Redemption

by PourMeADrink

First published 26th of November, 2011

At the end of his life, Ryan Williams stumbles across something to live for.

There comes a point when you can no longer run from the things you've done. Ryan Williams believes that he has reached this point, but sometimes, just as we are about to close one door, another opens before us, changing our lives in ways we could never have imagined.

Update: Redemption now has a live reading! Done by Teraunce, you can find it here: https://youtu.be/W4vLoB3Lbk0
Go give it (and his channel) some love :D

Chapter the First

Legal Ass-covery: I do not own, nor do I claim the rights to, MLP:FIM or any of its characters; those are owned wholly by Hasbro Inc. and Lauren Faust respectively. This fanfiction is not meant to produce any sort of profit for myself or anyone else, it is simply a fanfic

October 7th, 2013

The crisp fall wind plays a gentle, rhythmic melody through the needles and leaves, the sun laying warm across his back like a comforting hand, kicking back muted pinpoints of light from the mica flecked granite.

Ryan Williams leans against the rough rock outcropping, his eyes closed as he inhales deeply. The scent of the trees; pinion pine, juniper and the occasional rocky mountain maple, mixing with the comforting smell of the sagebrush and the sharp odor of the earth, all blending together to create a rich, nostalgic medley in his nostrils.

Exhaling he looks down to the cigarette smoldering between two fingers, listening to the surrounding bird song as he absently contemplates the ribbon of smoke rising lazily from its glowing end. This is a good place, one of the few that he has left, and he intends to soak it in as much as possible.

Taking a deep drag and exhaling slowly he looks out over the enclosing landscape. High up in the mountains, an azure sky arching over head, the few scattered clouds add to the serenity he feels as he sits and smokes. This canyon has been ‘his’ for as long as he can remember, discovered during one of his childhood explorations of the areas surrounding his grandfather’s house.

The canyon itself is rather on the small side. More of a deep, wide fissure in the mostly granite ridge that runs back and away from the property. The steep, almost vertical sides rise up a good fifteen feet at least, traveling in slightly crooked lines to meet at a point roughly one hundred yards away from the entrance.

At the apex of these lines is a small grove of birch trees. Or so he named it as a child. Grove, in retrospect, is actually too generous a word. It’s more of a small cluster. About a dozen or so of the narrow, pale white trunks standing proudly at the fissures tip, distinctive amidst the clumps of sagebrush dotting the mostly level ground back to where it breaks out of the side of the rocky embankment in a sixty foot gap. The pines and occasional oak line and fill out the flatter expanse atop the sides, adding their scent to the cool, clean air.

Butting out his smoke, he looks at its remains for a few moments before giving a slight shrug and lighting another. He has plenty of time for what he’s come here to do. You could say he has all the time in the world, and feels no rush. Having finally made his decision has brought on an almost fatalistic calm, and now that the moment is actually here he’s relaxed for the first time in months. He’s also sober for the first time in months. A conscious decision on his part. One, he feels, should be completely in control for something like this. You should be of clear mind, and of firm resolve. All of this he thinks as he stands up and begins walking towards the alabaster trunks ahead of him.

Stopping a few feet away he picks a clear spot in front of the copse and lowers himself to the ground, sitting Indian style and studiously ignoring the twinges from his right leg. Sighing as he settles he pulls a small automatic pistol from his waist band and places it on the loose dirt before him. Taking a final drag he exhales and looks up, the sky an almost denim blue as he takes in the vastness of it. With deep even breaths he focuses on natures melody; birds calling back and forth from the pines above. The furtive sounds of something small moving in the stunted brush that’s managed, somehow, to take a foot hold in the cramped real estate between the trunks of the birch trees. The wind sighing softly through his canyon, rattling the leaves and causing a few branches to rub against each other with a gentle scratching sound.

It is the music of his childhood, and the music is perfect.

Driving the butt of what is to be his final smoke into the dirt, he focuses down on the pistol before him, laying a hand almost kindly upon its cool steel frame. He thinks back to the road that has led him here, to his cherished childhood haunt one final time. A strange, almost surreal feeling has dropped over him as his mind’s eye travels backwards through the events of the last two years.

He sees his late wife Callie. A gorgeous, flame haired woman with a quick laugh and a ready smile, always a twinkle of mischief in her emerald green eyes. God she was beautiful, clad in denim and the dappled shadows cast by the maples as she moved across the quad with a purposeful stride. As if it was inconceivable that anything would dare to get in her way.

He sees her laughing on their first date. A beer in one hand and a pool cue in the other, chiding him good-naturedly about the ease of her victory, the battered jukebox in the corner grinding out an old rock song. Calling out a challenge as he lays down more quarters on the scuffed green felt of the table. Loser buys the next round.

Her eyes, large and glistening as she exclaims her affirmative. The small ring on her finger, the best he could afford at the time, glinting in the late afternoon sunlight as she leaps up, his arms encircling her as he kisses her deeply.

Radiant in her white gown, saying the correct words in response to the pastures question. His parents and hers applaud from the front row of seats as they kiss as husband and wife for the first time. He's still a little numb from all of the planning and preparations. Looking deeply into the limpid green pools of her eyes he feels all the tension and frustration and stress from the last six months flow away, like a rainstorm off a steep roof. They’re young, the ceremony went perfectly, and it dawns fully on him for the first time that they now have the rest of their lives together.

She’s standing in the bathroom doorway of their small one bedroom apartment wearing her favorite cream colored blouse, a kerchief holding her vibrant copper hair back from her face. He reclines back onto their bed, shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, and she looks at him with a mixture of love and fear and happiness and apprehension. They still need to see a doctor to be sure, but the little stick says it’s positive. It’s positive and what do you think? Oh my God are we ready for this? Are we really ready?

The swirling shadows thrown off by the flashers of the emergency vehicles, chasing each other across the crazy zigzag patches of the cracked black asphalt like wild dogs in the night. Distant voices shouting to one another as the ambulance doors slam closed. The sound has a finality about it, echoing in his ears like the slamming of a coffin lid. The pain and disorientation and above all, the fear. Where were they? What’s happening? Where’s Callie? Is Callie alright? Oh God where’s my wife?

He breaths deeply as the memories wash over him, the sequence as familiar as an oft trod path, coming as always to its unalterable conclusion. He looks up at the sky again, heartbreaking in its beauty. He takes a deep breath, all the happy, comforting smells of a childhood spent in these mountains entering his being. The birds are still calling, conversing in their bright, clipped way. The pines up above sway gently, and in the small copse of birch trees some small creature is still moving about carefully in the brush, most certainly cautious in its movements due to his proximity. Tears have begun to run silently down his cheeks as he picks up the gun and closes his eyes.

It is a truth that when one sense shuts down your remaining senses compensate for the lack. As Ryan sits for slow minutes with his eyes closed, his left hand heavy with the cool weight of the pistol as he builds to his final act in this world, he notices that everything is sounding with a gradually building clarity. The movements of the trees are more defined, the needles and leaves making a soft chattering sound as they sough in the light breeze. The birds speak with an increased crispness to their notes, flitting amongst the branches. And, almost naggingly, the soft movement coming from the trees before him has become distractingly loud. It has also, he realizes, drawn closer to him. He tries to block it out. To focus on what he’s come here to do, but buried, primal instinct begins filling him with apprehension at the idea of something approaching unseen. Struggling with himself, his arm beginning to tremble with the weight he’s holding, simple human curiosity finally wins out and he opens his eyes.

Looking at the brush only a few feet in front of him he sees white fur peeking from between the interwoven tangle, and next to it a wide pink eye gazing out at him. Oddly just as he sees this eye, the creature seems to see his, and with a squeak of alarm it runs back towards the center of the copse, trailing the sound of breaking brush.

Blinking and shaking his head, Ryan looks at the gun in his hand, then back up. Deliberating for a moment before giving a shrug he flicks the safety back on and stuffs it in his front pocket. His curiosity is piqued by the strange behavior and, he thinks to himself, a few more minutes won’t make any difference. Not really. Rising a little unsteadily, the faint pins and needles running down the backs of his legs providing a counter point to the ever present twinge from his knee, Ryan cautiously approaches the foliage in front of him.

It’s composed mostly of scrub brush and weeds no taller than his knee, and though concealing it isn’t nearly as dense as it first appeared. As he begins to make his careful way through he hears another squeak and the sound of the small creature moving further inwards towards the intersection of the enclosing rock walls. Cocking his head to one side he notices that the sound of movement has changed, has in fact doubled, and now there seem to be two something’s struggling through the ground cover away from him.

He’s pretty confident that whatever they are, they aren’t dangerous. Most of the more threatening wild life in these parts are also aggressive, and would have turned to issue a challenge when he first began to approach. Guessing it's nothing more than a couple of rabbits, or maybe a pair of marmot, he begins to pick out their trail through the underbrush.

The sounds of movement have ceased as he reaches the back of the copse. Here where the granite sides of the canyon come together in a point is a clear space, a crooked triangle roughly six feet across on its bottom. Eyes adjusting to the relative dimness, it takes a moment before he sees the two huddling forms backed into the apex of the triangle, and Ryan believes that his initial assumption was right; it’s two rabbits, one black and one white. They’re a little difficult to make out, curled into tight balls hard against the rock, but that’s what they’d have to be. Watching the two animals for a moment he begins to doubt this conclusion as the white one raises its head to look at him with wide, fear filled eyes, before ducking back down with a high pitched cry.

They’re not rabbits. Going to one knee and squinting slightly, he studies the two animals, confusion replacing curiosity. At least the white one isn’t, it’s too big.

In the brief glimpse he had gotten of its terrified visage he hadn’t been able to make out any of the lagomorphic features he’s familiar with. It seemed to have more of a snout or muzzle. As his eyes adjust fully to the shadowed surroundings he begins to make the two forms out in greater detail. The larger one is a bright white, some sort of mane laying across its back in shades of pink. There is a similarly colored brush of a tail, now pulled in protectively around itself, and some sort of small mound on its side. It lies with its head buried in the side of the smaller black one that it’s partially curled around. Squinting further, he can see that the smaller one isn’t black at all, but rather a dark grayish purple. Almost an indigo. It too has some sort of mane, deep blue falling down one side. He can’t see a tail but assumes it to be the same color. More difficult to make out, this one seems to have some sort of lump on its side as well.

They look for all the world like small horses, or more precisely like foals, but not like any Ryan has ever seen. As his grandfather was a rancher for most of his life, he’s pretty confident that there are no horses anywhere in the world that look like this.

Beyond the odd coloration, they’re too small. The larger one is no bigger than a six month old black lab, and the smaller one is about half that size. He supposes they might be some exotic breed of miniature, but they don’t seem to have the blunt features usually found in such. They also seem to lack the characteristic rangy legs of new born foals, and even their behavior is off. A skittish colt, he knows from experience, will still try to bolt in any direction, even when backed into a corner. These two huddle on the ground shivering. His curiosity firmly engaged, Ryan kneels fully on the soft, aromatic bed of pine needles and decaying leaves, resting back on his heels as he observes the twin oddities four feet in front of him.

He doesn’t know how long he sits, calm and as motionless as possible, but his legs have begun to go slightly numb and his right knee has gone from warning twinges to a sullen mutter. If he keeps this up for much longer he won’t be able to walk on the damned thing by night fall; a thought he studiously shoves down as he simply watches the two forms before him. Their shuddering has mostly subsided, and several times the larger one has started to raise its head only to bury it again upon catching a glimpse of him. He’s not entirely certain, due to the angle and their relative positions, but he’s pretty sure the smaller one has peeked a few times as well.

They’re beginning to shift now, cautiously raising their heads to look at him, rose and teal eyes still fearful. Their eyes are large, much larger than they should be and oddly shaped. Definitely not those of any horse Ryan's ever seen, and it dawns on him how incredibly expressive their faces are, their caution and alertness easy to make out.

Slowly he reaches one hand into the pocket of his jacket, conscious of how their eyes follow the movement, and closes it on a half full bag of trail mix. The remnants of this morning’s breakfast. The crinkling of the plastic startles the two and they begin to tremble slightly, but he’s careful to only move his arm, slowly drawing the bag out and placing it on the ground. With equal care he holds it open with one hand and ever so cautiously reaches with his other, grabbing a large handful of nuts, dried fruits, and small chocolates. Leaning forward slightly and extending out as far from him as possible, he deposits the food on the ground.

The two look at the small pile then back up to him, and he’s amazed again to realize he can read the wariness and fear displayed by their body language right on their faces. Bending slightly and putting his hands low to the ground, trying to make himself as small as possible, he begins to shuffle backwards at a measured pace, uncooperative legs feeling awkward as he gives the two room. Feeling his foot bump up against the base of a tree he stops and rests back on his heels again, waiting to see what will happen next.

Returning its gaze to the offering the white one gets shakily to its feet, eyes snapping back onto Ryan as it stands. The smaller one looks from Ryan to its larger companion and then back again, anxiety in its blue green eyes. This tableau holds for a few moments before the bigger one begins slowly moving towards the trail mix, its rose colored gaze never leaving Ryan as he sits, open plastic bag on the ground by his knee.

It reaches the food and leans down to sniff at it daintily, never taking its eyes off him. His entire attention focused on the spectacle before him, Ryan sees its delicate nostrils flair as it takes a deeper breath, before darting down to take an improbably large mouthful, chewing with obvious enthusiasm. Finally swallowing she, for he’s certain now that they are both female, returns her gaze to him before dropping it down to the open cellophane bag sitting next to him.

With a strange look she walks up to him, stopping about a foot away. Her body tenses as Ryan slowly raises one hand, reaching out with his palm up. Taking a few more careful steps, she sniffs his fingers as the smaller one looks on with wide eyes from her position by the rock walls. Carefully drawing his hand back Ryan grabs another small palm full of the salty sweet treat and offers it out to her.

Nostrils once again flaring she devourers the morsels, her blush colored eyes returning to his face. Then startlingly she pushes into his hand, nuzzling his palm. Taken aback at this, Ryan sits motionless at first as she rubs her cheek against his hand. Finally coming back to himself, and taking care not to dispel the moment, he cradles her small head, bringing his other hand slowly over to brush her neck. She leans into him, and suddenly she’s lying against him, head cushioned on his lap as he strokes her back, her coat a velvety softness under his palms.

He gazes down in amazement at this small creature that’s now nestling into him like a lost and frightened child. Looking up he sees the smaller one has gained its feet and has approached to about half the distance between them, wide turquoise eyes watching the strange scene. Grabbing another handful of trail mix he reaches cautiously out, palm flat as he waits to see if she’ll come nearer.

With a hesitant manner she leans out and sniffs, before cleaning his hand of everything. The white one does a very curious thing then, something that Ryan will have call to remember later in his life. Lifting her head and standing up she trots over to her smaller companion and gives her what looks incredibly like a reassuring nuzzle, before returning to snuggle into his lap once more. The indigo foal, for that is what the two have to be regardless of their strangeness, looks wide eyed at the larger one before trotting over to copy her, leaning in against his leg and settling her head on the other side of his lap.

Now completely lost as to what in the hell is going on, Ryan finds himself stroking their necks as he quietly talks comforting nonsense to them. They are obviously scared and alone, and judging by the depleted bag of trail mix both very hungry. He holds his position for as long as he can before his numb legs and loudly complaining knee force him to resettle himself, both legs now stretched out in front of him as the two strangely built, oddly colored foals lay half on, half off of his lap with their eyes closed.

Sitting in the layered and gently shifting shadows of the trees, the cool firmness of the pistol jammed into his front pocket a stark contrast to the soft warmth of the two odd animals sleeping on him, he struggles with the situation, debating with himself about what he should do. He feels the resolve he started this day out with begin to falter, and he starts to wonder uncomfortably about his reasons for coming here this afternoon. He looks down in amazement again, and the languid breeze gusts momentarily, delivering its chill between the white trunks and causing the smaller one to shiver in her sleep, shifting her body into him more.

Contemplating the fragile creatures laying on him he quickly reaches a decision. He cannot simply leave them here, vulnerable and defenseless. He’s unsure of how much time he’s spent back here in the small copse of birch trees, but the sky has darkened noticeably, casting the already shadowed surroundings into a deeper gloom as the wind picks up, carrying with it masses of heavy looking grey clouds and causing the already brisk fall temperature to drop further.

Eyeing the changing weather, he concludes that he’s going to have to take them back to the house.

Shifting them gently off of his upper thighs, and being careful not to wake them, he folds his protesting legs underneath and comes to a somewhat wobbly crouch. Doffing his lined canvas coat he lays it out and, lifting first one and then the other, placing them side by side inside it on their backs. They kick a little, before settling back into slumber. Closing the jacket around them, he takes them in his arms and rises cautiously to his feet, legs feeling better despite his knee singing out in a strident, angry voice.

Glancing again at the darkening sky, he looks down at his bundle to see two sets of eyes blinking sleepily up at him. Making soothing sounds, arms straining a little at the combined weight, he begins the walk back to his truck, parked just outside the entrance of the canyon. Half way to it he sees by the light of the rapidly fading day that they have both fallen back into peaceful sleep.

Authors Notes:

This story was inspired by the beginning of The Rage of Two Sisters, by Ficklemetal. As I was working on the overall idea and plot, it was greatly encouraged by the release of RobCakeran53's My Little Dashie, and how well I thought it was done. It goes without saying (although I'm going to say it now) that the title of this story and its contents are not finalized, and as such are subject to change, most certainly at a whim and possibly without notice (although I'll probably give notice, because I don't like to be a dick unless it's funny).

On a final note, I'd like to thank Shuckle, at ponychan.net, for his assistance (and lavish, if undeserved praise). This is a brony who knows how to help you with your story, in all the ways that matter. Also I should mention that the picture associated with this story was done by Cartoonlion, and I thank her for her outstanding work in this regard. If you're thinking about commissioning a commission, then I'd commission one from this brony, it's well worth it.

Chapter the Second

To say that the last five weeks had been a series of shocks for Ryan is an understatement.

Getting the two back home had been relatively easy. Far easier than it had any right being, in his opinion. They had slumbered quietly in his arms, snug in the warm lining of his jacket as he had made his way back to his pickup. True, they had fussed a little when he had started it up, casting fearful looks from those amazingly colored eyes at the sound and rumble of the engine as they lay across his lap, but after only a couple of minutes of reassuring talk and soothing pets they had eventually quieted.

Parking in the neat gravel sprawl of his front yard and taking them up again, fumbling a little with the door knob, he had finally entered the house proper, depositing them gently onto his couch. Walking over and flicking on the lights in the large living room he had been amused to see them sitting up in the shell of his coat and looking around with wide eyes at the big space.

The house was something of an anomaly itself. Originally a cabin belonging to his great grandfather, Ryan’s grandfather had used his not inconsiderable success in the ranching business to expand and upgrade the place. The original log structure had been integrated into the central area of the dwelling, forming the walls of the living room, study and dining room. Growing from that, a large kitchen had been added. Stairs had been installed where one of the original two bedrooms had been, giving access to a large second story housing an expansive master bedroom, two substantial guest rooms, and large combination sitting room and library. It had become an interesting blend of contemporary rustic and sleek modern architecture that echoed with childhood memories.

Returning and taking a seat next to them, they had immediately begun to huddle against him again. After a while the larger one, which he had in his mind begun to call Whitey, had disengaged, and, taking a cautious leap to the floor, had started to carefully explore her new surroundings. The smaller one, which he had mentally dubbed Blackey, had remained leaning into his side, his arm encircling her as she watched from the safety of the couch.

It was at this time in the clean, bright light of the overhead ceiling fans that he had experienced the first of what will turn out to be many blows to his mental well-being. He could make out with greater clarity the two odd lumps on her sides, and they looked for all the world like small birds wings. Squinting, a look of incredulity painting his features, he watched her nose around, growing bolder as she, and what looked an awful lot like feathered appendages, continued to investigate the room.

Unable to come fully to terms with what his eyes were showing him he had looked down at Blackey, still leaning against his side, and had seen the same thing in smaller scale. Moving his hand up slightly, he gingerly brushed the midnight blue wings that sat folded at her sides, causing her to start slightly and glance at him before returning her gaze to her wayward companion. Their texture was the smooth, silky firmness of swans’ feathers, and she shifted them slightly as he watched, giving them a small flutter. Giving him a parting nuzzle, she had jumped down and joined Whitey in investigating the leather recliner parked at the other side of the room.

Feeling as if he’d just been dropped from a height squarely onto his ass, Ryan had watched the two foals, his mouth falling open as Blackey had jumped up onto the chair, causing it to rock slightly.

Pegasus. Or is it Pegasi? Pegasus’s? He had found his mind throwing up inane questions as he tried to comprehend the enormity of what was now playing cheerfully around his Lazy Boy. Twin creatures of myth, beings that by all rights should not exist in this world, and they were beginning to run around his expensive brown leather recliner.

Reeling, he began to pay attention to the sounds the two were making as they played. It took him perhaps a few moments longer then it should have to identify, but it eventually dawned on him that as the two began to chase each other around the base of the chair, that they were giggling. Giggling. Like small children. There were two Pegasi angling away from the Lazy Boy and chasing each other across his living room rug and they were giggling.

Absurdity piled on top of ridiculousness in his mind, and feeling a little like giggling himself, Ryan had suddenly risen from the couch, not entirely certain what he was doing but feeling overwhelmed by the urge to move. To just turn his back on this whole impossible situation. This could not actually be happening, it could not be, and he had began to wonder if maybe he hadn’t pulled the trigger after all, and now he was in some sort of coma with a slug in his brain. It was at that moment that his treacherous knee had begun to buckle, no doubt trying to gain some measure of revenge for the treatment it had had to endure recently, and he stumbled forward, turning slightly and spilling onto the hardwood floor on his side. A large whoof like noise flew from his lips as the wind was partially knocked out of him.

Rolling onto his back he had heard the two fillies running towards him, still giggling as they began to jump on and over his body, playfully chasing each other around his sprawled form. Staring at the ceiling and giving the occasional grunt when a hoof thudded into his chest or stomach, he grappled with what was happening. It was like a badly written fantasy novel, he thought disjointedly. One of those cheesy ones with a cringe worthy title and battered cover that you find at discount book stores for a dollar, stuffed on a shelf in the back where it always smells uncomfortably of mold and feet. Pegasus in the Parlor, or maybe Horse Feathers on the Hearth. Ryan coughed out a rusty chuckle, wincing as a leg connected solidly with his ribs.

After what felt like hours but wasn’t, his mind had began to settle, his tumultuous thoughts finally ordering themselves into a semblance of calm. He was pretty certain that this wasn’t a coma dream, and as the possibility had firmly left his mind the reality of what he was experiencing began to sink in. It was impossible, absolutely ludicrous, but it was real. He had found his memory flashing back randomly to something he read once. A quote written at the beginning of a particularly good piece of fiction; sometimes, you just have to bow to the absurd.

Lifting his head, he looked at the two amazing foals that were rolling around on his legs and began to smile, managing an awkward bow of his head to them. The situation defied all logic, flew in the face of all reason, but he could not deny its reality. Hell it was right there, tumbling off of his lower legs and playing by his right knee. He didn’t understand it, nor could he fathom how it could possibly be, but it was. As his disbelief began to be replaced with a deep and almost childlike wonder, he realized that for now, it was enough for him.

Rising and talking encouragingly to the pair he had led them slowly towards the kitchen, hoping that he might have something in the fridge to feed them.

The strange marks on their flanks had begun to come in a couple of weeks later, starting out as oddly shaped patches of discolored fur. They had worried him initially, but when it became apparent that the two were otherwise alright he had just chalked it up to the strangeness of the whole situation.

Taken in context with the wings and small bumps of horn he had later found growing through their manes from the center of their foreheads, the off color splotches on their coats were just another oddity. He had turned to the internet for information on what they might be, but had found depressingly little. They were, as far as he could tell, a type of mythological creature called an Alicorn; a combination of pegasus and unicorn. The small amount of reliable information he had been able to glean hadn’t had much meat to it, giving a name and brief description before going on at length about the probable connection between the unicorn myth and narwhals.

Those two weeks had been eventful, and the more time he spent around the two fillies the more he was becoming convinced that they weren’t just amazing animals. They had an intense curiosity about them, watching every move, action and response with wide interested gazes. While it was true that his last cat had behaved the same way, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on behind those strangely colored eyes.

They were becoming more vocal for one, making a surprisingly diverse array of sounds that coincided with what they were doing and feeling; laughing at play, whimpering cries when frightened, small happy sounds when they got a treat or snuggled with him on the couch. At the end of the third week Whitey had startled him by copying his head movement as he was feeding them.

He had been preparing a soup as the late October wind rattled the window screens, seeming to compete with the light jazz that drifted lazily from the living room. He had been slipping them small bits of carrot as he chopped vegetables. The two were sitting at his feet by the stove, their wide eyes above their incredibly expressive faces betraying a hopeful eagerness.

He had found himself talking to them more and more, and as he grabbed another carrot slice he had looked at Whitey.

“Does someone want another one? Hmm?” he had asked, holding the orange vegetable in his hand. She had looked from his hand to his face, fidgeting a little bit as he crouched down.

Nodding his head in the affirmative as he spoke, using that tone people always seem to adopt when confronted with baby animals, “You want another one, yeah?”

Whitey had blinked, hesitated a moment, and then given three large, exaggerated nods, her eyes locking onto his hand. Stunned, he had looked down at her, his brow furrowing, and repeated the question. Receiving the same three nods, and feeling a little like he had been hit in the stomach, he had given her the carrot, watching as she chewed happily. The sound of boiling soup came to him from the stove top but he ignored it, instead reaching from his crouch to grab another slice.

“Blackey do you want another carrot?” He had asked slowly, nodding his head. Whitey began to copy him again, but he watched her smaller, darker companion. Blackey looked at him, at the morsel in his hand, and then at the still nodding Whitey before giving her own head a tentative bob, her teal eyes returning to his face. Feeding it to her, he rose and stood looking down at the pair, feeling uncertain and out of his depth.

That had been a couple of weeks ago, and now as they stand once again on the clean white tiles of his kitchen, the strong afternoon sunlight filling the room with a warm reflected glow, he has just had any remaining doubts about their intelligence thoroughly put to rest.

It was a quiet Friday afternoon, and the pair of fillies were fresh from their bath, coats still slightly damp despite his vigorous toweling. He had expected them to give more of a fuss when he started the weekly routine, but after some initial fright at the sound of the faucet and some cautious investigation when he had placed them into the shallow water, they had taken to it with surprising alacrity, splashing and giggling while he washed them.

After their bath they would get a treat in the kitchen. Last week they had split a Twinkie, Ryan taking care to only give them a small amount each. Before that it was oatmeal raisin cookies. Today was a store bought cupcake, pink frosting topping chocolate breading.

“Blackey, do you want some more?” He asks, smiling as she bobs her head enthusiastically. Giving her a small amount of the sticky sweet confection he looks to the other, taking another pinch and holding it out where she can see it.

“Whitey, cupcake?” He asks the small filly smiling up at him.

Nodding enthusiastically, he sees her mouth begin to move in a curious way, muzzle wrinkling as her delicate lips begin to rise and fall oddly.

She seems to be struggling with something, and he looks down at her in confusion, frowning slightly.

“…Ca.” she responds hesitantly in a sweet, high pitched voice. “Ca…cu…”

Eyes widening, Ryan gazes down at the small white foal, shock temporarily freezing him in place as a chill runs down his spine.

“Cupcake?” he asks in a raspy voice he doesn't recognize.

“Cupa…cuppah!” she squeals, bouncing on her front legs. “Cuppah! Cuppah!”

Stunned, he hands her the small chunk of cupcake. “Cupcake?” he repeats faintly.

“Cuppah! Cuppah! Cuppah!”

Feeling his legs begin to go weak he thumps down on the floor, taking slow, deep breaths and looking from the bouncing, squealing alabaster one to the nodding, smiling indigo one. He splits the remaining treat and feeds it to them both. The stunned feeling in his chest is being replaced by a slowly building sense of awe as the two begin to play, flopping happily onto his lap.

They are not smart animals. All of the odd behaviors and mannerisms since he found them begin to coalesce, fitting together to form an undeniable conclusion that his rattled mind tries sluggishly to process. They’re children, of a different species to be sure, but children just the same. Four legged, winged, horned children.

The full import of this revelation settles over him slowly, a feeling like being lowered head first into a vat of warm oil, and he successfully fights off a momentary bout of claustrophobic panic. What is he supposed to do? What does one do in a situation like this? Call the authorities? Tell a scientist? How is he even supposed to find a scientist, just start calling random universities? Take out an ad?

Watching the two with wide eyes, he finds as his thoughts begin to settle and his heart rate begins to slow, that his mind curiously shies away from the idea of turning them over to someone else. They’d be scared if they had to leave, and…he most likely wouldn’t get to see them again. They’d be gone forever, frightened and alone again. The thought brings with it an unexpected apprehension, followed by a surprisingly strong surge of protectiveness.

Taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment, he slowly shakes his head in the negative. He’s not sure if he’s ready for this, and in fact he’s pretty certain he isn’t, but ready or not it’s here anyway. Looking at the pair and feeling a goofy grin slowly split his face, he watches in amazement as they giggle and roll about, having their fun.

Lying in bed later that night and feeling the heat of the two miraculous foals as they sleep, one nestled into either side of him, he gazes up at the darkened ceiling, eyes lazily tracing the shifting quilt of shadows as he turns the events of the last five weeks over in his mind.

They had taken to sleeping with him every night now, and he had stopped bothering to make up a place for them on the floor after the fourth time he had awoken with a filly pressed to each side, hued manes falling across his upper arms as they slept with their heads on his chest.

As he blinks his eyes in the darkness he decides that he’s going to have to give them proper names. Simply calling them Whitey and Blackey won’t do, not any more. At the same time, he doesn’t think he can give them regular human names either. They’re not human, and naming them something like Cindy or Amy just doesn’t feel right to him.

He’s going to have to begin teaching them as well, and decides that tomorrow he’ll start researching how exactly one goes about homeschooling. He doesn’t know if they can be taught like regular children, or even how much they’re capable of learning, but he can’t leave them ignorant. Not when they’re clearly capable of more.

The fact that they are children still amazes him, and the responsibility it implies frightens him. He’s very thankful that, through the inheritance left to him by his grandfather and later his parents, he doesn’t have to worry about leaving them alone while he tends a regular nine to five. He’s under no illusion that working this out is going to be easy, far from it, but he is comforted by the thought that he can spend all of his time with them.

The darker one shifts slightly, legs twitching a little as she curls her head down so that it rests on his stomach, and he strokes her neck soothingly. Maybe this is his second chance, he thinks. Maybe being given charge of these two marvelous creatures is Gods way of letting him atone. Smiling gently, resolve fills him as his eyes continue to trace ephemeral patterns on the bedroom ceiling, the two Alicorn foals sleeping peacefully against him.

October 6th, 2014

“…and nobody knows, from her eyes to her ears, from her horn to her toes…” Ryan sings the nonsense song, grasping both of her front hooves in his hands.

“My don’t have toes Daddy!” Luna giggles as Ryan sits back.

“You don’t have any toes?” He exclaims, adopting a look of exaggerated surprise, “What happened to your toes Lunabelle? Tia, did you steal your sister’s toes?”

“No Daddy!” She squeals as Ryan starts to tickle her ribs.

It’s been an exhausting year for him, and he now understands the meaningful looks that parents get when they talk about having kids with people who don’t. Never before in his life has he been so worn, flustered and anxious for so long a stretch. It’s caused him to doubt his fitness for his assumed role more than once as he tries to keep up with them. Although to be fair, he’s pretty certain that the two fillies in his care are more energetic than the average human child.

Leaving her older sister in a giggling, fidgeting ball curled up in the corner of the couch, he lays a finger playfully on the younger filly’s nose. “So you don’t have any toes huh? Then what do you walk on Lunabelle?”

“My has hoofs!” Luna cries out, waving the appendages in question about in energetic circles as she leans back next to her sister.

“Why, so you do! Does sister have toes?”

“I have hooves too Daddy!” Tia sputters, still laughing as she uncurls.

He had deliberated for quite a while about their names, wanting to come up with something befitting two legendary creatures, but in the end they had named themselves. After her first words the patches on Tia’s flanks had begun to take on a more defined form. In another week he was looking at a blurry image of what could only be a wavy-rayed sun. The following week Luna's had started to clarify, the image of what was unmistakably a crescent moon becoming more distinct.

He knows that both the shape of the markings and their symmetrical nature should have elicited more of a surprised response, but by that time Luna had began to speak, joining her already talkative sister, and his reserves of incredulity had been pretty much depleted.

While Luna seemed like an obvious choice to him, Celestia’s name had required a bit more creative thinking. Originally he had been leaning towards Sola, due to the nature of her mark and its similar sound to Luna, but Sola had turned into Solest, and Solestia after that. After a couple of days, Solestia had started to sound like Celestia in his mind, and that’s what stuck. Their middle names had been much easier. His mother’s name had been Marie, and Callie’s mother had been Maybelle. And so it was that three weeks after what he has mentally termed The Great Cupcake Revelation, he had begun teaching them their proper names; Celestia Marie and Luna Maybelle, Williams.

“Daddy, why do we have to wait for tomorrow for it to be our birthday?”

“Because them's the rules sweetie.” He says, reaching out to ruffle Tia’s mane.

“But I don’t wanna wait that long.” A plaintive note entering her voice as she scrunches up her rose colored eyes.

“I know honey, but that’s just how it is. And whinnniinnggg,” he draws the word out, “doesn’t change anything.”

Sticking her bottom lip out a little in the start of an adorable pout, he takes a quick look at the wall clock. “I know it seems like a long time sweetheart, but I know what’ll make it go faster. Isn’t it time Bubble Puppies?”

“Bubble Puppies!” Both girls cry happily, looking up with excited smiles at the mention of their favorite show. Grabbing the remote off of the coffee table he flips the T.V. over to Nick Jr. just as the opening theme begins to play, cartoon dogs in improbable fishbowl helmets dancing their way across the screen.

Settling them in with a quick kiss each and a couple of juice boxes from the kitchen, he steps out onto the front porch to cage a smoke, keeping an eye on them through the screen door, a juice box of his own in one hand.

Ryan has no real way of knowing when their birthdays actually are, but for simplicities sake has decided that the day he found them works better than anything else he can think of. As to their ages, again he can’t really be sure, but given the surprising speed at which they had begun to pick up speaking and the like, he guesses that they were around two and four years old respectively. That makes them three and five come tomorrow, and as he takes a contemplative pull from his Marlboro he reviews his mental checklist for the party.

The gifts had arrived two weeks prior, causing him to praise the fact that he lives in the Age of the Internet, where almost anything can be purchased online and delivered right to your house (or front drive, in his case). He’s got the balloons, streamers and ice cream ready to go, and all he has to do is bake a cake tonight after they go to bed. They still sleep with him at night, so sliding out of bed unnoticed will be tricky.

Listening to the happy laughter coming from the couch as they sit entranced by the silly show, he butts his smoke in the dirt filled coffee can on the porch railing and reenters the house to take a seat between them, smiling as they excitedly tell him Grumpy Puppy’s latest misfortune, and the plan the other aquatic canines have for cheering him up. Leaning back with an arm around each of them, he watches the nonsense adventures on his television with a deep feeling of contentment.

The birthday had gone better than he had hoped for. After sneaking out from between the two slumbering foals, and then successfully back in a bleary three hours later, Ryan and the girls had awakened in the early October sunshine streaming through the blinds to the sounds of the late season blue jays flitting outside the bedroom window. Giving them both a kiss on the head and a Happy Birthday, they’d had breakfast, gotten cleaned up, and played for the rest of the morning. For lunch they had a picnic and tea party on the front porch, after which he had again settled them on the couch, snacks and drinks on the coffee table as they watched cartoons.

Making sure they were fully engaged in the animated antics, Ryan had slipped into the dining room to set up the cake and decorations. An hour later he had called them in, smiling hugely as they took in the balloons, streamers, and present laden table with wide, wondering eyes.

They had performed the traditional birthday rituals, Luna loudly insisting that she be allowed to blow the candles out one more time until he had passed out their presents. Insistence forgotten, they had both fallen to the task, holding each gift wrapped box between their front hooves as they energetically tore the paper off with their mouths. Picking out gifts for children that essentially don’t have hands had been something of a challenge, but the excited exclamations from the two confirmed that he had done a good job.

Amongst the assorted items they had each gotten a season of the Bubble Puppies, as well as some educational toys and warm clothes. The clothes weren’t designed for their form, but would do an adequate job, even if they hung oddly on their quadrupedal frames. Contrary to what many people thought the Nevada desert could and did get seriously cold during winter, especially in the mountains, and he couldn’t see keeping them swaddled in blankets again this year. At the very least, he could let them play in the snow for longer than a few moments without worrying about them catching a chill.

As the evening wound down the three played in the living room, romping and laughing as season one of everybody’s favorite underwater dogs played in the background. Eventually the two foals had fallen asleep on the couch, and he had tucked them into bed. As Ryan putters around the house cleaning up the aftermath that can only be left by a successful children’s party, he thinks to himself that it’s been worth it. All of the stress, worry, and exhaustion has been completely worth it. He has felt battered, he has felt frantic, he has felt buried and he has felt inadequate, but above all he realizes he has felt a deep and abiding contentment.

Wearing a tired smile as he stuffs the last of the discarded wrapping paper into the trash, he finally finishes and trudges up the stairs to their shared room, changing into his sleepwear before climbing in between the two slumbering fillies. As they begin unconsciously nestling into their familiar places against him, he lets out a satisfied sigh. For the first time since his wife passed, he’s happy again.

He’s happy.

Chapter the Third

April 12th, 2017

Strong morning sunlight splashes through the windows, breaking over the kitchen in warm, gentle waves. Sitting on the counter is a plate of pancakes, aromatic steam rising lazily as another cooks with a soft sizzle on the nearby stove, the strong scent of coffee overlaying everything. Ryan hums along with the music that’s issuing quietly from the living room, the sweet clarion of a trumpet rising cleanly through the registers, building towards the songs opening.

Plying his spatula he glances at the clock above the sink, beginning a silent count down in his head, the tell-tale staggered thumps of hooves impacting the floor above him as he reaches zero. Smiling, he gives the last flapjack on the stove top a flip and begins setting the table.

He’s just turned off the range and delivered the fragrant stack of hot cakes when he hears what can only be described as a small herd of buffalo stampeding wildly down the stairs.

“Good morning Daddy!” the two fillies exclaim as they rush into the living room. Going to one knee he gives them both a hug and a kiss on the head.

“Good morning Tia Marie, good morning Lunabelle. You girls ready for pancakes?”

Nodding eagerly, the three sit on the floor around the coffee table as Ryan fixes them their plates. It had become clear pretty quickly that the girls weren’t made for sitting in straight backed chairs, and after some trial and error he had finally acquiesced and started serving their meals in the living room, where the low table was the perfect height for them to eat at comfortably.

Cutting a short stack of pancakes into manageable bites and setting it in front of Luna, he looks to her sister. “Tia, it’s your turn to pick today.”

“But Daddy…” Luna complains, her words muffled by a mouth full of breakfast cake.

“No buts Luna, you got to pick last Saturday.” Ignoring the youngest fillies disappointed whine, he sets Celestia's plate before her, drizzling syrup over the pieces. Plopping a couple of bendy straws into their drinks, he settles back with his own plate and a steaming cup of coffee. “Well sweetie?”

“Can we go swimming?” she asks quickly, taking a bite.

“Hmm, it’s a little cold yet sweetheart. Why don’t you think of something else?”

Chewing meditatively, she swallows and takes a sip of her apple juice. “Can we go feed the fishes?”

“Fish, dear. Can we feed the fish.”

“Can we feed the fish, Dad?”

Sipping his coffee and gauging the weather outside the living room window, Ryan nods his head. “Yes, we can feed the fish, Tia Marie. Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She replies happily, smiling around a mouth full of food.

Saturday mornings have become a sort of ritual in the Williams house, beginning with Ryan rising early to make the girls their favorite breakfast. After washing up, they get the rest of the morning to play and watch cartoons, while he gets a start catching up on any chores or tasks that have escaped his attention during the week. The two sisters take turns picking an afternoon activity for the three to share in. He worries about keeping them cloistered in the house, and so the activity is usually something outdoors if the weather is agreeable. About half of the time they end up at Cisco pond.

