say no!”

“I… I’m okay.” Sunflower’s ears folded back as she looked up at the mare. “Are you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Sweet Treat sucked down a deep breath, at last regaining her energy and being able to speak somewhat normally. She promptly pointed at Baba Groot. “What happened to him?”

Fine tensed, but Sunflower managed to avoid looking at him. Barely. “He… uh… hit his head. On the bench.”

“Is he the one who’s been hurting you?”

Sunflower sank a little lower, eyes trained on the ground.

Sweet Treat grimaced, but then her anger faded to curiosity. She tilted her head and looked around, taking in the leaning sign, the little fire pit and the overhang. Her curiosity gradually shifted to pity. “Do you live here?”

The filly sank to her barrel and covered her face.

“Sunflower…” Sweet Treat dropped to the ground and reached for the child, but Sunflower noticed and promptly shuffled back from her touch. Retracting the hoof swiftly, Sweet Treat pouted. “Please. I don’t know why you’re so scared, but come with me. You don’t need to be here.”

Sunflower’s eyes drifted to Fine. He tried to offer his most imploring expression.

Her eyes dropped to the earth once more. “I don’t wanna hurt anymore.”

“You won’t.” Sweet Treat half reached for the filly, her lip trembling. “I promise, Sunflower, you won’t.”

Fine watched with bated breath.

Sunflower stared at the offered hoof.

Sweet Treat’s breathing was deep, her eyes pleading.

It came slowly, but Sunflower began to sob. “I-I’m scared…”

“I know,” Sweet Treat whispered, shuffling just a little closer.

Sunflower’s hoof rose, but she hesitated. “You… you really won’t hurt me?”

Sweet Treat gasped, then moved in. Sunflower yelped as she was engulfed in a sudden, tight hug and began to squirm. “N-no!”

“I’ll never hurt you,” the mare whispered, tears streaming from her eyes. “I promise, I would never, ever hurt you. Never, Sunflower.”

The filly ceased her struggling, her cheek pressed tight to Sweet Treat’s chest and her body trembling. She said nothing, but her gaze was locked upon her captor’s face in a state of awe.

Fine, a smile creeping upon his lips, slipped deeper into the undergrowth.
> Week Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“She’s not there today.”

Fine glanced up from his hot chocolate to observe the waiter standing over him. The pony stared across the street at the monument. There wasn’t a filly in sight.

“Nope, she’s gone.”

“I hope she’s okay.”

Fine smiled and blew the steam from his to-go cup. The first flakes of winter drifted into his chocolate, and he smiled. “I’m sure she’s all right.”

With a shake of his head, the waiter said, “You haven’t been watching her all these months. What if she’s been hurt or…” His voice faltered as he continued to stare.

“Hmm…” Fine glanced around the café. More than a few ponies were glancing towards the monument. “She became a real regular, didn’t she?”

“Something like that.”

Fine sipped his chocolate, a smile worming its way onto his lips as the warm taste danced on his tongue. “I wonder why nopony around here chose to help her, then?”

“I dunno.” The waiter shrugged, accepted Fine’s ill-gotten bits and started to turn away.

“Why didn’t you?”

The question was loud enough to be heard all over the café. The waiter paused, but didn’t look back. Fine waited for an answer. He came to realize that none would come. When he turned his eyes to the other nearby ponies they all averted their gazes.

He turned to the street, cup floating before him. “Good chocolate.”

He left them to their silence and made his way uptown, his ears flicking as the gentle snow touched them. He strode in the open, unhurried, taking in the sights of the big buildings and watching as they grew shorter and shorter. He glanced up to see the New Clusterdam weather pegasi pushing more and more clouds into place, though they had yet to cover the sun. Fine paused to watch, a fresh wave of relief filling him at the sight of it.

Though a few ponies gave him funny looks, he raised his leg and waved to the sun as it was at last covered by the dark clouds. Fine knew he might not see it for a while, after all. He moved on at a trot, sipping his hot chocolate with a warm smile.

