Broken Rainbows

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I pushed myself forward, straining my wings as far as they could go. Faster and faster I went. Captain Spitfire led us, the Wonderbolts. Once upon a time, we were performers, bringing joy to Equestria. But then the war started. The Crystal Empire came back, and Sombra was with it. Within days, he enslaved the residents of the Empire and spread his black magic across the land. His crystal slaves became controlled soldiers, with one goal. Conquer Equestria. Of course, to do that, one would have to kill the Princesses. And he had tried. Multiple times.

As I flew towards the approaching army, I yelled as loud as I could, "FOR EQUESTRIA! FOR THE PRINCESSES!" The wind tore at my words, scattering them, but our army understood, and took up the cry. My wingblades shone as I sliced at the airborne crystals, keeping them from impaling Soarin and Spitfire. We were a team, and no shadow king was going to break our bond. Or so I hoped.

I still remember that day, that horrible, terrible day. The day when our bond was broken.

Sweat shone on our wings even though we were fighting in the frozen north. The three of us were making our way towards Sombra, hoping to kill him. How foolish we were. Blood trickled from a few cuts on my body, but they were shallow. As we approached Sombra, he just licked his lips and laughed. Lighting his horn and stomping the ground, he sent a sharp spear of black crystal towards us. Everything seemed to move in slow motion from then on.

The crystal, shining as it flew at me.

Soarin's yell as he moved to shove me out of its path.

Spitfire's bright orange mane as she shoved both of us out of its path.

The crystal, shining as it flew towards her.

The crystal, slick with blood. Her blood.

My raw, primal scream.

Sombra's laugh as he took in the gruesome scene.

And then all of a sudden, I was in front of him. I vaguely remember my wing muscles screaming in pain, but it was insignificant compared to the pain of losing my friend. I threw my hoof at him in a vicious punch, but he dodged. So then I sliced at him with my wings. Once again, time seemed to move in slow motion.

Black liquid sprayed across the floor.

Black liquid dripped down the side of his face.

My primal yell of pain and fury and shock that I had actually hit him.

Him, giving me the sort of look a predator gives its prey.

Me, trying to land another hit on him.

Him, sidestepping.

Me, on a collision course with the wall.

Him, swinging the sharpened edge of his horn downward in a gleaming blood-red arc.

My hooves scrabbling against the floor as I tried to get farther away from him.

Him, slicing through the base of my wing.

And then time resumed its normal speed. The pain hit me like a thousand hot knives stabbing my side, and blood gushed onto the floor. I hit the wall, the impact and the pain almost knocking me unconscious. Sombra laughed as he approached me. "Oh, little pony. How could you ever think you stood a chance against me?"

I responded with a growl, the only sound I could make.

Laughing again, he lit up his horn, a red glow enveloping me. I attempted to struggle against it, but nothing happened. It just bent and stretched around me. Then he launched me out the window.

I fell like a rock, my one good wing windmilling uselessly. The wind tore at my mane and side as I fell, but I couldn't feel any more pain. Blood streamed behind me in a gleaming arc, the drops landing on the already bloodstained ground. As I blacked out, I remember another magic field being wrapped around me.

I woke up an undeterminable amount of time later, hoses and tubes feeding liquids into my body. A fuzzy orange shape sat beside me with a blob of purple on it. As my vision sharpened, I recognized Scootaloo, the little filly I had looked out for. She was why I went to war. I wanted to save her from the black magic of Sombra, and I was afraid that I might not have succeeded.

"Dash?" Scootlaoo stretched a hoof out tentatively.

"Mghtfggh?"

"Good, you're awake." Her voice had an authoritative tone, like the war had toughened her up more than she already was.

"Where am I?"

"In a hospital."

"That's what I figured. How's my side?"

She shifted her attention to her hooves.

"Scoots. What is it?"

"Um, about your side," she began.

"What about it?"

"TheygaveyouafakewingandIwasn'tsureaboutitbuttheydiditanywayandIamsososorry!" The words poured out in a rush, like she wasn't sure how I'd react.

"They gave me a fake wing?"

"Uh huh."

"Can I fly?"

"I dunno."

Stretching carefully, I slid of the edge of my bed and onto the floor, my hooves barely catching me. Scoots stretched out a hoof, but I ignored it. Looking over my shoulder, I caught a glimpse of metal tucked against the side of my hospital gown. Tentatively, I stretched my wings out, surprised when movement happened on both sides of my body. My metal wing acted just like my flesh-and-blood wing did. Giving it a few experimental flaps, I marveled at the fact that I had full, natural control over it. The few other fake wings that I had seen were stiff things, restricting the movement of the wearer.

"How?" I asked, wonder in my voice.

"The Princesses," Scootaloo responded.

"No, seriously, Scoots. How?"

"The Princesses," she responded again seriously.

"The Princesses made this for me?" I couldn't believe it. Why would they make it for me?

"They said that they needed their Captain able to fly. Are you really the Captain of the Wonderbolts?"

I paused, remembering Spitfire's limp body impaled on that hateful spear of crystal, her blood flowing down it. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am," I responded, my voice breaking.

"Spitfire's dead?" Scootaloo asked, disbelief written all over her face.