It had been a cow pond back when his grandfather had still lived there. About a fifteen minute drive in the opposite direction of the canyon where he had found them, nestled in the small hollow formed by the saddle of two broad sloped hills, it was fed by a small freshwater spring. At some point his grandfather had stopped keeping cattle at the home place, and it had been left to itself. With no animals trampling the grounds or messing in it the water had cleared, sweet smelling grasses quickly encircling it. A handful of elms grow about the hill sides amongst clumps of three-awn and blue grama, their broad leafy cover providing dappled shade in the summer months. Small minnows and frogs were its current occupants, swimming and splashing about the cattails that grew in ever shifting patches.

It was at Cisco pond that he had taught them to swim the previous summer, wading out with them in the shallow water as they hesitantly learned how to dog paddle. They had picked it up surprisingly quickly, and by the time summer had started to pass into autumn they were both confidently splashing and paddling around the shallows, their laughter rising through the fragrant August air to mix sweetly with the ever present bird song.

During the spring when the weather still retained some of its sharp winter edge, they liked to sprinkle bread crumbs for the minnows and chase bullfrogs still slow from months of hibernation. Well, Luna liked to chase the frogs. Tia thought they were slimy and gross, a sentiment that she made known every time they visited. It was Ryan’s opinion that this probably accounted for how her sister would inevitably chase one of the sluggish amphibians in her direction, always ‘on accident’.

Cleaning up the meal, Ryan flips on the small T.V. on the kitchen counter as he refills his coffee before starting the dishes. The raucous sounds of the girls playing in the living room can be heard, drowning out the cartoons they’ve put on. Smiling at the familiar cacophony he turns his attention back to the news broadcast, his arms elbow deep in the warm sudsy water.

He doesn’t get much chance to keep up with current events anymore. Between raising two fillies, keeping the home place in working condition and managing the bills and other expenses associated with those things, he can rarely catch more than a couple of headlines or a few minutes of broadcast.

Tuning out the din from the other room he focuses on the anchor while he scrubs. He’s a little surprised and alarmed to find the dapper, be-suited man in the middle of a story about reported civil unrest in the Russian Federation.

“…information is scarce at the moment, but unconfirmed sources report heavy fighting in and around Moscow, and there have been scattered reports of similar fighting taking place around several key military installations in the region. The president is urging calm on all sides, as analysts are telling us this could be the beginning of a full blown civil war…”

The report is accompanied by shaky handheld footage of tanks firing into what appears to be some sort of government building, before switching to a shot of a field at night, flashes bursting and flaring like heat lightening on the horizon.

“...seem to be mounting, with eyewitnesses on the ground claiming hundreds dead already. In a statement issued earlier by the head of the Socialist Labor Party, Vladmir Kalinin blamed any violence occurring in his country on a weak and inefficient government, corrupted by Western influence…”

The reporter is about to introduce a commentator when there is a loud crash from the living room, followed by the sound of crying. Rushing in, he’s greeted by the sight of Tia holding a doll away from her sister, who’s trying vainly to get it back.

“Daddy, she took my doll!” Luna sniffles, tears wetting her muzzle as she lunges for the toy.

“I wanna play with it!”

“But I had it first!”

“But it’s my doll!” Tia mumbles back through a mouthful of doll, hefting it higher.

Blinking and swallowing down his stillborn panic, he looks at the two. “Tia, did your sister have the doll first?”

“But Daddy…”

He gives her his best dad look, trying to ignore his still racing heart. “Celestia Marie Williams, you give that back to your sister right now….”

The rest of the afternoon had gone well, the girls asking a nonstop barrage of fish and frog related questions as they had their fun, and after a vegetarian pizza for dinner and some ice-cream for desert Ryan had tucked to two fillies into their respective beds, continuing a story about a boy and his magical dragon.

“…Thomas looked everywhere for his friend; he looked down on the ground and up in the trees, in between some bushes, where he found some bees. He looked in caves and under rocks, he checked the river, and looked in his socks. He looked everywhere he could think of around, but the dragon, Tucker, was nowhere to be found.” He reads softly from his seat between their twin beds, rose and teal eyes reflecting the light of the small lamp situated between them, blinking slowly as they struggle not to drift off.

“He looked everywhere he could think of to peek, but, he had to admit, Tucker the dragon was really good at hide and seek.” Placing a marker between the pages he closes The Tall Tales of Thomas and Tucker, setting it on the night stand between their beds.

“Daddy, are dragons real?” Luna asks, jaws cracking in a huge yawn.

“No sweetie, they’re make-believe.”

“But why aren’t they real?”

“They’re just legends – myths, Lunabelle. Stories that people made up a long time ago.”

“Oh, okay.” She replies, dispirited.

“Does that make you sad sweetheart?”

Blinking a few times, she looks up at him. “I’d like it if dragons were real. That would be really amazing!”

"There are plenty of amazing things in this world kiddo." Running a thumb along her jawline to her chin causes a gentle smile, and he chuckles. "You just have to find them."

Leaning back he sees Tia gazing down at her blankets, a strange, almost strained look on her shadowed face as her hoof fidgets with the bedding. He watches, curious and a little worried as she seems to gather herself.

“Dad,” Celestia asks suddenly, looking up intently, “Why can’t we go to regular school like regular kids, like on T.V.?”

Ryan sits for a moment, mind racing for an acceptable answer to his eldest daughter’s question. His stomach flops over, and he feels a little as if he’s suddenly been dropped into free fall. “Well Tia Marie, it’s because you two are…special,” he falters for a moment before recovering quickly, “and regular school isn’t enough for special girls.”

“Why are we special, is it because we’re so short?” Luna pipes in. Her large eyes, along with her sisters, locking onto him.

Swallowing, Ryan nods his head, managing a grin. “That’s part of it, Lunabelle.”

Celestia looks intently at her father, large blush colored eyes solemn in the reflected light. She seems to struggle for a moment, face working while she looks down, before hesitantly returning her gaze to his. “If we aren’t regular kids, what…what are we, Daddy?” her eyes are large and moist, her voice small, vulnerable.

Ryan meets her eyes for a moment, before looking over to Luna's wide-eyed gaze. “You’re my girls, “he replies, voice serious, “and that’s all that matters.”

The three share a brief look, before he bends down to embrace tightly first one and then the other. “You’re my girls, and that’s all there is to it.” He murmurs again, giving each of them an extra squeeze and a kiss on the forehead.

Looking content with his answer they both settle under their blankets, soft smiles below oddly shaped eyes which are blinking finally closed. Ryan stands looking down at them. “Good night girls, love you.”

“Love you Daddy.” They both mumble back as sleep begins to claim them.

Making sure the nightlight is on, he leaves their door open a crack, stopping in the hallway to lean against the wall. He’s always known that they were plenty sharp, but it’s never been brought home to him quite like tonight. Pinching his forehead between two fingers, his eyes begin roaming the short Berber at his feet, his mind turning over this latest event. Has he been too ambiguous with them? He knew it was impossible to hide their nature from them forever, but he always figured he’d have plenty of time to ease them into it.

They weren’t ready for this sort of thing. They weren’t ready to learn just how different they were. It was too soon to let them in on the facts of life. The facts that said that if they were discovered, if others learned what they were, that they would be taken away from him. That they would in all likelihood end up as test subjects, treated no better than animals. The thought sends little fingers of apprehension worming down his back, raising goose bumps.

But they were smart. They were sharp. If Tia was already beginning to think of questions like that …

Standing up straight he gives his head a shake. Well, there was nothing to do about it now. He’d just have to do his best to adapt to events as they were. That meant, before too much longer, having a good old fashioned sit down with them about where they came from, what they were, and what it all meant.

He winces at the idea. Such a thing is going to be difficult for him. Worse in his mind, it’s going to be difficult for them. He’s got to make them understand, and they won’t quite be able to.

They’re children for Gods sake. They’re just children, and it’s not fair.

Sighing quietly to himself he straightens up, glancing back to check that he’s left their door open, and makes his way down the hall, their nightlight casting sharply angled shadows along the opposite wall. He intends to go to his study. He’s got a lesson to get together for tomorrow after all. As he descends the oak steps and rounds the corner to the doorway, however, all he can think about is Celestia, her beautiful rose petal eyes reflecting the mellow glow of the lamp as she looks to him.

What are we Daddy?

And all his spinning mind can come up with is You’re my girls. He worries. He worries that in the end, that answer won't be enough.

Dropping heavily into the chair behind the scarred wooden desk, the same desk his grandfather had worked at, tending to the never ending papers and numbers that come with a successful ranching business, he lets out another sigh. He’s dreaded this part of it ever since he realized what the girls really were. The fact that they were as smart and as quick as they were didn’t help either. What will they do when they learn the truth? Will they be angry? Will they be disappointed? Will they, after thanking him, turn away, seeking their own paths, seeking their own past?

Will they hate him?

It’s the last two thoughts that stick with him, squeezing his chest in cold iron bands and running rubbery fingers up and down his spine.

What if his daughters end up hating him? End up leaving him?

Pulling another sonorous breath, he looks down at the desktop, sweeping the stacked school papers off to one side. He’s going to have to handle this smartly, with tact. He won’t lie to them - he can’t lie to his girls, not about this - but he’s going to have to handle it delicately. No matter what, they cannot look down on themselves for being different. At the same time he doesn’t want them to end up resenting the outside world for being normal, either. He’s going to have to walk a fine, careful line. He’s going to have to perform a balancing act.

Delicate, tactful. Loving, considerate. Supportive, fatherly.

Mind now turning at speed, his thoughts racing each other like greyhounds around a track, Ryan continues his contemplation of the scarred wood top long into the night. He doesn't notice the lateness of the hour, or the passage of time which, eventually, makes fools of us all.

Chapter the Fourth

February 4th, 2018

“You’re mine now, there’s no where left to run!” The shout echo’s through the room, its sound reflecting off of the walls and absorbing into the bedding that’s strewn all over the place.

“You’ll never catch me!” A softer voice returns, its defiance muffled and its position unclear.

Standing in the doorway, her intent gaze picking carefully over the jumbled landscape of blankets, toys and books, she searches for her prey. Movement is spotted…there! Between the bed and the wall, a slight motion under the humped shape of the discarded down comforter.

Moving as silently as possible the pursuer begins edging her way into the room, angling with quiet, careful steps around the nearer of the twin beds. She can hear a slight rustling. A faint sound of breathing. Grinning evilly, she leans low and tenses her legs, ready to bound over the remaining bed and pin her quarry. Taking a deep breath, she launches herself over the disheveled sheets, hooves tucking neatly as she reaches apogee. Fore and rear legs unfold as she descends, the butter yellow light streaming through the venetian blinds painting her hide in citron stripes as she braces for landing.

The perfect victory.

All victory however, like glory, is fleeting. As she falls upon her unsuspecting target there is a flurry of movement from beneath the blanket as a dark indigo shape streaks out and around the foot of the bed, trailing a pillow case in its wake as it sprints for the door.

Landing with an indignant squawk and tangling in the mess of linens and pillows, she falls heavily against the bedroom wall with a grunt and a hollow boom, causing the nearby window to shudder in its frame.

“Come back here, criminal scum!”

The only response is fading laughter and the staccato thud of hooves, making speed down the hall for the stairs. Kicking finally free of her textile impediment, Celestia vaults her sisters bed and zigs around the foot of her own in fast pursuit.

“Tia!”

Slowing to an easy canter just outside her bedroom, she looks down the hall to the open door at its opposite end.

“Yeah Dad?” She calls out, walking towards the stairway.

“Come here please.”

Sighing, she trots past the stairs and further down the hall towards her father’s room. Stopping at its entry she looks around before spying the bathroom door standing ajar. “Yeah Dad?” She repeats.

“Come in here, please.”

Padding over with a slightly dismayed expression, she noses the door open further and pokes her head in. She tries, unsuccessfully, to suppress a giggle. Her father is standing in front of the bathroom counter, wisps of steam rising lazily from the sink and fogging the edges of the mirror as he shaves. With half of his face shaved and the rest covered in white foam he looks funny, like he was hit with half a pie.

Turning his head slightly to look at her he clears his throat. “What, exactly, are you two doing out there?” As he turns back and raises his razor a thick clot of white falls from his cheek, splashing noisily into the water

Giggling again, she answers, “We’re playing criminals and guards.”

“Criminals and guards?”

“Criminals and guards, like in my book!” she responds brightly, watching as the razor makes straight lines down his cheek, removing shaving cream and leaving behind smooth, wet skin. This act has always fascinated her, like some sort of half ritual, half magic trick that her father performs.

“Tempered Throne?”

“Tattered Throne, Daddy.”

“Are there any earthquakes in Tattered Throne?” he asks, finishing his other cheek and grabbing a damp wash cloth.

Brow beetling at the question, she shakes her head. “Earthquakes? No, why would there be earthquakes?”

“Why was there one while you two were playing?” he asks, voice muffled by the steaming towel.

Confusion grows and is subsequently replaced by comprehension and a creeping chagrin on Celestia's face as she begins picking idly at the door threshold with a hoof. “Oh, uh…I fell onto the wall…”

“Into the wall, sweetie.” He says, hanging the washcloth on its rack and draining the soapy water from the basin. “You fall onto the floor, you fall into a wall.”

Continuing to watch her hoof as she flicks it shyly at the metal strip separating tan bedroom carpet from grey bathroom tile, she amends her statement. “I fell into the wall while we were playing.”

Bending, he lifts her head with a gentle hand on her cheek. “You’re not hurt?”

Gazing up at him she shakes her head in the negative. Sighing slightly he straightens up, turning back to the counter.

“No more running, and no more shouting. Understood?”

Nodding her head yes she turns to go, feeling light and buoyant again.

“Now you and your sister go straighten up your room. I know it’s a mess.”

Groaning, but quietly, she heads back out the open bedroom door and towards the stairs, looking to round up the sister that got her into trouble.

“I thog yu sad ee wadn’t mab.”

“What?”

“I thought you said he wasn’t mad.” Luna states again, dropping the toys she’s carrying from her mouth into the low white box against one wall.

“He isn’t mad.” Tia responds, nosing the blankets back onto her bed.

“Then why do we have to clean our room?”

Pulling at the corners of her comforter with her teeth to straighten it, Celestia sighs irritably. “Because you were running in the house.” Surveying the work done, she smiles and nods her head slightly. It looks about as good as it usually does, at least when she does it instead of dad. Turning, she encounters the disgruntled countenance of her younger sister.

“You were running too. And yelling.”

“I was not.”

Luna takes a step towards her sister, “Was too!”

“I was not yelling!” Celestia yells, taking her own step forward.

“Girls! What did I say about the noise?” Their father’s voice, echoing down the hall and causing them both to freeze for a moment to eye the open bedroom door.

Exchanging a glance, they both turn their heads towards the hallway. “Sorry Daddy!” they call sweetly in unison, waiting a moment to see if that’s good enough. Satisfied when he says nothing further, they look back at each other and lock gazes, their faces going deadly serious.

Slowly they approach each other, step by measured step, until they’re almost nose to nose. Neither one blinking, neither one daring to look away. This contest goes on for almost fifteen whole seconds before Luna’s face begins to work, lips trembling with the effort of keeping her expression straight. Seeing this causes a similar reaction in Celestia, and in moments they’re both leaning against each other, necks hooked as they laugh loudly.

Breaking away from their embrace, Luna grabs a book from her shelf and climbs up onto her bed, giggles trailing in her wake. Her sister follows suit, stopping first to pull on the draw cord that raises the blinds, flooding the room in mellow, mid-morning sunlight.

Settling herself into a comfortable position, Celestia opens the current installment of the Tattered Throne series to the page she has marked.

“What do you think our surprise is?” Luna asks, paging through her book.

“I don’t know. “ Celestia returns distractedly. “Dad just said he wanted to talk to us about something.” The enduring silence that greets this causes her to glance over at her sister.

Luna gazes back, trepidation and worry drawing an anxious expression on her delicate features. “Do you… think it’s like what the last time was about?”

Pausing for a moment - the idea had not occurred to her - she slowly shakes her head. “I don’t think so…” she trails off, remembering the concerned way her father had looked at breakfast that morning. Giving her head another shake she continues. “No, I’m sure it’ll be okay. Remember, he said there wouldn’t be any more like that.” She tries to sound confident, doing her best to ignore the uncomfortable tightening in her stomach.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, he said we’d like it, right?”

“…Okay.”

Shooting her sister a reassuring smile she turns again to her book. But as she begins reading, she finds that instead of focusing on the valiant guardsman-lieutenant and his ongoing struggle to keep the crown safe from wicked plots, her mind instead keeps wandering back to the last time their father had wanted to have a serious talk.

So he had called it six months ago, his face strained and his eyes worried as he had sat in his recliner, smoke rising almost vertically in a blue-grey ribbon from the cigarette in his left hand. That he had been smoking in the house was somewhat alarming; he almost always smoked outside, and usually tried to do it out of sight of them. More alarming still was the serious and almost nervous cast to his face, the faded afternoon light filtering through the living room windows from a slate ceilinged sky, limning his features in ash colored highlights and picking out the stubble on his cheeks and the lines around his eyes and mouth, making him look old.

Butting his smoke, he had placed the ashtray down on the floor and picked up a folder. “Girls, we need to discuss some things. Serious things.”

Looking worriedly at each other, she and Luna had sat themselves on the floor before him, fidgeting anxiously. Had they done something wrong? What had they done? What was in the folder and why did Dad look like that?

Watching the way the light played upon his face and the way he was looking at them, smelling the remnants of the cigarette smoke still curling its way lazily towards the ceiling, she had felt her stomach start to go funny, sort of twisty and tight.

Leaning towards them, his hands toying absently with the dark brown folder, he had sighed. “Girls…” another sigh, “Girls, you know that you’re different from me, right?”

Sharing another glance with her sister, this one confused, she had shaken her head. “What do you mean Dad?”

“Well, like how I look different from you and your sister.”

“Like… how we have four legs and you only have two?” Luna asked hesitantly.

“Yes, different like that Lunabelle, or like how I don’t have a coat like the two of you, or a tail, or a horn.”

Tilting her head slightly, her expression mirroring the look of bewilderment on Luna’s face, she had answered “Well, yeah Daddy. Of course we know that.”

Tilting his own head, betraying where she had learned the odd tick, he had looked them both in the eye. “Do you girls know why?”

Opening her mouth to answer, she had stopped, delicate blush colored eyes widening slightly. Normally when Dad asked her like that, he wanted her to try to think out the answer.

She began to think. How were they different? Dad walked around on two legs. They walked around on four. Dad had hands, while they had to use their mouths a lot of the time. They had hairy coats, which is why they only had to wear clothes when it was cold outside. Dad always wore clothes. So did the people in her books and magazines, and on T.V. They watched a decent amount of television, and all of the people on it looked like Dad, more or less.

You’d have to be blind not to see that they weren’t the same. So why were they different? Her eyes widened a little more, several half formed and barely acknowledged suspicions beginning to connect to each other in her mind. Like puzzle pieces she hadn’t quite realized were there. Everyone on television looked like him. The only shows that ever had characters with wings or horns were animal shows, cartoons, or movies, and she knew the last two were only about make-believe things. They didn’t look like the people on T.V., and nothing on T.V. looked like them. Not exactly like them, anyway…

“Are we different because…are we horses?”

Her father had started slightly, chuckling and smiling for the first time since he had called them into the living room. “No sweetheart, the two of you are definitely not horses.”

“Why would you think we’re horses?” Her sister asked, arching one eyebrow and looking at her as if she had started spouting gibberish.

“Because we’re not like the people on T.V.” She returned slowly, her mouth feeling dry as the pieces began to interlock for her. “…We’re not them.”

Tail curling in tight around her legs, Luna had returned a panicked gaze to their father, her eyes growing large with alarm. “We’re not people?”

“Of course you’re people.” He had answered with a bemused expression. “But, you’re not like other people.” Closing his eyes for a moment he had taken a deep breath, holding it before releasing it in a gust.

“You’re not human, like I am.” Looking steadily into their eyes, his face serious again. “The two of you are called Alicorns. You weren’t born in a hospital, like I was, and… you didn’t always live here with me.”

The tight, hot, twisty feeling in her stomach had started to fade, replaced by a strange lightness, almost a weightless sensation. Like when she went swimming. “Where did we used to live?” She heard herself ask, her voice sounding faint and distant to her ears.

“I don’t know, honey.” He had answered, swallowing. “I found you and your sister in the canyon, about four years ago. I don’t know where you came from, or how long you were there for.”

“You…found us?” Luna had asked breathlessly, a tremble entering her voice.

He looked from her to Luna then, nodding slowly, and something around his eyes had caught her attention, bringing her back to herself momentarily. He looks afraid.

It was silent for a moment, an eerily quiet tableau, Luna taking deep breaths, eyes still large and starting to shine wetly. Her own face was expressionless, almost numb, save for a growing feeling of pressure from behind her lips.

The pressure was a question, one she desperately didn’t want to ask. The question was dangerous. She knew this without fully understanding the how or why of it, and she recognized that in its asking, everything could change. Her sister, her father. Herself. She could sense it hanging over them, her small family, like some unfathomable weight, and she was chilled in its shadow.

The quiet stretched and stretched for what felt like forever, punctuated only by the dry, measured ticking of the kitchen clock sounding distantly from the other room. She didn’t want to do it, she didn’t want to know. She wanted her dad to stand up, laugh and yell ‘April Fools!’, and ask them if they wanted some ice cream and a movie, even though deep down she knew. She knew the response he would give to the question struggling to be born from her lips, but she resisted, fighting vainly against it, as if by not voicing it she could negate the truth of its answer.

She felt like she was speeding towards a cliff and couldn’t stop.

Gooseflesh raced up her spine and she shivered a little, ruffling her wings as she took a deep breath. She released it, and her lips parted. “If you found us in the canyon, then who’s our dad? “ She blinked her eyes slowly, delicate nostrils still catching a stale hint of smoke. “Who are our parents?”

They sat, motionless, two looking at one looking at two. Her mind felt numb and her body felt hollow. As if when the question had left her mouth, it had taken everything with it, leaving behind only an empty skin. She imagined for a moment that she was a balloon, one connected to the ground by only the most tenuous of tethers, and all it would take was one puff of wind, one exhaled breath, to send her floating away forever.

He had sat back, not looking afraid anymore but tired, and sad. Seeing him look that way made her want to cry. “I don’t know, honey.”

That awful quiet might have resumed again, giving stage to the dusty metronome of the clock as it counted off its endless slices of time, the desiccated sound marching past them ceaselessly in the grey washed light of the living room, and she became frightened. She worried that it really might not ever end, that it might always be quiet from now on. That it might always be cold.

Breath hitching and eyes streaming, Luna began to cry. Long braying sobs that echoed back from the living room walls, startling them both, and as the noise crashed over them that horrible moment was broken forever. Dropping quickly out of the recliner he had knelt down, the forgotten brown folder tumbling to one side and flapping onto the floor as she and her sister had rushed into his embrace, toppling him back against the base of the chair.

He had tightened his hold on them, their heads buried in his chest as they lay against him. Hugging and soothing them both as Luna cried.

“Does…do-does this mean you’re not our Da-Daddy anymore?” Luna had sobbed as she clung to him with her eyes screwed tightly closed, tears leaking down her indigo muzzle, her breath catching as she shuddered. She felt tears running down her own face as she trembled across from her younger sister, fearing the answer.

“Shh, shh sweetheart,” He had said, stroking their necks like he would when they would wake from a nightmare. “Shh now. Of course it doesn’t mean that. You’re still my girls. You’ll always be my girls, and I’m still Daddy…” His breath had caught as he continued. “I’m still Daddy, if you want me to be.”

They sat that way for a long time. How long she didn’t know, her mind and emotions churning slowly. Luna’s sobbing had gradually quieted and eventually Celestia had opened her eyes, blinking at her sister dumbly before realizing that she was asleep. Lifting her head she noticed in the fading daylight that it had started to rain, a gentle pattering against the windows that rose and fell in pitch with the errant wind. Looking back up she watched him. This man who wasn’t her father, his arm encircling her and hand stroking her neck gently as he stared out at the rain with far away, red rimmed eyes.

He wasn’t her father. His saying so hadn’t been necessary, not really. She had known. Not in any real, concrete way, not with her thinking mind, but deeper down, where logic and emotion gave way to instinct and impulse. That part had sensed it, dozens of little things. Segments in their lives that didn’t quite fit together properly.

What was he, really? What were they to him?

More importantly, what was he to her?

He was just somebody who had found her and her sister. Just some man, some person, who was not like them. No, they were not like him. Who had taken them in, like you would a stray dog you found shivering by the side of the road. Was that what they were, just some weird animals he had found and felt sorry for, like strange pets?

She began to fill with something, an emotion she had never felt before when looking at this man; anger. Why did he have to tell them? Why did he have to hurt them and make them afraid? Whether the telling had been a revelation or a confirmation to her, she hadn’t wanted to know. She hadn’t wanted the truth, and now she couldn’t not know it, and it was his fault. Breathing steadily, feeling the anger simmering bitterly in the back of her mind, she followed his gaze to the window and watched the rain impacting against the pane.

She focused her building ire on the drops spattering against the window, watching with a sort of embittered satisfaction as each one met its violent end, to run in rivulets towards the sill and mix with its predecessors. Sitting there, her mind gradually became unfocused and began to drift, buffeted by erratic ebb and flow of her swirling emotions. Eventually the tumbling swells within her began to wane, and after a while she noticed something; the more she watched the rain the more she felt her fledgling animosity begin to ebb, seeming almost to flow out of her and into the individual water droplets to be dashed against the coolness of the glass. Until eventually she felt not anger, but confusion, and a soothing calmness.

Was that all there was? Were they nothing more than strays?

No, her oddly placid mind returned to her. There’s more to it, isn’t there?

He was raising them, and he was teaching them. He pushed them to learn, to do better. He took them out and showed them, giving them the names of trees, animals, plants, stars. He took them camping, and swimming, and hiking. He bought them gifts sometimes for no reason. He didn’t just feed them, he knew all of their favorite foods. He played with them, laughed with them, talked with them and paid attention to what they said. He tucked them in at night and read to them. Praised them when they did good and scolded them when they misbehaved. He took care of them when they were hurt, or sick, and reassured them when they were scared. He made them feel safe and warm. He loved them.

Wasn’t that how a father was supposed to be?

He loved them, and looking back up at him, she realized with relief that she still loved him. That she still wanted to be his little girl, his Tia Marie, and with this realization she felt the cold shadow lift away, and she lay warm against her father in the sound of the rain.

Watching his face, she was relieved to see that he didn’t look sad or afraid any more. Just worn out, like when he spent all day working on the house. Like she felt. Yawning hugely, she had adjusted her position against him slightly, getting more comfortable and thinking that she might follow her sister’s lead and go to sleep, when he had startled her by speaking.

“I’m sorry Tia,” he had said, pausing to take a breath. “I’m sorry sweetheart. You and your sister are too young for this. You’re too young, and it’s not fair to you. To either of you.”

Fetching a sigh, he looked down and met her eyes. “It’s too soon for all of this, but we don’t have a choice. There’s still more I have to talk to you girls about, things you have to understand about the world. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she looked back at him. “More…like this, Daddy?”

Blinking, he had smiled gently at that and leaned down to brush her forehead with a kiss. “Not like this, Tia Marie. Important things, about you and Luna, and how we’re going to keep you both safe. But nothing else like this. I promise.”

“I love you, Daddy.” She had said, settling into him and closing her eyes, already beginning to drift off as she breathed the clean linen smell of his shirt and the strong fragrance of the soap he used. For the rest of her life this particular combination of scents would always make her feel comfortable and safe.

Reaching down, he had gently wiped the damp spots from her cheeks with his thumb. “I love you too dear heart. I love you too.”

Ryan settled himself in his study, a mug of fragrantly steaming coffee warm by his left hand. Listening for the girls for a moment and hearing nothing, he smiles and turns on some music. Good, they've finally quieted down.

Opening a drawer, he removes a brown folder, setting it atop the pile of books and printouts already occupying the desktop, the dulcet notes of Take the ‘A’ Train drifting from the expensive Bose speakers and filling the room with warm mellow sound.

The folder contained everything he had been able to learn about Alicorns, as well as relevant material on unicorns and pegasi, all painstakingly researched and cobbled together from a wide range of sources. The painstaking part hadn’t been getting the information, so much as weeding out the fanciful and the made up from the historical. He had been doing most of his work through the internet, and that had become increasingly frustrating until he had contacted an old college roommate now working as a world history professor in Reno. That friend had given him the email address of a colleague at Sacramento State, who had provided the titles of some excellent mythology references before cheerfully forwarding Ryan to his ex-wife, who chaired the Department of Antiquities at UC Berkeley.

Since then he had contacted over two dozen universities and museums around the country, ordering books and copies of manuscripts by the dozen. A lot of it was depressingly repetitive, but it represented nearly four years worth of effort. Effort which he had then laboriously and methodically trimmed down to a more manageable three-hundred or so pages of material. He still tried occasionally to add to it, but at this point he wasn’t finding any new information, and was finally admitting to himself that he was unlikely to learn anything more. His efforts had paid off though as he’d used it to teach first himself, and more recently the girls.

It was going better than he had hoped, after their ‘discussion’ six months ago. Luna had had the most trouble, insisting on sleeping with him for weeks afterwards and waking with nightmares when she didn’t. Her sister had been a tremendous help in settling her though, and now she spent most nights in her own bed, with only the occasional bad dream. Tia, being the older of the two, had coped better, though they had both stuck very close to him for some time. To the point that he had been more than a little relieved (and ashamed at feeling so) when they had finally began to behave more independently again.

He shivers a little, trying to throw off the disquieting feeling that settles over him as he remembers that grey afternoon and the expression on Celestia's face as she had sat with him watching the rain. That had been his worst moment, when he had glanced down and seen the unmistakable look of hurt and anger in her eyes, causing all of his fears to come rushing to the fore. Feeling keenly the ache at his center he had opened and closed his mouth several times, uncertain of what to do and afraid to say anything to her, least he risk widening the rift he imagined he felt forming between them.

He couldn’t be certain, and he could never ask, but he thought he may have come close to losing her that day. When she had looked at last back to him, the sincerity in her eyes and the affection in her voice had been like a soothing balm against blistered skin, and he had finally felt his heartache and worry leave him like a departing spirit.

Since then they had both made remarkable progress, accepting with some trepidation that they had to be careful not to be discovered by others. They had of course been frightened by the idea that other people, outside people, might want to take them away. But he had worked with them, gradually replacing fear with understanding and a prudent caution.

They were warming up to the idea that they were special, growing excited whenever he finished up a normal school lesson and brought out the folder, always overflowing with questions. They wanted to learn about themselves, were in fact eager to do so, and he was immensely proud of them.

Giving his head a brief shake, he opens the folder before him and removes the bundle of papers marked with the tag Pegasus, setting it off to one side. Replacing the folder in its drawer he begins shifting through the stack of materials on the desktop, picking out several stapled printouts, pausing, and then selecting a pair of books before shuffling everything together.

Arranging his chosen material, he feels his earlier disquiet replaced with a deeper sense of unease. They were going to be excited about this, that was immutable, unchangeable fact. If he knows nothing else, he knows that excitement and youth combine together to obliterate carefulness and good sense. He wasn’t excited. He was a worrier. A chronic one, as his late wife had so often pointed out, and he knew without a doubt that the ulcer inducing pile before him would be an unrelenting source of worry over the next few months. He needed to instill in them a healthy sense of, not fear, but respect, for the dangers involved.

Finally satisfied with the order he leafs briefly through the stack, each title and heading jumping out at him and pricking his unease like a partially diluted shot of anxiety; Miraculous Nature: The Mechanics of Flight. From Nest to Treetop: The Rearing Behaviors of the North American Sparrow. Beginners Physics: Air Pressure and Lift. How Do They Work: A Guide to Avian Anatomy. Veterinarians’ Best: A Basic Guide to First Aid and Field Triage.

Groaning he lowers his head and takes a deep breath, allowing the bright notes drifting languorously from the speakers to wash over him as Duke Ellington skillfully tickles his eighty-eight keys. They were going to be excited. God help him, they were going to be so excited.

Chapter the Fifth

Quick Note: From now on, I think I'm going to write up all of the authors notes and what not in the blog portion of my profile, so that I don't clutter the chapters up. So, if you're so inclined, head over there when you're done with this latest installment to find out what's going on, and to hear me bitch and blather.

June 9th, 2019

“Sweetie? Could you slow down a bit?”

The highway stretches out before them, the soft susurration of the tires on the asphalt a muted soundtrack as the road runs endlessly beneath the headlights.

“Ryan slow down, please.”

Out of the corner of his eye Ryan can see the dim, grey blur of the guard rail flowing past the oncoming lane, its slight dips and bends causing it to undulate like some tarnished, silver serpent.

Callie Williams looks over at her husband, a mixture of unease and annoyance marring her graceful features as she reclines in the passenger bucket seat. The diffuse glow of the dashboard instruments reflect faded jade accents along her cheeks and jaw line, picking out glowing highlights on the bun of her hair as one hand rests protectively on the pronounced mound of her belly.

Eyes intent on the road, he returns a non-committal grunt by way of reply. Distantly he can make out a set of headlights, the twin pinpricks of washed-out amber appearing as a single dot of color due to the distance, racing towards them along the amaranthine blacktop.

Ryan's not sure where it is they’re heading. All he knows is that they have to get there, and as soon as possible. Some deep and barely understood imperative is driving him, forcing him to hasten his pace even now. A furtive glance shows the speedometer creeping slowly from eighty-five to ninety, a velocity at which he knows no pregnant woman should be traveling while earth bound. Despite this however, he grimly knuckles down on the steering wheel, the gas pedal flush with the floorboard as he urges more speed out of their tired sedan.

“Ryan, what are you doing?”

Tearing his eyes briefly from the road, he takes in the drawn expression on his wife’s face. He tries to answer her, to explain and reassure, but all he can manage is another shapeless grunt. Vision sweeping back across their path in an arc, he absently notes the flat and infinite expanse of the desert flowing away in all directions, fading quickly to pitch blackness just outside the twin cones of his low beams.

They have to get to their destination, they have to. It’s the only way her and the baby will be safe. This thought runs constantly through his mind, repeating over and over like a drum beat. He doesn’t question the strange logic behind the thought. He doesn’t have time for contemplation. He can feel the urgency, the stomach tightening apprehension, tickling between his shoulder blades and down his back like spiders legs.

“Why are you doing this, Ryan?”

If she could just understand, could feel what he felt.

She’d be telling him to go faster.

“Why are you in such a rush, sweet heart?”

He wants to talk to her, to try to make her see, but all of his focus is on the road, on speed. He finds, unsettlingly, that he is literally incapable of anything beyond racing their car down this highway.

Why can’t he form the words?

“Are you so eager?”

His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing as his focused mind tries distractedly to place some sort of context to her question.

“Are you so eager to do this again? “

Giving up on what his wife is saying, all of his attention is once again on the road, his mind a narrow blade of purpose. The worn tires hum along, just kissing the center line and sending slight vibrations through the wheel and into his hands. Faintly he can hear the small metallic sounds of his key ring swaying gently back and forth beneath the steering column, its rhythm changing occasionally when it brushes against his knee. Drawing a breath he can detect barest odor of must, interlaced with just a tinge of antifreeze, wafting almost imperceptibly from the air vents.

He is focus. He is purpose. He’s going to keep them safe.

He has to this time.

Sitting forward amidst the small sounds of cloth rustling against cloth his wife looks at him, pausing to take a breath before her mouth opens.

“Are you so eager to kill us, Ryan? Again?”

The question slams into him like a hammer blow, an almost physical force that takes his wind and makes his eyes go wide. His stomach goes queasy as a sick sort of dread sweeps over him, threatening to devolve into gibbering fear. Looking cautiously towards her, he begins to panic. Callie is sitting fully upright, her eyes burning with accusation, boring into him like fiery augers. Blood is starting to run down her face in creeping rivulets, leaving bright, slow lines down her beautiful features and dripping from her cheeks to leave dime sized maroon spots on her white maternity blouse.

Terrified, Ryan sucks in a strangled breath, and as he blinks his sandpaper eyes the depthless black surrounding the highway changes in an instant, inverting to a dull white fog, its vast nothingness concealing the fuzzy outlines of large humped machine shapes. Barely seen orange and yellow blurs streak irregularly past the passenger window. They’re at the construction site.

No. Oh no, oh please God no, not again...

He’s been here before.

He starts to speak, trying to plead with his deceased wife. Her expression stops him cold, drying his mouth and rendering him mute. His beautiful Callie, always with a smile, her eyes always alight with a hint of mischief, now bears a different expression on her graceful countenance. The gentle curves and hollows have transformed, replaced by hard angles and planes. Stern, harsh, unforgiving. It is the expression of a hanging judge about to pass sentence, and seeing her look at him that way seems to crush a piece inside of him.

She runs a hand along her cheek, leaving dark smears trailing back towards her hair and coating her palm in a red glove. “You did this to me,” She lays both hands on her belly, leaving a bright crimson print on the white fabric that stands out like an accusation, “to us. But once isn’t enough. Not for you.”

She tilts her head slightly, long copper strands of her hair falling away from her sensible bun to sway gently with the motion. “You’re going to do it again. And this time, Ryan dearest, we’re all along for the ride.”

He stares at her, mouth agape. Callie...his Callie. The pain and loss wash over him like familiar surf as her words sink in, threatening to drown him. She was right, of course. He had been the one arguing with her, he had been the one not paying attention.

He had killed them.

“Daddy!”

Ryan’s head snaps forward, his eyes locking onto the rear view mirror.

“Daddy, don’t let them catch us! Don’t let them take us away! Please Daddy!”

Horror drops over him like a leaden blanket. Celestia and Luna are strapped into the back seat, battered and bleeding from dozens of small wounds. One of Luna’s eyes is a swollen mass of purple and black, riding above long, deep cuts along one side of her muzzle. Her remaining eye is clear and intact, a fact that does nothing to diminish the look of abject terror shining forth from the unblemished teal orb. Celestia leans heavily next to her, her beautiful white coat marred with alarming red patches and scuffed. Her head is lowered, her muzzle pointed at the floor boards. Tears leave damp trails along her snout as she weeps hopelessly. Her quiet sobs constrict his heart in bands of cold iron. He can see one of her wings sticking out slightly at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.

Swimming into focus through the rear window, he can see them now. Dozens of unmarked black S.U.V.’s filling out both lanes behind them, passing through the unbroken wall of mist lying across the highway like hunting beasts. The impenetrable windows above their government plates reflect the sourceless light of the low hanging fog as they slowly close the gap in pursuit.

“You’re going to do it again, Ryan. “ His dead wife cajoles him from beneath her scarlet mask. “You’re going to kill us. All of us, this time.” With a dusty laugh, she begins to sing song in a cracked voice, the sound like two stones rubbing together. “ All of us…all of us…kill all of us, dear Ryan…”

He struggles to move, to twist his head, to lift his arm. To do anything. His body is frozen, locked into place, his arms solid, gripping the wheel and holding their course steady. All he can move are his eyes, which swing slowly to the front at the deep rumbling of an approaching horn. Ahead of them twin globes the color of flame rush the car at a lunatics pace.

The vehicle they’re attached to is grossly huge, the vertical gunmetal bars of its grill looming up before them and disappearing into the changeless ethereal mists above the cars roof like a cemetery gate.

Ryan tries to cry out, to beg a merciful God to make it stop, but his body is stone, an unyielding, immobile statue with its foot pressed firmly on the gas peddle. All he can do is sit.

Callie’s gravelly voice intertwines with Luna’s hitching screams as the behemoth races towards them, horn blaring and tires squealing, ready to bring about their end in an apocalypse of sound.

Ryan bolts upright, a nascent scream dying roughly in his throat as his eyes shoot open. Taking deep, bellowing breaths he sits, blinking away the sweat that coats his face as his chest heaves. Slow minutes pass in the cool dark of his room as he finally wills his quivering muscles to relax, his heart slowing to a more normal rhythm as he rubs at his brow with an unsteady and shaking hand.

Lord, that was bad. That was a bad one. Leaning his head back, his other hand absently makes its way to his right knee, gently rubbing at the aching throb that emanates from it in slow, hot waves. His knee always hurts after that dream.