For he was warm. Though the world was cold and snow fell around him, he nonetheless felt as good as he would in the summer. Had he any friends, they might have asked why he was so uncharacteristically happy.

“Because I just am,” he whispered to himself smugly.

Half an hour later, Fine was back in the familiar Songbird neighborhood. Neatly cut yards, perfectly trimmed hedges, tall privacy fences and row after row of well-tended homes made up the street he strolled along. The snow hadn’t quite begun to coat the ground, but the rate of snowfall had increased in the short time since he’d left the city proper.

He passed through the local park, pausing only to stare at the spot where Sunflower used to perform her tricks and sell her flowers. The memory made him smile, more for the knowledge that she’d be there no more than for the reminder itself. He remained there, alone and contemplating the last two weeks, until his hot chocolate mysteriously disappeared and he was forced to discard the empty cup in a garbage can.

As warm as ever, Fine trotted out into the streets once more. His walk wasn’t a short one. It required him to take numerous little side roads, traversing the kind of maze only suburbia could create. Even so, he never once doubted his directions, for he’d made this walk many times in the past week.

This would be the last time.

The sky had turned orange by the time Fine reached the house he was after. It was a single story home, modest by the standards of the neighborhood yet still nice for a family of three. Fine had never dreamed of having his own home, and the one place that held the title – a place he doubted he’d ever see again – was worth many times what this little lot demanded. Even so, the sight of it reinforced that delightful warmth coursing through his soul.

Fine used his peripheral vision to determine that no ponies were around to watch him, then abruptly changed directions. With the ease of practice, he picked up speed to a canter and, using his front hooves for leverage, vaulted the short wooden fence. Now keeping low, he eased along the side of the house, ears perked for any sound. He found it: a gentle chatter from the kitchen. He paused beneath the appropriate window and took in the voices. One… two…

Laughter made three. Grinning, Fine made his way to the back door, finding it unlocked. A simple spell on the hinges made his entry silent.

As Fine knew, the back door led into a bedroom, newly furnished with a bed for one, a couple bookshelves and a toy chest. Visible in the open closet were two baby carriages, never used and folded in a corner. They were all that remained of plans long lost, yet the room was alive with signs of fresh life: scattered dolls at the side of the bed, a row of freshly potted plants sitting on the windowsill, the small table in the corner covered in assorted items for magic tricks. A whiteboard hung low on the wall by the door, where a neat and steady alphabet had been drawn over another that was clumsy and uneven.

Fine smiled at the whiteboard, delighted at the initiative the new parents were taking. He glanced over to the other side of the board, where evidence of practice writing could be found. Most were simple sentences with questionable grammar. They amused him, and he took the red marker in his magic and wrote down a few corrections. Old habits – even those not practiced in ages – were hard to break.

The marker stopped. The last sentence, near the bottom of the board, burned into his vision.



I want to see the shadow pony. I want to thank him. Are you watching, shadow pony?



Fine’s vision blurred. His throat constricted. He dropped the marker and rubbed at his eyes, but didn’t bother to fight the grin forming on his lips. He glanced at the words again. He’d never felt so full. All week, it had been as though a hole in his heart was being stitched back together. It wasn’t a perfect repair, merely a patch job, but still… it felt so good.

With a shaky, calming breath, Fine left the room. He didn’t go far, just out into the hallway. He perked his ears in the direction of the kitchen and caught the sound of silverware clinking against plates.

“You’re much better at that,” Sweet Treat said.

“Well, I have a horn.”

Fine chest swelled upon hearing such ease in Sunflower’s tone.

“What’s it like, trying to use forks without magic?”

The father-to-be chuckled. “Not easy. She was still stuffing her head in her bowl when we met.”

“She doesn’t need to hear that!”

Laughter filled the room and tickled Fine’s ears. He basked in the sound, drawing sustenance from its melody.

“So,” Sweet Treat said once the laughter died down, “have you been practicing your writing?”

“Uh-huh.”

The stallion spoke up. “Good! Y’know, I spoke to the headmaster at the school. You can’t start classes until next year, so it’s up to us to get you caught up. Are you okay with that?”