"Yeah, she is." And just like that, I realized that she was, she really was. It wasn't just a bad dream. It was the never-ending nightmare that the war was.

Luckily, the war ended. I survived, otherwise I wouldn't be writing this down right now. War is truly a terrible thing, and I know that first hoof. Don't ever forget this war, ponies.

This is Rainbow Dash, signing off.

Fallen Feathers

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I yawned as I woke up, stretching my stiff limbs. Sleeping in the damp rain wasn't my greatest idea of all time, but there was nowhere dry for me to sleep. I had given my dry spot to a few younger orphans who were just as bad off as I was. Standing up, I fluttered my tiny wings. A few of my orange feathers drifted off and into the wind. That wasn't good. Twisting my head back, I glanced at my feathered appendages. Three of my small primary feathers were missing. If I could fly, that would have be problematic. But I couldn't, so it didn't really matter either way. My cloudwalking still worked, and that was all that mattered.

Walking out from the alley, I bumped right into somepony. I fell backwards, my wings flapping uselessly. The stranger turned to look at me, and I cringed, expecting a violent response. My skin still carried the scratches from when I bumped into a griffon. They had more or less healed, and only stung from time to time, so I just continued on with my foraging.

But instead of cursing at me and beating me, the mare had kindness in her amber eyes. I shuffled backwards some more, hoping to hide myself in the relative shadow of the alley. Anger, hate, rage; those I could deal with. But kindness? The one pony who had shown me that had gone off to war, and had probably died. I didn't trust kindness. It had gotten me nowhere. You had to be tough when you lived on the streets, had to keep a stiff upper lip. There was no time for whiners or crybabies.

The mare stopped, one metal-clad hoof outstretched. "Are you okay?"

I froze in my attempts at backing away. My brain wasn't working well, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "What army are you in?" My voice was full of bitterness and hate for the war, the thing that had made my life so miserable.

She froze, shocked at how a filly's voice could be so hateful. "I'm not in the war."

"Yeah you are. You have armor."

Pausing, she looked at her hoof, which was still outstretched. "This isn't battle armor. This is the armor of the Fire Wings."

"The Fire Wings? Sounds like war to me." I hadn't realized it, but I had gotten to my hooves.

"No. We're not in the war. How do I explain it?" She paused, tapping one hoof against the cloudstuff. "Do you know how the weather factories need coals and fire to create the hot winds?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm one of the ponies who harvest the needed fire." Pausing, she gestured to her armor. "This armor is fire armor. It keeps me from getting burnt."

I thought about what she said for a moment, deciding if what she said was true. The armor did look less battle-like than the armor the soldiers wore. "Okay, I believe it. But what about your eyes and swirly marks?"

"What about my eyes?"

"They're like dragon's eyes."

"I had a batpony great-grandparent. The other members of my family are all pegasi, which is why I don't have bat wings."

I thought about that as well. Batponies were rare, but not unheard of. "Okay, but what about the swirly marks?"

"They're tattoos. I work with fire, and I love it, so I got tattoos that resemble fire swirls. Make sense?"

"Yeah, I guess. Can you go now? I have stuff to do." I tried to avoid grownups. They were trouble.

"Bye, then," she replied with a friendly smile, walking off. Apparently she didn't notice or didn't care about my hostility.

I waved as she left, crossing my few remaining feathers that she would go away. And then my stomach growled. She paused. My stomach growled again, louder this time. She turned around and looked at me.

"Heh, dragons must be nearby." I tried to ignore the screaming pain in my stomach as I contemplated running away. Nah. She could fly, and that gave her the advantage.

She gave me another look. "Come here."

I dragged my hooves as I approached her. I knew what a sorry sight I was. Feathers were missing, my mane and tail were tangled messes, my coat was thin, and I was little more than a walking skeleton. Apparently the light made me look even worse, as she brought a hoof to her mouth in disbelief and shock.

"What happened to you?"

"The streets." My voice trembled unintentionally. It annoyed me. I didn't need her pity.

"You poor, poor thing." Her voice was soft as she leaned down to embrace me. I backed away, a hostile growling noise coming from my throat. She just hissed at me, spreading her wings and flashing her eyes. I instinctively cowered before her. She could have just walked off, but she gathered me up in a hug instead, ignoring my pathetic struggling.

"Shh, shh. It's okay."

I slumped in her grip, too weak and tired to fight. For some reason, the edges of my vision were shadowy, and as I curled up in her grip, darkness overtook me.

I woke up later in her cloudhouse, a bowl of soup on the table next to me. Her name was Fire Feather, and she was more than willing to care for me. She nursed me back to health, only for me to run back to the streets. She found me six months later, curled up on her doorstep in the dead of winter, half dead and beat up. I was nursed back to heath by her once again, and this time I stayed. I'd never had a mother before, but I have to admit, it's kind of nice to know that somepony is looking out for you. I did have to go to school, but she trained me in the art of fire-flying. I got my cutie mark in it (YAY!), and as I write this, she's looking over my shoulder.

This is Scoots (and Fire Feather), signing off!

Lost Forever, Never Found

by Fire Feather

Broken Rainbows

Fallen Feathers