Glancing at the bedside clock he sees by it’s electric red glow that it’s just past four in the morning. Sighing, he throws his legs carefully over the edge of the bed, standing a bit uncertainly on his complaining knee. Draping his robe around his shoulders, he wanders to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light as he splashes cool water from the faucet onto his face and the back of his neck. The act helps to diminish the apprehension and unease left over from the nightmare.

Turning, he makes his way back through his darkened room and heads out into the dimly lit hall. He needs a smoke. In fact he feels rather strongly that he deserves one. After all, it’s not like he’ll be able to get back to sleep.

Stopping to check on the girls before he makes his way to the living room, he sees in the mellow wash of their night light that both are sleeping soundly. Their peaceful forms and quiet breathing causes the tension in his chest to loosen. Smiling a little in relief, he makes his way quietly down the stairs and out onto the front porch.

Leaning against the railing he closes his eyes for a moment and breaths deeply, drawing the gentle scent of the early summer stillness deep into his lungs. Releasing with a satisfied sound, he extracts a pale, slender tube from a red and white pack, pausing to tap its filter end against his palm before lighting up with a sigh.

It’s been a long time since he had last had that dream. His recurring nightmare about Callie’s death had finally stopped years ago, tapering off shortly after he had found the girls. It’d always been a bad one, real bad, and while it had had its variations this was the first time it’d ever been significantly different. His slight shudder has nothing to do with the morning chill as he remembers his girls in the back seat of their battered Olds.

Contemplating his cigarette, he’s pretty sure he knows what brought the dream on. Tapping his ashes absently over the wooden slat of the rail, he mules it over in his mind, before taking a deep drag and exhaling slowly, eventually nodding in agreement with his assertion. It’s a combination of things, really. A blending of his anxiety about the girls increasingly regular flights around the property, and his concern for their well being. Below all of that is a deeply rooted and barely acknowledged fear, that by teaching them what he can and encouraging them in their aerial efforts, he could ultimately be the cause of losing them to mishap or discovery.

And then there was Luna.

On top of everything else, the anxiety from Luna’s accident was more than enough to trigger a dream like that. True, it hadn’t been as bad as it could have been, but that afternoon two days ago when Tia had come bursting through the front door and screaming for him to come quickly, had probably taken years off of his life.

Sighing in resignation, he takes another pull from his smoke, seeking comfort in the habit. It’s not the first time one of his daughters has done something to cause the breath to catch in his throat and panic sweat to spring out on his forehead. The worst so far, but not the first, and he’s depressingly certain that it won’t be the last.

What can he do, though? He certainly can’t forbid them from flying. For one, it would be monstrously unfair. They absolutely love it, and he can’t deprive them of something they enjoy so much just to assuage his own fears. Besides which, it’s part of what they are. It’s part of who they are. He’s raising two Alicorns after all, and like it or not wings are part and parcel of the whole deal.

Turning and looking out over the front yard he finishes his cigarette, absently running a hand along the railing. The moon has set, and in the quiet space before sunrise the vast multitudes of stars shine out across the unblemished night sky with an almost painful clarity. Even after all the years, the sight of a night sky far from house lights and street lamps still has an effect on him. He drinks in the beautifully intricate vista before him, feeling his thoughts drop into order as his mind calms.

Butting his smoke in the small coffee can sitting on the railing, he lets out a pent up breath and turns to go in. It’s very simple really, there’s nothing to do about it. Kids are kids, and his are no exception. There’s no way he can keep them from taking the occasional tumble. He can only continue on as he has been, reminding them why they need to be careful, and taking care of them when they’re not. All of the fear and anxiety, the panic sweat and the drastically shortened lifespan are just part and parcel of being a father. He imagines it’s the same regardless of what species your children are.

Closing the screen door quietly, he heads towards the kitchen to get the coffee started. There are a lot of chores to catch up on this week, and as he idly picks at a splinter lodged in his palm he adds re-sanding the porch railing to the list he carries around in his head. Making the coffee strong, he glances at the digital clock on the stove before leaning back against the counter to wait for it to brew. It’s going to be one of those days.

Luna stirs tiredly, opening her eyes slowly as she wakes. Glancing over, she sees in the muted morning light the still, white mound of her older sister curled up beneath the sheets. Blinking slowly and shooting a look of bleary eyed resentment at the slow rise and fall of Tia’s blankets, she yawns and rolls onto her side, giving her legs a careful yet satisfying stretch that leaves them partially uncovered and poking off the side of her bed.

Gathering herself, she tucks her hooves and rolls onto her stomach, wincing as she inadvertently lies on top of her bandaged right foreleg. With gritted teeth she manages an ungraceful stumble onto the floor, clattering softly about on the carpet before taking a moment to yawn again and orient herself. It’s a little early yet, but she can already smell the strong scent of coffee drifting up from the kitchen, which means dad is already awake.

Shooting another half-heartedly rueful glance at her still slumbering sister, she turns towards her bed, reaching over a little clumsily and favoring her leg as she noses her sheets into a semblance of neatness. Tia always makes her own bed in the morning, and she just knows her sister will say something if Luna doesn’t, hurt leg or no.

Favoring her leg a bit more, she heads downstairs at an unsteady gait, quietly grumbling to herself as she limps along. Dad said she was lucky it was only a sprain, but right now she doesn’t feel very lucky. She feels tired and awkward and a little grouchy, and the bandage makes her leg hot. Also she’s hungry. Reaching the bottom step she can hear her father humming softly to himself, the abstract melody almost subsumed by the lovely sound of something sizzling in a pan. The sound, along with the faint scent wafting through the living room, buoys her spirits, and she makes her way stiffly into the kitchen to see what’s for breakfast.

Her dad is standing over the stove, sliding the skillet in his hand around as he adds some seasoning or other. Looking over his shoulder at the sound of her hooves on the tile he smiles warmly. “Morning sweetheart, how did you sleep?” Turning back, he sets the pan on the burner and grabs a nearby bag, sprinkling yellow and white shreds of cheese into the mixture before him.

Walking carefully over she nuzzles his side, being mindful not to bump her horn on his arm, which is already reaching for the spatula. “Alright, I guess. My leg kept waking me up.”

“How’s it feeling?”

“It still hurts, but not as bad.”

“Well it sounds like its better then it was.”

Feeling a little more hopeful, and sniffing at the enticing aroma drifting from the stove, she wanders over to the fridge, pulling at the handle with her mouth. After debating for a moment, she selects a glass of orange juice from inside, turning to set it on the table before nudging the door closed again.

The kitchen setup is a little awkward for everyone, but it has so far proven to work very well. There are usually several glasses of juice and tea on the shelf, each with a straw poking up beneath the cellophane wrap that’s secured over the top. Milk still has to be poured, since Dad doesn’t feel comfortable letting it sit like that, but overall it’s worked out a lot easier than trying to pour something by mouth when he isn’t available. It’s certainly a lot less messy. The success of the technique has caused it to be expanded to a variety of different snacks and meals, each plate or bowl covered with Saran Wrap and set on a shelf where it can be easily grabbed by mouth. It helps make the two fillies feel more independent.

Dropping the plastic wrap into the trash and taking a sip, she sits down on the kitchen floor, settling with most of her weight on her left leg. “What’s for breakfast Dad?”

Still humming quietly to himself, Ryan flips the pan up once more, before setting it aside and turning off the range. “Omelets with hash browns. How does that sound?”

“Oooh, omelets.” She smiles, taking another sip of her juice. A clattering from the stairs draws her attention, and she turns to see the larger form of her sister trotting through the kitchen doorway.

Celestia walks over and gives Ryan a quick nuzzle while he finishes up at the counter. “Good morning sis, morning Dad. What’s for breakfast?”

“Omelets.” Luna returns absently, nosing at her bandages.

“Oooh, omelets.” Tia grins as she trots happily to the fridge.

Turning, Ryan begins setting the assorted components of their meal on the table, yawning and taking a drink of his coffee as the girls sidle up. “After we eat and you girls get cleaned up, we’ll take another look at your leg Lunabelle.”

“Do you think it’s almost better daddy?” she asks, nosing her orange juice over next to her plate.

“It’s only been a couple of day’s honey. It’ll be a while yet before you can go running around on it again.”

Groaning quietly, she situates herself and tucks into the folded eggs on her plate. It’s been forever since she hurt her leg. Why does it have to take so long for it to get better? Why can’t it be better now? It’s not like she broke it or anything.

“Tia, what are your plans for today?”

Chasing a mouthful of hash browns with her apple juice, Celestia looks across the table brightly. “Go fly up around the canyon, look around for a while.”

“You’ve done that for the last two weeks. Don’t you want to take a day off and relax a little bit?”

Sipping her own juice, Luna looks resentfully at her sister. It’s so unfair. Tia gets to go flying, while she has to sit around the boring house reading or watching T.V. The fact that these are activities that she normally enjoys is shoved rudely into the back of her mind. She wants to go play outside.

“I like it up there,” Celestia responds with a grin. “Besides, you always say the more we fly, the better we’ll get at it, right?”

“I just worry, Tia Marie.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad. I promise I’ll be careful.”

Suppressing a sigh, Ryan takes another drink of coffee as Celestia smiles reassuringly at him from across the table. Swallowing a bite of her breakfast, Luna casts hopeful eyes at her father. “How much longer do you think it’ll take for my leg to get better, Dad?”

Setting his cup down, he gives Luna a commiserate look. “It’ll take some time sweetie. We’ll see how you’re doing after your shower.”

“How long does it usually take?”

“Well that depends on how long you stay off of it.”

“But it’s not like I broke it or anything...” Luna trails off, unable to keep a hint of a whine from her voice.

“No, but you either strained it or sprained it, which can be almost as bad.” Turning back, he gives Celestia a serious look. “I want you to watch out for snakes while you’re up there, Tia Marie. It’s warmed up enough for rattlers to be out.”

“I will, Dad.” Tia responds with a hint of exasperation. Stopping for a moment, she looks back to her father. “The poisonous ones have a different shaped head, right?”

Nodding, Ryan leans back, swallowing some of his eggs. “That’s right honey. Venomous snakes have a wedge shaped head. Regular snakes have an oval shaped head.”

“Why do rattlesnakes have a different shaped head?” Luna asks curiously.

“Well, their heads are shaped differently because they need room fit their fangs and their poison glands in them.”

Finishing her orange juice, Luna tilts her head a little. “So why does it have to be warm before they come out?”

“Because they’re cold blooded.” Celestia answers brightly, looking to her dad for confirmation.

“That’s right Tia. See, snakes, like all reptiles, are what’s called ectothermic, which is a fancy way of saying they can’t make their own body heat. So they have to use the sun to keep warm...”

Both girls lean forward, listening intently. Neither could really understand it, but they loved to hear their father explain things, and to have him answer questions. It was, they will realize later in life, part of what made school such a joy for them. Losing herself in the meal and the morning conversation, Luna’s annoyance is soon forgotten as she enjoys breakfast with her family in the strong June sunlight that splashes through the windows.

“How does it feel when I bend it this way?”

Gritting her teeth, Luna hisses quietly as Ryan gently tucks her hoof part way back. “That hurts, Dad.”

Watching her carefully, Ryan continues holding her right hoof partially back, his hands tenderly cradling the appendage. “Mmm-hmm. How far can you lift your leg, sweet heart?”

Drawing a double lungful of the still humid air, Luna begins to slowly bring her ankle up towards her shoulder, the intense shooting pain stopping her before she can even get it half way. Lowering it back down, she gives her head a short, bad tempered shake. “It’s still not better, is it Dad?”

Carefully releasing her hoof, he rises gingerly from his crouched position, briefly wiping the moisture from her damp coat onto his pant legs. Hearing the disappointment in her voice he leans over, cupping her cheek gently before reaching back to comb his fingers through the dewy strands of her mane, straightening out the small tangles and knots. “Sorry honey. It’s going to be a while before its back to being one hundred percent. These things take time Luna.”

Sighing dejectedly, she leans back as her dad straightens her mane. It really had felt a lot better under the hot spray from the wall nozzle. Now it’s right back where it was when she got up this morning.

Dumb leg. It’s not fair. She didn’t know there was a branch hiding in that tall grass. If Tia hadn’t been chasing her, making her land without looking, she wouldn’t have gotten tangled up in it, and she wouldn’t be stuck in the house with a stupid hurt leg.

Unbidden, the memory that it was her idea to play air tag in the first place tries to enter her thoughts. It’s a memory that she studiously ignores as her dad finishes untangling her lank hair and reaches for a brush next to the sink. It wasn’t her fault. Mostly.

Her dumb leg is never going to get better.

Idly she watches as the leftover steam from her shower mixes with the cooler air coming in from the partially open bathroom door, painting mystic and constantly shifting patterns upon the mirror. She’s starting to relax as her father runs the brush though her cobalt mane, humming quietly as he works, stopping occasionally as he hits a tangle he missed earlier.

This is one of her favorite times. Feeling fresh and clean after a good, hot shower, the pleasant hint of soap and shampoo still drifting on the warm eddies of steam. The comforting presence of her father as he hums softly in a mellow baritone. The soothing strokes of the brush. Everything always feels right during this time, everything always feels sure, like it couldn’t ever be any other way.

She sighs again, this time in quiet contentment as the ritual comes to an end. Ryan makes one last pass with the brush, studying his handiwork a moment before setting it back on the bathroom counter. Straightening, he opens the medicine cabinet, taking out a fresh elastic bandage and a tube of ointment. Some of her contentment leaves her as he sets these items on the wash stand.

Eying the tube sullenly, distaste wrinkles her snout before she turns large, pleading eyes to the man before her. “Daddy that stuff smells.”

“I know it does, but there’s still some swelling going on, and this stuff,” He holds up the green and white tube, “helps with that. It’s also supposed to make it hurt less.”

“I don’t like it. And it doesn’t work, my leg still hurts.” She grumbles quietly, leaning her weight onto her left side and shifting her wings in annoyance.

Squeezing out a handful of the admittedly foul smelling ointment, he begins gently massaging it into her ankle. “I’ll get you a couple of aspirin when we’re done here. And I don’t want you moving around on it too much today. It’ll never heal if you keep trying to walk everywhere on it.”

“But it’s boring sitting around all day,” she responds in the most plaintive voice she can muster, “And I wanna go outside.”

“No sweetheart. You’re staying off of your hooves as much as possible.”

“But Daddy…”

“No ‘buts’ Luna, and no whining. A little boredom is a small price to pay to get better. Hopefully next time you’ll look where you’re landing.”

Ryan tries not to chuckle at the martyred groan from his youngest daughter. It’s sometimes easy to forget how dramatic everything can be at that age. At least it was just a strain, and not a break. Had it been, he wasn’t sure what he could have done about it on his own. That would have meant finding a doctor, or more realistically a veterinarian, and there are a whole slew of reasons why that thought makes his stomach tighten uncomfortably. Taking another palm full of the evil smelling goop, he gives his daughter a smile that’s two parts consoling and three parts genuine relief, as he begins diligently working it up her leg toward her knee joint. Kids never seem to realize how lucky they are.

“So what do you want to do?”

“I dunno.”

Sighing in exasperation, Celestia shoots her sister an annoyed look. Luna, for her part, continues paging half-heartedly through an issue of their fathers Time magazine, not really reading it. From the picture on the front, Celestia can tell that she’s not really reading it. Tia doesn’t know what the START Treaty is, or how it failed, but the giant fireball on the glossy cover is not really the type of thing either she or her sibling are into.

Snorting in irritation, she settles back onto her haunches, watching her sister. “Well Dad asked me to keep you company, since you haven’t been able to go out all week. So, what do you want to do?”

Finally looking away from the magazine, Luna rolls her eyes, before turning to look at her sister. The added height of the couch puts them at almost the same eye level. When Celestias sitting, at least. “I can’t really do anything, Tia. Dad keeps telling me not to walk around too much.” Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she glances down at the magazine lying next to her on the cushion. “All I can do is watch T.V. or read. There’s nothing good on right now, and I’m bored with my books.”

“You read all your books?” Celestia asks, her eyes widening a little as she leans forward.

“No, but I’m tired of them. Why do you think I’m trying to read this?” She motions at the magazine, distaste tightening her features momentarily. “And this is just a bunch of boring outside stuff. Adult outside stuff.”

Celestia’s irritation begins to damp down as she feels a wash of sympathy for her little sister. She has, after all, been out flying and exploring all week, while Luna’s been stranded in the house. Settling back again, she starts thinking. No T.V., and no books. Glancing at her sister’s white-wrapped foreleg, she quickly rules out most of their toys. They need something to do that doesn’t involve a lot of standing or moving. Absently pawing at the edge of the living room rug with one hoof, she looks around, her vision coming to rest on the stairs.

“Well, there are those board games upstairs in the school room. Do you want to try one of those?”

Considering for a moment, Luna slowly nods her head, her dark mane swaying gently with the motion. “I guess, although I don’t know how much we can play without Dad there.”

“We can make our own game, if we want to. It’ll be fun!” Tia returns, smiling cheerfully. “And maybe when he finishes up, we can all play.”

Luna smiles back, her mood visibly brightening as she begins to carefully work her way off of the couch. “Ok, let me go tell Dad what we’re doing, and I’ll meet you up there.”

As her sister makes her way up the stairs in a gentle clatter of hooves, Luna walks carefully across the living room. Her leg is feeling quite a bit better, compared to the beginning of the week. She’s hardly limping at all now. Nosing the screen door open, she steps half way onto the porch, searching about before finally spotting her father’s legs sticking out from beneath their battered tan and brown pickup. “Hey Dad!”

His legs jerk, and there is a muted bang, followed by a string of barely audible curses. His voice drifts out, the sound reflected in funny ways by the truck above him and the gravel beneath. “Yeah honey?”

Suppressing a giggle at the scene, she leans out farther, pitching her voice to carry. “Me and Tia…”

“Tia and I, sweetheart,” He corrects, scooting out from underneath the vehicle and sitting upright. “It’s ‘Tia and I’.”

Rolling her eyes again, this time with a smile, she continues. “Tia and I are going to go upstairs and play a board game.”

Pausing a moment to wipe his hands on a nearby rag, Ryan stands and makes his way over, his tattered tennis shoes crunching along the gravel. “That sounds good sweetie. I’ll be done with the truck in about half an hour. After I clean up I’ll make us some lunch.” Mounting the three short steps of the porch, he bends low, making certain to keep his stained hands at his sides, and brushes the top of her head with a kiss. “Do you need another aspirin?”

“No thanks, it’s feeling a lot better.” She answers, picking her right hoof up off the ground and bending her leg back and forth a little. She grins back up at him. “I think it’s almost better.”

“You do, do you? Hmm…” He trails off, reaching up to rub his chin. Luna has to suppress a fresh set of giggles as his oil darkened fingers leave a broad smudge below his mouth. It looks like a crooked beard “Well, we’ll take a look at it after dinner. If it’s feeling good enough, we can probably quit with the ointment and wraps.”

Stretching and twisting his back, he continues. “Just remember that feeling better isn’t completely better. You can probably start going outside again, but you still need to take it easy, even without the bandages.” His voice takes on a stern tone as he adopts a very serious dad look. “And don’t let me catch you trying to fly until I say it’s alright, Luna Maybelle.”

She beams at the news, her smile losing only a little of its edge as her father tempers her enthusiasm. “I’ll be careful Daddy, I promise.” She responds in a solemn voice, the effect of which is spoiled somewhat by the excited gleam in her eyes and the ear-to-ear grin on her muzzle. Looking at her for a moment longer, he nods his head and turns back towards the truck. “You girls have fun, and don’t make a mess, OK?”

“We won’t, Dad.” Backing into the house, Luna lets the screen door swing closed with a soft rattle. Turning and making her way towards the stairs, she tries to walk normally, but even despite the slight limp, there is still a noticeable bounce in her step.

Nearing the room at the end of the hall where they usually do their learning, at least when they’re not off for the summer, Luna catches the sound of something thumping onto the carpeted floor, accompanied by her sister’s irate voice. Pushing the door open fully, she beholds the strange sight of her sister standing oddly, with her head near the ground and her rump swaying in the air. Laughing at the ridiculous spectacle, Luna walks over and gives the pink brush of a tail a gentle tug, eliciting a startled squeak from ground level. Looking down, she breaks into fresh laughter as she sees that Celestia has her head tilted sideways and shoved part way into one of the deep shelves on the bottom. “Tia, what are you doing?”

Trying to extract herself gracefully, and failing, her older sister finally regains her footing, rising to give Luna a dangerous look. “I’m trying to find the board games. They used to be on the bottom shelf.” Glancing at the books scattered around her immediate vicinity, she nudges one with her hoof. “They’re not there anymore.”

“Did you check the other bookcase?”

Gesturing towards a similar mess in front of the neighboring cabinet on her other side, Tia raises an eyebrow, returning a level look. “Of course I checked the other bookcase.”

Shrugging a little in embarrassment, Luna’s eyes begin wandering around the room, trying to spot the narrow rectangles of the missing game boxes. It’s not that big of a space, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find them. Tia’s already checked the two bookshelves standing along the far wall. Across from that, in the middle of the room, is the table they share as a desk, which sits in front of an actual desk that their dad uses. On the other side of that is the door way, flanked by a short couch on one side and a small end table on the other. Eying the end table, she gives her head a brief shake. They obviously couldn’t fit in there. Continuing her survey she can’t spy anywhere else they might be hiding. There’s nowhere else they really could be. Besides the furniture, and discounting the framed pictures and the tall mounted white board for obvious reasons, there’s only a potted plant tucked into a corner behind the desk, and some books stacked along the back wall.

Looking back to the desk she gives her wings a small shrug, walking over to it. Coming to the nearer side, she hesitates for a moment as a faint wave of apprehension comes over her. The desk is dads, and she probably shouldn’t be poking around it… but the board games have to be somewhere. Behind her she can hear Celestia muttering sullenly as she begins replacing the books she discarded on the floor. Glancing back at her sister, she gives herself a quick shake and approaches the polished chunk of dark wood. It’s pretty nice, actually, if sort of tall. Tall for her anyway. Angling behind it, she notices a couple of small cardboard boxes stacked next to the base of the plant.

Smiling in triumph, she steps over and noses the top one open. They have to be in here. Looking inside, her smile fades as she sees that the box is full of…stuff. Not the hoped for board games, but strange, thick folders, sitting on top of a bunch of papers. Curious now, she pulls out an odd blue folder, setting it on the floor and flipping it open. She draws her eyes down in bewilderment, studying it briefly before realization dawns, and she flips it right side up. Able to make sense of it now, she sees that inside is some sort of certificate. The words are written in a difficult to make out cursive script, but she can read University of Nevada across the top in an arc. Several lines below that her father’s name is printed, Ryan S. Williams.

“Hey sis? Look at this.”

“Loo ah wha?” Her sister replies, glancing over with a book in her mouth.

“This thing with Dad’s name on it.”

Placing the faux leather volume on the shelf next to its companions, Tia pads lightly over, squeezing in next to Luna in the narrow space between desk and wall.. “What is it?” She squints down at the paper, her eyes roaming the script.

“I don’t know, it’s sort of hard to read.” Luna tilts her head a little, her eyes trying to follow the curly-cue writing.

Studying it a moment longer, Tia’s eyes widen in comprehension. “Oh, I think Daddy got this when he finished college. It’s a what-do-you-call-it…a diploma.” Reading further along the document, she comes to the bottom of it. “Dad got a batch-o-lurs in business?” She asks, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

Glancing at her sister, Luna’s brow furrows. “What’s that mean?”

“I dunno. I think it means he knows how to run a business,” Leaning forward, Celestia takes a look in the box. “There’s another one.” Twisting her head awkwardly, she is just able to snag a second blue folder with her teeth. Pulling it gingerly free by its corner, she deposits it on the floor next to the first one, before flipping the cover open with a hoof.

Watching her sister, Luna quirks an eyebrow. “Why would he need to know how to run a business? Aren’t we rich or something?”

Studying the second certificate, Tia’s brow beetles as she reads the name printed across the bottom line. “Who’s Calandra A. Anders?” She asks, looking in confusion at her younger sister.

Face mirroring Tia’s perplexed expression, Luna glances down at the other document. “I don’t know. What did she get a batch-ola-thing in?”

“Music... history?” Celestia responds hesitantly, unsure what those two words mean together.

“What does that…”

“That means she knew a lot about music, sweetie.”

Twisting in alarm, both sisters look back to see their father leaning against the doorway, the hands shoved casually into his pockets nearly hidden by the clean t-shirt he had donned. “Those are college diplomas. You get them when you graduate from a university.”

Back peddling, both girls move out from behind the desk, turning abashed looks towards their father. “We’re sorry Daddy, we didn’t mean to snoop…” Luna falters, as Ryan waves her comment off with one hand.

“It’s alright girls, I’d actually forgotten those boxes were there.” Approaching the two, he runs a hand along their manes, smiling down at them gently. “Here, let me show you something.” Motioning them out of the way, he walks behind the desk, picking up both diplomas. Gazing at them for a moment, he turns and sets them on the wooden surface to his right. Bending, he shuffles the boxes around, setting the top most off to the side and opening the bottom one, from which he draws a thick, odd looking book with tan binding.

Walking back, he considers the couch for a moment, before taking a seat on the floor and leaning back against it. Settling himself comfortably, with his legs stretched out and the strange book in his lap, he motions them over.

Tia joins him amicably enough, taking the spot to his left and laying neatly on the floor with her hooves tucked, where she can lean partially against his side and still see what he’s holding. Luna approaches more slowly, almost hesitantly, and as she glances uncertainly at the tan book her mind flashes back to a dark brown folder and a gray, rain soaked afternoon. Settling herself in a similar fashion as her sibling, being careful to keep her right foreleg where she can stretch it out, she takes a deep breath and releases it. Seeming to sense her anxiety, Ryan reaches an arm around her and gives her a brief squeeze and a comforting smile, and she feels a tightness she didn’t realize had taken hold of her chest loosen appreciably.

Returning her father’s smile warmly, she turns her attention to thick leather bound volume resting on his legs. The cover is simple and unadorned, the rich khaki leather slightly pebbled. Where the cover meets the spine the surface is humped and wrinkled, as if the book has been opened a lot. The hints of dust in the small dimples across its surface suggest that this hasn’t been the case for some time. The pages in between the covers don’t look like any paper Luna’s ever seen before. They almost look like cardboard wrapped in paper.

Shifting his eyes back across the room towards the blue folders on the desk, his gaze takes on a far-away look. “Those boxes are full of old papers and documents, things I never got around to storing in the attic. The diplomas are from when I went to school in Reno.”

Following her dad’s gaze for a moment, Celestia looks back to him. “Who’s Calandra Anders, Dad?” She asks, carefully pronouncing the unfamiliar name.

Fetching a deep sigh, he glances down, meeting her rose-tinted eyes. Luna becomes a little worried at the expression on his face. He seems…sad.

“Calandra is long for Callie, sweetheart.”

“Momma Callie?” Luna asks, her eyes widening in surprise as her mind flashes to the small handful of framed photographs hanging about the house. She rarely even noticed them anymore, just like the other pictures. They’d been present for her entire life, and had become just another part of the background, as such things are wont to do.

Looking at her he nods. “That’s right. Calandra was her full name. Callie is just what she preferred to be called. We met at the university, around our sophomore year, I think.” A small, wistful sigh escapes him, and he reaches down to flip back the cover of the mysterious book.

Watching with interest, both Luna and her sister study the newly exposed page. Unlike the weird thick pages behind it, this one is made of normal paper. Stark white, it has one word, Memories, printed in flowing cursive across the middle. The word has been embellished with sprays of elegant and detailed little flowers and birds, drawn in black ink. Looking down Ryan chuckles quietly.

“Momma Callie majored in music history, but she got her minor in art. She was always doodling little things like this. Even her grocery lists would have little flowers, or birds, or trees…” Trailing off he absently runs a finger along the marks on the page. “She was always the creative one,” He says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself, “She was always the dreamer.”

“What kind of music, Dad?” Luna watches her father’s eyes as they linger along the drawings, her face open and filled with curiosity. “Like the stuff you listen to?”

“She’s the one who got me listening to that type of music in the first place, sweetheart. Oh, she liked most everything, but she loved jazz and the blues. The early stuff. Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, those were her favorites.” Giving another quiet, almost rueful chuckle, he reaches out and turns the page.

Filling the next sheet are photographs behind plastic squares. Eyes traveling the page, Tia motions to one with her snout, a slightly faded picture of a man and woman smiling with their arms around each other. “Is that Grandma and Grandpa Williams?” They look different from the other pictures she’s seen of them around the house. Younger, and with less grey but still recognizable. Staring at them, she belatedly recognizes her own house in the background, though something about it looks off. Taking a moment, she realizes that the front porch is missing. Instead of the stained wooden decking with its slanted roof, a short set of stairs occupy the space before the front door, flanked on either side by flower beds.

“Yep. That was one of the times we came up here to visit Grandpa when I was younger. My grandpa, your great-grandpa.” Pointing with a finger, he draws their attention to another picture, a bearded man with salt and pepper hair sitting at a table. His eyes are crinkled below the set of glasses that rest pushed up on his head, looking at the camera merrily above the large grin that’s plastered on his face. “That was when grand dad was still fixing this place up, after he retired and sold his share of the ranch. You girls remember how I told you he worked in the ranching business?”

Nodding, Luna dips her chin at a different photo near the bottom of the page. Set in front of a broad grassy area surrounded by trees and brick buildings, a stern faced man looks unsmilingly out at the camera, while a younger couple stand next to him. The younger man is wearing some sort of uniform, small multicolored ribbons sit in a bar across the left breast of his dark blue coat. A faint smile peeks out from beneath the shadow cast across his features by his weird hat. The woman is dressed in jeans and a checkered red shirt, a huge smile shining forth from her lightly freckled face as she stands with her arms around the two men flanking her.

Squinting a little at the much younger seeming woman, Luna looks uncertainly back to her father. “Is that Momma Callie in the middle?”

Nodding his head again, Ryan gives her a gentle smile. “That’s right, honey,” He begins softly, touching each person in the picture lightly with a finger. “That’s Callie’s dad- I guess he’d be your Grandpa Anders- and her older brother Raymond. Ray was a Marine. This is from when they dropped her off to start school.”

“Where’s Grandpa Anders now?” Tia asks, studying the lined and sever countenance of the older man on the left.

Ryan hesitates for a moment, and a strange combination of anger and guilt briefly passes over his features like a shadow. “Ambrose- Callie’s father- never liked me very much. After Ray was killed in Afghanistan during the war, he didn’t like anyone very much, except for her. Momma Callie was just about the only person who could make him smile. When she passed, we…had a sort of falling out, and stopped talking. I moved back here, and he stayed at their place in California. I imagine he’s still there.”

Leaning against him, Luna looks up with a bewildered expression. “Why didn’t he like you, Daddy?”

“It’s complicated honey. He was never easy to get along with, and he and I didn’t agree on a lot of things. Some people are just born sour, I guess.” Shaking his head, as if to clear it, he frowns down at the picture.

Looking across at her sister before returning her eyes to her father, Tia hesitates. “Momma Callie passed away…in a car crash, right Dad?”

Nodding slowly, Ryan looks over at her, blinking a few times. “That’s right, sweetie.”

“And that’s how you hurt your leg?”

Receiving another nod, she looks away, feeling vaguely uncomfortable. Shifting, she leans against his side, her eyes picking over the three people in the photograph.

“I wish I could have met her.” Luna says quietly, looking down at the young woman in the picture, a faint longing delicately painting her graceful features.

Setting the album back in his lap, Ryan wraps an arm around each of them, his hands slowly stroking the delicate pink and dark blue of their manes. “I do to, dear heart. She’d have loved you girls.” Releasing a deep breath, he smiles. “She’d be proud of you two.”

“What about grandma and grandpa?”

His smile growing, he looks from one to the other. “Grandma and Grandpa would have loved you just as much. They’d have spoiled you rotten, too.” He chuckles softly.

Leaning against their father, giving him comfort while taking their own, the three sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts as they quietly contemplate the photographs before them. Eventually, after giving each of them a final hug and a kiss, Ryan settles his hands again on the book, and flips the page.

“…Daddy, why is that mans hat on fire?”

“Well honey…” Ryan falters lamely, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, “See, sometimes when you’re in college, it can be funny to try to play a prank on your friends…”

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the converted sitting room, the girls asking questions and exclaiming over the photographs. At one point, after a glance at his watch, Ryan had left briefly, returning a short time later with a plate of sandwiches and cool glasses of sweet tea. Munching happily, they poured over the old album, laughing and talking about people they had never met, and places they had never seen. Lost, in what is to the girls at least, the distant past.

Chapter the Sixth

*Short Authors Note: This chapter became unexpectedly long, so much so that I decided to split it into two chapters, because editing that much at one go would take me forever, and this one is late as it is. Also it'd be a pain in the ass. So, what you're reading is really the first part of two. The second part (chapter seven), will be edited and released next, hopefully in a couple of days.*

December 6th, 2024

“Uh huh. And that… alright. Alright, I understand.” Replacing the phone in its cradle with a small click, Ryan turns serious eyes towards the threshold of his study, where Celestia and Luna watch him nervously. Taking a deep breath, he gaze flicks quickly from them to the phone, and then back. “They’re here.”

The two sisters exchange a pensive, worried look. Celestia swallows audibly before looking back to her father. Uncertainty is writ large across her face, but Ryan would almost swear there’s a shine of excitement in her large rose colored eyes as well.

She swallows again before opening her mouth to speak, but Ryan cuts her off, holding up a preemptory hand. “I want both of you to go up to your room, Tia, and wait. Don’t make any noise, and don’t come down no matter what you hear, until I tell you it’s alright.” Studying her expression a moment longer, he adds “And for God’s sake, stay away from the window.”

Luna takes a shuffling step forward, as if she’s not entirely sure what she should do. Anxiety twists her mouth in dismay, widening her eyes and contorting her normally graceful features. “Dad, are you sure…” She falters as Ryan rises from the plush office chair.

Crossing the short distance between chair and doorway, he lays a comforting hand on each of their cheeks, alabaster and indigo coats a downy softness beneath his palms. He smiles down at them, a little bit of nostalgia causing the overhead light to reflect damply from his eyes. It seems like just the other day he had to crouch down to touch his girls. Now he can just stretch his hand out and ruffle their manes, and he only has to lean over to give them a hug. He doesn’t even have to lean that far. If there are two irrevocable constants in this existence, he’s come to understand that time passes, and children grow.

Looking at each of them in turn, he puts on his most reassuring smile. “It’s going to be OK, girls. We’ve known this was coming for a while now. Everything is going to be alright, I promise.” Dropping his hands, he glances at the far wall, as though he can peer through the smooth plaster and wood paneling, down the gravel track that runs from the front yard and descends the hill to the access road. “Go on now, and hurry. They’ll be coming up the drive any moment.”

Watching them as they turn away, his smile founders, revealing for a moment some of the apprehension that he’s so far kept hidden. His eyes follow them as they turn the corner and head up the stairs in a gentle double cadence of hoof falls. From the front of the house the sound of crunching gravel just precedes the muted rumble of an engine, the sound growing louder as it approaches before cutting off. In the following silence he hears the thump and click of Tia’s bedroom door closing from up above.

Taking a deep breath, he walks into the living room, giving the space a final once over. The lighter squares and rectangles scattered about stand out against the darker paneling of the walls, the framed photographs that once occupied them tucked away in a box upstairs, where prying eyes can’t see them. Their absence is noticeable, but there isn’t anything he can do about it. Giving a shrug, his eyes continue to sweep the room.

Other than the missing pictures, the place looks acceptable. The books, magazines, brushes and other paraphernalia associated with having two daughters have been put away, and he’s gone over the floor twice this morning with a broom, sweeping up stray feathers and loose hairs. Everything is clean, organized and most importantly, normal. A sharp knock echoes from across the room. Listening for a moment to make sure the girls are settled, he makes his way over, casting a last perfunctory glance as he moves. Almost to the door, he catches something from the corner of his eye and freezes in mid-step, head whipping back around. From this angle he can see part of a bright white shape peeking out from beneath the couch. From in front of him comes another set of bangs, the impacts sounding a little agitated.

Moving quickly, he bends and snags a long feather from underneath the broad leather mound of the sofa. It must have been blown out from farther underneath by the heater vent. It’s the only way he can figure he missed it. About two inches across at its widest, the tapered end would extend a bit above the tips of his fingers if he laid it flat in his palm. It looks like a primary. The winter sunlight filtering through the blinds picks out glossy highlights along its length, and he makes a mental note to have another talk with Tia about preening in the living room. The knock sounds again, sharper this time, snapping him out his study. Stuffing the offending feather deep into his pants pocket, he makes his way over to the door again, eyes doing a rapid search for anything else he may have missed. Seeing nothing this time, he sighs in relief and opens the door, taking in the broad shouldered man filling the door frame.

The man is young, probably in his early twenties, and swarthy, his eyes unreadable behind the polarized lenses of his sunglasses. Glancing dispassionately at the clipboard he’s holding, he looks back at Ryan with a stoic expression. “Mr. Ryan Williams?”

Closing the door with a gentle nudge, Celestia walks quietly over to her bed, giving her wings a small, nervous flutter as she settles herself on the floor at its foot. Breathing out with a sigh, she glances across the room at her sister, still standing by the doorway. Luna looks…well she looks pretty much like Tia feels. Nervous, jittery, and frightened. Standing and stretching her wings out, trying to adopt a nonchalance that she doesn’t really feel, she gives a quick shake of her head before walking over to sit beside her sibling.

Luna’s still peering at the closed door, her eyes wide and a little wild looking around the edges. As Celestia approaches, she gives her little sister a gentle nudge in the side, eliciting a startled squeak from Luna, who looks over quickly. “It’s going to be alright, sis. Dad said there wasn’t anything to worry about, so long as we stay quiet and out of sight.”

Luna looks up with frightened eyes as her older sister takes a seat near her. “I know, but still…” She trails off, glancing at the door before meeting Tia’s eyes. “They’re outside people, Tia. What if they find out about us?”

“It’s not like they’re looking for us, sis. They can’t find out about us if we’re up here.” Tia responds soothingly, motioning Luna to sit with her.

Settling on her haunches, Luna leans against Celestia, who wraps a comforting wing around her shoulders. “…I know, I know. Dad will take care of everything. It’s just…it’s a little scary having people here.”

Allowing a little of the same fear and uncertainty visible on her younger sisters face to show on her own, Celestia nods her head, pulling Luna closer into a comforting embrace. It is a little scary. “You know Daddy would never let anything happen to us. We just have to hide out for a while, and then everything will be back to normal.”

Leaning against each other, the two sit for a time, taking solace in one another’s presence. From below they can hear muffled voices, one easily identifiable as their father, the other obviously from a stranger. They can’t make out any of the words being spoken, but it sounds like they’re talking by the stairs. There is a sharp slam, the sound flat and sudden in the quiet of their home, and both of them jump a little before recognizing the metallic clatter of the screen door swinging closed.

Cocking her head, Tia strains to make out any part of the conversation their father is having, but the voices are incomprehensible, muted by the walls and distorted as they echo faintly up the stairs and through the hallway. The quiet sounds of conversation are soon joined by others, moving around the front of the living room. She raises an eyebrow, wondering why the television is on, and it isn’t until she can make out the additional sounds of thumps and thuds that she realizes that it’s not the T.V., but rather more people downstairs.

In spite of herself and the situation, she can’t help but wonder about these strangers in her house. There have only been two other people in her whole life, after all, and Celestia had long ago decided that everybody else in the exterior world must fall into one of two categories. Good, kind people that were like her and her family, and cruel, selfish, untrustworthy people out to make trouble.

She mulls over these thoughts as she sits leaning against her sister, both of them straining to make sense of the noises coming from the floor below, and as she does she feels a change slowly come over her. The nervousness and uncertainty remain, but she can feel her fear flowing away from her, evaporating under the warmth of a steadily building curiosity, heightened by a small rush of excitement. There must be three or four strangers in the living room. New people, folk she hasn’t known for as long as she can remember.