Hesitation dominated Sunflower’s tone. “I guess… but… do I have to go to school?”

“Yes, you do. Don’t worry, school’s fun. I know you’re nervous, but I promise that once you start you’ll love it.”

There was a lengthy pause, and then Sweet Treat spoke. “It’s okay, Sunflower. All little fillies need their education. Besides, if you don’t go we can’t…”

Another pregnant pause.

“Can’t what?”

“Well… uh…”

Fine glanced at the door, a spark of hope rising within him. If his guess was right, then this was what he’d been waiting around all week hoping to hear.

The husband came to the rescue. “Sunflower… do you like it here?”

“Oh, yes! I like it a lot.”

“Well, if you want to stay here we have to take certain steps. The government requires it. Part of that is making sure you go to school.”

“You mean… if I don’t go… I’ll have to live out there again? Be hungry all the time and… and…”

“No!” Hooves clattered on the tiled floor. “No, sweetie, that’s not what will happen. They just won’t let you... stay here. They’ll send you to an orphanage.”

A sob pierced the air, making Fine wince.

“I don’t wanna go back! It was scary there, and ponies hurt me! I wanna stay here with you. Please say it’s okay.”

Sweet Treat shushed her. “It’s okay. You’re not going anywhere.”

“P-promise?”

“I promise.”

Fine listened intently to the sound of the filly’s crying. Though he knew it was probably a mistake, he couldn’t resist slipping forward and glancing around the doorway.

Sweet Treat held Sunflower close, the filly quietly crying into her chest. The mare had her own tears, but she kept her attention upon the child nestled against her and whispered soothing sounds. Her husband held them both, his face stoic and determined. None of them noticed as Fine slipped back into the hallway.

His work was done. Judging by what he’d just seen, Fine was confident enough now to let the filly go. He drifted back into Sunflower’s new bedroom, content in his actions, yet he stopped as he approached the door. The words on the whiteboard echoed in his mind, and he turned to look once more upon Sunflower’s question.

Smiling, he erased her alphabet, took the black marker and wrote.



I was, but no more. Goodbye, little flower, and remember to smile for me.

Your friend,

Shadow Pony



He took a moment to examine his words. Satisfied, he returned the marker and left the house, determined to never see it again.









The snow was coming down hard in the night. Fine adjusted his not-quite-big-enough attendant’s uniform as he stood on the train platform. A glance at the station clock showed that the last train of the evening would arrive shortly. Fine scanned the area, but the platform was largely empty save for one or two ponies waiting like him. He didn’t see the one he wanted, though.

He could feel it itching inside. Three weeks were up; a vision would hit sometime soon. Fine felt at the horn hidden in his vest and smiled; for the first time ever, he was actually looking forward to what was coming.

Just as the train churned into the station, a new customer hurried onto the platform. Fine turned to focus on the train, a smile already on his lips as Baba Groot dragged a large suitcase behind him, scowling and grumbling beneath his breath.

“Where’s Walker?”

Fine turned his attention to the attendant who stepped out of the train. “Called in sick. I’m his replacement.”

“Don’t recognize ya,” the mare mumbled through her yawn. “Ya know what ta do?”

Fine nodded and turned to the platform. “Last train of the night, folks! 87B West, bound for Coltcago. Have your tickets ready as you approach the train entry.”

“Whelp, ya look like ya know what yer doin.’” The mare slapped him on the back, which made Fine flinch and glare, albeit only for a second. “Good luck, it’s a long ride.”

Despite his momentary discomfort, Fine couldn’t help grinning. “I’m counting on it.” He turned to check the passenger tickets of each pony that wanted on. He actually did the job properly too, checking each ticket under a flashlight and examining the potential guest. He was relieved that everypony wanted to carry their baggage into the train itself.

Baba Groot was the last one. Fine offered the zebra a smile, especially upon noting the bandage still over his eye.

“What the buck are you smiling at, ya prick?”

Fine didn’t lose his smile as the zebra entered the train. Glancing around to make sure there were no more guests, he gave the call for all aboard and stepped onto the train. He promptly glanced down the aisle and saw Baba Groot going into a private compartment.