Were they really safe up here? The longer she sits, leaning into her sister and beginning to grow a little warm from the shared body heat, the more she becomes convinced that they are. What she told Luna is right, no one knows that they’re upstairs. Nobody would even think that it was more than just her father living out here. And if nobody knew they were around…

Coming to a sudden decision she stands, startling Luna, who is still focused on the odd noises drifting up from beneath them. Shooting her a quick, reassuring smile, she quietly pads over to her bed, stopping beside it and glancing back at the dark form of her younger sister. Luna has settled onto the floor with her legs neatly tucked beneath her, hear head cocked toward the floor and her gaze a little unfocused as she continues trying to listening.

Taking a breath to steady her nerves, and then a second one, Celestia makes her way to the bedroom window. Standing before it for a moment she studies it, her father’s admonishment and her own thoughts mixing and churning. Blinking, she nods her head once, and then hesitantly noses the blinds over, just enough to create a small gap through which she can gaze down at their front yard.

The day is gray and overcast, the heavy looking clouds riding low enough to feel almost claustrophobic. They bring with them just enough wind to keep the branches of the oak trees in front of the house in constant motion, swaying back in forth in gentle and irregular arcs of gnarled bark.

She can make out the back end of a truck parked at a close angle to the porch, a tall, square boxed affair with a roll up door in the back. The unmarked white paint is smudged and stained in abstract patterns above gritty looking sprays of brown mud that fan out behind the dark tires. It’s not what she expected. She thought it would be…cleaner, better taken care of. Dad kept their truck looking better than that, after all. He was always spraying it off with the hose. Studying the vehicle, her breath catches as a man walks around from the far side, stopping at the back and bending to fiddle with something at the bottom of the door.

He’s a stranger, somebody from outside, and despite her misgivings she can’t help but feel fascinated as well, a thrill shooting down her back and leaving goose bumps along her spine. It’s hard to tell from this angle, but she thinks he might be tall, and he looks a little fat. She recognizes what he’s wearing as coveralls, although she’s only ever seen them in magazines and on T.V. Peering down from her second floor window, she can’t help but wonder about this unknown man. What was his name and where did he live? Did he have a family? Was he kind, or was he cruel? Would he be friendly? A million questions float around her head. He could be anybody, from anywhere. Maybe from town, maybe from a far off city, like New York, or Memphis. Musing, she tries to imagine who he might be, and in her mind she begins to construct an elaborate story.

Maybe his name is Kent. He certainly looks like a Kent. He’s young, but he works hard, probably to support his girlfriend and ailing mother, who both live with him in his small, poorly maintained apartment. He’s got a good heart, but sometimes he has to do the wrong thing in order to get by. He doesn’t get along with his landlord, a callous and stingy fellow who refuses to fix anything and who constantly harps about the rent. His girlfriend takes night courses at the local community college. She wants to be an artist, but she’s constantly having to bail out her no-good brother, Carlos, which causes problems between Kent and her. It’s a sad and compelling life, full of large struggles and small victories that sounds…it actually sounds strangely familiar, for some reason.

Following the thread of her thought, her eyes narrowing, Celestia realizes, with no small amount of embarrassment, that the back story she’s just invented for this stranger, who’s long since opened the roll up door and climbed into the back of the truck, is actually the plot to a daytime drama she’s recently taken to watching. Streets of L.A. Kent Barrister is the main character.

Warmth flooding her cheeks, she chuckles quietly in embarrassment and continues watching from the window, waiting for the strange figure to re-emerge from the back of the truck. So caught up is she in her thoughts that she barely registers the muted, startled racket of hooves on the carpet, which is quickly followed by a shocked, hushed voice from behind her.

“Tia, what are you doing?” Lurching across the room, Luna bumps her sister, knocking her away from the blinds, which drop closed with a gentle clatter to sway back and forth. “Dad said to stay away from the window!” Eyes wide, Luna noses at the plastic white slats, stilling the blinds as much as she can. Breathing a little shakily, she turns an incredulous, demanding glare onto her older sister.

Straightening herself and giving her tail an irritated swish, Celestia turns to her sister with an annoyed huff. “I’m just taking a peek, Luna. No one can see me up here, anyway.”

“You don’t know that, what if one of them did?” Luna returns, snorting and resisting the urge to stamp her hoof. “And Dad told us…”

“I know what Dad told us. It’s just that…”

“One of them could have seen you, Tia!” Luna cuts her off, speaking as loudly as she dares. “Then we’d be caught! Dad told us…”

“I know what Dad told us!” Tia snaps back, her eyes flashing. Luna takes a step back in surprise, her teal eyes widening at the outburst. Celestia moves back a step as well, her breathing a little ragged. She’s a bit surprised, too.

Bending her head and closing her eyes she takes a moment, finally getting herself under control. Looking back up, she meets Luna’s wary and bewildered gaze with all of the calm she can muster. “Look sister, I’m sorry. And I understand, I really do. Believe me, I don’t want to get found out any more than you do.”

Luna opens her mouth to speak, but Celestia cuts her off with a look. Eyes wandering back to the shuttered blinds, a strange expression comes over her, part frustration, part longing. “Do you realize that we’ve never seen anybody, at all, other than Dad or on the T.V.? For our whole lives?” Looking back at her sister, she continues, her voice low and a little husky. “Our whole lives, Luna. We can’t go near the highway, we’ve never been into town. And we’re never likely to. We’ve never seen another real live person before, and now there are at least three of them, in our house. Right. Now”

Studying Luna’s expression for a moment, watching her consider what she’s just heard, Tia can see the fear and caution on her sisters face begin to fade. Quirking an eyebrow, she gives a little grin. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

Faltering a little, Luna looks up, hesitant to meet her sister’s gaze. “…Well, yeah Tia, of course I get curious.” The fear is gone from her expression and from her voice, but the caution still remains. ”But this is dangerous. You know what Dad says, other people won’t understand about us.” Turning her head she studies the window pensively, but not so much as before.

“I know what Dad says,” Celestia repeats, earnestness in her voice this time instead of anger. “But all we’re doing is taking a peek. No one will see us if we’re careful.” Turning back, Luna meets her eyes, uncertainty and curiosity warring on her face.

They look at each other for a long moment, and then Luna swallows with an audible click. “Are you sure no one can see us?”

Her grin growing, Celestia nods her head. “Absolutely.”

Glancing from the blinds to her sister and back again, Luna swallows again. “Did…did you see anybody?”

Smiling encouragingly, Tia motions over towards the blinds. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

“…And here, and here.”

Signing with a small flourish, Ryan suppresses a sigh of relief. It’s just about over with. Looking up, he hands the clip board back to the swarthy gentleman, Phillip by name, who’s standing expectantly before him. “And the warranty is good for three years?”

“That’s right sir,” the coverall-clad man replies, throwing a quick glance back over his shoulder towards the front of the living room, “Although with this model, I’d be surprised if you ever needed it. Very dependable, Mr. Williams.”

“Well that’s good to hear.” Ryan answers with a forced smile, offering his hand. “I’d hate for you boys to have to make another trip all the way out here.” The guy shaking it has no idea how sincerely he means that statement. Ryan’s a little surprised at how anxious having people out to the home place makes him feel, much more so than he expected. It’s like an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades that he can’t quite reach. Although upon reflection he guesses he shouldn’t be that surprised. Ten years of a self-enforced hermit lifestyle, save for the occasional, brief trip into town, can change what you’re used to. Add to that the twin secrets hiding out upstairs and it’s enough to make a man overly anxious.

Following them out onto the porch, he watches as the three delivery men pile into their grimy moving truck. Donning what he hopes is a grateful smile, he waves as they turn around and start down the gravel drive. The driver returns the wave absently from his window as the vehicle makes its way down the hill, slowly dropping out of sight.

Waiting, he listens as the crunch and rattle of tires over gravel grows fainter and fainter. He stands for slow minutes, ears straining, his breath a feathery mist in the early winter evening. When he’s certain that they’re not coming back he finally drops the grin with a pent up sigh, his body slumping in on itself. They were gone.

Taking a moment to gather himself, he turns on his heel and walks back inside, absently nudging the front door closed with his heel as he looks over the receipt in his hands. Early Christmas gift or no, he still winces slightly at the total neatly typed at the bottom of the invoice. For that much he’d better never need the damn warranty.

Stopping in the living room, he breaths deeply, trying to expel the residual tension that still sits tight along his spine, like bunched knuckles pressing into his back. They were gone, and everything had gone well. As well as could be expected, anyway. No one had asked about stray hoof prints or strange feathers, and the odd noises from up above were easily explained away, once he invented a pair of cats to cause them. Rambunctious cats, who were probably going to be in some trouble when he caught up to them.

They’d talk, of course, the delivery men. To their friends and co-workers- he’d seen the curious looks and unasked questions- but it’d be about the weird hermit-cat-guy, and nothing else. That was the important part. Picking up the rest of the documentation from the coffee table and shuffling it all together, he sighs again, the remainder of his stress flowing out on the exhale as he walks to the foot of the stairs. Cupping a hand, he pitches his voice to carry. “OK girls, you can come down now!”

There is a silence, and he frowns at it before he’s able to make out the hesitant clatter of hooves transitioning from carpeted bedroom to the hardwood floor of the hallway. The steps travel slowly down the corridor, picking up in both speed and confidence as Celestia and Luna make their way down the stairs. They both stop about half way down, eyes going wide as they take in the new addition to the living room.

“Wow…is that it?” Tia asks, finally finishing her descent to the first floor.

“That’s it, sweetheart,“ Ryan answers, following her gaze with a small look of pride. “The top of the line model.” It’s absurd that he should feel proud of it, it’s not like he built the thing, but the feeling remains, none the less.

“It’s so…big…” Luna trails off, approaching uncertainly. Looking back over her shoulder, she quirks an eyebrow. “It looks weird sitting where the old T.V. was.”

Studying it for a moment, Ryan nods his head thoughtfully. The big screen OLED television certainly looks decidedly odd occupying the place their dependable plasma had always held. The ludicrously thin display seems as if it should tumble from the plastic and burnished metal base at the slightest provocation, and special coating or no, Ryan knows he’s going to be paranoid about bumping into the thing and shattering it.

Walking to the couch, he picks up the remote, a doubtfully thin, small black rectangle, and hits the power button. The display explodes to life instantly, the manufactures logo flashing onto the screen in splashes of unbelievably vivid color, causing them all to lean back in wide eyed surprise. Settling on the edge of the seat, Ryan can feel the start of a goofy grin forming on his face, and he motions the girls over to join him. They sit on either side of him, wide, excited eyes gazing up at him above their own grins.

Placing a hand on each their shoulders, he looks from one to the other. “Well girls, who wants ice cream and a movie?” Their ecstatic responses cause his grin to break into a wide smile. This was worth it after all.

Time can be a funny thing. Ethereal and intangible, it often defies our imperfect perception of it. It can move by unnoticed in great lurches, leaving us looking back over a long, dim corridor of years, pondering how we got to where we are. Parents are especially susceptible to this, as Ryan has begun to notice for himself.

Or time can flash past in an instant, leaving us scratching our heads in wonderment at where the day has gone. Often times such quicksilver days are a boon, bringing quickly to a close such chores as we might have, and bringing us from work to home in what seems to be, to us anyway, the blink of an eye.

For Ryan, today is not one of those days. Today time has shifted its inexorable course, seeming to stand still in what could almost be construed as an attempt to flow backwards. For Ryan, today has passed by at a plodding, almost malevolent pace, each delay an irritant, each hold-up a bubble of frustration, the minutes and hours drawing out in long sibilant whispers, dripping like slow molasses from a cracked jar.

The day was average enough, for its type, consisting of a list of chores and a short trip, and it should have started out that way. Ryan’s day, unfortunately, started out well before dawn, where a night of fitful and broken sleep had finally cast him blearily upon the shores of consciousness, leaving him laying in bed in a resentful state wakefulness in the small and dark hours before sunrise.

When the day finally did dawn, it did so with slate colored clouds, thick and heavy, that bore with them a persistent and biting wind. The wan light of a cloud filtered dawn had begun to outline the curtains of his bedroom window, and at last he had risen and showered and dressed, making his way down stairs to start breakfast. The girls had slept late, and awoken grouchy and out of sorts.

Luna was querulous over breakfast, unhappy when he told her he would have to go to town for the morning and sullen when he told her he expected her room to be clean when he got back later that afternoon. He had reminded her, perhaps a little too firmly, that she had wanted her own room, and having her own room also meant taking care of it. Her martyred expression was almost as funny as it was exasperating. Tia, for her part, had sat through the exchange silently, watching her plate quietly as she pushed her food around.

Luna’s behavior, while unfortunate, was to be expected. She was at that age, after all, and it had arrived with a surprising swiftness, seemingly overnight. Twelve going on thirteen seemed to be the universal period when children began testing their boundaries, and she had been doing quite a bit of that, of late. She was just as prone to balk and argue as she was to be agreeable and smile, and although he had been expecting it, Ryan cannot wait for her to get through it and back to being his sweet girl once more. She’d become more rebellious than her older sister was when she reached that same threshold.

The thing weighing on Ryan’s mind this morning isn’t his youngest daughter’s impending transition from adolescence to fledgling teenager, however, but rather the physical well being of his eldest. Tia had him worried, and that worry has been growing. She had started suffering from headaches a few weeks ago, and her cheerless attitude this morning, and the amount of food leftover on her plate, tells him that they aren’t getting better. They seem to still be getting worse, more frequent, and that’s just what he can observe. He’s pretty certain she’s hiding the true extent of the problem from him and her sister.

The headaches aren’t even the most alarming part of it. She’d taken to resting whenever they were particularly bad, and the other day he had walked into her room to find her swaying and stumbling about, struggling to climb into bed. She had claimed that it was just the headache, but after pressing the matter she had finally admitted that she had gotten dizzy, and couldn’t figure out which bed was the right one. He had left her tucked in with a cold washcloth draped across her brow, and a feeling like he had swallowed a lump of ice. The headaches were worrisome enough by themselves. Dizziness and double vision were an order of magnitude worse.

Cleaning up the breakfast mess, Ryan had glanced out of the window, taking a measure of the weather. The wind had begun to pick up, gusting forcefully in the wane mid-morning light that filtered through the swollen grey masses overhead, and carrying with it the feel of moisture and the promise of rain. It was a day for brooding if he’d ever seen one. Scrubbing plates and glasses, he’d begun mulling over Celestia’s headaches, worrying at the problem like a dog gnawing a bone. The situation was equal parts frustrating and frightening.

He knew what was happening to Tia wasn’t normal, but then again what was normal for his kids? Was this something that happened to Alicorns when they reached a certain age, like some sort of growing pains? They’d gone through odd growth spurts, with achy legs and soar wings, but never anything with their horns. Never anything like this.

Celestia’s headaches didn’t seem to be to product of a growing body, though. They didn’t feel that way. Which meant the cause was likely something else, but if so, what? Despite not being a doctor, Ryan knew enough about medicine to know some of the possible causes, and they scared him. Viral infection. Swelling of the brain. Tumors. And if it was something medical, what should he do about it? What could he do? The whole thing left him feeling helpless and angry. He just didn’t have any information to go on.

Realizing that he had run out of dishes, Ryan finally drained the soapy water from the basin. Drying his hands on a towel, he had began searching for his list of chores, looking past it several times before he finally spotted it on the fridge, held up by the magnet that looked like a little tomato. Giving his head a shake to clear it, he had walked to the living room closet for his coat.

He needed to sit down and figure out some sort of plan for his oldest girl. Be it medicine or prayer or finding a doctor he might be able to trust, it needed to be soon. Resolving to come up with a course of action this afternoon, when he returned, Ryan strode outside, feeling a little better.

Setting his worries about Tia to the side, for the moment at least, he had glanced over his list as he made his way across the porch. His first stop was the manager’s office of the local grocery. Three deliveries had been late, and the last one had been half wrong. If Tim Markely thought he was going to pay for three cases of sardines, six heads of cabbage, and poor service to boot, then he was sorely mistaken.

In addition to that, several automatic payments and monthly transfers were as screwed up as the last grocery delivery had been, and so after he left Mr. Markley’s office, he’d get to head to another office four blocks down, where he’d get to speak to Mr. Dufresne at the savings and loan about straightening out the whole mess.

After all of that, he was actually looking forward to running to the hardware store for shingles and nails, even if the job requiring them left him less than thrilled. The last storm to roll through had knocked a dozen of the damned things all over the yard, and if he didn’t get it fixed, sooner rather than late, rain and snow melt were going to start seeping in. Replacing shingles was a pain. Fixing water damage and dry rot would be worse.

Zipping his thick canvas jacket shut, Ryan had glanced up as he made his way across the gravel drive. The grey sky had begun turning a darker, ugly color, and the wind had picked up with a gust as he climbed behind the wheel of their beat up truck and started the engine, grimacing at the grinding sounds as he searched for the right gear. Ryan’s no more mechanic than he is a doctor, but he’s pretty certain there’s something wrong with the transmission. The vehicle had developed an unfortunate habit of popping out of gear lately, and he’s had to start engaging the parking brake when he’s not driving it. He knows it needs to be checked, he just hasn’t been able to find the time to leave it at a garage.

One thing at a time. Sighing, he had turned around in the front yard, pointing the nose of the truck downhill, and rain had begun to fall in fat drops against the windshield, blurring his view. Flipping on the head lights and the wipers, he had nodded his head in dour amusement. Definitely a day for brooding.

The sound of the truck faded into the distance, the crunch and pop of the tires moving over the rock quieting until the noise of it was buried beneath the erratic rush of the wind outside. Normally, Dad leaving for town was something of an event for Celestia. He had started leaving her in charge, and every time he took a trip she felt a small thrill of pride at the trust he placed in her. She liked the responsibility, liked being able to help out around the house. Unlike the other times however, today the departure of her father is hardly noticed, the quick, involuntary flick of one ear the only indication that she had heard anything at all.

Celestia’s attention, what little of it she can muste,r at any rate, is focused inwards, consumed by the steady, vise-like hurt that pulses sickly in time with her heart beat. Her eyes closed, she lies on top of bunches and folds of her comforter, legs folded beneath her as she tries to wait it out with her head down. She’d awoken tired and unrested, as she did most mornings lately, but for a wonder without the increasingly present ache in the back of her head. This wasn’t always the case, which made the mornings where she just woke up feeling sluggish and run down something of a relief.

All of that had changed as she made her way to the kitchen this morning, however. Negotiating her way down the stairs, feeling a sort of dazed hopefulness that maybe the migraines might finally be done, she had felt a shiver run down her spine, followed by a dismayingly familiar tightening of the flesh behind her ears and down the back of her neck. By the time she’d reached the living room she was fighting the urge to look over her shoulder, and she knew with a depressing certainty that today would be no different from the others.

The headaches had come on gradually, starting out as minor and mostly ignorable annoyances three weeks ago. At first she had dismissed them as a poor night’s sleep, and later as possibly the beginnings of a cold. Her father had started her on the usual routine he used when one of them started getting sick, but when three days of aspirin, herbal tea and extra rest hadn’t had any effect, they’d both began to get worried. Since then they had only gotten worse, and she could tell as she had settled at the breakfast table that this morning was going to be a bad one.

About a week after they had started, she’d begun to notice a strange feeling, an odd thing that at first she could hardly credit. It always seemed to precede them. It had started with an uncomfortable prickling of her back, like there was something looming over her, and for that first week she had gone around constantly looking behind herself in growing confusion. Gradually that feeling was followed by a different one, a strange type of warmth, like the sun was just out of sight over her shoulder even when she was inside the house.

That was when the dreams had started as well, strange things that left her with a confusing welter of emotions when she woke from them. They changed constantly, so that one night she might find herself standing in her front yard, the next sitting at the mouth of the canyon, and the third on an endless, featureless plain. The locations seemed to be random and meaningless. She was never doing anything in these dreams, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save that it was always night. If it wasn’t for their unusual vividness, she would have called them boring. Except for the colors.

The colors were the only other constant in her odd dreams, and they definitely weren’t boring. They showed up in the same fashion every time, always starting as a distant glow from over the horizon, like the moon just before it rose into view. The glow would slowly intensify, growing gradually brighter in a way that left her with the strangest feeling, like she stood before an impending flashflood, some unfathomable wall of on-rushing water just out of sight. Overhead the night sky would begin to change, shimmering, the familiar constellations warping and twisting, until the very fabric of it seemed to burst into great sheets of light in constantly shifting hues, like an iridescent borealis of every color, that would descend to envelope her, setting everything ablaze with radiance and wrapping her in rippling waves of light that washed over her with a tingly feeling, warm and pleasant.

They weren’t nightmares. She never felt threatened by the colors, but they gave off a sense of…power. There was no malevolence, but when she was in the middle of them it felt almost like she was standing in the midst of a vast and incomprehensible ocean of energy, floating over unimaginable depths and unseen currents, just barely sensed. It always left her feeling elated and awestruck. And frightened.

The weird feelings and dreams she had so far kept to herself. In truth, she wished she could keep all of it to herself. Dad worried about them enough as it was, and she felt a twinge of guilt at adding to that worry. Shifting, she rolls gently onto her side, groaning in a helpless way. That uncomfortable prickling feeling is there again, causing the hairs along her back and neck to try to stand up, and she can feel that unseen warmth growing behind her again, like the sun peeking out from a break in the clouds. As if on cue she feels a peculiar sensation in her head, like a muscle tensing. The tensing goes on and on, building in pressure, and as the warm feeling fades away fresh waves of pain erupt in her skull, causing her to cry out softly into her blankets.

The journey into town was a slow going affair, hampered by the dancing, wind-driven sheets of rain. Moving along the mostly deserted streets – no one was out in this mess who could avoid it – Ryan made his way at a moderate pace, keeping a wary eye out for damn fools who didn’t know the difference between a wet roadway and a dry one. There were always some.

In a way he was glad that everybody seemed to be staying indoors. The fewer people he saw, the better he felt. It wasn’t that he felt any sort of animosity towards anyone in town, but running into folks he knew would lead to slightly awkward conversations, about how he was and what he’d been up to. Today he just doesn’t have it in him to smile and dissemble. No, today he wants to be about his business as quickly as possible, and get back to the house, to the girls.

He’s finally, almost begrudgingly, began growing accustomed to leaving them on their own when he has to. Well, maybe accustomed isn’t the correct word. Resigned to the need for it would be a better fit. He doesn’t think any span of time will ever make him completely comfortable leaving them without anyone to keep an eye on things, although Tia is old enough now to partially handle that responsibility. Mostly handle it. The memory of a horrifying mess, centered around a spectacularly failed attempt at a milkshake, intrude rudely into his thoughts. She’s getting better, anyway. He still has no idea how they managed to get the blender down out of the cabinet.

Tia is the other reason he’s in such a rush to finish up and get back home, aside from the terrible weather and poor sleep. Normally, she can handle keeping an eye on her younger sister and things around the house, when she’s feeling well. Now she’s not feeling well, and leaving her resting while he makes a run into town leaves him uneasy. True, Luna should be fine on her own for a couple of hours, but still it bothers him. Part of that is your standard parental worry, no doubt, but the rest of it is genuine concern. His oldest daughter is ill, and despite the need of this trip, he doesn’t like the fact that she’s laying in bed without her father there to take care of her.

Pulling up to his first stop, he kills the engine, belatedly remembering to set the parking brake after he swings the door open. He very much wants to wrap this day trip up as quickly as possible. It’s still only mid-morning, but already he’s beginning to regret not putting it off until later. Too late now, though, he’s already here. Soonest begun, soonest done, his father had been fond of saying, and as Ryan steps out into the cold, rain-slicked parking lot of Three Brothers Grocery, he pulls up the collar of his jacket, squares his shoulders, and makes his way towards the entrance with a determined, no-nonsense stride. Soonest begun, soonest done.

Waking with a startled gasp, Celestia opens her eyes, images of coruscating fans of light still vivid in her mind. Something’s wrong. Her face is hot, the air she breathes in stifling, humid and unpleasant. Everything is dark. Blinking a few times in confusion does nothing to clear her vision, and fear begins to run light fingers along her ribs, trailing cold strokes along the edge of her wings and up her neck.

She lies still for a moment, eyes rolling back and forth sightlessly as her disoriented mind tries sluggishly to figure out what’s going on. Rational thought comes slowly to her sleep addled brain, however, and suddenly an unbidden but persuasive idea bubbles up in the confused jumble of her mind, like a blister of dark oil; the headaches have stolen her vision.

She’s blind.

Frightened, she tries to sit up, but something in the dark is holding her head down, lying along her face and neck, keeping her from rising, and all she can think about are those unknowable depths from her dreams, and what they might hide. Her mounting fear gives way to panic. She’s blind, and some thing from out of her dreams now has her. Thrashing about in terror she heaves over with a muffled scream, rolling from her side onto her belly with a ripping sound, slamming her eyes shut with a strangled cry as the blackness explodes into light. Sides heaving, she half-lunges away from the thing trying to pin her, head whipping around to face the unknown danger as her eyes fly open. Blinking in confusion, she sees not some eldritch horror or strange, humped beast, but instead the wall next to her bed, the still shuttered blinds that hang in the window let through a muted glow. Panting, her head darts around, taking in the familiar confines of her room, searching for whatever had a hold of her.

Finding nothing, and then checking around a second time, she looks back at the satin white of her down comforter, bunched up and pulled half way across the bed. She pauses for a few heartbeats, her breath still coming ragged, before reaching out tentatively to smooth the folds of the blanket, spotting a large rip running across the fabric once it’s mostly flat again. Feathers and little puffs of down are already spilling out and beginning to dance lazily in the mostly still air. She stares uncomprehendingly at the tear, drawing in lungfuls of sweet, cool air, her mind spinning as her racing heart begins to slow. Eventually, as she calms, understanding begins to sink in, bringing a faint heat to her face.

She’d fallen asleep at some point. She must have tossed around a bit, and her head had ended up under a fold of the blanket, which had gotten stuck on her horn. That was all it was, no blindness, nothing threatening. Just a nap and a blanket on her head. Glancing around the room again, she chuckles weakly in embarrassment. She feels ridiculous.

Wondering blearily what time it is she looks away from her ruined comforter, yawning before her gaze settles on the bedside clock. Staring at the illuminated numerals in puzzlement, she finally makes sense of the time. Eleven-thirty. She’s been asleep for at least an hour, maybe closer to two. She feels like she hasn’t slept for days.

Grimacing at the dry, hot feeling in her mouth, she gingerly slides off the bed and heads to the bathroom for a drink of water. She doesn’t know if it was the rest or the panic, but her headache has receded some, from a horrible squeezing pressure to a dull throbbing ache. The noise of the television drifts up from below as she enters the hallway on unsteady legs, and she figures it must be Luna. She doesn’t think Dad would be home yet. He’s probably going to be ticked about the blanket.

Rinsing out the unpleasantness and swallowing a few cold mouthfuls, she feels a little better. Not a lot, not really, but it’s a step up from how she felt this morning. Exiting the bathroom, she looks back at her doorway, unable to suppress a little shiver. Ridiculous or not, she doesn’t think she can lay back down right now. Sighing wearily, she turns the other way, plodding towards the stairs. Maybe whatever Luna’s watching will help her forget about the whole episode. Reaching them and beginning her descent, she winces, the dull throb in her head picking up a little. Hopefully Luna won’t mind turning the volume down.

“That’ll be sixty-three even for the shingles, Mr. Williams. Sorry about the nails, but we should be restocked by next week. Seems like everyone had some problems with that last wind storm.”

Holding back a sigh, Ryan hands over his debit card. “Don’t worry about it, Hap. Weather’s supposed to clear up by this weekend, so I imagine I’ll be alright for the time being.” Inwardly he tries to fight down a growing swell of irritation. What the hell good were shingles going to do him without roofing nails? This was a hardware store, wasn’t it? How could they run out of hardware?

Grabbing his receipt and the two bundles of shingles, he is just barely able to contain an exasperated grunt as he pushes through the stores exit. It’s not Hap’s fault, just bad luck, although he doesn’t understand why you would order more shingles than you had nails for. Crossing the sidewalk towards his truck he hunches his shoulders, partially in response to the cool of the breeze, but mostly in an attempt to keep cold drops of water from running under his collar and down his neck.

The weather had slackened, from a wind driven downpour to a moderate drizzle, but the sky had remained heavily overcast all morning, the directionless light hardly seeming to brighten as noon approached. The temperature had also been dropping steadily, and eyeing the wet sidewalk and waterlogged streets, Ryan’s glad that his chores for the morning are finally done with, before it gets cold enough for things to start icing up, turning a careless step into a slip, and a slip into a fall.

Tossing everything onto the passenger side of the bench seat, he slides in behind the wheel and turns the key, ignoring the urge to slam the door shut. The hardware store isn’t the reason he’s agitated right now. Not having the right nails is a pain in the ass, but it’s one of those things that can’t be helped. It’s also been par for the course today. All day it seems like everything has been fighting him.

Tim Markley had been obstinate about a refund for the misdelivered groceries, insisting there was no return policy on perishable food stuffs, and becoming almost combative when Ryan continued to press the issue. It wasn’t until Ryan had threatened to cancel his long standing delivery order that the man had begrudgingly deigned to see reason, if without any sort of grace. He hadn’t gotten the full amount back, but a partial refund and a discount off the next two deliveries was better than nothing. However, Tim’s stubborn jack-assery had made the ordeal twice as long as it needed to be.

Pulling up to a four way stop, he glances at the dashboard clock, his eye narrowing a little at the time displayed. He’d hoped to be home by noon at the latest, and here it’s already going on a quarter to one. Grunting sourly, he signals and turns off of the main drag and onto the highway.

The visit to the bank hadn’t been much better. After cooling his heels for twenty minutes, he’d finally been ushered back to the strictly ordered and organized office of Mr. Dufresne. Andy was a nice enough guy, methodical and meticulous, two qualities you’d normally want in the person handling your money. Unfortunately, those same qualities made him slow, and he’d insisted on going over every line and detail of the accounts in question, stopping to check, recheck, and cross-check every variable and factor. And no amount of shoe tapping or blatant watch checking would hurry him along. By the time Ryan had shaken his hand and turned to leave, his jaw had been knotted from clenching his teeth.

Dialing up the heater and setting it to defrost, he looks down at the speedometer, a little surprised to see it climbing past seventy-five and edging towards eighty, and he forces himself to slow down. Shaking his head, he knows better than to drive that fast when it’s this wet out, he begins mulling things over in his head. He’s been agitated and a little on edge all day, and it isn’t strictly because of his trip to Three Brothers Grocery, nor is it because of his stop at First Nevada Savings and Loan. Tim Markley’s always been a tight-fisted ass, and Andy’s always been a fastidious and overly fussy banker.

No, it hasn’t been any one particular part of today that’s got him so wound. As he thinks about it, he realizes that it really started as soon as he left the property. His mind keeps returning to Celestia, lying in bed, ill, and Luna, left mostly to her own devices. It’s not the automatic worry that he normally feels whenever he has to leave the girls at the house though, the worry about what they might get into, or how they may accidently hurt themselves. Giving it another moment’s thought, it isn’t entirely because of Tia’s headaches, either. This seems stronger, more basic, yet unfocused, an uncomfortable urge he’s felt all day to just forget about everything and get home. It drags up blurry yet distinct memories of a nightmare some years back, and his chest tightens.

It’s silly though, isn’t it? Old nightmares notwithstanding, driving at speed in these conditions is irrational and dangerous, and he isn’t going to do anybody any good if he kills himself on the road because he let his fears get the better of him. Especially the girls. Thinking of them left all alone because he had some weird feelings and bought it on the highway causes him to slow more, dropping from seventy to sixty-five to sixty.

It’s been a crap sort of day, what with the poor sleep and even poorer weather, and despite his desire to get home and check on them, he’s got to be smart about what he’s doing. It’s just nerves, guilt at leaving his oldest when she’s not feeling well, and his youngest when there’s no one to properly watch her. What else could it reasonably be?

Peering at the deserted highway through the blurred streaks left by the windshield wipers, Ryan unconsciously applies pressure to the gas pedal again, tightening his grip slightly on the steering wheel. It’s only a twenty minute drive, but right now it seems like an eternity. Eyes intent on the road, he keeps a look out for hazards and other vehicles as he speeds through the rain.

Chapter the Seventh

*A/N: This is technically the second half of chapter 6. Posting it as chapter 7, however, makes it look like I update more frequently than I actually do, which makes me feel better.*

“That’s just stupid. Why would anyone agree to eat that?”

“Wha…?” Turning her head slowly, Celestia peers across the couch at her sister with glazed eyes. Luna had agreed to turn down the volume on the television, if with a great deal of muttering, but her head still throb’s sullenly, great, wide fingers seeming to press and knead her skull in time to her heartbeat. Gradually, as the raucous voice of the game show host seeps back into her consciousness, she realizes that she’s spent the last hour or so in a daze, and has no idea what’s been happening on the screen.

“On the T.V.” Luna answers with a hint of disgust, “That girl…” trailing off, she takes a good look at her sister, an expression of genuine concern replacing the distaste on her muzzle. “Tia, are you alright?”

Blinking owlishly, Celestia haltingly bobs her head. “Mmfine. Just tired, sis.” Tired doesn’t begin to describe it. She thought she used to know what tired was, after she got up this morning, or when she would stay up too late reading, or if she was awoken in the middle of the night and had trouble getting back to sleep. This isn’t tired. This is whatever comes after tired, maybe even whatever came after that.

What would come after tired? Dog-tired? Bone-weary? Her thoughts float languorously, directionless and unconnected, like small boats adrift in a fog. She feels wrung out, weak and watery, like someone replaced her body with a balloon filled with warm liquid.

Concern changing into worry, Luna studies her older sister for a moment, evidently not liking what she sees by the way her brow draws down. “Do you want anything? Like some water or something?”

Shaking her head, Celestia leans against the back of the couch, laying her neck along the cool white leather and dipping her chin a little. She’d thought that curling up on the sofa to watch T.V. with Luna would take her mind off of things, and it had, for a bit. For a little while she’d even felt better, but slowly the weariness had…not returned exactly, because it had never gone away, but grown, washing over her steadily until her joints felt like rusted hinges and her skin felt tight and uncomfortable. She’s feeling worse than she did morning. Worse than any morning so far, and warm on the verge of being hot. Muddily she wonders what the thermostat’s been set at.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything? Is it another headache, did Dad leave any aspirin out?” Leaning over, Luna tries to gauge the look on her sister’s face, the worry on her own growing larger. “Sis?”

Tia drops her head down with a drawn out groan, her chin coming to rest on the couch cushions. That unseen warmth is
blooming over her shoulder again, this time without any warning what-so-ever. It seems so much warmer than before, like strong noon sunshine in July.

Her worry beginning to change to fear, Luna nudges her sister, receiving another soft groan in answer. Jumping off of the couch, she leans over and nudges her again. “Tia?” Getting no response, she begins shaking her, pushing into her side with her snout. “Tia? Tia!”

Swinging her head over carefully, Tia opens one glassy eye, rolling it slowly to look at Luna. “…s’hot..really hah…wha?…” She trails off into a low mutter as she gazes around the room uncomprehendingly. Wasn’t she just in her bedroom? How did she get downstairs? She feels like she’s in an oven. Why is it so hot, isn’t it winter? The flesh beneath her coat is burning, radiating waves of heat that seem to drift up, slowing baking her muddled thoughts and changing the steady throb in her head into a pincer grip, needle sharp points beginning to dig into her temples.

Unnerved by the vague, confused answer, by the unfocused dull eyed look, Luna freezes, fear flooding her mind, locking her limbs in place and transforming her into a wide eyed statue. The fear kicks off an adrenal response, causing her vision to sharpen and her breathing to speed up, sides beginning to heave as her lungs start displacing large amounts of air. Something is really wrong with her sister, and it dawns on her in cold waves of panic that their father isn’t around. What should she do?

Celestia groans again from the couch, her head sinking farther into the cushions as her eyes squeeze closed.

Dad’s not here and there’s something seriously wrong with Tia.

What is she supposed to do?

The spell lasts a moment before she breaks free, her mind snapping back and as her thoughts begin to race in alarmed circles. Her head darts around, panic-narrowed eyes jumping from her sister to the kitchen to the doorway of their father’s study. Swinging back they alight on the stairs, and her eyes widen. “I’ll…I’ll see if there’s anything in the medicine cabinet! Maybe Dad left something for you!” She waits hopefully for an answer from her weakly breathing older sister, some conformation that that’s the right course of action.

When Tia continues to lay limply along the couch with her eyes screwed tightly shut, she jerks into motion. “Don’t…don’t go anywhere, OK? I’ll be right back. I’ll be…” Spinning around, she stumbles as she tries to sprint around the edge of the couch, catching her hoof on the corner and almost spilling onto the floor, before righting herself and racing towards the upstairs bathroom where the medicines are kept, the retreating, rapid-fire pounding of her hooves echoing back from the walls, racing her up the stairs.

Celestia stirs weakly, her eyes opening slowly. The pain in her head is enormous, much worse than it’s ever been, the pounding, needle like hurt and the intense heat washing out any remaining vestige of coherent thought. Her throat is painfully dry, and her tongue feels gritty, like her mouth has been coated in a fine layer of sand. It’s so hot, wasn’t Luna going to get her a glass of water? Where did she go? Struggling, she flops over, half falling off of the couch before she can catch herself ungracefully with trembling legs.

Looking around through eyes narrowed in pain, she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Why isn’t she in her room? And where’s Dad? The light from the over head fan burns down on her, causing sweat to form beneath where her wings lay folded along her back, springing out across her brow in large beads. But it can’t be the ceiling light that’s cooking her in her skin. The light is behind her, peeking out from behind multihued clouds that shift in prismatic colors, pulsing with a searing, radiant heat. Why isn’t Dad here? Panting, her gaze travels sluggishly along the far wall, coming to rest on the window.

It’s raining outside, fat drops that splatter dramatically across the pane. She’s so thirsty, she’s never been so thirsty before. Or so hot, not even when she came down with the flu and had a fever. Dad took care of her then, giving her medicine and tea with just the right amount of honey. Maybe he’ll bring her some more tea? He always get’s the honey right. Not hot though, she’s sweating as it is. She needs to cool off, she needs some water. Her throat feels lined with rough stone, and the heat is causing her to pant, making the feeling worse.

Her eyes roll back and forth haphazardly, coming to rest on the kitchen doorway, but she can’t remember what she’s looking for. Something about honey? They swing back again settle on the window, following the lines left by the rain drops as they run down the glass in long streaks. The surge and rush of the wind begins to fill her ears, and she can see the limbs of the trees outside, dancing back and forth to its rhythm. The rain looks so inviting, so cool, the pattering of the drops against the pane a gentle sound that seems almost to be calling out to her.

Staggering, she hobbles across the living room, her legs feeling weak and unfamiliar, coming up short when she reaches the front door. She struggles with the knob, her teeth sliding across the polished brass plating before finally gaining purchase. With a muffled grunt of effort, she manages to turn it enough for the latch to disengage, allowing it to swing open on a gust of wind before weakly nosing open the screen door, and crossing the porch.

The rain, driven by the wind and made cold by the low temperature, hits her full on, stinging her eyes and making her close them. She begins to shiver instantly, the involuntary motion flinging little droplets of water off of her coat and away into the storm. The wet and the chill feel wonderful, soothing like a balm. With a shaky laugh, she makes her way out into the downpour.

Glancing down at the speedometer, Ryan once again sees that he’s pushed it past eighty. Eyes flicking back to the road, he grunts in annoyance. Not at the fact that he’s driving in a manner that he knows to be reckless, but because the conditions outside prevent him from going any faster. The rain has picked up again, returning to the type wind driven downpour that was uncommon, but not unknown, in the mostly arid north-western Nevada desert.

He knows what he’s doing is stupid, racing through the rain, but that doesn’t matter anymore. He’s spent the last twenty minutes trying to ignore his feelings, to rationalize them and laugh them away as nerves, but he can no longer deny what he feels. Rational or not, stupid or not, something is wrong back home. He doesn’t know how he knows this, and at this point he doesn’t care. He just knows, and right now that’s enough.

A green and white shape passes by the passenger side of the truck in a water streaked blur. The sign for Fletcher Pass. His turn off is only a couple of miles past it. Slowing to a slightly faster than reasonable speed, he flicks the turn signal by reflex, to caught in his urgency to get home to give it any conscious thought. He brakes roughly, the back end beginning to fishtail as he cuts hard to the right, taking the wide transition from asphalt to dirt road with a jolt that locks his seatbelt and squeezes a startled grunt from him. Weaving back and forth he manages to regain a linear course, and he speeds up the thirty or so feet of unpaved track towards a long metal gate that bisects the road, designating the beginning of his property.

Skidding to a halt in a spray of mud and small rocks, he leaps from the idling truck and throws the barrier wide, the groan of weathered hinges muffled by the wind and the rain. The feeling of wrongness and urgency is greater, seeming to grow in strength the closer he gets to his destination. As he slams the driver’s side door and grinds into gear, it is all consuming. He speeds through the fence line, passing over the cattle guard with a shudder of wheels, not noticing or caring that the gate is still open.

He’s forced to slow further as he travels up the road, which almost immediately begins to incline gently. It’s roughly half a mile from the gate to the house, the mostly straight lane lined on either side by oak and cotton wood at irregular intervals, most of the space between them filled with clumps of sage and rabbit brush that give off a sweet, woody fragrance in the damp. The road is well maintained, but narrow in places, and with the rain pelting the windshield Ryan has to lean over the steering wheel to make sure he doesn’t hit a rock or a branch dislodged by the storm.

Almost there. He’s almost there, and then he’ll see that everything is alright, and he’ll feel really stupid when he has to explain to the girls why he came tearing into the front drive like a maniac. They’ll laugh and he’ll feel silly and everything will be OK. Except he doesn’t feel silly. He feel’s worried, and afraid. Oh God, please let everything be OK. The angle of the road increases, and he knows he’s close. Through the gray washed light filtered by the overhead clouds he can see the hill just up ahead, more of a broad, gentle bump really, just high enough to block sight of the house that sits back a ways on its leveled top. Please let everything be alright. Please.

So intent is he on cresting that hill that he almost doesn’t notice the dim blur of white that comes stumbling out of a particularly dense stand of sage off to his left. He drives on for a few seconds before the information collected by his sight registers with his brain, and his eyes widen and lock onto the side view mirror. With a startled curse he mashes the break peddle, slewing a little as he slides to a stop.

It’s Tia.

Not bothering to shift the transmission into neutral, he throws open the door, letting the engine die roughly, exiting the vehicle and turning to stare dumbly at his daughter twenty-five feet away. She’s caught up in the sagebrush and seems to be struggling weakly to get out of it, one wing half outstretched to her side. She’s drenched, broken twigs and little bits of bush standing out against the brilliant white of her coat. Her eyes are only half open, rolling wildly around in a way that clenches at his chest and drops the bottom out of his stomach. “Tia?” He blinks rain out of his eyes numbly, trying to process what’s in front of him, and then lurches into motion, sprinting towards the swaying form of his oldest girl.

“Tia!”

She looks up slowly, mumbling something indistinct. The feeling of wrongness pulses inside him like a second heartbeat, driving his pistoning legs and propelling him like a bullet. Thinking is beyond him, reason and logic have been left behind. The outside world fades from his consciousness, the hiss of the rain and the rattle of the wind, even the warning twinge of hot pain from his bad leg, dim to a background chatter. Natural white noise. All of his being is focused on the thud of his sneakers as he races as best he can across the distance between them, the rise and fall of his knees, on reaching Celestia, who’s peering at him with a muddled gaze, a confused smile beginning to form on her muzzle.

He’s about ten feet from her when his foot sticks in a particularly slick patch of mud and shoots out from underneath him, pitching into a flopping headfirst slide. Pain explodes from his bad knee as it slams into the soaked earth, and a second later from his temple as his head connects with a medium sized stone that’s been exposed by the water runoff. Momentum finally expended, he fetches up in a tangle about six feet from Celestia, who stares down uncomprehendingly at her father from her place in the bushes.

Groaning, Ryan begins to stir weakly, the blow to his head and the monstrous pain from both it and his knee rendering him momentarily senseless. He’s just managed to open his eyes when a soft metallic bang echo’s from up the road, followed by a strange schlicking sound, like two pieces of wet canvas being pulled apart. Blinking the water and mud from his eyes, he tries to raise his head, his mouth forming rictus snarl at the starburst of pain the motion causes, black spots swimming across his vision. Where’s Tia?

He’s got to find her. Flopping over onto his back, he tries to sit up, the pain in his head making him groan and close his eyes tight. The weird sound is getting closer, faster, and off to his left he hears the rustle of bushes and the strident, panicked voice of his daughter.

“Daddy!”

Celestia didn’t know how long she’d been outside. It seemed like forever since she had woken up in her bed, tangled in her blankets. How had she gotten out here? Water ran down her sides and dripped from her face in cold streamers, and she shivered. She was so cold, but how could that be? Wasn’t she hot just a moment ago?

Swaying with the ebb and flow of the wind’s caress, she’d wandered at first, following the road in some vaguely reasoned hope of meeting her father as he returned. Why she wanted to meet him on the road and not at the house didn’t seem important anymore, and gazing intently at the way the branches cavort in the wind she soon forgot all about it. Deep in delirium, she stumbled here and there, her path describing a shaky and aimless trail that meandered from road to tree to bush and back again, only moving down slope because it was the path of least resistance. She could faintly hear the voice of her sister calling from further up the hill at one point. Giving a wry chuckle, she shook her head at the antics of her younger sibling. Luna should know better than to be out in this weather.

The rain had picked up, the cold drops coming hard, battering her coat and stinging her eyes. She wondered if it might turn to snow, and her eyes came to rest on a large clump of sage off to one side. She would need to take shelter against the snow, and the bushes looked soft and inviting, like a pile of warm blankets. Daddy always said they might catch a cold if they were out in the snow for too long, and she didn’t want that. He would be upset with her, and she was already going to be in trouble for ruining her comforter.

Her comforter had been a monster, of course, until it had turned back into a blanket, and the bushes looked like a good place to hide from monsters. The unseen light blazing down on her would keep her warm if she could get out of the wet. With tremulous steps she approached the bushes, pausing for a moment as the fog of her mind thinned a little. Squinting in confusion, she glanced around, shivering as the wind gusted between the trees and over her damp form. This was wrong, this was really wrong. What was she doing? Why had she come out here? She back peddled uncertainly, and the fog closed in again. She could smell the wonderful fragrance of the sage. She always loved how it smelled during and after a good rain. It smelled like home. Smiling a little crookedly, she walked back to the group of bushes and began trying to climb in.

She made a good try of it, but the bushes had become recalcitrant, their soft inviting exterior changing stubbornly to sinewy, fibrous limbs and prickly spines, mocking her with their sweet smell. The bushes didn’t want her to come in, and she would have kicked at them for their rudeness if she wasn’t tangled up in them. They didn’t want her to come in, but they didn’t want her to go either, it seemed as she struggled to free her right leg. “Which is it?” She yelled weakly down at them in a cracked voice, thrashing about in frustration. The light burned down on her, and she wondered how it could be cold and rainy and sunny and warm at the same time.

She’d been visiting the bushes for a while, and with a start she realizes that she still is. Managing to turn, she begins carefully picking her way back out of the treacherous tangle, one wing stretched out thoughtlessly to help balance herself. Dimly, she can hear a low rumble, and she freezes, ears swiveling wildly as she tries to home in on the sound. That could be a monster, come from the unseen depths of her dreams. Or it could be an outsider, come to snatch her and her sister away from their father. It certainly isn’t the sagebrush. That’s too busy hugging her legs to talk.

Straining with renewed effort while trying to remain upright, she hears a branch snap with a loud crunch, and she stumbles forward, almost losing her footing before catching herself. The rumbling sound is closer now, approaching fast. She has to get out. She can see the wash of headlights down the road, hidden by a gentle curve that carries the lane around a pair of tall cotton wood trees. Pulling with all of her might, she’s rewarded with the sound of another branch giving way, freeing her rear hoof and causing her to stumble a few feet closer to the road.

The chug and roar of an engine grows louder, and she knows it’s too late to get away and hide. The lights sweep around the bend, and her eyes grow wide with relief as she takes in the familiar shape and white-over-brown paint of their pickup. Dad! Daddy’s home! He was back, and she knew he would keep her safe. The truck flashes by, heading up the hill, and she lurches forward again, trying to get free and get his attention.

The wind has died to a fitful and almost absent breeze, and the rain falls almost vertically, splashing up little drops of mud and rippling the small puddles that dot the lane. One of those puddles suddenly throws back a diffuse and blurry reflection of rippling red light, and she looks up to see the truck sliding to a halt a ways up from her, the rumble from the engine dying away with a rough coughing sound. Looking back down at her prickly captor, she resumes her labor, shifting her legs around weakly. Dad was here, and he’d have some hot tea to help make her feel better. She needs to get out of this stupid bush. It’s bad manners to drink tea in a bush, everyone knew that.

“Tia!”

Looking up slowly, fearful he’d seen the ruined bedding in her room and was angry with her, Celestia quizzically beholds the running form of her father, racing down the slope of the hill towards her. Squinting in confusion, she mutters something indistinct even to her own ears over the noise of the rain. Why is he running? Is he bringing her a present? A sluggish smile begins to spread over her face. What could he have gotten her?

Then he isn’t running anymore, he’s sliding, splashing through a puddle and coming to a stop a few feet away. What would he want to go and do something like that for? He was going to get in trouble for getting all muddy. She barely notices a soft metallic bang from farther up the hill, all of her attention is on her father, who is moving slowly and groaning. What could he possibly be doing on the ground? Did he lose something? She absently folds her outstretched wing in against her back, her brow furrowing as her mind struggles to piece together the puzzle in front of her.

With a small strangled noise Ryan flips over, and she can see dark mud matting the hair by his temple. Looking closer, she see’s that the mud isn’t brown, but red, for some reason. Almost crimson, like blood. Her rose-rimmed pupils contract to pin-pricks as her heart speeds up. Not like blood, it is blood. Daddy‘s hurt? Giving her head an involuntary shake, she looks again. Dad’s hurt! The thought penetrates the fog enveloping her mind, and as it sinks in the concealing mists part like a drawn curtain, separating and lifting until she’s fully aware of herself and her surroundings for the first time in what feels like forever.

An approaching sound draws her wide-eyed gaze from her prone father, up the road, and she sees the truck rolling backwards, moving fast and picking up speed, the headlamps bobbling up and down as it bumps over a small branch knocked loose by the wind.

It’s heading straight for the man lying in the road.

Even with her renewed clarity it takes Celestia a few moments to fully comprehend what is happening. Understanding begins to dawn, bringing with it little feather strokes of panic. Dad is lying in the roadway. The truck is rolling down the hill, is speeding down the hill, and her dad is lying in the road.

He doesn’t realize the truck is coming.

“Daddy!”

With a surge she begins struggling against the sagebrush, desperately straining to get clear enough to reach him and pull him out of the vehicles path. The truck rushes closer, its approach made almost sinister by the near silence in which it rolls, announced only by the low sound of the tires squishing through the mud.

Her father turns his head slowly towards the sound of her voice, his eyes still a little hazy from the pain, picking her out after a moment and meeting her own. Still fighting the bush, realization begins to creep in. She knows, deep down, that she won’t get there in time. She can’t, and as this certainty sinks in horror falls over her like a leaden cloth. The panic surges through her body and everything begins to slow, sharpening her senses. She’s acutely aware of her surroundings, almost preternaturally so.

She can make out the individual drops of rain falling in slow motion, like elongated teardrops of nearly transparent glass floating gently through clear jelly. She can see them impacting against the mud, throwing up little spheres like jewels as they splash against the damp ground. Her breathing slows, and as she draws a glacial breath she can make out each individual scent. The clean smell of the rain, the sharp, earthy smell of the wet ground, the slightly humid scent of the storm, the tickling scent of her soaked coat and the scratchy scent of her father’s favorite canvas jacket. The bitter, slightly metallic smell of the blood that’s beginning to drip down his jaw line.

The breeze wafts softly against her, and she can feel the individual hairs of her coat shifting sluggishly beneath their weight of the water, can feel the slight tug at the feathers of her wings, which are puffed out against the cold in an attempt to trap her body heat. It takes an eternity for her eyes to shift to the truck, and she can see the slow mold and shift of the mud as it’s deformed by the rear tires, can pick out the pieces of gravel embedded in the tread, like chunks of rock held between bunched knuckles.

The warmth is washing over her in waves, slow sweltering ripples that dance across her coat and heat her skin, and in her head a familiar tensing sensation begins, building and building, like a flexing muscle. Like a coiling spring. Her gaze sweeps infinitesimally back to her father, and she notes the almost imperceptible motion of his chest, the way his eyes gradually close and open in what she realizes is a blink. She can hear the rush and fall of blood pumping in her ears, her heart a slow drum beat that seems to echo in the unnatural stillness.

She’s not going to make it in time.

The tensing feeling builds, growing with the hot currents of incandescence that flow over her. The fragrant scent of wet sage fills her nostrils as she looks down at her father. There’s nothing she can do, the truck is already too close. She feels so tired. Has she ever felt this tired before? Onward the pickup rolls, inching along its deadly course, drawing ever closer through the crystalline fall of the rain. Hopelessness fills her, carving out a hollow in her middle like a river undercutting a bank.

She’s helpless.

The heat radiating down on her increases in time with the growing pressure in her head, and anger sparks in her mind, catching like a flame. If it wasn’t for this stupid bush she could do something, grab Dad by his jacket and drag him away. He’s only a few feet from her! The pressure increases, filling her head and focusing her anger to a white-hot fire. This shouldn’t be this hard! He’s right there.

Images flicker through her mind, one replacing another in the blink of an eye. Her father cooking breakfast in the morning, smiling down as she carries things carefully over to the table, trying not to drop anything as she helps. Sitting beside him on the porch, the three of them watching the pyrotechnics show of a spring lightning storm, like he used to do with his dad when he was a boy. The gentle warmth of summer sunshine as they hunt for arrow heads in the canyon, Dad explaining the way Native Americans used to do things when they lived in this area centuries ago. Watching him remove a tray of the pine nuts they had spent all day collecting from the oven, her nose and coat still tacky with sap, grinning as he lets her test a few to see if their ready. Listening to his shouted encouragement as she struggles to flap her way into the air for the first time, her wing muscles burning with unaccustomed exertion, secure in the knowledge that he’ll be there to take care of her should she fall. Others, so many others, a cascade of memory that courses over her like a waterfall.

The images flicker through her mind in the blink of an eye, but she sees each one as clearly as when it happened. This can’t happen, she won’t let it! Her anger overflows into fury, and she throws her head back, screaming her defiance into the storm. The flexing, bunching feeling increases, until she wonders that she doesn’t burst something, and suddenly it’s not building anymore but flowing out of her. The coiled spring finally releases, and brilliant amber light explodes above her eyes, causing them to slam closed for a split second. When they spring open again, time has resumed its normal flow.

The bush is suddenly gone from around her legs, flattened into the mud like it’s been stomped on by a giant, and she almost falls at its sudden absence. Her gaze flies to her father, and she sees that the truck is almost upon him, bearing down with a frightening speed. Unable to stop for thought she reacts instinctually, not knowing what she’s doing but just doing, reaching out in a manifestation of pure will, pure need, the shifting golden hued light just visible at the top of her vision blazing brighter. His tan canvas jacket is enveloped in a glow, and he slides forcefully across the road towards her, digging a furrow in the mud and letting out a pained cry as his bad knee is jostled, coming to a stop an arm’s length away from her with mud piled against the left side of his body.

The pickup rushes across his former position a split second later, passing by with the wet sound of tires rolling through mud and splashing through a puddle, traveling farther down the road and finally veering to one side, slamming into the trunk of a tree. Branches shudder and the trunk creaks loudly as the resounding crash of the impact echoes away down the hill.

Breathing hard, her sides bellowing as if she’s just run a race, the unseen light departs, winking out of existence as if it never was. The intense, shimmering glow above her eyes vanishes in the same instant, and exhaustion plows into Celestia like a physical object. Her rear legs give out, and she drops roughly into a sitting position, head drooping, front legs splayed and barely able to support her own trembling weight.

There is a rustle of canvas to her left, and she struggles to bring her head part way up. Her father is sitting, one hand lightly touching his temple as he gazes down the road. Head swiveling stiffly, he turns wide, astonished eyes back to her, opening and closing his mouth several times slowly, like a fish. The sight surprises an unsteady laugh out of her. She opens her mouth to speak, thinking to ask if he’s alright, and instead vomits noisily between her front hooves. The world begins to turn grey around its edges and she sways back in forth, feeling herself beginning to pitch forward. Her last thought before unconsciousness claims her is to hope that she doesn’t land in her own sick.

The candle flames flicker errantly, casting the room in wan light and throwing elongated shadows that jump and dance along the walls. The power had gone a few hours ago, flickering as erratically as the candles did now before finally dying, the silence that followed punctuated only by the gusting wind outside. That damned substation down the highway had probably blown another transformer. It always did when the weather turned nasty.

Shifting a little, Ryan winces as the motion sets off a sharp pain in his knee, and he holds it gingerly with one hand, absentmindedly running his fingers along the old surgical scars, feeling for any pins that may have popped out of place. He’d always been a little paranoid about the hardware coming loose, even if the doctors long ago had told him the chances of that happening were on par with being struck by lightning. Lightning did strike, though, and you never could be too certain. About anything.

“Do you want me to get you anything… for your leg, Dad?” Luna asks awkwardly around a yawn, her jaws cracking. Seated next to Ryan, she’d been fighting sleep for the last twenty minutes or so, the occasional bob and jerk of her head predicting the eventual outcome of that particular battle.

“No sweetheart, I’m fine, thank you.” Reaching over, he begins running his hand down her neck, stroking her mane soothingly. She smiles gently at the touch, her large teal eyes blinking slowly. He’d told her to go to bed a couple of hours ago, but she’d stubbornly refused, insisting on staying by her sister’s bedside. He’s not entirely clear on the events that happened before he got back, Luna had been too distraught to fully relay what had happened, and he’d been too distraught to fully listen, but he’s sure now that she feels responsible for what happened.

Letting his knee go he leans carefully over and wraps his young daughter in a tight embrace. Startled at first, she leans into him, hesitantly laying her head along his shoulder. “It’s going to be OK baby. Sister’s going to be just fine, I promise.” He holds her close, and before much longer she’s trembling, crying softly into his shirt, her tears dampening the clean fabric. Stroking her mane, he mummers comfortingly to her, rocking gently back and forth while she presses harder against his chest, releasing her fear and guilt into his shoulder.

After a while he notices that her sides are no longer shuddering as she draws hitching breaths, but instead are rising and falling rhythmically, and he realizes that she’s fallen asleep. Clumsily he lays her onto the floor, mindful not to wake her, before rising to fetch a blanket. He doesn’t have to go far, fortunately, and limps across the room to the dresser and back, covering her with two quilts and folding a third to tuck carefully beneath her cheek. Studying her for a moment, he nods and resumes his seat, reaching out to gauge how warm Celestia is with a hand.

She’d been running a fever when he’d finally gotten her back into the house, alternating between hot sweats and cold chills. He’d bundled her into bed, and since then both he and Luna hadn’t moved, save for the short time it took him to change out of his wet clothes and grab them both some water. He’d contemplated using the water to wash down a few pain pills, but in the end he didn’t want to take the chance that Tia might wake in the night. Hurting was one thing, being loopy from prescription medication quite another. He could deal with the pain.

Feeling along her ears- the best place he’d found so far to check their temperatures- he sighs in relief. It seems her fever had broken finally. Sitting back, he watches her silently, the gentle, regular movement of her breathing, the slight, slow flick of one ear, probably in delayed reaction to his touch. She’s never looked more beautiful to him. Never looked more fragile.

Leaning forward, he reaches hesitantly towards her horn, not for the first time, fingers opening and closing, faltering half way before he lets his arm drop back to his side. Images of a brilliant golden light pass unbidden though his thoughts, and his mind skitters away from them. He’s not ready to think about what happened outside. Not yet. It’s all too much right now, and right now he needs to be focused on seeing her through this. When she wakes up, when she’s better, he can worry about it, but not now.

Oh, God, please let her get better.

Sighing again, he settles back, leaning against the wall and shifting, trying to find a slightly more comfortable position. Weariness drapes over him like a mantle, a bone deep tiredness that gnaws at his mind with little rodent teeth. The gentle sounds of respiration drift up from his left, occasionally interrupted by a snore or a snort as Luna tosses a little. The sound lulls him, but tired or no his eyes remain open, moving about as if embedded in Siamese pits of fine sand. He cannot sleep. He has his own burden of guilt to keep him company into the wee hours, a guilt he wonders if he can ever make right.

He left them alone, after all.

Shifting and sliding, he eventually gives it up as a bad job, resignedly stilling himself as he resumes his vigil, unconsciously rubbing at his right knee as he continues watching long into the night.

Waking slowly, Ryan turns over and glances at the bedside clock, at first puzzled as to why the alarm hasn’t gone off. Blinking at it for a moment, his mind begins to slowly engage, and he finally remembers that today is Sunday, before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes again. He doesn’t have to be up for a little while yet, and he plans on enjoying the quiet stillness that remains. Drawing a breath, he releases it in the contented, lazy way of one who finds he doesn’t have any in particular to be about.

Nose wrinkling, he takes another, deeper breath. There’s a smell in the air, familiar, yet out of place, and it slowly dawns on him that it’s the scent of coffee. Grumbling, he sits up, wiping at his eyes with one hand. Why is he smelling coffee?

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he fetches a deep breath, rubbing at the back of his neck before finally getting to his feet. Fumbling about for his robe, finally locating it, he throws it over his shoulders and makes his way to the door, tying it closed before walking out into the hall. The smell of coffee is stronger, and he can faintly hear a clattering of hooves on stone tile. That’d have to be the kitchen.

Growing a little alarmed, he descends the stairs and crosses the living room, walking through the fan of light that spills across the hardwood from the kitchen doorway. Reaching the threshold he stops, peering across the room in confusion.

Celestia stands to one side of the stove, her eyes drawn down as she concentrates on the bowl in front of her. Several items float about her, enveloped in a pale amber glow as they dip and bob uncertainly. The bowl is on the counter, itself and the whisk swirling diligently inside of it held in that selfsame glow. The coffee maker is on, and looks to be overflowing from the top, dark fluid running down the burnished metal facing to pool in the scattering of black granules that lay strewn around its base. The toaster pops with a click and a ding, and Celestia turns a startled gaze to it, the whisk stopping its rotation, and the bowl of what he can only assume are eggs tottering dangerously.

Watching his oldest girl in surprise, and more than a little wonderment, Ryan starts to step forward, before hesitating. He’d thought he would have begun to grow accustomed to this sort of thing by now, but it still brings him up short whenever he sees it.

She’d slept for almost two solid days after that night a couple of weeks ago, finally coming awake in the late afternoon of the second. She’d been ravenously hungry, and had bolted down everything he’d brought her, until he began to worry that she might make herself sick. Once she’d finally ate her fill, she’d leaned back with a loud belch and an embarrassed expression, excusing herself with a shy giggle.

When he had finally cleared to breakfast plates away the dam had broke, and both he and Luna had practically leapt onto her bed, smothering her with their relief. When they had finally calmed down Ryan had asked her what had happened. She didn’t remember much of that rain soaked night, save for occasional flashes and the odd, disjointed memory of being first really hot, and then really cold, but she insisted that she felt better, growing adamant and a little frustrated when Ryan continued to question her. Indeed she did seem to be returned to her normally cheerful, buoyant self, and the contrast with the preceding weeks was all too clear.

Slowly, hesitantly, she’s begun telling them about the strange feelings tied to her headaches, and the even stranger dreams. The weird warmth she’d described hadn’t gone away completely, but it had changed, she’d told them, from a periodic occurrence, to something constant. Always there, but pleasant, and weak. She’d confusedly tried to explain it like hearing a quiet background noise, sort of like a hum. It was always there, and if you looked for it, it was easy to find, but it didn’t really draw notice otherwise. Whatever that meant.

She’d gazed up at him with an abashed expression as he’d tried to digest that odd analogy, and had asked, in a halting way that wouldn’t let her meet his eyes, if he was mad that she hadn’t told him about any of this before. Blinking and looking down at her, he’d leaned in and kissed her on the top of her head, cupping her cheek and lifting her eyes to his, telling her that the important thing was that she was alright. She’d smiled sweetly, relief shining out in her gaze, and had asked for another sip of water. That’s when it happened again.

Still looking down at her, he had reached without looking, and his hand bumped the glass on the night stand, causing it to totter and slid off the edge. Suppressing a curse, he’d tried to make a grab at it, but before his hand had moved more than a few inches the glass was suddenly floating, rising back up cushioned in a gentle, pale golden glow. It wobbled uncertainly, spinning slowly around, before finally drifting to land with a muted clink by her alarm clock. Transfixed by the spectacle before him, he’d glanced quickly at the bed, his eyes widening as he took in the similar glow surrounding Celestia’s horn, which winked out after a moment.

The three shared a look in stunned silence, and then Tia had lowered her head, her face heating beneath her coat. After that it was a bedlam of excited sister and concerned father. She’d tried to explain it, unable to accurately convey what she was doing or how, and Luna had sat back after some time and several more demonstrations, reverently whispering that it was like magic. Feeling completely out of his depth, Ryan couldn’t muster any argument against her description. Magic was an impossibility, utterly ludicrous. Then again, so were the two Alicorns sharing the room with him, one firing off a barrage of enthusiastic questions, the other eagerly trying to answer through a growing smile, both of them ignoring the suddenly very old feeling man, sitting stock still with a pole axed expression on his face.

Magic.

Just…sort of…magic.

That had all been about two weeks ago, and ever since Celestia had been trying out her ‘magic’ more and more often. To say that Ryan was concerned and conflicted was to grievously understate his feelings. On the one hand, Tia was excited. Hell, they were both excited, with Luna already trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to perform her own magic. It had also given Tia something she’d never had before, a real ability to do things on her own. She could open doors, pour milk, comb her own hair, even work the remote control. It was a wholly new experience for her, and she dove into it without the slightest hesitation, trying everything she could, from the mundane to the dangerous.

So on one hand, Ryan’s thrilled for his oldest daughter, amazed at her newfound ability and proud at her for wanting to be more independent. On the other hand, he’s a father. A parent. And the larger part of being a parent is helping to guide your children through new and difficult things, drawing on your own experiences with those very same situations. Except …he has no experience with something like this. This wasn’t like trying to raise children who were physically different from everybody else. This wasn’t even like teaching them to fly. He can at least understand flying, understand the how and why that allowed it to work, even if he can’t do it naturally himself.

He doesn’t understand this. He can’t. And while Celestia and Luna exclaim and find joy in this new thing, and he certainly shares those feelings with them, he also finds fear and anxiety. It was wondrous to be sure, but his oldest, at least, has come to a point where he can no longer help her to find her way. He has no fatherly wisdom to bestow, no prior experience to draw upon. It eats at him to admit it, but he has no way to keep her safe in this. No way to keep either of them safe.

Tia will have to find her own way through this new landscape, will have to navigate its unknowable traps and pitfalls, and that leaves him feeling old, and useless. Worse than useless, it leaves him feeling helpless. The only silver lining he can take away from the whole thing is that she will at least be able to help her sister when Luna reaches the same place.

If nothing happens beforehand.

And who knows what abilities they’d be capable of, once they were familiar with how it all worked? Who knows what they’d be able to do? If it was magic, real and true magic, then its limits were unfathomable, its boundaries possibly limitless. He’s afraid for his daughters, terrified at what unanticipated things could potentially happen. Afraid at what changes this thing could bring.

Coming back to himself with a start and a shake of his head, Ryan frowns at himself, recognizing his hesitation and feeling a little disgusted with himself because of it. Things change, and when they do you have to deal with them as they are, come what may. Frightening power or not, that’s still his daughter standing across the kitchen, frowning at two pieces of toast as she tries to butter them. That’s still his Tia Marie, and if things may eventually change… well, they haven’t yet.

Berating himself silently, he clears his throat, the sudden sound causing Celestia to turn partially in surprise.

“Good morning Daddy!” She smiles beautifully, the toast and bowl and whisk and the butter dancing a little in the air, bobbing and jerking alarmingly as her attention focuses to him. “I thought I’d make breakfast this morning!”

Feeling an answering smile form on his face, he walks over and bends to brush her forehead with a kiss, ducking a little as the two pieces of toast glide past his head. “Good morning honey. I can see that. Do you need some help?”

Frowning over at the counter, she looks back at him, her delicate magenta eyes large and earnest above a small frown. “I can’t get the eggs right.”

Glancing at the sink, and then the trash, he can see the evidence of several prior attempts. Holding back a sigh- she must have almost gone through a carton so far- he stands next to her at the counter, looking down at the bowl. “Let’s have a look, hmm?” He hardly hesitates as he grabs the faintly glowing whisk, giving it a few swirls. “This looks pretty yellow, did you add any milk?”

Looking askance at the bowl, she gives him an embarrassed look. “…No. I didn’t know you used milk...”

Giving her a smile and rubbing behind her ear, he grins down at her. “A lot of people will tell you adding milk is a mistake, but don’t you listen to them. I’ve found it makes the eggs more fluffy when they’re cooked, and they tend to clump less. See, the secret is in how you whisk them. You want to do it like this…”

Beaming up at her father, Celestia listens with rapt attention, watching his motions closely and nodding occasionally. After all, Dad makes the best eggs in the world.

Chapter the Eighth

October 3rd, 2025

“Just one more time.”

“Tia, I think that’s enough.”

“Please Daddy?” Sweetness drips from her voice as she turns large, liquid eyes up to her father, adopting a face that’s equal parts hopeful and sad.

“No, I don’t think we need to…”

“Please?” Luna’s expression mirrors her sisters, and she manages to put a slight tremble into her lower lip as she looks at Ryan.

Gazing down, Ryan huffs in annoyance. They know exactly the effect those expressions have on him. They do it on purpose. He scowls at them, trying to maintain his stern exterior. He’s an adult damn it, he’s the adult, and if he says enough is enough, then it is. They continue to look at him, their body language shy bordering on timid, and he feels his chest tightening. He opens his mouth to tell them no, but closes it a moment later, the word unuttered. In the end, he simply cannot stand up to such a display. He’d think it was some form of magic, if they hadn’t already been doing it for years. Sighing in defeat, he nods his head. “One last time, then you two get to your chores. And that is that, Celestia Marie.”

Radiant, excited smiles blossom on their faces, and he chuckles in spite of himself. Resettling in the straight backed kitchen chair, he lays his arm along the cool,, wooden table top beside him. Taking a moment, he forces the limb to go as limp as he can, watching the intense look of concentration that comes over his eldest daughter.

She focuses, and a golden nimbus of light bursts from the alabaster spiral of her horn, shifting and undulating gently, throwing soft, ill-defined shadows behind the objects lined up next to his hand. Moving her eyes to the first object, his key ring, she makes a little sound of effort, and a similarly colored glow envelops them, causing them to rise about a foot from the table’s surface, rotating slowly with a light jingling sound. She’s getting better at this, and Ryan feels a small swell of pride. Luna watches intently from beside her sister, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

Setting the keys back down with a small clinking sound, she moves on the next item, a ball point pen with an aluminum casing. This rises and spins in place for a moment, swapping tip for cap a few times before descending to balance on its point, finally falling over once the glow encasing it has vanished. Next is a book, and after that is one of the coffee cups from the cupboard. Finally, she focuses on his arm, and his shirt sleeve is enveloped in that shifting amber glow. He tenses involuntarily, muscles tightening, before managing to return the limb to limpness. He always expects that he should feel something when she does this, but as usual his arm feels nothing, except the tightening and pull of the fabric as it’s manipulated.

Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she lifts part of his shirt sleeve, causing his arm to bend at the elbow. She wags it back and forth gently, causing him to wave at them and eliciting a giggle from her younger sister. Laying his arm back on the table top, the glow enveloping his sleeve changes, contracting down to a band about the width of his wrist. This band travels from mid-bicep to elbow to mid-forearm, feeling a little like a moving blood pressure cuff, stopping at each location to lift or bend his arm. It finally travels to his shirt cuff, and Celestia’s concentration intensifies, her brow furrowing.

The band of light stops at the edge of the fabric, flickering unsteadily, retreats a few inches then returns more forcefully. He watches this for a few moments before glancing over, and as he looks from the glowing band traveling up and down the sleeve of his red and grey checked work shirt he sees that large beads of sweat have sprung out across Tia’s face. Frustration is growing on her features, and she begins to make little sounds of exertion each time the light travels back and stops abruptly, like she’s physically pushing at something she can’t move. “Sweetheart, that’s enough.”

She doesn’t hear him, and continues, more vigorously still, the glow around her horn growing brighter, the band traveling up the length of his arm and racing down, faster and faster, stopping in the same place every time. The force of it is beginning to pull his arm forward along the table’s surface. Luna’s eyes flick from her father to her older sister, unease beginning to fill them. “Tia, that’s enough.”

Celestia continues, starting to pant a little, her frustration beginning to turn to open anger, and Ryan reaches out with his free hand, laying his palm along her cheek. The contact startles her, the light winking out from her horn and his arm as she turns wide, surprised eyes up to him. Cupping her face gently for a moment, he reaches up and brushes away a soft pink curl of her mane that’s fallen across her forehead. “That’s enough sweetheart.”

“I don’t understand.” She breaths up at him, sides moving rapidly, her tone flustered and almost pleading. “Why can’t I grab your hand?”

“I don’t know honey.” He says gently, looking down at her with a soft expression. “The same reason you can’t grab my leg, or my foot, or move my hair. I guess magic doesn’t work on humans.” Leaning forward he brushes her nose with a kiss. “That’s just the way it is.” Standing, he begins gathering the assorted objects from the table.

“But…”

Stepping over to the counter Ryan opens a cupboard, speaking over his shoulder. “It’s time for your chores. You two need to pick up your rooms and get your laundry together. And don’t forget the towels from your bathroom this time, please.”

Luna shoots her sister a commensurate look, before standing and trotting out of the kitchen. Celestia sits for a moment longer, catching her breath and staring at the table. It just doesn’t make any sense. Everything is made of the same stuff, after all, and so far she’s been able to manipulate anything she tries to. Anything except her father. It just doesn’t make any sense.

Ryan startles her out of her thoughts by placing a hand on her shoulder. Looking back at him, her delicate rose tinged eyes meet the dark brown of his, and he sees a welter of emotions on her face. Frustration, confusion. Fear. “Dear heart, some things just are, with no rhyme or reason to it.” Stepping around in front of her he goes to one knee, hand resting on the side of her neck. “Tia, what you have is a gift. What you can do is amazing. Beyond amazing. There are many who would call it miraculous.” He holds her eyes with his own. “You can do so much, so many things that nobody else can do. Things you shouldn’t be able to do.” He watches her expression. He has a pretty good idea what this is about. “Even if you can’t grab my hand, or my arm, or whatever, you can still pull me around by my clothes. That’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

Swallowing, she breaks eye contact for a moment, looking down at her hooves before returning her eyes to his. “But what if…” She falters for a moment, her throat working up and down in another swallow before continuing, the words leaving her mouth hesitantly. “What if something happens again, something like last time, and I can’t help you? What if…” She cuts off, blinking moisture from her eyes.

She retained only blurry memories of what had happened seven months ago, confused, vague impressions of being sick and wet and lost. The one thing she did remember clearly was pulling him from the path of their old truck as it rolled down the hill, of him being hurt. She’d had nightmares about it, after. True, those had eventually faded, but they had in-turn been replaced by a growing need to understand why she couldn’t affect him directly, a drive to figure out why she could only seize onto the clothes and items he wore.

Sliding his arm around her back, he leans forward and embraces her, pulling her into his shoulder. Her breath catches and she presses into him, drawing in the comforting, familiar smell of her father. He holds her close for a moment, before drawing back, reaching up to gently wipe an errant tear from her eye. “But you did help me, dear heart. You were able to, even though you had to grab me by my jacket.” Fixing her eyes with his, he leans closer. “Tia, something you’ll learn as you get older is that there are things in this world that you cannot control or change, no matter how hard you try. That’s simply the nature of things. And you can’t get so caught up worrying about the things you can’t do that you lose focus on the things that you can.”

She gazes up at him, her eyes large and vulnerable, worry and fear and a slight helplessness lining her face, highlighting her features. The sight breaks his heart a little. “But…what if I can’t, Dad? What if, for whatever reason, I can’t?”

Leaning forward again, he kisses her on her forehead. “You will. You can do wonderful, amazing things Celestia Marie, and if you can’t do something one way, then I know you’ll figure out how to do it another.”

The confidence she hears in his voice lifts her spirits, dispelling some of the weight that seems to have burdened her so much lately. Studying her father’s face for a moment, she sees no ambiguity or misdirection, but only his absolute trust in her. Sighing, she laughs a little shakily. “OK, Dad.” Stretching, she raises her muzzle to give him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks.”

He reaches down and rubs her ear softly, smiling. “Now, I don’t want to hear any more about what you can’t do, young lady. From now on, I only want to hear about what you can.” Moving his hand he tickles her beneath her chin, causing her to pull back with a giggle. “Understood?”

Smiling, she nods her head, and he rises to his feet, ruffling her mane as he walks back to the kitchen sink. “I’ll only tell you about the things I can do from now on.” She frowns down at her hooves. “When I figure them out, anyway.”

Looking back over his shoulder he shoots her a grin. “Well, your old man already knows something wonderful that you can do.”

“…What?” She hesitates. She doesn’t like the look of his smile. He meets her eyes, and her heart sinks a little as his grin grows broader.

“You can go clean your room.”

****************

“It’s sort of difficult to explain, it’s like a tensing feeling, like a muscle, only not so physical. More like the idea of a muscle.”

Luna stares at her older sister with a blank expression. “The idea of a muscle.”

“Yeah, it’s like…like this. Look, press your hoof on the floor, like you’re trying to push the floor away.” Watching Luna hesitantly press her hoof into the carpet, Tia nods her head. “Can you feel the pressure in your leg? How your leg muscles are flexing?””

Luna gives a slow nod, a confused look on her face.

“It feels sort of like that, only it’s in your mind. You look at something, like that magazine over there, and you sort of…reach out to it, like, you really want to pick it up.” Tia suits action to word, looking at an old copy of Popular Science that’s lying on Luna’s dresser. “You want to pick that magazine up…and you have to be clear in your mind about what you want to do, otherwise it won’t work…but you want to pick that magazine up, so you focus on it, and you get that muscle feeling in your head. And that warmth sort of flows into you,” Focusing, Celestia’s horn begins radiating a soft amber light, “and you just sort of reach out, and grab it.” A similar glow envelopes the magazine, and it rises from its place to float across the room, stopping to spin lazily in place as it reaches her. “And when you’re done, you just sort of let go,” the glow vanishes from the magazine, and it drops to the floor in a gentle rustle of pages. “And that’s it. It takes kind of a lot of concentration at first, but the more you get used to doing it, the easier it becomes.”

Luna looks uncertainly down at the periodical, studying it before glancing up at her older sister’s still glowing horn. She had begun to feel the warm sensation that Tia had so often described about a week before their birthday, although thankfully she had had no headaches or dream weirdness. Her sister had spent the last few weeks since then trying to help her get a grasp on her magic. So far, all she’d managed to do was listen to Tia explain it a dozen different ways, and to feel like she was standing in sunshine no matter where she was.

To say her lack of progress was becoming frustrating would be to understate things. She’s been waiting, eagerly, for this, and now that it’s finally started, she wants to be able to do things. All kinds of things, like her sister does. She needs to be able to do things, and she needs to be able to do them right now.

Their father had been understandably concerned when Luna told him that she was experiencing the same thing that Tia had, but the fact that she hadn’t developed any of the negative effects seemed to have soothed him, for the moment anyway. She still sometimes caught a worried expression on his face when he didn’t know she was looking, though, like she might come down all feverish and crazy at any moment.

Shaking her head to clear it, Luna takes a deep breath. “OK, so I focus on the magazine.” Looking down, she narrows her eyes, focusing on the cover, the smooth outline, the colorful photo on the front, the soft, diffuse reflection of the ceiling light from the glossy surface. “And I imagine a muscle in my brain.” Gaze intensifying, she tries to remember the feeling of her leg pressing against the floor, the sensation of her muscles tightening and bunching.

“And you have to want to pick it up. You have to want to affect it.”