That curious tingling ran up Fine’s spine as the train rocked forward. Excitement built within him as he walked the aisles, but the car was empty; all the other passengers were either in their own private compartments or had moved to a different car. Fine stopped before the zebra’s door.

He stared at it, sucking in a few sharp breaths. Would it come as soon as he entered? Would it take a few minutes? Either way, Fine was ready. He pulled the horn from his vest and set the necklace down around his neck. The horn swayed to the rhythmic motions of the train, comforting in its weight.

Lips pulled back in a toothy grin, Fine reached for the door handle. This was a golden opportunity. After all…

He’d never seen what the inside of a zebra looked like.
	
> Fine's Story
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	There once was a colt. This little colt had all the things he could ever want in life. Loving parents, money, a bright future. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he would ever want.

Until, one day, he saw something. It was big, it was mean, and it took what he loved the most. The colt was sad; he wanted it back. He cried and cried, and when he couldn’t cry anymore he just felt miserable.

He decided to follow the terrible thing. He saw that it had gone through a door. When he opened that door, he saw something… new. Darkness, a deep and all-encompassing shadow. It amazed him. It awed him. The colt stood at the threshold of the door. He looked for what was stolen from him, searching everywhere in the shadows. He never found it, and soon he trudged back home and left the door behind.

Time passed. The colt still hurt. The door had his attention. He wanted to go in, explore, see how deep the shadows grew. So he went back to that door, entered the darkness, and began his search. It was a long, tireless, hopeless journey, seeking out that which was lost or, at least, the thing which took it.

With every step, he grew more curious. The darkness showed him things, things he’d never known existed. Dark things, terrible things, things that scared him, things happening to other ponies that he knew was wrong. He wanted to see more, to understand what he’d found, to help the other ponies who were lost in the darkness. But the more he looked, the more frightened he became.

At last he turned around. He ran, ran for days, ran from the shadows and the black. Yet when he finally made it all the way back… the door was gone. The colt was trapped in the shadows. They had lured him in, he’d lingered too long.

He would never go home.

The colt wandered, lost and scared, always in darkness. He saw more bad things happening, more evil and pain and fear. The shadows seeped into him. Soon he began to do bad things, too. Instead of helping the other lost ponies, he began hurting them. He didn’t like it, but he did it anyway. He couldn’t stop. Every day he became meaner and meaner. Every day he caused more and more pain.

Every day he grew more and more scared.

Then, one day, he saw something he’d never seen before: a window. It led to the light. He couldn’t open it, he couldn’t climb through and escape, but he could see the world that was once his home. In that world, he saw another pony. A filly, who had lost something important just like him. She was staring into the darkness, facing that same fear and curiosity he had so long ago.

The colt longed to be in the world of the light, but knew he would never get there. So he lingered at the window and watched as the filly came back, day after day, to stare into the darkness. She couldn’t see him… but she knew he was there. One day, the window was not a window anymore: it was a door. The colt watched as the door opened. The filly was at the threshold, wondering what was beyond.

Just like he had been.

The colt grew scared. He called to the filly, begged her to turn away. He cried and waved and shouted. He tried to go through the door and push her away, but he couldn’t; the darkness wouldn’t let him go. He was so afraid. He didn’t want the filly to be lost in the darkness as he was. That thought scared him more than anything he’d ever seen in the black eternity.

And then something incredible happened. The filly turned around… and walked away. The door closed. He never saw her again.

Had she heard him? Had he saved her? The colt didn’t know… but he decided that he would no longer wallow in the shadows feeling wretched and hurting other ponies. He began resisting the dark tug of the eternal black on his mind. He could never leave the shadows, but that didn’t mean the shadows had to control him.

He vowed to never let another pony enter that door. He sought it out, and whenever he found it he always found a scared and hurting pony peering at the darkness. He always spoke to them, always helped them. He became the Shadowpony, that little voice that tells us when we should ignore that dark pull on our hearts and turn away from that door.

And now…

…he’s watching you.