“I want to pick it up.” Luna takes another deep breath, staring down at the magazine. “I want to pick it up.” Her eyes narrow as she concentrates. Her senses begin to contract, compressing and boiling under the weight of her focus. “I want to pick it up.” Her surroundings fade away from her consciousness. There is only her, and the magazine. “I want to pick it up!” She imagines herself reaching out, grasping the publication, enveloping it in a shimmering golden glow like her sisters, a glow that is equal parts magic and her own will. Grasping it, lifting it. Lifting it into the air. “I want to pick it up!”

Nothing’s happening.

“I want to pick it up!” Her brow wrinkles, and her focus begins to slip. Nothing’s happening. “I want to pick it up!” Notes of exasperation, colored with a slight desperation begin to enter her voice. Nothing’s happening, and why should it? She can’t do this. “I want to pick it up!” She’ll never be able to do this. She’ll never be like her sister. She can picture it in her head, years from now, her dad and her sister having to do everything for her because she’s still helpless. “I want to pick it up!” They’ll smile and tell her it’s OK, that it’s not her fault, and then they’ll go along and do things for themselves, and she’ll become their burden. “Pick it up!” She doesn’t want to be a burden, she doesn’t want to be helpless. “Pick it up!” Why tease her with this? Why let her feel the warmth when she can’t use it? “Pick it up!” That’s not fair! That’s not right!

“Aaarrrgghhh!” A shapeless yell of frustration fills the room, echoing off of the walls and ceiling, and it takes her a moment to realize it’s coming from her. Her eyes are watering, tears of strain and frustration beginning to mark damp trails in the fur of her muzzle, her jaw is tense, teeth gritted, causing tendons to stand out in her neck. Her head is beginning to throb, more likely exertion than anything else. And suddenly, she can feel it. For a split second she can feel it exactly like her sister described. There’s a flexing, bunching sensation in her head, and she can feel the warmth flowing into her, flowing through her.

Brilliant sapphire light explodes from the top of her field of view, its sudden and unexpected appearance making her squint, and the magazine jumps up, enveloped in flickering hues of deep blue, tumbling erratically before flying across the room and impacting against the far wall with a muted thump. It hangs there a moment, the clean, white plaster contrasting starkly with the fitful azure glow that’s pressing the magazine against the wall. A second later the glow encompassing the publication disappears, and a moment after that the glow from her horn winks out as well.

The whole scene takes all of a couple of seconds to play out, and as the light vanishes from the top of her vision Luna slumps down into a sitting position, her sides heaving as she tries to catch her breath, her wings hanging limply. Her eyes sting, and she blinks several times before realizing that she’s covered in sweat. She feels tired, almost ragged, and strangely sore all over, like she’s been running all day, although all she did was stand there, but…it had moved. She had moved it.

Celestia pads over, settling close to her sister, her eyes widened in startlement. “Sis, are you OK?” Upon receiving a nod, she breaks out into a grin. “You did it! You…did you mean to throw it like that?”

“No,” Luna pants, her breathing still rapid but starting to slow. “I only wanted to… pick it up.” She looks up at her sister, an answering grin forming on her muzzle. “I…I did it, didn’t I?” Suspicion momentarily narrows her eyes. “You didn’t do anything, did you?”

Laughing, Celestia leans down to nuzzle her sister’s neck affectionately. “No, I didn’t do anything, Luna.” She glances at her sister’s horn. “That wasn’t even the same color. I wonder why…” She trails off, before giving her head a shake and returning her eyes to her sister. “I was actually telling you to stop, you looked like you were about to burst something.”

“You were telling me to stop?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t listening. You just kept mumbling to yourself, and then you yelled, and, well, it happened.” Extending a wing, she envelopes Luna in a brief hug, smiling at her. “You did it, sister.”

Gazing across the room at the disheveled magazine, Luna lets out a breath, her eyes growing wide with wonder. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

****************

“Stocks tumbled fifteen points today, on the surprise announcement that defense contractor Paradyne Subsystems will not be merging with Northop Grumman Consolidated. Bill Paxley, a spokesman for Paradyne, held a press conference this morning in which he stated…”

Grunting sourly Ryan turns off the television, standing and giving his back a small stretch. That news was unfortunate. Reaching down, he makes a note on a near-by pad of paper to check the extent of the damage later. Things had changed over the last ten or so years. When Ryan had first started investing, the big money had all been in green energy firms and technology companies.

However, the market followed global trends, and those stocks had slowly sank until they were worthless. With the current state of the world- the resurgence of communism in Russia, the formation of an anti-NATO coalition spearheaded by China, terrorism and the oil troubles in the Middle East- defense contractors, always a reliable investment, were the new hot commodity, and he’d shifted his investments over accordingly.

Paradyne had been one of his first forays into the world of defense companies, and he’d bought quite a lot of stock in it when it’d first come to market. He stays with it now out of, what he admits, is more illogical sentimentality than good investing sense.

He’d started idly playing the market about ten years ago, more as a hobby than as anything serious. The money left to him by his parents and grandfather was substantial, and had been enough to keep first him, and later his odd but wonderful family going comfortably, but it wouldn’t last forever. He’d discovered an unexpected talent for it in himself, however, and since then what had started out as an idle hobby had subsequently grown into a more serious endeavor. He’d done surprisingly well too, creating a pretty stable source of revenue and building up a rather impressive portfolio.

There was another reason as well. Like the inheritance, he knows that he won’t last forever, either. He doesn’t feel like he’s about to turn forty, but that day, several weeks from now, is rapidly approaching, a milestone marking his progress on what has turned out to be a strange yet fulfilling journey. He knows however that journeys, by their very nature, must have an end, a destination to be reached. He’s not reached his destination yet, nor does he plan to for some time, but increasingly he’s become aware that there is one.

One day he’ll be gone, and when that day comes he’s determined that the girls will be taken care of. They will have need of, and want for, nothing. He’s determined to leave them set up in such a way that they’ll be safe from the outside world after he’s gone, leave them in a place where they never have to worry about what happens outside the fence the surrounds the property. So he invests, he trades, building on the remainder of the money bequeathed to him by loss. The house and the land are already owned outright, so there’s no worry there, but he has plans, some ambitious, some that just make good sense.

While it feels good to have a plan to take care of his daughters after he’s gone, such thoughts often leave Ryan feeling a little down, and he shakes his head, trying to dispel the melancholy that attempts to settle over him. There’s nothing to be done about it after all, and in the mean time, he has other things to focus on, or worry about, depending on your outlook.

Such as Luna’s burgeoning magical ability.

That recent development brings with it both immediate relief, and additional worry. She hadn’t had any of the problems that Tia had, a blessing for which he is intensely grateful. Paradoxically, however, that blessing has been folded into an even larger, more nebulous worry. Instead of one daughter trying to make her way through uncharted waters, he now has two, both of whom are still subject to the excitability and recklessness of youth.

Still, he has to admit it is difficult not to become infected with their enthusiasm, despite the fact that he knows at least one person in the house needs to be worried about the potential dangers involved. She had been excited though, running down stairs a few weeks ago, her sister no less excited despite the more sedate pace at which she followed, gushing about how she had finally been able to move something. He’d worried for a moment that if her grin grew any larger the top of her head was liable to fall right off. The memory lifts his spirits, and he smiles absently as he makes his way into the kitchen.

Reaching the fridge, he swings the door open, idling before the shelves as he searches for something to drink. They did have each other at least. Despite the way it often times makes him feel useless, he is grateful for that. Deciding on iced tea, he removes the pitcher, nudging the fridge door closed with his hip before pouring the last of its contents into a glass on the counter.

Taking a sip, his gaze wanders to the window, and he idly watches the trees outside dancing and jumping in the gusting wind, the sight at odds with the sound of the shower running in the upstairs bathroom. Tia should be home pretty soon. He’d told her to pack it in if the wind began to get bad. She’d been spending a lot of time this summer searching in and around the canyon in which he’d found them both, looking for some sign or clue as to where they came from. He’d agreed when she’d first asked if it was alright, although he’d cautioned her, gently, that it was unlikely there was anything left to find after eleven years, if there had ever been anything to find at all.

He’d searched around the place more than a few times himself, never coming across anything more noteworthy than trees, pine needles and brush. She’d insisted however, and though it left him a little discomforted, he’d figured it was harmless enough. It was natural after all, wanting to know where you came from and why. Hell, she might even find something he’d missed. He couldn’t get a birds-eye view of the area the way she could. He just hoped that she wouldn’t be too disappointed when nothing came of it.

Above him the muted rush and gurgle of water flowing through the pipes suddenly cuts off. Luna had been in the shower a lot longer than usual, not that that’s really surprising. Now that she was able to use her magic, she had to learn how to do things all over again, even simple things, such as bathing and grooming herself. She was making good progress too, both in figuring things out on her own and listening, if sometimes grudgingly, to the advice of her father and older sister. She could be a tad bit impulsive though, charging ahead without thinking things through first. He knows part of that is just her age, but still, it wouldn’t kill her to give a little more thought before acting. Maybe he should have a talk with her.

A clattering from the front porch draws his attention and he turns as the door opens, admitting Celestia. She walks into the living room, swinging the door closed again with a small flare from her horn and giving her wings a flutter. The sight of them using their gifts still catches him off guard at odd times, bringing up a complicated welter of emotions he’d assumed would have passed by now. Startlement, amazement. Worry.

Seeing him, she trots into the kitchen, smiling as she crosses the threshold. The delicate pink of her mane is disheveled and windblown, sticking up in small tangles and snarls. Caught up behind her ear is a crumbling, triangular leaf, most likely from one of the birch trees in the canyon, and he plucks it out as she comes near. “Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi Dad.” She smiles gratefully at the leaf in his hand. “Thanks. Is there any tea left?” She asks, eyeing the glass in his hand.

“Nope, afraid not.” He finishes the last sip, stepping over and placing the glass in the sink. “If you want more you’ll have to make another pitcher.”

“OK.” She chirps brightly. Humming faintly under her breath, she lifts the pitcher from the sink and begins rinsing it out, horn glowing softly. It’s amusing to Ryan how the two of them leap at any chance to use their magic. Even something as mundane as making tea is fun for them. After so long of being dependant on him for even the simplest of tasks, being able to do for themselves is still exciting. The new hasn’t worn off of it yet.

Watching bemusedly as she bustles around the kitchen, Ryan leans back against the counter. “So, how did it go?”

Her smile falters a little as she refills the pitcher and pulls a box of tea bags from the cupboard. “I didn’t find anything this time, either.” Placing the pitcher on the window sill, where it can steep in the sunlight streaming through the glass, she turns towards him, disappointment faintly coloring her expression. “Just a lot of trees and bushes and rocks.”

Reaching over he rubs her neck. “It’s OK, dear. We knew from the start that there might not be anything to find.”

“Yeah, I know.” She trails off, glancing down before looking back up hopefully, returning her eyes to his. “I still want to keep looking, though.”

“That’s fine honey, just be mindful of the weather. It’s not summer any more, and it looks like we’re going to get an early winter this year. I don’t want you flying around when it gets bad.”

“I know dad. I’ll be safe, I promise.”

“Alright then. Now, what do…” Ryan cuts off as a sound catches his ear. It takes him a moment to place it, but it sounds for all the world like someone is slowly pouring a cup of water onto a tile floor. He tilts his head, a perplexed expression crossing his face as he tries to figure out what exactly he’s hearing. Absently he notices Celestia’s ears swiveling a little as she tries to home in on the noise as well.

It seems like it’s coming from above the kitchen, almost as if it’s right above his head. The only rooms on this end of the house are the girl’s bedrooms, the converted reading room, and…

“I think that’s coming from the bathroom.” Tia says, her own head tilted to the side. Suddenly the noise cuts off, only to be replaces a second later by a loud splashing sound , as if instead of a cup of water, someone had decided to upend an entire bucket all at once. A large bucket.

Comprehension dawns on Ryan’s face, and he spins on his heel, stalking out of the kitchen and across the living room towards the stairs, his face a curious blend that is equal parts confusion, concern, and resignation. Luna would still be in the bathroom, having just finished her shower. She’s also been trying out her magic at every opportunity. If she broke a fitting or a pipe… Topping the stairway, he makes a beeline down the hall, slowing as he sees a dark patch radiating out ominously from the closed bathroom door. Behind him he can hear Tia making her way to the second floor. The liquid sounds have ceased and…no, no they haven’t. He can hear a faint splashing, and an odd squelching noise behind the dark wood of the door. Frowning, he twists the knob and pushes the door open.

The door swings inward, it’s movements slowed a little by the water covering the floor, sending out small ripples that expand in a half arc across the tile to rebound against the cabinet, and the hooves of his youngest daughter. Luna looks up at him, teal eyes wide. Her coat is dry, the fur poofing out a little along her face and around her wings, which are tight against her back. Her mane and tail are a tangled mess, bits of hair sticking up here and there. A sodden towel hangs from her mouth, swinging back and forth gently, dripping copiously into what must be almost an eighth of an inch of water that covers the floor. She stares at her father for a moment, frozen. Ryan, for his part, is equally frozen, eyes picking over the bathroom in an attempt to understand what he’s seeing.

Ryan takes a breath, preparing to ask her what in the hell is going on, and at the same moment she opens her mouth to speak, the towel falling heavily to splash in the water at her feet, little droplets springing up from the impact and splattering across the mirror. Laughter erupts suddenly from behind him, startling them both, and he looks back to see Celestia standing behind him in the hallway, eyes half closed and mouth hanging open as great bellowing peals of mirth escape her.

Raising an eyebrow, he looks back into the mess that used to be a clean bathroom. “Luna, what in the world…”

“I was trying to get dry…” she says quickly in a small voice, trailing off as she meets his eyes.

The pieces fall together in Ryan’s mind, and he begins laughing as well. Behind him, Tia has sat down, head lowered and sides shaking as she tries to contain herself, the sound beginning to break up into hitching giggles. Ryan puts a hand to his head, trying to fight down his own amusement. In front of him Luna’s expression has begun to change from wide eyed panic to sullen resentment.

Tia stands up and walks to the doorway, still chuckling. “Let me guess, you got out of the shower, and decided to try pushing the water off of you instead of using a towel.”

“Yeah.” Luna responds a little crossly, before looking down at her sodden hooves in embarrassment. “It didn’t work, though.”

Her giggles finally trailing off, Tia smiles amusedly at her sister. “I tried the same thing, you know.” Luna looks back up, frowning.

“Then how…”

“I tried it in the tub, dear sister.” She answers with a grin. Breaking out into laughter again, Tia turns and walks past

Ryan, her snickers trailing her down the hallway.

Watching her sister leave with a dangerous expression, she turns back to her father with an abashed look. Luna starts to open her mouth, stopping and frowning at the look on her father’s face. Ryan’s eyes sparkle with suppressed ammusment, and he’s fighting a losing battle to keep a stern, dad-like composure.

Clearing his throat a few times, he finally masters himself and looks down at her, his eyes still twinkling. “Luna, is what your sister said true?”

Meeting his gaze for a moment, Luna drops her head, her cheeks heating. “…yeah.”

“You tried to use your…magic,” he still stumbles over that word every now and again. “ Your magic to dry off, instead of a towel?”

“I…yeah.”

Taking a deep breath, he lets it out in a sigh. “And did it work out the way you thought it would?”

“…no.”

Sighing again, the laughter trying to break free finally coming under control, Ryan takes another look around the wet mess that is now the upstairs bathroom. Good lord, there really is water everywhere, even dripping from the top of the shower curtain, both inside and out. How had she managed that? “And did you learn something today?”

Looking back up again, her face begins to grow hopeful. Dad’s not mad? “Yeah, I learned that if I want to try that again, I should do it in the tub.” She responds, tone growing brighter.

Her quick answer brings a smile to his face, and Ryan steps through the water, stopping next to her and reaching down to lay a hand along her cheek. Her coat is still frizzy, sticking out around his palm like blades of grass. He studies her for a moment, taking in her expression, and then decides to change what he’s about to say. “OK, so long as you learned something from this. Now, you need to clean it up.” He smiles gently at her. They can have a discussion about her impulsiveness later.

“I was trying to clean it up.” She replies, looking up at him earnestly. “I tried using magic at first, but that just pushed the water around, so then I grabbed the towel…” She trails off, noticing the grin that is slowly growing on her father’s face.

“What?”

“Well, it just so happens that your old dad knows about an ancient, magical artifact that can help you out.”

She looks up at him hesitantly, confused. She doesn’t like the way he’s smiling at her. “…what artifact?”

Grumbling, Luna lifts the mop from the floor, trying to wring it out in the bucket sitting by the door. Dad thinks he’s so funny sometimes. Twisting the mop head in the stupid little inverted cone on top of the bucket, she swings it back around and plops it on the floor, causing sudsy water to splash into the air, some of which splatters against her coat. Growling in frustration, her horn flaring brighter for a moment in response to her agitation, she swirls the mop around, chasing water across the floor.

****************

“But red meat isn’t healthy for you.” Tia reiterates, her eyes imploring as she stands in the kitchen doorway.

“Yeah, it can cause high cholesterol and stuff. They have all these studies.” Luna pipes up from next to her sister, a small stack of computer printouts hovering in front of her.

Sighing, Ryan presses the plastic lid onto the Tupperware container on the counter in front of him. Picking it up, he shakes it gently, making sure that the dark marinade inside covers the steak evenly. He’d had a vague bad feeling when he started teaching the girls how to use the computer, and the internet. He’d brushed it off at the time, but now he sort of wishes he had paid it more heed. “Girls, I know what the studies say. You’ve shown them to me a number of times.”

Tia settles on her haunches, her expression growing more determined. “So then you know that…”

“I also know,” Ryan speaks over her, cutting her off as he places the Tupperware back on the counter and turns to face his daughters, “that I’ve pretty much become a vegetarian over the last ten or so years, which means that the closest thing to red meat I usually get is fish. Which is fine.”

“If it’s fine, then why…” Luna begins, hoisting the studies she’s printed out a little higher to emphasis the point she’s about to make.

Ryan cuts her off as well, holding up a hand. “I also know that a little red meat now and again is not going to hurt me.” He sighs again, fixing both of them with his eyes. “Sweetheart, it’s my birthday tomorrow, and for my birthday I’d like to enjoy a nice, juicy steak.”

Huffing irritably, Luna settles next to her sister, looking at the papers still floating in front of her before setting them on the floor. Glancing at Celestia she shares a look colored by frustration, with just a hint of disgust. The concept of eating another animal usually brings that sort of response from them.

Taking in their expressions, he leans back against the counter, arms folded. “It’s not like I’m making you two eat any. You don’t even have to watch me eat it.” He’s a little surprised that he’s actually slightly uncomfortable with the thought of them watching him eat meat. “But it’s my birthday, it only happens once a year, and if I want to have a steak, I’m going to have a steak. And that’s my final word on it.”

The two share another look, and then nod to their father resignedly. Looking up with a discontented expression, Tia tries one more gambit. “But we had a really special dinner we were going to make for you.”

“You can still make it, and I’ll still enjoy it. I’ll just have a steak with it, as well.”

Sighing in defeat, Luna stands up, absently grabbing her carefully prepared stack of health studies. She can tell when dad isn’t going to budge on a thing. “Fine. How do you cook a… steak, anyway?” She eyes the plastic container with obvious reluctance.

The thought of his girls actually cooking the meat causes an odd sort of discomfort in Ryan, a strange sort of squeamishness in his stomach. “Uh…I’ll cook it, sweetheart. You two can do the rest of the meal.”

Looking up in relief, she nods her head and turns to leave. Tia gives him one last, long suffering look, before standing up and following her sister out into the living room. Through the doorway he can hear them speaking quietly to each other.

They’re probably discussing how stubborn he is.

Shaking his head he turns and collects his steak, which should marinate nicely overnight, placing it on a shelf in the refrigerator. As he closes the door, he shakes his head again. It’d been this way ever since they learned how to use the computer, something they had picked up with a surprising quickness. Every week they had a new study or piece of news, mostly about health. His health. Coffee was bad for you. So were egg yolks. Trans fats were the devil. Red meat causes heart attacks. In a way it’s touching that they’re concerned for his health. A small way. Glancing at the closed door of the fridge he fights off a flash of frustrated guilt. A very small way.

It’s hard to get really upset with them about it, though. How do you get upset with people who only want you to live longer? It was also something to be expected, he supposes. Who ever heard of a teenager who didn’t think she knew more than her elders? And as much as he hates to admit it, some of what they bring up is valid.

However valid though, one thing he’s discovered about getting older is that it’s increasingly difficult to change your ways. Letting out a breath, he walks into the living room, finding it vacant. From the open doorway to the study he can hear Celestia and Luna talking quietly, their voices overlaying the small click of keys on a keyboard.

That they can type at all with no hands still amazes Ryan. He’s not entirely certain how it’s accomplished, and so far only Tia can manage it with any fluidity, but manage they do. They’ve been spending an increasing amount of time utilizing the thing, which makes sense when Ryan thinks about it. It’s a window into the wider world for them. Absently he wonders if he ought to get them a pair of laptops for Christmas.

He’d worried initially about some of the content that they might run into on the internet, but they were good kids. They knew what was acceptable and what to avoid. A couple of web nanny programs also helped to ease his mind. He just hoped that they would be done soon. He’s got some things he needs to check on in a bit. Settling onto the couch, he flips on the television and kicks his feet up.

The meal turned out good, all things considered. They had fresh caesar salad, baked potatoes, crispy garlic bread. He’d eaten his steak quickly, almost furtively, but not even the disapproving looks he’d garnered from them had done much to keep him from enjoying it. It really had marinated nicely overnight. Even the cake had been good, if a little lumpy on the one side. For a couple of girls who still weren’t very experienced in the subtle art of the kitchen, they put on a pretty good spread. He likes to think it’s mostly from his teachings.

Humming under his breath as he cleans up the kitchen, he can’t keep from smiling a little. Their hearts were in the right place, and even though they’d left the mess for him, the evening had been an enjoyable one. He has to admit, he’s got a pretty good set of kids.

Finishing with the salad bowl and setting it on the little wooden rack on the side of the sink, he dries his hands, folding up the embroidered blue washcloth and tossing it on the counter. The girls were already in bed, and glancing at the little clock on the stove he decides to turn in himself. He still has a touch of that full-stomach lethargy you get from overeating, what Callie used to call the sleepy-puppy syndrome, and bed sounds pretty good right about now. Still humming, he flips off the kitchen lights and makes his way towards the stairs.

Ryan opens his eyes. Strong sunlight cascades warmly over him, and he sits up in confusion. Soft fragrant grass cushions him, spreading out in a verdant swatch that runs headlong into a vertical rock face crossing from left to right in front of him. What was going on? Staring uncomprehendingly for a moment, he looks to his right, following the dark grey, mica flecked stone with his eyes. He was outside? How had he gotten outside? Across from him the little flecks of mica kick back muted pinpricks of reflected sunlight, sparkling slightly. When had he gotten outside? Farther up from him, the rock face meanders inwards on a slant, eventually meeting up with a similar rock face that sweeps behind him. The two faces come together about twenty yards to his right, forming a point, and he can see a few pale, slender trunks at its apex.

Standing, he turns in a slow circle, eyes dancing over the grass and the small shrubs that run between the two sides of the canyon, flowing away him in a rough sort of wedge shape formed from the rock faces, which he notices are spotted irregularly with springy looking mosses of green and yellow. Spinning around again, he focuses on the handful of birch trees standing proudly at the termination of the sides, and realization drops over him, heightening his confusion. It’s the canyon. His canyon. He knows that it is, feels it with an odd sort of clarity, the distinct shape of it only verifying the strange certainty. What’s happened to it though? Where’s all the scrub brush? Where’s the dirt and the sage?

The sky is cloudless, a deep cerulean blue that arches overhead, the sun a bright orb burning at its center. The air is crisp but comfortable, carrying on it the scents of grass and trees, damp soil and the green smell of growing things. He feels a strange calm here, a deep peacefulness, almost as if this place were sacred. What was going on? Blinking in the bright sunlight, he glances behind him again, debating before giving a small shrug and walking forward, towards the trees. The blades of grass feel cool and welcome beneath his feet, and he pauses, looking down at himself. He’s still wearing his bed clothes, his feet bare, little tufts of grass poking up between his toes. Is he dreaming?

Giving his head a shake, he continues forward. If this is a dream, it is by far the most vivid one he’s ever experienced. It feels so real. Each step has weight, each foot fall brings with it the sensation of cool, soft grass, and beneath that, the slightly uneven texture of damp soil, small stones and other assorted aggregate poking at the soles of his feet. A slight breeze wafts across him, and he can feel it tugging unevenly at his hair, playing slightly with his flannel sleep pants, pulling a little at the collar of his pajama top.

He nears the small grouping of birch trunks and stops, looking them over. There used to be so many here, much more than the widely spaced half dozen or so currently before him. The slender upright trunks give off a sense of age, of the passage of time, and a thought begins to well up in the back of his mind, unbidden. Glancing over his shoulder he studies the carpet of green running back towards the mouth of the canyon.

How much time would have to pass for the changes he’s seeing to take place? How long for the soil to change, for the old flora to be pushed out? Not decades surely. Centuries, at the least. How many centuries would it take for this place to change from the rough high desert beauty it was, to the quiet emerald elegance it is now? The thought brings with it conflicting feelings of both fear and awe.

Shivering in a way that has nothing to do with the pleasant temperature of the air, he looks back to the trees, and what he sees there stops him cold, his eyes going wide and his mouth dropping open in shock as the sight in front of him temporarily severs the connection between brain and motor function.

A young woman is standing in between the alabaster trunks, clad in blue jeans and a white blouse, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, her face wreathed in a beautiful smile. Vibrant copper hair peeks out from beneath a red paisley kerchief, her green eyes sparkling with hidden amusement.

It’s Callie.

Her smile widens into a grin as she takes in his shell shocked expression. “Hello, love.”

Speechless, Ryan stands there, staring, body feeling numb and a little disjointed, as if he’s just been walloped by a sledge hammer made out of feather pillows. He squeezes his eyes closed and opens them again, but she remains before him, smiling, one eyebrow starting to climb in a way that suggests she’s trying very hard not to laugh. He takes a deep breath, noticing for the first time that his mouth is still hanging open and snaps it closed, only to open it again.

“I…ju…huh?”

His broken utterance proves too much for her, and she breaks out into laughter, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching her thighs as she doubles over. After a long moment she finally regains mastery over herself and straightens up, the occasional chuckle still emerging as she wipes at one eye. “Oh dear…Oh Ryan, I’m sorry sweetheart. I really am, I didn’t mean to…it’s just…oh you should have seen your face!”

Still too shocked to grow properly indignant, Ryan tries to speak, before his emotions come crashing over him like a wave and he crosses the distance between them in a few steps, wrapping Callie up in his arms and pulling her close. “Callie, oh God, Callie. Callie…” He breaks off, mumbling into her hair as he squeezes her. She’s as real as the rest of it, the silken feel of her hair, her scent. It’s her.

She returns his embrace, and for long moments the two just stand, holding one another. Eventually, she pulls back a little, looking up into his face. Her earlier mirth is gone, her smile now one of genuine happiness. She reaches up with one hand, brushing away some of the tears that have been freely leaking from his eyes. “Hello, love.”

Ryan’s breath catches as he looks down into the smiling face of his wife for the first time in almost fifteen years. “Callie…what, what is this?” He takes a breath, his shock beginning to merge with his earlier confusion in an odd sort of combination that makes it difficult to think clearly. “How is this?”

She grins at the vagueness of his question, understanding his meaning despite the awkward wording. “This is really happening, Ryan. In a way, at least.”

He opens his mouth again, but she cuts him off, her expression growing serious. “We don’t have a lot of time, Ryan. And there are some things we need to discuss before this comes to an end.”

“I don’t understand.”

She smiles up at him again, releasing her embrace and taking a step back. “I know you don’t honey, but that’s OK. You don’t need to understand everything, not right now anyway.” Glancing around, she nods at a point behind his shoulder.

“Sit down with me.”

Settled Indian style on the grass, dappled in the shadows of the surrounding birch trees, Callie leans over, taking Ryan’s hands in hers, her face covered in irregular bands of dimness and brightness. Her expression is warm, but serious, the liquid jade pools of her eyes direct as they look into his. She’d always been able to switch seamlessly from joviality to seriousness in a way he’d always had trouble emulating. It was one of the first things about her that had impressed him when they’d started dating.

“This,” she releases one of his hands to gesture around them, “isn’t real. Not in the way you’re used to things being real. This place is a sort of…reflection, I guess.”

Glancing around in confusion, he turns back to her. “A reflection of what?”

“What might be, what could be. I don’t fully understand all of it myself, but that’s not important right now.”

“Then what…”

“Hush Ryan.” She leans forward, capturing his eyes. “Our time here is short, and there are things I have to tell you. Something is coming, something dark.”

Her words carry a weight to them, a depth, and he shivers in spite of himself. “What?”

“I can’t tell you what.” She holds up a forestalling hand at the look he gives her. “That’s simply the way it is, sweetie.” She holds his eyes a moment longer before giving him a placating smile. “What I can tell you is that they are very important, and that they’re going to play a very large role in what happens after.” He looks a question at her, and she nods in response. “The girls. Celestia and Luna.”

“You know about them?”

She smiles, leaning close to bop him lightly on the forehead with her palm. “Of course I do, dummy.” Settling back, she takes his hands again, a seriousness coming into her eyes, pinning him. “They must be kept safe, Ryan. Above all else, they must be kept safe.”

“Why? Callie, I don’t…”

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, I really am, but it has to be this way.” She glances around them, before glancing up at the sun, like she’s judging its position. If she’s trying to figure the time, Ryan can’t see how. From what he can tell, the damned thing hasn’t moved an inch. Nodding to herself, she looks back to him, her expression all business. “I’m going to tell you some things. You won’t remember all of it after this, not consciously, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Important things, things that you need to know.”

He opens his mouth, but closes it again at the pleading look that comes across her face. “We don’t have a lot of time here, so I need you to just listen. Please. No questions, no interruptions, just listen to what I have to say. I need you to trust me, love.”

He studies her for a moment, then leans forward, pressing his lips gently to hers. Breaking the kiss, he settles back, tightening his hands on hers and nodding. “I’ll always trust you, dear heart.”

Smiling radiantly, she glances at the sun once more, seeming to gauge it, and then she begins.

****************

Steam rises fragrantly from the cup of coffee in Ryan’s left hand, and he raises it to his mouth to take a sip. The hot, rich flavor splashes across his tongue, traveling down his throat and warming him from the inside, the heat radiating from his stomach a stark contrast to the chill fall morning. Lifting his other hand he takes a long, slow drag from his cigarette, expelling it in a cloud that is equal parts smoke and condensation from his coffee warmed breath, the hazy plume quickly pulled apart by an errant but persistent breeze.

Winter is almost here, evidenced by the denuded branches of the trees before him and the quickly dropping temperature. It had rained a couple of days ago, and he can still pick out the faint scent of damp earth and the sweet smell of damp sage.

Inside he can just make out the muted sound of the kitchen T.V., tuned to some morning program or other. The girls were taking a turn at breakfast today, a notion that brings a sort of wincing smile to his face. They were getting better all the time, but for all of that he still knows that the majority of the cleanup will fall to him. He shrugs the thought off, feeling a strange sort of resigned happiness at the thought.

Taking another sip of deliciously warm coffee, he puts his cigarette out in the little dirt filled can on the railing and leans forward, arms resting on the weathered wooden slats, his eyes wandering over the front yard while his mind wanders over the dream he had three weeks ago. He didn’t remember much of it, mostly just blurry impressions. Callie’s face, the feel of her hair, sun dappled shadows, the smell of green things. It hadn’t faded in the intervening weeks, the way normal dreams do. It was indistinct, yet solid at the same time.

He hadn’t questioned it since then. He really couldn’t. It hadn’t been a dream, and he’s pretty certain it hadn’t been some sort of vision either. The more he turns it over in his head, the more he’s convinced that it was some strange juxtaposition of the two. Whatever it was doesn’t matter to him though, not really. All that matters is that it had been real. This isn’t something he just accepted, but rather something he knew, deep down inside, with no ambiguity and no uncertainty.

Somehow, through some means he’s not even sure if he wants to understand, he had been visited by his wife, had spoken with her. Had woken the next morning with the smell of her on his pajamas.

He couldn’t remember what had been said, but that wasn’t important. He’s pretty sure that he was told exactly what he needed to hear. It’s odd to him that his acceptance in what had happened feels stranger than the actual event itself. It was almost spiritual, his belief an act of faith. Not in any god or deity, but in her. In Callie.

He had awoken with a definite sense of purpose. Watch for trouble, keep the girls safe. Not too different from what he normally did, except that now he was sure that trouble would come. That certainty should have bothered him more, he knows, but it’s countered by a renewed determination in him, a sure confidence. Nothing, no person or thing or event, will hurt his girls. He won’t allow it. He’ll keep them safe, no matter the cost.

Taking another drink, this one deeper now that the beverage had cooled some, he straightens up and turns to go inside. Breakfast should be almost ready by now, maybe he can lend a hand.

Chapter the Ninth

July 16th, 2031

Luna reclines comfortably against the back of the wooden lounge chair, her back and rump cushioned by the oversized, springy white towel folded beneath her. Her head lolls against another towel spread over the slanted back of her seat, her eyes closed, the sunlight painting the insides of her eyelids a bright hue. She releases a quiet, contented breath as the sounds of the beach wash over her like the waves of the nearby ocean. The gentle, repetitive rhythm of rollers lapping along the sand, the bright tinkling sounds of children laughing as they splash in the surf, the excited barking of a dog, the hollow ping of a ball bouncing across the sand, the quiet murmurs and subdued laughter of a dozen conversations being held up and down the strand.

Coming to the beach today had been a glorious idea.

The muted crunching of fine granules beneath a pair of sandals approaches, coming to a halt a few feet away. “Freshen your drink, miss?”

The blazing heat of the sun cascades across her body, soaking into her coat and warming her hooves, wrapping her in a temperature that’s managing to stay just a shade below too-hot, leaving her feeling loose and relaxed. Inhaling the tang of the salt, the scent of the water, she idly shifts her tail, the end trailing over the edge of the chair and across the sand. It is a perfect day.

“Miss, your drink?”

Not bothering to open her eyes, she shifts her head slightly towards the questioner. In the background she can make out the low noise of traffic passing to and fro with a quiet drone, the sudden, distant blare of a car horn standing out briefly and causing an involuntary, lazy flick of one ear. “I’m fine, thank you.” Even the hustle and bustle of the city behind her cannot intrude on the peacefulness of her surroundings. The setting is so ideal, so perfect in its warmth and comfort, that it almost seems too good to be real. Like a cliché scene taken from a television show.

“Miss, where is your drink?”

“Hmm?”

“Your drink? Where is it?”

“It’s in the sand next to me.” She mummers, stretching her hind legs languorously. She’ll take a dip in a little bit, and the cool of the water will feel absolutely wonderful against her warm hide, but for right now she just wants to bask in the sunlight, in the happy sounds of people enjoying an afternoon at the beach. Maybe it is too good to be real, but then again, clichés have to come from somewhere, right?

“Where did you leave it?”

The voice is growing insistent, almost distracting, but she just can’t seem to focus on it. “Mmm…Leave what?”

“My hair brush.” The waiter’s voice is changing, becoming more feminine. That’s sort of weird.

“Hmm?”

“Luna, where did you leave my hair brush?”

Blinking her eyes open groggily, she’s greeted not by the faded denim of a blameless summer sky, but by the white plaster of the living room ceiling. Her back and neck feel uncomfortably hot, and there’s an unpleasant dampness running from her shoulders to the base of her tail. Blinking in confusion for a moment, she finally turns her head to the side, meeting the blush colored eyes of her older sister. “Wha?”

“My. Hair. Brush.”

Blinking again, trying to clear the gritty feeling of residual sleep from her eyes, Luna glances around at her surroundings again. No beach, no sun, no tanned waiter in flip-flops. Just her, on the leather sofa, the television playing quietly in the background, and her sister standing next to her with a look that’s quickly growing annoyed. Her mane is a damp mess, for some odd reason.

“I…uh…in the bathroom?”

“No, it’s not. Remember, you borrowed it last night before bed.”

She stares dumbly for a moment, the gears of thought turning slowly, struggling for traction. “Oh yeah, it’s in my nightstand. Second…” She yawns hugely, her jaws creaking. “Second drawer.”

“Thank you.” Her sister returns curtly, turning and striding off with an irritable huff.

Watching Tia leave for a moment, Luna gives her head a small shake and rolls over, making a face at the gross squelching sound as her sweat soaked hide pulls away from the leather and wincing uncomfortably at the stiffness in her wings. She knows better than to fall asleep on her back like that, especially on the couch. Standing, she gives her wings a careful stretch, mindful not to knock anything off of the coffee table. She blinks at the T.V. for a moment, some sort of advertisement for car insurance, before turning to make her way into the kitchen. She needs something to wash that hot, stale unpleasant taste out of her mouth.

Pouring out a glass of milk and taking a sip, she replaces the jug and swings the refrigerator door closed, the corners of her mouth quirking up a little at the small thrill she feels from the act. Tia can act as blasé as she wants to, but even after all this time she still gets a little rush of excitement from the fact that she can actually do things.

The soft click of the front door opening draws her attention, and she smiles as her father walks into the house, still wiping his hands on a dirty rag. “Hi…” She’s interrupted by another yawn. “…Dad.”

“Hey, sweetie.” He smiles back, walking into the kitchen and setting the rag down on the counter. Flipping on the tap he begins scrubbing his dirt stained hands under the flow of water. “Finally awake huh? How was your nap?”

“Eh, it was alright, I guess.” Finishing her glass with a large swallow, she sets it in the sink. “I woke up really hot though.”

Turning off the tap and drying his hands on a clean towel, he glances at her glass meaningfully before looking back at her. “Leather furniture will do that.”

Trying to suppress a sigh and almost succeeding, she focuses on the glass, lifting it in a shifting nimbus of azure light and rinsing it out, before placing it upside down on the drying rack. Turning back to him, she lifts an eyebrow.

“Thank you sweet heart.” Flashing her a grin, he ambles over to the fridge, opening the door and stooping to peruse the shelves. “You know, you wouldn’t be tired enough to need a nap if you started going to bed at a more normal time.”

“I try to, Dad, but all I seem to do is lay in bed reading.” She ambles over behind him, looking half-heartedly over his shoulder for anything appetizing in the fridge. Deciding she’s not really hungry, she backs up a step to give him some room. “Maybe I’m naturally a night owl. Wasn’t Momma Callie that way?”

“Yeah, she was definitely more of a night person.” Straightening back up, he nudges the door closed, a brown bottle of beer in his hand. “So, what are your plans for this beautiful Saturday afternoon?”

She stops for a second, glancing at the kitchen clock with a little surprise. It was two-thirty already? “Uh, I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d head down to the pond for a little bit, go for a swim or something.”

“That sounds good. Maybe I’ll wander down there a little later and join you.”

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to work in the study for a little bit first. I’ve got some things to catch up on.” He pretends to ignore the pained expression on her face as he turns to go. Reaching the threshold between kitchen and living room he meets Celestia, giving her a smile and ruffling her mane slightly as he passes by.

Shaking her freshly brushed mane with an annoyed snort, Tia enters the kitchen, walking over to a cabinet and eyeing the look on her younger sister’s face. “Where’s Dad going?”

“He’s going to work on his conspiracy stuff again.”

Rolling her eyes, Tia selects a package of crackers from the cupboard, absently closing the door as she tears open the top. “He’s starting to get obsessive.” She remarks as she grabs a glass from the drying rack next to the sink and fills it with water from the tap. “You know, we should probably talk to him about it.”

“You know what he’d say.” Luna replies, her face becoming a caricature of seriousness as she adopts her best ‘dad’ voice. “I’m just keeping up with the news girls. Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. Now go take out the trash.”

Her impression is bad enough that it draws a startled laugh out of Celestia, causing her to spray crumbs across the floor. Choking a little, she quickly takes a drink, coughing as she washes her mouthful of half-chewed crackers down. “Yeah…that’s probably exactly… what he’d say.” She manages. Taking a deep breath, she finally regains control over herself, moving to look out through the kitchen door towards the study, a touch of pensiveness tightening her eyes. “Still though…”

Shaking her head in the negative, Luna walks over to her sibling, bumping into her side gently to get her attention. “It won’t do any good sister. You know how stubborn he can be. And besides,” she pauses, stretching her hind legs out one at a time. “It seems pretty harmless, overall. I mean, it could be embarrassing if people found out, but who’s going to? It’s not like we have to worry about what other people think.”

Sighing a little wistfully, Tia nods her head. “Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right.” Glancing over, she smirks at the tangled cerulean mess that trails down Luna’s neck. “You really need to do something about your mane.”

Glancing at a flop of hair dangling between her eyes, she returns her sisters smirk. “I’ll bet. Can I borrow your hair brush?”

***************

Setting his beer down on the scarred and well worn oaken surface of his desk, Ryan reaches over and twists the little knob on one of the small, sleek plastic speakers that crouch on either side of the monitor. Picking out the play button amongst the cluster of media controls on the keyboard, he presses it, reaching for his beer and sitting back as he waits for the first mellow notes of the piano to begin filling the room, an accompaniment to the swaying, honeyed voice of Ella Fitzgerald, singing to him about autumn in New York.

That’s always the first song on his playlist, and it’s one of his favorites. So he is understandably confused and startled when, instead of hearing the warm, velvety strains of the opening notes drifting languorously from the speakers , his senses are instead assaulted by a sudden screeching, jagged and discordant jumble of what sounds like a broken synthesizer, an out of tune bass guitar, and a dying cat. The noise ratchets upwards in both volume and intensity, audibly slapping him in the face, and after a pained moment he realizes with some alarm that the dying cat is actually the lead singer.

Reaching over, he quickly stabs a finger at the pause button on the keyboard with perhaps more force then he intended. Sighing and taking a draw off of his Budweiser, he opens the media application and confirms what his battered ears have already told him. The girls have been messing with the playlists on the computer again. Instead of Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong and assorted company, he sees an album by a group called FistSlam, which, according to the little information panel that pops up when he mouse’s over the album title, is an ‘up and coming group out of Seattle that combines elements of Techno, old school Grunge and modern Country music.’

He stares at the description for a moment, his mind trying to process how and why someone would decide to combine those particular genres of music in the first place, before idly wondering how mad the girls would get if he accidently deleted it. It’d be for their own good in the long run, after all. Musing for a few seconds, he finally shakes his head, instead navigating to the correct collection of music and queuing the desired tracks in the media player. As the silken notes of his own playlist begin to filter into the comfortably cool air of his study, he takes another sip of his beer and closes his eyes, letting the mellow notes flow over him, breathing out in relief as they wash away the previous auditory unpleasantness.

The girls had always enjoyed music, but they had only begun really exploring the wide and mostly wonderful world of music for the last year or so, sampling different genres like humming birds flitting from flower to flower in a garden, trying out new things and developing their own tastes. He’d hoped that those tastes would follow after his own, and while they did enjoy his music on occasion, he’s found that one of the reasons for which children seem to exist is to confound their parents. Increasingly over the years that seems to have become one of the main reasons, especially when it comes to music. Some of the things they choose to listen to… he shakes his head sadly.

Studiously ignoring memories of similar experiences between himself and his own parents, he sets his beer down to the side where he won’t accidently bump it with his arm. Reaching for a stack of folders on the edge of the desk, he begins to sort through them, his mind switching gears from his children’s questionable musical preferences to more important matters.

Ryan doesn’t socialize much with the people in town, partly due to circumstances and partially from personal choice. He’s already garnered something of a reputation as ‘that odd hermit’, which doesn’t bother him. Such a reputation actually benefits him, in a way. Odd people are expected to do odd things and act in odd ways. People don’t question it, which has saved him from having to come up with some awkward answers over the years. Despite all of that, however, he is intensely grateful that nobody from the outside world has ever had an opportunity to look at the items currently in his hands. He might not be overly concerned about what others think of him, but he’d prefer not to be labeled as a ‘that crazy hermit’. Given a choice between the two, ‘odd’ will do him just fine.

The first few folders in the stack belong to the girls, mostly various subjects they had been studying on their own. Regular schooling for the pair had ended a few years ago, much earlier than it would have for regular children, after it became clear that there wasn’t really anything more they could gain from the standard run of general education materials. He’d had them take the final standardized tests, the G.E.D equivalency stuff, something he’d viewed as a mere formality. When they’d aced them as expected he’d declared their schooling at an end and thrown them a makeshift graduation party.

That’s not to say though, that they stopped studying or learning. Ryan didn’t think they could stop, even if they wanted to. It’s just how they were built, a product of both their natural inquisitiveness and their isolation. The difference now is that they had transitioned from being taught, to teaching themselves. They went at their own pace, and pursued whatever subject happened to capture their attention. They’d even started doing their own research.

Setting aside two folders containing more mundane things like world history and mathematics, he comes to the next folder in the stack, a thick buttery yellow affair with Celestia’s name written in her neat, elegant style across the front. Flipping through it, one would see printed reports and articles dealing mainly with mythology, with a specific focus on the legends surrounding unicorns and pegasi. Accounts, tales and recorded oral traditions from ancient Greece, Rome, China, and a double handful of other countries. She’d been working on it for some time, and he’s continually impressed with her thoroughness whenever he pages through it.

She’d initially gone through the material he’d already gathered, gleaned the important tidbits, and then gone further, digging up stories from countries that hadn’t existed for thousands of years, corresponding (with his grudging permission) with scholars and historians from universities around the world. She still sought to know who they were, and where they had come from, and she pursued those questions with a doggedness and determination that was a little startling.

The second folder is a light purple color, almost mauve, with Luna’s name scrawled across its front in her angular yet neat writing. Thicker than the previous one, it nonetheless followed a similar theme. Historical accounts of ancient sorcery, legends about wizards, accounts of supposedly magical artifacts and mystical locations.

Information spanning recorded history, from ancient Egypt and the Salem witch trials, to more modern sources of a questionable nature. Scholarly papers about Hecate worship and tales of lost Avalon sit beneath more dubious material taken from Wiccan and witchcraft websites. It’s as thorough and comprehensive as the previous folder, and although he will never become fully comfortable with the subject matter, he is as proud of her as he is of her sister.

Shuffling a few folders containing financial records out of the way, he comes finally to the third folder, lighter than the other two but still substantial. Its contents always seem to make it weigh more when he picks it up. It reads like a pro-militia conspiracy theorist’s dream. Page after page of news reports, articles, even some U.N. transcripts, all revolving around a central theme; the degenerating state of global politics. The cable news outlets had begun referring to it as ‘The Second Cold War’ with a sort of gruesome giddiness, as if it were some sort of macabre sporting event.

The news clippings and articles detailed a rough sort of timeline of events. The eventual and expected formation of the East Asia Pact, an anti-N.A.T.O. coalition spear headed by Russia, China and North Korea, and the numerous rouge nations that had almost immediately begun to sign treaties with them. The answering surge in N.A.T.O. memberships. The development of viable nuclear weapons in both Iran and Syria. The expanding civil war in Egypt, the Israeli fortification of the Gaza strip.

There were analysis on the various political moves and posturing between N.A.T.O. and E.A.P. nations, in-depth looks at the growing military abilities of both sides, and articles detailing the shrinking technology gap between both sides. The raw data painted a rather alarming picture. For the first time in decades, serious resources were being expended in the development and construction of newer and more advanced nuclear weapons by member states from both groups.

Even more worrying to Ryan however, was the portrayal of these events by the government, a non-alarmist line ceaselessly parroted by the news media. The talking heads and pundits spoke constantly about the M.A.D. doctrine, how it worked the last time, how it will work again. It was a head in the sand sort of approach that Ryan found, well maddening. These things are scary, they’d say, but nobody would really take that final step, nobody could, it’d be crazy to do so. These buildups, these weapons and defensive systems being developed and deployed, they’re just in case. Better safe than sorry, right? So don’t worry, we’ve been through this before, and we can suffer through it again, now let’s talk about the current Idol winner.

They consistently and effortlessly reduced events that should have frightened anyone with an ounce of common sense into something resembling a spectator sport, effectively shouting down dissenting views as alarmist. And the public was, by and large, eating it up whole sale, a fact that Ryan still had trouble believing. It had taken a user on one of the newsgroups he frequented to sum it up for him.

People, he had said, are already scared. The oil shortages, the rising food costs, the struggling economy, the crazy weather, the shrinking job market. The domestic terrorism threats. People feel like they already have enough on their plates to worry about. They turn on their T.V.’s in the morning, and they’re assaulted with all of these troubles, all of these things in their day to day lives that they have to deal with. And here’s this thing, this really big thing between us and the EAP, and the friendly news anchor says it’s all posturing and fluff. It looks worrisome, but it’s not the big-bad that it seems to be, this is one thing you don’t have to be concerned with. The people are overwhelmed, they want to believe, and so they do.

Flipping the flat grey cover open, he takes another pull from his beer before reaching for the mouse. Minimizing the music application, he opens the web browser, navigating his bookmarks until he pulls up the site he’s looking for, an independent blog run by a public watch dog group. The top article catches his attention.

M.A.D. Gone Mad?

Everyone is more than familiar with the doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction now-a-days. The concept that kept the U.S. and the Soviets from initiating global Armageddon during the ‘First’ Cold War faded away at the end of that pseudo-conflict, becoming just another term school children had to learn during history class. Today it has re-arisen to a new prominence, and every soccer-mom and office-dad believes that it’s a safe word, the safe word, the one that’ll keep the world from spiraling out of control.

Certain world governments, however, including some prominent members of both N.A.T.O. and the E.A.P., seem to be engaged in a race to see who can bring the most literal definition possible to both the acronym and the mental condition. A terrifying game of one-upsmanship that both sides appear to have whole heartedly, if quietly, embraced. Development and rumored deployment of next generation neutron bombs, efficient higher yield warheads, so-called ‘shotgun’ delivery schemes meant to saturate enormous areas, and more disturbingly, whispers about the development of cobalt-thorium devices, whose sole purpose is to maximize environmental damage from radioactive fallout. Weapons designed and intended not just to ensure that both sides lose in a nuclear exchange, but that they lose as much as possible…

Perusing the article, Ryan reaches absently for his beer, a little surprised to find the bottle empty. Setting it back down, he finishes the piece slowly, the skin across the back of his neck tightening as a familiar feeling drops over him. It’s an odd sort of feeling, a combination of intense worry and iron resolve, paradoxically making him want to hunch his shoulders and square them at the same time. Doing his research always makes him feel this way.

He can no longer recall the dream he had all those years ago, and to be honest, he’s not really certain if he even had a dream anymore. He recalls it now as more of an awakening, a moment when he opened his eyes and actually took a good look at what was happening outside of the confines of their home. A moment when he’d stopped thinking their isolation was enough to keep them safe. It’d started as a renewed interest in the news, something he’d only been able to give cursory notice to before. It was helped by the time freed up when the girls had finished their regular schooling, and further bolstered by an indefinable yet growing feeling that something was beginning to loom over the horizon. Something dark.

When Iran had detonated its first nuclear weapon a couple of years back, a weapon that used nuclear materials and knowledge openly obtained from the newly formed E.A.P., he’d started his collecting. When Syria, Myanmar and Venezuela had become member states alongside North Korea, he’d begun to plan. When China started its slow buildup in the Strait of Taiwan, when Russian tanks had begun rolling into former bloc states, when the U.S. started aggressively implementing its ‘Armed Forces Revitalization Initiative’, he’d accelerated those plans.

He’s aware that the girls look askance at what they call his ‘obsession’, a label he can’t really argue with. He is somewhat obsessed, and he’s a little surprised they haven’t tried to talk to him about it yet. In truth he’s actually sort of grateful that they haven’t. How can he explain that he’s just got a feeling, this growing certainty that they need to be ready, need to have some sort of plan? That he’s learned over the years not to question those feelings anymore? It’d sound crazy. Hell, maybe it was. Crazy or not, though, obsessed or not, it doesn’t matter. Ryan’s been worried before, and he ruefully acknowledges, if only to himself, that worrying has become one of his less desirable defining traits.

For the first time in his life, however, he’s actually afraid of what’s going on in the world.

Printing a copy of the article for his folder, he switches over to an update from one of his R.S.S. feeds, a story on the ground breaking ceremony at the Badlands missile site outside of Provo, Utah, part of the Air Force’s segment of the A.F.R.I. Before he can begin scanning the news, however, he is interrupted by a small pinging noise and a flashing icon next to his email program. Bringing up the little window, he’s surprised to see a message from Zaius realty in his inbox. He hadn’t expected to hear from them for another week at least.

Smiling to himself, Ryan opens the message, jotting down a note when he’s done and hitting the print button. Closing the email and browser windows and standing with a small stretch, he lets out a satisfied sigh, deciding to see if there’s any coffee left from this morning. Folding the printed email as he walks out of the study, his smile grows a little larger. Finally, some good news.

***************

A slight breeze blows through the canyon, causing the brush and the trees to rustle gently, filling the air with the small, secret sounds of needles and leaves engaged in an almost imperceptible dance with the wind. The breeze brings with it all the smells of the high desert mountains through which it has recently journeyed. A slight, sharp hint of sage, a subtle suggestion of pine sap, the crumbly smell of loose earth, the dusty aroma of an old birds nest, fragrant wild grasses and sun warmed wood, all wrapped within the smell of summer air.

This has become one of Celestia’s favorite places on the property, what her father would call her thinking spot, the place where she comes when she needs to clear her head, when she needs to sort things out, when she needs to get some perspective or just get away for an hour or two. She loves her dad and her sister, fiercely, but being in the same house all of the time, sometimes things can get…well, she’s thankful that she has a place like this to escape to from time to time, a place where she can breathe out the stress and the frustration and breathe in the peacefulness of her surroundings.

It wasn’t surprising then, that this had become her preferred place for practicing. She could really focus on her magic here, free from all of the distractions at home. Here she didn’t have to worry her father, or worry about her sister startling her at just the wrong moment. Here she can really concentrate on not just what she was doing, but also the how and the why of it. She’s noticed as she gets older that the latter two are becoming almost as important as the former. Plus Dad had been pretty upset the last time she’d had a ‘miss fire’ and accidently changed his favorite house shoes from canvas to silly putty. That he’d been wearing them at the time had not helped matters.

Luna liked to tease her about this place, asking her when she was going to buy a yoga mat and wondering out loud how she could contemplate her naval when she didn’t have a belly button. Kidding aside, Celestia did have to admit that there was something very Zen about her relationship with this canyon, and the question of whether that was a natural thing or something affected didn’t matter. Luna liked to quantify, to reduce things to their facts and figures. Tia preferred a more natural, organic approach.

Glancing skyward, back towards the mouth of the canyon, she can see a faint white line scratching from east to west just above the horizon, an airplane chronicling its journey across the blameless azure sky. It seemed like there was more air traffic than there used to be, but thankfully it all kept pretty far north of their particular stretch of mountains. She started to wonder idly where it was going, what the people onboard would do once it landed, but shook her head, turning away and looking back at the spray of flowers in front of her. She wasn’t here to daydream.

She focuses on one of the small white blooms standing in the patch before her, eyes drinking in the details as she clears her mind. Concentrating, she gathers her energy, her horn beginning to glow. She’s always liked the little white flowers, Sego Lilies, according to her father, but they didn’t tent to last long when picked. Dad had shown her how to press them between the pages of a book to save them, but invariable they always ended up crumbling.

Reaching out, she gently encloses the three lobed flower in a faint haze of golden light, working carefully. It had come to her the other night as she lay drowsing in bed, that there might be another way to preserve things, not just flowers, but food, books, practically everything. She’d worked the problem over, picking at it for a couple of days, and she thought she might finally have some idea how to do it. Or rather, where to start. Raising her head, she plucks the flower, its stem swaying back and forth as it’s relieved of its burden. Bringing it closer, she narrows her eyes, the glow around her horn brightening noticeably even in the strong wash of afternoon light.

Although it was undeniably different than anything else she had ever done, working with magic was also similar to some things in a lot of ways. True, it seemed to follow its own rules, but those rules did not exist outside of the normal world. Magic, her and her sister had discovered, existed alongside and interacted with gravity, heat, light, electromagnetism. The strong and weak nuclear forces. It was affected by those forces as much as they affected it, so far as they could tell.

Bringing the flower closer, she begins to delicately weave flows of energy around it, forming what she’s taken to calling a matrix. Magic seemed to need order, to gravitate to structure. She found it easier to lay these flows of magic along the petals, where she suspected they began binding with the hidden capillaries within the petals. Order. The flower itself began to glow, an almost imperceptible brightening of its white coloration that causes the yellow and black markings at its center to stand out more.

Luna, being the more scientific minded of the two, was giddy with the idea that they had discovered a previously undetected natural force. She grew excited when she spoke about how it could change certain concepts, and had dove head long into physics, relativity, and string theory. Celestia had her own thoughts on that, however. It seemed to her that she was sensing more and more of that warm energy as she got older, like its presence was growing stronger. That could be attributed to her increasing abilities, but sometimes in her quieter moments, it almost seemed to her that the magic hadn’t existed until she’d used it for the first time. She’s never voiced such thoughts, of course. She isn’t sure if such an assumption is ego or honest assessment.

Laying weaves of energy along the outside of the flower, the petals bobbing gently as it floats in her magical grasp, the glow changes, flashing once brightly before extinguishing as she completes the ethereal construct. Structure. Studying her work, she sees that the color of the petals seems a little duller, their bobbing a little slower, almost as if the thing were underwater. She brings the blossom closer, nudging at it with her nose. Does it seem harder to bend the white leaflets? She’s pretty certain it is.

Fighting to suppress a surge of excitement, she carefully sets the lily in a small box laid open on the ground beside her, nestling it in next to several other flowers and a handful of leaves. She thinks she finally understands what just happened, and even better, she’s pretty sure she knows how to make it go further. Glancing for a moment into the open topped cardboard box, unable to keep a small smile from lifting the corners of her mouth, she turns back to the Segos growing in a small, irregular patch along one wall of the canyon.

Her and her father had planted them here one summer when she was still a filly, only a pair of flowers at first. It was supposed to have been three flowers, but her younger sister had ended up eating hers on the ride to the canyon mouth. The patch was smaller this year than last –it had been a particularly dry winter- and after an afternoons worth of work she was running out of flowers to practice on. She was going to have to either find something else to use after this spell, of she was going to have to call it a day, and after an afternoon of near constant magic use she was getting pretty tired.

Gathering her energy for what she’s decided will be her last try, she begins forming the spell matrix before picking up the flower, trying to work it into a general approximation of the shape it assumed last time. Absently she can hear a faint rustling in the bushes to her right, no doubt a small bird or rabbit shifting about, easily ignored. Focusing, she reaches out for the last blossom, plucking it and lifting it steadily while trying to build up as much energy as she can. Bringing it closer, she stares at the petals, small beads of sweat beginning to trail down her face, trying to see the microscopic capillaries, trying to envision exactly how the weaves of energy will-

“Hi Tia!”

A fluttering of wings precedes a sudden clattering of hooves from behind, startling a gasp out of her. At the same moment the bush next to her erupts with frantic movement, causing her to snap her attention to it in involuntary alarm. The twin distractions prove to be just enough for the already flagging Alicorn to lose her concentration completely, releasing the charged, not quite formed spell in a blast of shifting, almost prismatic light. The beam goes wild, striking part of the bush and splashing liquid like against the rock wall behind it, little flecks of mica throwing back erratic pinpricks of crazily refracted lumination.

Dragging in a ragged breath, trying to still her racing heart, Tia stares wide eyed at the section of rock she accidently hit, before turning an incredulous and furious glare back towards her sister. “Luna! What in the name of…of anything, do you think you’re doing!”

Taken aback by her sister’s anger, Luna tilts her head a little to one side, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “I came to see what you were up to up here. What are you doing?”

“I was practicing, until you scared me half to death. You’re lucky I didn’t accidently blast you with that spell!”

“But I landed behind you. If I had landed in front of you, then maybe you might have zapped me.” Luna clarifies for her clearly confused sister. “What are you practicing anyway?”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Celestia takes deep, calming breaths, trying to rein in her anger. After a long moment she finally succeeds in transitioning from anger to mere annoyance. “I’m trying something new. I just about had it when you came in and ruined it for me.” Opening her eyes and taking in the smirk plastered on her younger sister’s face, she fights to keep her face neutral. She’s not getting angry again. She is merely annoyed. She doesn’t want to kill her sister. She doesn’t. She has to work harder to convince herself of that last part than usual.

“Did it involve that bush you shot?” Luna asks brightly, gleefully ignoring her older sisters strained expression. “Were you trying to make it more bush-like?”

“Luna…” Celestia responds in a warning tone.

Prancing over to the bush in question, Luna looks over at her fuming sister with an impish grin. “It does look bushier on this one side, don’t you think?” She gazes down at the gently shifting leaves.

“Luna, I swear…” Celestia trails off, noticing a sudden change in her sibling’s expression. She seems…disturbed. “What?”

“What did you do to this rabbit?”

“Huh?”

Looking over, her features surprisingly somber, Luna repeats herself. “What did you do to this rabbit?”

Moving closer, Celestia stares down through the leaves, just making out the silhouette of a small hare amongst the shadowed branches of the interior. It looks odd though, stretched out in a strange way. She glances at Luna as her sister’s horn begins glowing softly. The bushes part with a deep blue glow, and the rabbit floats up, hanging in the air before them. It isn’t moving, although it looks like it should be. Its hind legs are stretched out behind it, its back arched, its front legs coiled as if to absorb a landing that never came.

“It looks like it’s in mid-jump.” She says quietly, her voice startled and a little awed as she studies the poor creature. Both of its long ears lay back against its neck, and peering at it she can see the dark grey fur on its chest looks weird. After a moment of study, she realizes it’s laying back in different directions, as if moved by the passage of air.

Eyes narrowed, Luna scrutinizes the hare, before turning a wide, surprised gaze to her sister. “It’s still alive.”

“What? How…”

“I don’t really know. It’s weird, like some sort of hibernation, only more so. Like it’s completely frozen or something. But I can still feel…life, I guess.” Reaching out with a hoof, Luna prods at one of the back legs. It’s as unyielding as stone. Drawing her leg back she taps it harder.

“Luna! What are you doing? Don’t hurt the poor thing.”

“I’m not Tia. I don’t think…I don’t’ think I could if I wanted to. I’m pretty sure we can’t do anything to it while it’s like this.” Looking seriously over at her sister, she furrows her brow. “What, exactly, were you trying to do anyway?”

“I was trying to find a way to preserve those flowers.” She nods towards the brown cardboard box a few feet away. “I’ve been trying all afternoon. I thought I had figured out a different approach when you showed up.”

Having the good graces to finally look sheepish, Luna turns back to the hare, setting it carefully down beside the bush. “What do we do with it now?”

Considering for a long moment, Celestia finally sighs dejectedly. This isn’t going to go over well. “You should probably go get Dad.”

“Huh? What’s Dad going to do? He doesn’t know anything about magic.” Luna responds with wide eyed hesitancy.
Looking down on the rabbit resting oddly on its side, Celestia shrugs in frustration. “I don’t know, just… just go get him, alright?” She doesn’t watch as her sister turns and launches herself back in the direction of the house. Studying the poor hare, she reaches out tentatively with her magic, probing gently. No, this isn’t going to go over well at all.

Standing at the porch railing with a reheated cup of leftover coffee, Ryan takes in the beauty of the day, letting his mind work over things at its own pace as he fingers the folded printout in his other hand. Looking at the red and white package of cigarettes sitting on the painted wood for a moment, he gives his head a small shake, instead opening the printed email again.

Mr. Williams,

Your background, credit and DHS checks have all come back good, and you have been approved at the rate we previously discussed. Please give us a call at your earliest convenience to set up a meeting and a tour of the lot. We greatly look forward to working with you.

Very Respectfully,

John Landon

Senior Agent

Taking a sip of coffee made somewhat bitter from the microwave, he starts going over his mental checklist again. Their finances were more or less in order, thanks to his portfolio and the residuals he receives from both inheritances. He’d have to shift some things around and do some creative budgeting, but all in all they’re set on that note. In all honesty he’s actually getting a hell of a deal, mostly because they hadn’t been able to sell the property for years.

The location is also pretty good. Quiet, out of the way, with very restrictive access as far as roads go. There will be some issue with utilities –sewage and the like- but he’s already been in contact with a local contractor about that. Transportation might become an interesting challenge, but if worse comes to worst, he can always load the girls into the back of the truck. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable, but the camper shell covering the bed would keep them out of sight. They might not like it, but if it reaches that point, whether or not they like it becomes a secondary concern.

Glancing idly in the direction of the canyon, his thoughts shift in turn. Tia had gone out earlier to practice. He knows she does that to keep him from worrying, they’ve both realized he’s still uncomfortable with the whole concept of magic. What he hasn’t had the heart to tell her is that whether she practices her magic in the house or out of it, he’s going to worry regardless. At least when she’s in the house he can be there if something goes wrong.

Like the time she tried to boil water for tea without using the stove, and ended up setting both dish rags on fire. Or the time her sister got impatient waiting for the fridge to make more ice, and ended up freezing the kitchen taps.

Sighing, he shakes his head slowly. Though they did make mistakes, they were making them with less frequency then they had before, and they were figuring out new things all the time. Despite his reservations, he has to admit that they’re getting pretty good with what they can do, oddities notwithstanding.

Not that there were plenty of those. The way they seemed to be able to sense some things, for instance, like that time when they were camping. Luna had picked up a piece of firewood, looked at it strangely, then discarded it instead of adding it to the fire. She’d told him, in all seriousness, that there was a family of bark beetles living inside it. When he’d questioned it she’d kicked some of the dried bark away with one hoof, exposing a half dozen scuttling shapes.

Then there was the time the television remote had been lost. Ryan had searched for about an hour, until Celestia had walked in and asked him what he was doing. When he’d told her, she had looked around for a second, closed her eyes, and nodded toward the back corner of the couch. Lifting the cushion and wedging his hand in the frame, he had found it. She’d answered his incredulous look with a small laugh, saying she’d followed the faint residue of magic that still clung to it from the last time Luna had handled it.

More disturbingly, though, was the other thing he’d been begun to notice. He couldn’t be sure, and he’d never voiced it, but they didn’t seem to be growing the way they’d used to. He didn’t know if it was just some normal facet of Alicorn biology or not, but it seemed to him that ever since they’d really started using their magic, they’d…slowed. Not mentally, of course, but physically they only seemed to be a couple of years older than when they’d first began lifting things about with their horns. It could just be that they were almost done growing, but it was a stark contrast to their weed-like growth when they were still fillies. That it seemed to have begun when they started practicing felt a little too coincidental to Ryan.

Taking another drink from his mug, he reconsiders the pack of smokes, finally giving in and reaching for them, when a distant flapping of wings makes him pause. Looking up he sees Luna flying in from the direction of the canyon, circling once before landing in a spray of gravel. She looks around wide eyed for a moment before spotting him. Studying the expression on her face, he sets his now tepid mug of coffee on the railing. He’s got that feeling again, that tense, jittery stomach sensation one gets when standing too close to a steep drop off. Steadying himself with a breath, he walks over to meet her.

“Sweetheart, is everything alright?” She looks at him nervously, meeting his eyes hesitantly, and he suppresses a sigh. Yep, this is going to be one of those times. “Luna, what is it?”

She breathes deeply, shifting her wings about nervously as she answers. “Something… happened in the canyon that you…”

“Is your sister alright?” He cuts her off, chest tightening.

“What? Oh yeah, she’s fine.” Luna responds, glancing back in the direction she’s just come from. “But, something happened. She wants you to come see.”

Evening out his breathing he follows her glance, before looking back and catching her eyes with his. “What happened Luna Maybelle?” He says in a steady, calm voice.

She winces slightly, looking almost furtive. “Nothing really bad, just…just come and see. Please Daddy?”

He studies her, one eyebrow lifting as she continues to fidget. Deciding it would be easier to do as she’s asking, he looks towards his pickup with a resigned sigh. “Alright, I’ll be up there in a minute or two.” Looking back towards his younger daughter, he frowns. “You’re sure you two are alright?”

Finally noticing the concern in his voice, Luna settles a bit, giving him her best smile. “We’re fine, Dad. And it’s not anything really…bad, so much as different. I promise. We just don’t know what to do.”

Searching her face for a moment longer, he nods, turning and walking towards the truck. “O.K. sweetheart. Go on ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

Watching through the windshield as she springs back into the air, he starts the engine, smoothly shifting into first gear. Taking a moment to roll the windows down and turn off the radio, he crosses the yard and starts down the little access road that eventually runs past the canyon mouth. He tries, with mixed results, not to focus on the immediate worst-case scenarios that have cropped up in the back of his mind. He doesn’t see any smoke rising, can’t smell anything sinister on the balmy afternoon air, and his ears pick up no hint of a helicopter or circling drone, which goes some way towards easing his mind. It can’t be that bad, can it?

A few minutes later he reaches the gap in the rough granite ridge on his right. He parks and kills the engine, stepping out and shading his eyes from the warm summer sun as he peers back into the canyon. He can see both of them back there about half way down, the larger white shape of Celestia settled on the ground next to the smaller, darker shape of her younger sister, their backs to him. They appear to be holding an animated conversation.

Crunching along the rocky ground, he keeps glancing around, looking for anything different or out of place, but
everything seems fine. Approaching the two, he notices for the first time a small cardboard box sitting off to one side, which seems to be full of flowers, of all things.

Turning their heads at the sound of his footsteps, Celestia stands up, giving her coat a little shake to dislodge some of the dirt from it. Sharing a look with her sister, she takes a breath and turns towards him, meeting his eyes, a strange combination of trepidation and determination tightening her features. “Hi Dad.”

“Hi, sweetie.” He studies her for a moment, curious at her expression. She looks like she’s about to own up to something she did wrong, while at the same time defending her actions. “What’s this about, Tia Marie?”

She seems to struggle for a moment, her mouth opening, before simply standing aside and gesturing to the ground next to her with one wing. Following the tips of the alabaster feathers, he finally notices the small jackrabbit lying oddly on its side, the grey and black fur helping it to blend in with the terrain even at short distance. The girls have found dead wildlife before, and while they never seemed to like it, they had long accepted that it was simply the way of nature. They hadn’t called him for a dead critter since they were fillies, crying and begging him to ‘fix it’. So why had they now? Looking questioningly at his older daughter, he sees that her expression is tighter then it was a moment ago. Brow wrinkling, he squats down beside the rabbit, one hand absently rubbing at his knee as he does so.

No, they wouldn’t have him come out here for a simple dead animal. Taking a longer look at the unfortunate hare, he tilts his head slightly. It’s posed strangely, as if in mid-run. Reaching out he pokes at its outstretched hind legs, looks at his finger tip with a raised eyebrow, then pokes it again. The leg is unyielding, as if made of stone. Leaning closer, he brushes his hand along its haunches, seeing that he can’t even disturb the fine, long hairs on its pelt, which, he notices a moment later, is neither warm nor cold. The eyes aren’t glassy with death, and even though it feels solid like wood, the nose looks moist.

Standing creakily to his feet again, he stares down at it with a confused frown. “Is it dead?” He asks without looking up.

“I..uh, no. No, it’s not.” Celestia answers hesitantly from next to him.

Turning slowly to look at her, he frowns again. “Tia, what is this?”

“See…it, uh…I was trying…” She haltingly replies, and he can see on her face anxiety, confusion and excitement all at the same time. It dawns on him that she doesn’t really know what she’s done, and doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Or, he realizes a moment later, if he’ll be angry with her because of it.

Reaching out, he lays a hand along her cheek, stopping the disjointed flow of words. Looking her in the eyes, he pushes all of his own misgivings and concern to the bottom of his mind and gives her a reassuring smile. “Sweetheart, it’s alright.” Gesturing to the warm, loose soil, he gives her another reassuring look. “Sit.” Matching action to word, he sits with his left leg folded and his right stretched out. Looking up at her, he pats a spot next to him, watching as she finally settles to the ground. Glancing over, he motions for Luna, and after a moment she joins them.

Fixing them both with a calm, measured look, he pats Celestia on her neck. “It’s alright honey, you’re not in trouble.”

Smiling when he sees she’s regained her composure somewhat, he nods. “Now, tell me what happened.”

He sits for almost twenty minutes, listening as Tia tells him about flowers and matrices and what she was trying to accomplish, asking few questions and nodding whenever Luna interjects with her own information or piece of the story. During the whole of it he manages to keep his unease from showing, his own feelings taking a back seat as he tries to grasp the concepts they’re talking about.

When they wind down, he looks them both in the eye. “So it’s what, petrified?” Seeing them both nod in assent, he glances over at the jackrabbit. “But it’s still alive.” Looking back, he receives the same nods. “How long will it stay…like that?”

Celestia glances over at the animal, her brow wrinkling. “I’m…not really sure. Not forever, I don’t think.” She looks at her sister. “Can you feel the energy dissipating?” When Luna nods, Tia looks back at her father. “It seems like the magic put into the matrix is what’s keeping the rabbit…that way, but the magic is slowly fading.” She frowns for a moment, trying to work it out in her head.

“So, it’s got what, a charge or something?” Ryan asks, struggling to understand.

She brightens and flashes him a grin. “Yeah, yeah I think so. The more energy you put into the matrix, the longer the effect. That makes sense.” She gives him a cautious look. “I think…I think I might be able to tune it, even. Change how long it lasts, at least somewhat.”

“I’ll bet you could make it more efficient, too.” Luna pipes up, growing excited. “If you fiddled with the matrix, you could probably change how slowly or quickly the energy fades.” She looks at her sister with a questioning smile.

Ryan stands up with a small grunt, interrupting Celestia’s answering nod. Twisting a little to stretch his back, he stares at the rabbit for a moment, an absent expression on his face as he works to absorb the implications of this new…wonder. “Tia, you couldn’t accidently cast something like this on yourself, right?”

“Not really. Well, I mean I could, but it would have to either be some weird accident, or deliberately.”

He arches an eyebrow. “An accident. Like getting suprised by your sister or something?” He turns his head towards Luna, who meets his gaze with a sheepish expression.

Celestia smirks at her younger sibling. “Yeah, something like that.”

Shaking his head, Ryan looks up, judging the sky. The sun is past its zenith, beginning its final slide towards the horizon. Leaning down, he picks the jackrabbit up gingerly, placing it gently into the box full of flowers. It wouldn’t be right to just leave the poor thing exposed to the elements, like some sort of weird bunny fossil. “Luna, put that box in my truck and then head back to the house. We’ll talk about your part in this little incident when I get home.”

Giving him a weak smile, she turns and begins trotting quickly back towards the canyon mouth, the box traveling beside her in an azure glow. Watching her departing figure, Ryan reaches out as Celestia moves to leave, stopping her with a hand on her shoulder.

When Luna has launched into the air and turned towards home, he turns to his oldest daughter, and she looks at him quizzically, eyebrows raised. “We’ll head back in a moment, sweetheart. But first, I have a few questions about this…new thing you can do.”

Nodding, she settles back down on her haunches, and he clears his throat. “So, this petrifaction thing. How well do you think you could…uh, tune it?”

***************

“So as you can see Mr. Ryan, the lot’s ten acres. From the fence down there, all the way up to that first set of ridges here. A lot of it’s pretty steep up and down stuff, but you have a few good acres at the foot of the mountains.”

Ryan looks around, taking in the view. The sun hasn’t quite reached its peak yet, leaving long, leaning shadows to climb out of the dips and folds of the encroaching foothills. It’s pretty rough, rougher then he’d have normally preferred, and it’d take a lot of work to develop and build on, but the mostly flat acreage at the front of the property isn’t what interested him. Turning back to the middle aged gentleman in the red windbreaker, he nods. “I understand part of the property was already somewhat developed?”

The realtor, Ronald by name, nods once, walking over to the shiny S.U.V. he arrived in. Leaning through the driver side door, he pulls out a survey map of the lot, indicating a section along the western side of the property line. “Right over here. There were a couple of little caves here once. Nothing too impressive, mostly used by local miners to store supplies once upon a time.” Turning, he points towards a rocky escarpment about a quarter mile from them. “About ten, twelve years ago, this guy from California came in. Had this idea that if he built a fancy wine cellar wealthy folks would pay him to store their priceless vintages.”

Ryan looks at him, one eyebrow climbing in confusion. “A wine cellar?”

Ronald nods, a smile growing on his pudgy face. “I know how it sounds. He had plans for this elaborate, sealed thing, humidity controlled, temperature regulated. Even a system to monitor how much light each bottle was exposed to. Sort of like a safety deposit box for people’s rare, expensive alcohol. For the real buffs, you know? People with too much money and not enough sense.”

Ryan looks at him quizzically. “He was just going to store wine?”

The realtor shakes his head, pointing towards the south-eastern part of the property. “No, he had plans for some sort of retreat on the more at-grade part of the lot. Rich people would drop off their booze, then spend a week getting pampered with other rich people. Never quite got to that phase though.”

Ronald throws his head back, early morning sunlight reflecting softly from the scalp beneath his thinning hair as he
laughs. “Poor guy bought the place, drilled everything out and connected it all together. Spent a fortune reinforcing everything.” He shakes his head, tapering off into chuckles.

Ryan chuckles with him. “What happened?”

“Economy took another nose dive, and his investors dried up. Poor guy was ruined.”

“So how much…” Ryan cuts off as he is interrupted by an electronic chiming from his front pocket. Fishing out his cellphone, he looks apologetically at the realtor, before walking a short distance away. Reaching some brush that he judges to be a safe distance from prying ears, he glances at the caller I.D., frowning as he swipes at the screen. “What’s happened?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing Daddy. How’s your thing going?”

“Luna, I told both of you this number was for emergencies only.” He says in a tight, quiet voice, closing his eyes and resisting the urge to groan.

“Oh yeah, Tia wanted me to let you know that the rabbit woke up.”

“It’s awake?”

“Yeah. We let it go in the yard a few minutes ago. It was perfectly fine.”

He nods to himself, mentally tallying the days since they’d brought it home. Today was the seventh, which made it about a week and a half.

“It was completely fine?”

“Yeah, it acted a little groggy, but after a minute or two it was fine.”

“Alright sweetie, I gotta go. I’ll see you two in a bit.”

“Ooh, wait!” she stops him short. “Can you bring us back some Rocky Road? We’re out.”

He sighs, tenting the fingers of one hand along his brow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Ending the call, he slips the sleek little square of plastic and glass back into his pocket, taking a moment to collect
himself. Turning, he walks back over to Ronald, trying to ignore the curious expression on his face.

“That your wife?” The realtor asks with a smile and a rueful shake of his head. “Mine is always calling whenever I’m in the middle of something. It’s like she knows the exact wrong time to bother me.”

Trying to ignore the question without seeming awkward, Ryan nods towards the little shaded area on the map. “So the guy lost everything, huh?”

“Yeah.” Ronald answers, smoothly picking up where he left off. “Ended up defaulting on the lot and moving back to California. I felt pretty bad for him.”

“But he put some work in on that cellar thing?”

“Yeah, mostly just the structural stuff. Concrete to reinforce the walls and ceilings, leveled out most of the floor…”

Shading his eyes, Ryan looks across the foothills, trying to pick out the structure where they begin to rise more steeply to meet the foot of the range. “Well, why don’t we go take a look at that?”

Author's Notes:

Well, after much hemming and hawing, here it is. It seemed like everything in the world was conspiring to keep me from getting this damn thing out. Every time table and release schedule I posted an update about ended up in the crapper, which sort of makes me feel like an asshole. In any case, it's out, done, and mostly alright. I'll probably return to it several times during the week when I find a part that didn't get edited as fully as I'd have liked, or if I come across anything that pisses me off.

As an aside, I'd like to say that I really like how they've tweaked the editing tools for FimFic. It remembers indentation! That's not sarcasm, that is legitimate glee. That coupled with the fact that most of the paragraph formatting carry's over from Google Docs will save me roughly an additional half hour to forty-five minutes of work when trying to post a new chapter.

Well, enjoy.

Chapter the Tenth

April 27th, 2032

“No, that’s not what we agreed on.” Ryan’s voice fills his study, echoing from the partially open door and out into the rest of the house. “No, no Jerry, that’s not what was said. You said you could do it this way six months ago. Are you telling me that now you can’t?” By the time the sound of his voice has traveled across the living room, bounded up the stairs and traveled down the hall it has faded in volume, the vowels and consonants expending their definition as they reflect from the walls, ceiling and carpet, melding together into unintelligible waves of jumbled sound by the time they reach the door to Celestia’s room.

From her position on her bed across the room the conversation is only a series of indecipherable low and mid-level tonals, rising and falling in pitch and punctuated by an occasional break. Despite being unable to make out the words of the conversation downstairs, Celestia can still clearly pick up the tone of his half of it; tightly held frustration, edging its way towards anger. It causes a rather unpleasant twisting feeling in her stomach which she studiously tries to ignore.

Even when it isn't directed at her, as it rarely is anymore, she still can’t help but feel a little apprehensive whenever her father’s voice carries anger. Glancing at the door for a moment, her ears laying back a little, she shakes her head and turns back to her book, trying to focus on the historical impact of English expansion during the High Middle Ages. She’d been on something of a history kick lately.

The windows rattle softly in their wooden frames, reacting to the sporadic gusts of wind and the occasional spatter of rain that whips and blows outside the house. Late spring in the lower mountains usually brings with it an almost schizophrenic type of weather; genuinely warm and beautiful one day, fiercely stormy the next. It’s one of the signs that summer is almost ready to begin, and as she absently listens to the noise of it battering against the house, it still engenders a small spark of the same excitement she felt as a filly, eager to get out of the house after a long winter and play in the sun once more.

The sound of her dad’s conversation continues drifting up from below, the occasional word standing out more clearly, like a rock poking from the surface of a stream, causing her ear to involuntarily flick towards the doorway. Each time it partially breaks her concentration, taking her mind away from the musty smelling book borrowed from the town library and sending it out on its own meandering, worried course. The voice from below becomes louder for a moment, more of those half-words becoming audible before tapering off again, and she sighs, restarting the page she’s on. He must be talking to the contractor again, which would account for the shouting. Talking to the contractor always puts him in a bad mood.

Of course it didn't seem to take much to get him there now-a-days. He seemed like he was always…not quite in a bad mood, but ready to be. Like he was always a half-step away from being mad. He became frustrated easily anymore, and it seemed like it took longer for him to calm down.

Glancing at the door, she exhales slowly before turning her attention back to the book floating gently in front of her. Picking up where she left off and reading to the end of the current page, her ears still swiveling occasionally towards the door now and again, her eyes reach the last sentence, and she stares at it for a moment, trying in vain to put it into context before she finally flicks her eyes back to the top of the page with an annoyed huff, realizing she wasn’t paying attention to any of the sentences that preceded it.

A distant boom of thunder sounds, the rumbling bass crackling through the air as it sweeps down the hillside, causing a corresponding rattle in the window pane. That window had been getting looser lately, the putty sealing it in place getting dry and brittle, something brought to her attention by the particularly stormy winter they’ve just been through. Eye’s roaming back up the start of the page a second time, she reminds herself, again, to talk to Dad about resealing it or whatever it is he’d have to do to fix the thing. That thought brings its own feeling of apprehension and she sighs to herself, marking her page and dropping the book on her nightstand with a quiet thump.

With a sigh she moves off the bed, giving each leg a stretch as she stands upright. The wind howls for a moment and she looks again at the noisome window, feeling a little guilty. Dad has had a lot on his plate lately, and she feels bad finding something else to add to it. Walking to the doorway she stops, nosing it partly open with a worried feeling and trying to listen to the ongoing conversation downstairs. She’s still not able to pick out more than one word in three, but she tries nonetheless.

After a minute or so she nudges the door with her shoulder, poking her head out into the hallway and gazing down its length towards the head of the stairs. The words drifting up become a little clearer, the voice saying them rising in volume again, and she can just make out what seems to be the end of the conversation. “…Then you’d damn well better figure it out Jerry, or I’ll find someone who will!” This is followed by the loud crack of plastic slamming into plastic as the phone returns violently to its cradle, and then silence. Her brow drawing down, Celestia waits for a moment, ears tracking as she listens to footsteps striding angrily across the floor down below, the sounds of their progress cut off by the soft click and thud of the front door opening and closing.

Glancing across the hallway, she sees her sister’s muzzle and dark blue mane peeking from her own bedroom, the pensive expression on Luna’s face a mirror of her own. Pushing the rest of the way into the hall she crosses the distance in a few steps, meeting her sister’s eyes.

Nudging her door all the way open, Luna steps out to meet her, throwing another worried look towards the stairs. “The contractor again?”

Nodding slowly, Celestia shifts her wings a little against her back. “Yeah, I think so.” She frowns at Luna. “That’s the third time this week.”

Luna gives her head a small shake, shifting her mane. “He’s probably just tired. I found him sitting out on the front porch last night when I got up for a drink. Again.”

“What time was that?”

Luna thinks for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Probably around three or four. He went to bed late again, too.”

Celestia frowns absently at her younger sister, her mind working. “How many times is that now? Just this month?”

“That he’s been up late? I don’t know. A lot, I think.” Luna takes in her older sister’s expression, a frown of her own beginning to crease her muzzle. “You’re getting worried, aren’t you?”

Celestia gives her sibling a flat look, and Luna clears her throat in mild embarrassment. “I mean more worried.”

Nodding, Tia glances towards the end of the hallway. “You’ve seen how he is Luna, how he’s been. He’s running himself ragged.”

Sighing, Luna follows her sister’s gaze, swallowing uncomfortably. “I…yeah. I know. He just seems so…tired all the time. And tense, like he can’t relax.”

Glancing over, Celestia meets Luna’s eyes, sharing a look of concern with her sister. Their father had been acting differently ever since the surprise announcement that they were going to have a second house built on that new plot of land he’d bought. He’d been excited at first, and so had they, but slowly things had begun to change. It’d started with him working late in his study, often times on the phone, which had initially seemed pretty harmless. After all, it made sense that planning and building a new house would take a lot of effort, even if most of it was done from home. But that had progressed to later nights, and then later still.

He’d begun sleeping less, and once they’d noticed that, they had noticed that he wasn’t eating quite as much anymore, and his phone calls seemed to get louder and angrier. He’d started to become a withdrawn, and as time went on he seemed like he was always tense, becoming easily agitated at things, though rarely at them.

He still had smiles for them, still acted like the father they had always known, but his smiles were tired now, and strained, with a tightness around the eyes and a slightly haggard cast to his face that had never been there before. In the beginning they had contented themselves hoping it might work itself out, but the more time passed the harder he seemed to drive himself.

It didn’t make a lot of sense, though, at least not to them. Sure, they were going to end up with a new house or whatever, not that either one of them could see any real need for a new place when this one was perfectly fine, but the way he seemed to work himself, the hours he spent on it…they were both more than willing to admit that they didn’t know much about real estate and all of that, but it didn’t seem like it should be this stressful to get a house built. It almost seemed like he was in a rush to get everything done, like he was competing against some invisible clock, and neither of them could understand why.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly through her nostrils, Celestia gives her head a slightly irritated shake, amaranthian tinged wisps of her mane falling unnoticed across her forehead. “He’s running himself ragged, Luna. He never takes a day off anymore.”

“I know, sis.” Luna answers, adjusting her wings a bit. “But, well, what can we do? Every time we try to talk to him about it he just brushes it off or changes the subject. You’ve seen how much he eats at dinner now. He’s starting to lose weight.” Luna stares down the hallway, worry tightening her features. Thunder booms hollowly again from outside, closer this time, and the lights flicker for just a moment.

Glancing at the ceiling fixture distractedly, Celestia shrugs in a helpless way, her voice taking on a frustrated edge. “I don’t know, sister. But it’s not good for him. Even if he won’t talk to us about it, there’s got to be something we can do to get him to…I don’t know…”

“…Just take a day off and unwind?”

“Something like that.” Celestia nods her head.

They stand in silence for a time, each lost in solicitous thought as the storm continues to voice its displeasure outside. The lights flicker again and Luna sighs in exasperation. “I’ll be glad when the weather finally finishes changing. I’m past ready for it to be summer.”

Celestia makes a noncommittal reply, eyes absently picking over the hallway as her mind works at the problem, glancing to the errant light fixture one more time, touching on the mellow gleam of wood from the part of the banister she can see, moving over the carpet and across the door at the end of the hall that leads to their father’s room. Her ears flick back and forth as she unconsciously listens for the sounds of him coming back inside, the tension and worry in her breast underlain by a growing current offrustration as she mulls the situation over in her head.

Her father, God love him, could be stubborn as a mule when it suited him, and often for less reason than that. It was frustrating the way he kept problems to himself. His reasoning, she had eventually realized, was to keep them from worrying. That could be endearing, and often it was, but the older she got, the more frustrating it became. Sometimes it felt like he still viewed them both as children, and there were things he simply wouldn’t talk to them about because it might upset them, or make them anxious.

He’d always been that way, like he felt he had to shield them from all of the bad or unpleasant stuff, to shoulder it so that they didn’t have to. She’d accepted that when she was young, after all he was Dad and Dad always knows best. But she wasn’t a little filly anymore, watching cartoons and drinking juice boxes on Saturday morning or rough housing outside with her sister. She might not be as old as her father, but twenty-two, in her honest opinion, was too old to be coddled all the time.

He was frustrating because he didn’t seem to realize how he was behaving was affecting them. He was the only person in their lives after all, he was all that they had in this world, and as she had grown she had eventually come to the somewhat startling comprehension that they were all that he had, too. He would always be their father and nothing could ever truly change that relationship, but at some point he had to acknowledge that they were adults, and just as capable as members of this family as he was.

Family was about being there for each other, and he had always been there for them. But he needed to realize that they were there for him as well, needed to realize that they could be. He needed to understand that they could help him, could offer support and comfort as he had always done. At the very least if he wouldn’t tell them what had been eating at him for the last six months, then he could at least let them help in some other way.

Her ears swivel automatically, breaking her train of thought and picking up the sound of the door swinging first open and then closed downstairs, and suddenly a thought strikes her. It had been a long winter, longer than usual, and they were all starting to get a little stressed, if for different reasons. Maybe what they all needed was a few days off. Looking over she catches her sister’s eye, stopping Luna as she starts to turn back to her bedroom.

“What?”

Celestia hesitates, stepping closer to her sister, her voice coming out in a conspiratorial whisper. “Sister, I have an idea. I don’t know if it’ll do any good but…”

Luna looks at her curiously, her head tilting slightly to one side. “If you have an idea Tia spit it out. Anything’s better than nothing.”

Glancing uncertainly down the hall towards the staircase, she meets Luna’s eyes. “You’ll have to help me convince him.”

***************

Touching down with a practiced ease, Celestia looks around the small, irregularly shaped clearing for a moment, idly shifting her canvas saddle bags a little. Turning at the sound of flapping wings, she watches her younger sister land a few feet away, her dark hooves kicking up tiny puffs of dust that hang nearly motionless in the still, sun drenched air. Returning to her study, she absently begins to undo the straps and plastic buckles holding her bags in place with a brief glow from her horn. “It hasn’t changed much.”

“Of course it hasn’t. We’re the only people who ever come here.” Luna returns, frowning at the fire pit where some of the stones have been kicked out of position by a passing animal. Trotting over she begins replacing them with a burst from her own horn, looking out absently through the surrounding trees, mostly pines and cottonwoods, with the occasional twisted juniper here and there standing out against the rocks. Her ears swivel independently, homing in on the distant whine and rumble of an approaching engine, and she cuts her eyes towards the old and overgrown logging road that enters the clearing from the south. “Dad made good time.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Celestia replies, placing her tan and white saddlebags on the ground and beginning to rummage.

Resetting a large, kidney shaped stone and giving the fire pit one last critical look, Luna follows suit, removing her grey and black bags and setting them off to one side. Flipping open one of the side pouches, she keeps an eye out for the approaching truck. The camp site wasn’t more than ten or twelve miles from the house, but that old logging road hadn’t been maintained for decades. Usually it had at least one partial blockage, either windblown branches or a washout caused during one storm or another. If she could already hear the truck coming then it must not have been too bad this time.

Though this particular patch of mountains wasn’t part of their property, the only way to access it was the old road, and that did start on their land, just a little ways from the pond. That made it private and safe, secure from random passersby and other folk looking for a nice spot to pitch a tent. It was sort of like a flat bottomed bowl, surrounded by the trees that carpeted the gently rising slopes on three of its sides, probably twenty yards across at its widest. Nestled in the saddle between the lower parts of the two nearer peaks, a little creek ran nearby, fed by snow melt from higher in the mountains. In the early spring and summer the sharp scent of the pinyons and junipers filled the air, carried on the same sun kissed currents that lofted the little white puffs from the cottonwoods in late summer and early autumn. It wasn’t the only spot they could camp, but it was the first place they ever had, and was by far Luna’s favorite.

Digging past brushes and clothes – spring was still new enough to necessitate at least a warm scarf when the sun went down – and other assorted odds and ends, she catches a flicker of light from the corner of her eye, off in the distance. Deciding her book isn’t in this side of her bags, something she had to pack since Dad hadn’t replaced her broken Kindle yet -and how archaic was that in this day and age- she looks up, following the glint of light reflected from the trucks windshield as it winds its careful way through the trees and towards the campsite.

She watches as he finally enters the clearing, performing a neat little three-point turn before parking with the nose pointed back down the road. The engine shuts down a second later, the quiet metallic ticking as it cools a counterpoint to the lilting birdsong drifting through the air.

Her father climbs out of the cab and makes his way to the camper shell on the back. She studies him as he begins to pull out the assorted components of their tent, her eyes drawn down a little in worry. Glancing over, she see’s Celestia giving his plaid covered back the same sort of apprehensive study. Tia glances back at her, meeting her eyes, and the two share a pensive look.

It had taken no little effort on both of their parts to convince him to come out here on the first weekend of good weather that showed up. They’d had to argue, cajole and almost plead to even get him to agree to two days, something he’d finally acquiesced to with all the grace of a bear with a sore tooth. Watching him begin to unload their supplies, his shoulders stiff and his body language terse, she can tell it’s going to take a while for him to actually let himself relax, and she wonders worriedly if this trip will do him any good at all. Glancing again at her sister, she sees the same thoughts on Celestia’s face, and sighs quietly.

Closing the flaps on her saddle bags, she trots over, trying to shake off her lingering anxiety and adopting a cheerful tone. “What can I do to help?”

He looks back at her for a moment, giving her a tight smile. “You and your sister can start setting up the tent, if you want. I’ll be over to help in a second, I just want to make sure I remembered to pack spare tanks for the lantern and grill.”

Giving him a small grin she begins levitating the large canvas roll carefully out of the bed of the truck, motioning for her sister to come help. The two of them stack the canvas, tubes and tie-down stuff near the fire pit, searching for a good, level spot to set up. It takes them a few moments, and after clearing some branches and a couple of rocks, Luna begins unrolling the tent while Celestia starts fitting the frame together.

After a few minutes, and a fair amount of muttering from within the camper shell, Ryan walks over, casting a critical eye on their chosen spot. Nodding his head in approval, he walks to the other end of the canvas and helps press it out flat. “This is a good spot. We’ll have shade almost until noon.” Straightening out the corners, he and Luna help Celestia with the hollow metal tubes that make up the frame.

When the girls were younger they had shared a smaller nylon tent with fiberglass poles. As they had grown, Luna and Celestia had started sharing their own tent, while their dad slept in the original. But that was what seemed to be long ago, and eventually the girls had outgrown the smaller shelter, which was why they were erecting the large, off-white wall tent they used now-a-days. Purchased from an online estate sale a number of years ago, it fit all three of them comfortably, and was sectioned off into two halves, offering the suggestion of privacy even it didn’t really provide it.

It also had the advantage of fitting the bedding the girls had started using when they’d outgrown their old cots, which fit neatly in the rear section, the two air mattresses snug in the back corners and covered with sleeping bags and pillows. Ryan’s dependable and battered little cot fit in the front section, along with a table where they could eat or play cards and board games, and the ice chest devoted to beverages and snacks.

They had all had ample practice putting the thing together, and after an impressively short amount of time the girls began moving their things into the back as Ryan hammered the tie-down ropes into ground outside.

The battery powered compressors that came with the mattresses were already set up and hard at work, their rapid, high pitched buzzing filling the tent. Dropping her saddlebags at the end of the little path between the two beds, Luna looks over at her sister, stretching one of her wings out a bit catch her attention. When Celestia finally looks over, Luna leans close, trying awkwardly to be heard over the racket without letting her voice carry outside. “Tia, do you think this is really going to work? I mean we just got here, and he already seems like he wants to go home.”

Celestia gives her sister a measured look, one that’s equal parts reassurance and conviction. “Just give it time, Luna. You know how much he likes camping.”

“But what if…”

“Have some patience, sister.” Celestia responds, trying to sound older and more certain than she feels. “Once everything is set up and we can relax, he’ll come around.”

Giving her older sister a pensive nod, Luna turns back to her unpacking. Outside the soft metallic clink of the hammer resounds suddenly with a harder note, the result of the stake its driving meeting unexpectedly with a buried rock. The faint sound cursing is just audible over the whine of the compressors, and she shakes her head with a sigh. They’ve got a lot of work to do.

Ryan wakes slowly in the night, some already half forgotten dream of yelling into the phone while the house collapses fading from his mind. It’s late, in reality probably closer to morning than night, but he’s completely awake now in the way he’s grudgingly become accustomed to. Listening for a few moments to the steady, out of sync sounds of the girls breathing from their section of tent behind him, he sits up, trying to avoid all of the creaky spots of his cot.

The air is cool, but not unpleasantly so, with enough of a chill to necessitate long sleeves but not enough to require much else, and as he swings his legs carefully over the side of his bed and slowly gains his feet he takes a deep breath. The mingled scents of the spring time mountains bring with them gentle, nostalgic memories, and he closes his eyes, drawing in the comforting smells of new growth and dampened loam, losing himself in the past for a moment.

Memories of childhood camping trips, memories of trips with Callie, and more recent memories of bringing the girls up here, by far the clearest and most numerous. Memories of a time when things seemed simpler, back when all he had to worry about was keeping them from prying eyes, before flying and magic and all the other things that always seemed to tighten his gut and sour his stomach when he thought about them. Back before intransigent contractors and bureaucratic red tape and reams of paperwork. Simpler times, better times.

Sighing a little wistfully, he shakes his head to clear it and carefully dons a pair of pants in the darkness, draping his button up shirt over his t-shirt clad body. Slipping his shoes on sans socks, he checks to make sure that his smokes are still in the pocket of his red and white plaid. He looks towards the ice chest a few feet away, studying its patterned white plastic top in the faint light for a few moments before shrugging and lifting the lid. Digging through ice that’s slowly turning to slush, he fishes out the familiar long necked shape of a beer bottle, wiping some of the moisture off on his shirt before untying the tent flaps and stepping out.

He stops just outside the entrance, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. It’s clear now, as it often is at this altitude, and the stars shine down from overhead like a shuckster’s display of gaudy jewelry. Studying the field of twinkling light with a wry expression, he makes his way towards the smoldering fire pit, picking his path carefully in the dark.

Seating himself with a quiet grunt, he twists the top from his beer, absently listening to the brief hiss of escaping gas. The fire has died down, only the bed of sullenly glowing coals giving any real light, painting the surrounding walls of its rock enclosure in shifting patterns of mellow orange-red light and stark black shadow. He takes a long pull and watches the coals, his eyes following their mercurial glow as it flows back and forth, back and forth.

How had he let them talk him into coming out here for the weekend? There’s still so, so much to do, so many things he has to wrestle into place.

Taking another long pull from his beer, he looks again to the coals, commiserating with them. The heat flows back and forth, bursting out where it can in a brief tongue of flame, retreating back from the darker, cooler parts only to surge forth again. That’s how he’s felt for the last six months. Bursting forth where he can, pulling back temporarily from where he can’t, trying with all of his might to get everything where it needs to be.

Part of it is that damned, stupid contractor. He’d known that hiring out would cause problems, and in that regard he sadly hadn’t been disappointed. Jerry Buckhouser was slow, combative, and mule headed to a fault. But he’d had to hire out, he didn’t know how to do what needed to be done, and as much as he’d like to think otherwise, this wasn’t the sort of thing you could teach yourself with a few online guides and a couple of books. And at this point, after roughly six months of work already sunk into the thing, he was stuck with Jerry. Who, it pained Ryan to admit, did seem to know his stuff most of the time, when he wasn’t being a stubborn jackass of a man.

Besides, he didn’t have the money to start all over again with a different contractor.

The girls had insisted however, rather strongly, and eventually all of his arguments and disseminations had failed him. He knew he was worrying them, knew he was a little deficient around the house, but they’d become pretty self sufficient the older they’d gotten, and besides they always seemed to worry about him for some reason or other. His diet or his smoking or even the things he worked on around the home place. The problem was that they didn’t understand, just like Jerry didn’t understand. Hell, he didn’t quite understand it himself. It was like he had an enormous weight pressing down on him, some unfathomable pressure compelling him to act. Like a soft voice in the recesses of his mind, chanting constantly; a storm is coming a storm is coming a storm is coming.

The light from the coals waxes and wanes, the heat a low constant bathing his legs and splashing against his chest. He contemplates adding a log to get things going again, but decides against it after a few moments. Right now the low, shifting light suits him. It’s a light meant for brooding, which fits his mood like a pair of well worn, comfortable shoes. Sipping from his beer, he leans back into the tattered green camp chair that really should have been replaced at some point. The wash of orange cast by the fire dimly illuminates a small, irregular circle around the stone pit, casting his face in shadow and turning his eyes into dark hollows.

In his mind’s eye he sees all of the things that have to be done, like giant blocks that must be shifted laboriously into position. He sees equipment costs and fees, ordering costs for materials, and the inevitable time lost waiting for specialty items. He sees wages and overtime costs and environmental impact surveys and D.H.S. surveys and O.S.H.A. inspections. He sees the creative budgeting and expense juggling and the complicated dance required to balance the books while keeping the lights on and the fridge stocked. It seems, to Ryan, that for every clear step forward he needs to take there are at least three steps sideways to take first, and usually on backwards as well. And, if he’s to be honest with himself, it’s not all Jerry’s fault. Hell it took almost a month for that damned U.S.G.S review alone. Jerry just happens to be the handiest target to fire his frustration at.

Finishing his beer in a long swallow, he tosses it absently into the fire pit, barely even noticing the little plume of ash and embers thrown up by its impact. Fishing around in his shirt pocket, he pulls out a smoke and lights it with a sigh. He glances over his shoulder at the tent, his eyes automatically settling for a moment on the rear half where the girls sleep.

They were worried.

They thought they were getting a new house, and that was true, mostly. After the main project was finished Ryan fully intended to build a nice one story ranch-style home that sprawled just a little. Once the main project was done and the finances began to normalize again, maybe he’d even have a pool put in, and a little landscaping. It could be sort of like a vacation home for them. He’d explained it to them and shown them photos online and accepted their somewhat giddy input about design choices and color schemes. It’d be nice.

That’s all they thought was being built, and they didn’t understand why he worked as hard as he did to finish a glorified vacation home. Turning back to the fire and taking a deep drag, he breaths out quietly, smoke trailing out of his nostrils in twin streamers of muted gray. They didn’t need to know about the cavern, or the work being done there. It’d only worry them needlessly.

Of all the things being a father meant to Ryan, the one thing it meant more than anything else was being a shield. A shelter, shouldering the burdens and the scary things in the world and protecting his little girls from all of it. He worried about the bills and the upkeep and the groceries and all of the problems with the outside world so that they didn’t have to. He couldn’t help it, it was instinctual, it was what he’d always done. It was part of the job. And for as long as he’d been a father, it’d felt right, correct in that wordless, formless way that meant, deep down, you knew you were doing the proper thing.

Ryan gazes at the fire, cigarette held loosely between two fingers and smoldering away unnoticed. Keeping this thing from them was right, it was correct. They wouldn’t understand if he told them the whole story, they didn’t really have the experience to understand it, which was sort of the whole point. It was his place to understand, to shelter and guide and protect, just as it’d always been ever since he taken a drive out to the canyon that afternoon so long ago. It’s always been the right thing to do.

So…why didn’t it feel quite right this time?

The glowing end of his cigarette burns down, bringing with it an uncomfortable heat, and he pitches it away, cursing silently and blowing on his singed fingers. A sudden feeling of self doubt begins to worm its way into his middle as he tries to look at his hand in the soft, shifting light of the coals. Was it really right to keep them in the dark, to keep them shut out of what was happening?

Were they getting old enough that maybe they would understand some of it, if he explained it to them?

The thought drops over him suddenly, catching him off guard. He sits in the waxing and waning light, examining this surprising train of thought tentatively. A slight breeze begins to pick up further chilling the air, and he leans slowly back into the tattered fabric of his chair, arms crossed and wishing absently for a hat. Could he be wrong about how he’s handling this? After all they were old enough that, were they normal kids, they’d already be out of the house and attending college.

He sits for long minutes, rubbing his arms in the chill breeze, mind slowly turning as he tries to mind around the idea. He tries to picture them at a university somewhere, trotting across a sun dappled quad with their book bags, attending lectures and staying up late studying for midterms. He tries to see them eating at the commissary and coming home for the holidays with bags of laundry and complaints about professors, and resisting half-heartedly as he slips them an extra fifty bucks when they head back for the new semester, but the only images that form are memories of them playing dress up with his clothes and chasing each other in the front yard, coming in scuffed or dirty or hurt, looking for Dad to take care of them and asking what dinner was going to be.

He considers for a moment longer, and then decides to firmly squash that thread of doubt. Of course it’s right. It’s his job to protect them after all, as it’s always been. Protect them from discovery, protect them from the outside world, protect them from harm. They’re his little girls, and he’s their father. The thoughts settle into place like the weight of a warm blanket, and he nods once to himself decisively.

He’s their father.

He shifts, propping his feet up on the stones of the fire pit and tucks his hands into his armpits, watching the coals as he waits for dawn to finally come.

“So you got up this morning and he already had a fire going? Did he say anything?”

Mid-morning sunlight streams down through the widely spaced pines and junipers, creating meandering pathways of brightly illuminated ground between irregular patches of darkly dappled shadow. Pine needles litter the loose soil in a scattered brown carpet, forming into small drifts around the leeward side of the tree trunks. There is no breeze to speak of, and the air has been steadily warming as the sun trudges higher and higher in its ever westward journey across the sky.

“Not much, really.” Replies Celestia, stepping carefully over a fallen branch. “Just that he had trouble sleeping and was going to take a nap.”

“Was that all?”

“Other than where to find the cereal and milk, that was it.” She answers in a desultory manner.

Their hoof falls crunch quietly over the needles, leaves and other winter detritus that still cover the hillsides. Their father had skipped breakfast and crawled resolutely back into his sleeping bag shortly after they’d awoken, and so they had decided to go for a walk, thinking to give him some quiet, and deciding to check on the little creek about a quarter mile from the campsite. They’d played in it often during childhood trips up here, and still liked to frequent it now that they were fledgling adults. It was fed from spring melt higher up and wasn’t likely to be more than a dried, cracked runnel in the ground at this time of year, but it was still one of their favorite spots.

“So…” Luna trails off, eyeing a stunted pine off to their right. Was that an old birds nest or a new one? “This is going to take some time.”

“…Yeah.” Celestia replies quietly, carefully picking her way up the steadily growing incline.

They continue their hike in quiet contemplation, finally rounding the big, roughly oval piece of crumbling granite that pokes out of the hillside like the end of a thumb, the landmark which means they’ve arrived. Behind it is a shallow depression, probably twelve or so yards across. The dry creek bed runs across it diagonally, the dried, flakey, brown mud meandering through the sparse, winter yellow grass like a scar. A lone cotton wood grows near the middle, fitting like a neat puzzle piece into the space created by a gentle, ‘U’ shaped bend carved by the small streamlet.

They stop at the edge of the depression, looking for anything that may have changed since the last time they’d been here. A few quiet
moments pass, punctuated only by the odd call of a bird in the distance, and Luna looks at her older sister. “You’re concerned about this trip, aren’t’ you?”

Celestia begins walking casually towards the tree, her gaze idly searching its still winter-bare branches for any signs of new growth. “You’re not?”

Luna sighs quietly, shuffling her wings and following behind her sister. “It’s only been a day, Tia. You knew this was going to take a while, if it was going to work at all.”

They stop in the shade of the cotton wood, eyes automatically scanning the trunk until they spot the worn but still legible carving in the bark. They had discovered this place with their father one summer camping trip when they were still fillies. After seeing how much they enjoyed playing in the creek he had declared the area ‘theirs’, and they had watched with youthful fascination as he had used his pocket knife to carve their names into the tree. Celestia Marie Williams, Luna Maybelle Williams , Ryan S. Williams. There had been a date beneath that at one point, but the bark had re-grown into a humped and twisted shape over the years where it was carved, rendering it unreadable.

Turning, Celestia looks to Luna, meeting her eyes for a moment before looking away again a little sheepishly. “I just thought…” She falters, her gaze roaming along the twisted, meandering course of the creek. “…It’s just, you know, he loves camping…”

“You thought he’d wake up and everything would be back to the way it was?” Luna speaks carefully, trying her best to keep her incredulity out of her voice. “It’s not like flipping a switch, Tia.”

Celestia begins studying her hooves with great interest, embarrassment beginning to heat her cheeks. “I know, I just…I don’t know, Luna.” She looks up, meeting her darker sibling’s eyes again. “I just hoped, is all.”

Luna approaches, wrapping a wing around Celestia briefly. “It only happens like that on T.V., sister. There is no silver bullet in real life.” She steps back, giving her older sister an encouraging smile. “Just have some faith.”

“We only have a few days before we have to head back.” Replies Celestia, earnestness in her face and in her voice. “And then it’s right back to…”

“I know, Tia.”

Celestia snorts, turning away in frustration, and Luna stops her with the touch of an outstretched wing. “I know what you mean, sis, but it’s only been one day,” Her sister opens her mouth to speak, but Luna preempts her with a look. “Look, we just have to give it time, and hope for the best. There’s not much else we can do.” She takes in the uncertain expression on Celestia’s face, and smiles encouragingly. “Let’s at least give him a chance, you know? I mean it’s Dad, he’s a pretty adaptable guy, he’s just…stubborn.”

Her older sister looks off into the distance, her body language uncertain, worry tightening her features. Usually it’s Celestia who’s reassuring her, not the other way around. She must have been holding a lot of this in over the past few months, and Luna takes a few seconds to appreciate how upset her sister must really be for their roles to be reversed like this. Stepping forward, she embraces her, hugging her tightly. Celestia tenses up a bit, and then relaxes into the embrace, returning it with a quiet intensity.

“It’s just that we’ve never seen him like this, sister.” Celestia says quietly into Luna’s coat, “It makes me a little scared. I just…don’t want anything to happen to him, you know? I mean, what if…” she trails off quietly.

“What if what?”

Celestia pulls back, her somber gaze meeting her sisters. “What if it’s something else? Like something serious? What if he’s sick, or…or…”

Luna looks to her sister with a confused expression, before comprehension dawns, causing her to inhale sharply. Ice seems to fill her midsection as shocked surprise widens her eyes. She studies her sister’s face, a quiet sort of horror creeping over her. “Or what? Like he’s dying or something? ” She asks in astonished consternation, her voice coming a little strained.

Celestia shakes her head, closing her eyes tightly, her face uncertain. “I don’t know, Luna.” She looks back at her younger sibling, her eyes tired and scared. “That’s just it. We don’t know what’s wrong.” She drapes her neck around Luna, her wings fluttering nervously.

Luna returns the hug, her mind troubled. The idea that something larger could be the problem, that something more than just the house and the contractor could be at issue had never occurred to her. Her immediate mind denies the possibility immediately and harshly. He’s Dad, and Dad is eternal. He was a constant, like gravity or math, it was impossible for him to be absent from the equation. Deeper down, however, the thought began to ferment slowly. It was impossible but…it made a sort of sense in a way. It explained why he was working himself so hard, why it seemed like he was on some unreasonably tight schedule.

“No,” her voice comes husky, a shiver running up her back and down her amethyst wings. “No, he would have told us if it was something like that.”

“Would he?”

“He would.” She says, her tone stronger, more sure. She rejects that possibility, negates it completely. “Whatever this whole thing has been about, that isn’t it.” She will not accept that it could be a possibility.

“I just wish he would open up to us a little.”

Breaking the embrace, she smiles woodenly at Celestia in what she hopes is an encouraging fashion. “I know, Tia. I don’t like it anymore than you do.” Stepping away, she releases a shuddery breath, trying to regain her composure. “Let’s just see how things go. If it doesn’t look like he’s going to come out of it on his own, we can always talk to him when we get back home.”

Celestia gives her sister a measured look, searching her face before nodding firmly. “Alright.” She draws a deep breath, releasing it with in a gust and giving Luna an appreciative smile. “Alright, we’ll give it time.” Looking across the clearing, she takes a few steps forward. “Do you remember where that old cabin is?”

“That old homestead between the rocks?” Luna answers, teal eyes scanning the hillside that grows increasingly steep as it climbs away from them towards the mountain. “It’s higher up, I think.”

Stretching her wings, Celestia looks back at her younger sister. “You want to go see if it’s still there?”

The rain fell steadily, dampening the air and pounding against the tent, filling the off-white canvas space with a hollow, rapid staccato of white noise. The temperature had dropped noticeably as the downpour continued, and Ryan had finally decided to light the small gas powered heater, which sat in one corner radiating a low warmth and the hissing sound of burning propane.

The weather had come out of nowhere, in the manner of spring weather in the higher mountains. What had started as light cloud cover this morning had progressed with alarming quickness from a random smattering to a light drizzle to heavy, cold drops cascading down on them like the endless regiments of an invading army.

It had lasted all morning, slackened a little as noon approached, and was once again beating against the tent like they owed Mother Nature a rather large sum of money. Ryan reclines with a pillow propped behind his back on his cot, which has been pushed hard against the side of the tent to make room at the folding table for the girls. He brushes a hand against the coarse fabric, idly wiping away some condensation and silently cursing the rain, this trip, and the world in general.

Weather like this, while uncommon nearer the valley floor, was not unheard of in the northern reaches of the state. Big storms blowing across the border from California could undergo some startling changes once they hit the unending ranges of mountains, coursing along amongst strong updrafts, sucking downdrafts, pressure pockets and temperature inversions. At times it made for some rather strange phenomena, such as sudden rain storms out of clear skies, odd moments of fog, or snow in July.

The reason it was less common the lower you got, he reflects sullenly, is because the weather patterns had an opportunity to expend a great deal of their energy against the mountains higher up, leaving the remnants to do what they could to the lower elevations and valley floors, where most of the residence of the state lived. Higher elevations absorbed the worst of it, higher elevations such as their camp site. Suppressing an irritated sigh, he reaches for his coffee which has already gone tepid.

He was trying to keep his frustration and impatience from showing, trying not to be, as his late wife would sometimes describe it, a bear of unfavorable disposition. He’d known what that initial wave of fast moving, scattered clouds probably meant, after all he’d spent a lifetime in this part of the state, he could recognize the signs. He’d forgone packing up the camp on the hope that the weather would blow itself out in one large burst, as it sometimes did. He’d thought, optimistically, that by noon the clouds would have dropped their freight of moisture, broken apart again, and they could wrap everything up and get home by late afternoon. It hadn’t gone that way, and there was no way to pack everything up now without the rain ruining half of it.

“Adjoin. Fourteen points.”

He glances over at the table, idly watching as Luna jots down her score, leaving Celestia to study the board and her tiles with careful consideration. The game, like the two or three other games they had available to them, were leftovers from some previous trip. Board games that had been packed into the camping box at one point and then had never really found their way back out again. They’d been included initially with long, comfortable evenings in mind and times when the weather turned, and it hadn’t taken Celestia long to dig their old and battered Scrabble board out and set it up. They’d asked him to play as well, but he’d declined. Ryan didn’t have the patience for board games right now. He feels anxious, restless, like someone with a place to be and no real way to get there, which is actually pretty accurate. He has things to do, and a place in which to do them, and instead he’s on his cot in this tent. Resignedly he lifts his magazine back up, scanning the current article without really seeing it.

“Come on, Tia.”

“Hmm…Coumarin. Twelve points, plus the double word score.”

Luna groans, grimacing as she double checks the little numbers marked on the corners of the tiles. “Is that even a word?” She asks, looking over hopefully at her father.

“I don’t know, use the dictionary dear.” He responds disinterestedly, flipping to the next page in his magazine.

She shares a quiet look with her sister before writing down Celestia’s points. She doesn’t check in the dictionary, sitting thickly underneath the score sheet. They both know what it means. She inhales deeply, breathing out quietly through her nose. They’d been trying, in one way or another, to get their dad to take an interest all day, to participate or do anything other than sit there and sulk.

The air in the tent had become thick, tense and uncomfortable. It had been that way ever since the rain had begun to really come down. Glancing at the board, she tentatively lifts several ivory colored tiles out of her holder with a gentle, azure glow, laying them down on the board. “Mason.” She glances at the tiles. “Seven points, plus the double letter.” Writing down her new score, she pauses as Ryan gets to his feet, watching quietly with her sister as he moves to the front of the tent and steps outside beneath the little overhang of material that shelters the entry. A few seconds later the flick-flick-flick of a lighter drifts back through the parted flaps.

She shares a frustrated look with Celestia and sighs. This trip had been a waste. Their father hadn’t relaxed, hadn’t honestly enjoyed himself, hadn’t even really slept. He seemed more tense then when they’d left two days ago. The only time he seemed to cheer up a little was this morning, when they’d had breakfast and started gathering everything up. The rain had put a rather abrupt end to that, though, and he’d spent the rest of the morning and this afternoon either re-reading the same magazine on his cot or going outside to take study the sky.

Every plan, every ploy, every activity they’d tried over this long and uncomfortable trip had failed. He simply didn’t want to be here, and although he thought he was hiding that fact, it was plain enough to them. They’d known him their whole lives, after all. They’d pulled out a board game because, honestly, they couldn’t think of anything else to try. They’d picked Scrabble because it was one of his favorites.

Luna studies her remaining tiles dejectedly for a moment, glancing up at her older sister. “Tia?”

Celestia stands up, looking over her shoulder at the tent flaps, shakes her head once and then walks through the divider into the rear section of the tent. Luna watches her go. Glancing from the board to the front entry, she sighs and rises as well, turning and following her sister.

She finds Celestia standing at the foot of her air mattress, staring blankly down into her partially repacked saddle bags, her breathing a little labored. She nudges her side, and her older sibling turns an angry gaze to her. While Luna had tried to stay optimistic throughout the trip, and had settled on a sort of resigned hopefulness, her sister had become increasingly frustrated by their lack of progress. Luna could sympathize, it was frustrating, but she didn’t see how anger could help things now.

“Sister, it’ll be alright. We’ll think of something else when we get back…”

Celestia rounds on her, cutting her off. “It’s not alright, Luna. He doesn’t even want to be here with us. He never did in the first place.” She takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice down. “All he wants to do is go home and work himself to death over that stupid house.” She snorts, her wings fluttering slightly.

Luna takes a step back, answering in a calm, careful voice. “Well, if it keeps raining, maybe we’ll end up staying an extra day. Maybe we could…”

“What good would it do?” Celestia retorts, her voice starting out sharp and ending quiet. “What good did any of this do? It’s worse now than when we were home.” She trails off, turning away. Her horn coming alight with a pale, yellow glow, she begins gathering up the scattered books and clothes and various odds and ends laying about her bed, stuffing them haphazardly into one side of her saddle bags. “I wish we hadn’t come out here.” Her voice is faint, almost a whisper, her expression no longer one of anger but of weary resignation, touched with a worry that borders on fear.

A rustle from the front of the tent perks Luna’s ears up, and she leans close to her sister, speaking quietly. “Just...it’ll be O.K. Tia. Alright?” She glances over her shoulder towards the divider, before continuing in the same low, careful tone as before. “Dad’ll come around eventually. He can’t keep it up forever.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Celestia replies, so quietly that Luna almost isn’t sure she heard her correctly.

Luna watches her sister with concern for a moment, this sudden change in demeanor alarming her. Then, with a pang, she turns and heads back through the divider. Her father is standing by the entry way, wiping his feet off on the little mat they kept there. His face is set in that tight, still sort of expression he usually wears when he’s trying not to show how upset he is.

“How’s it look Dad?” She asks with a forced cheerfulness.

“Bad.” He replies sourly, pulling his shirt sleeve up and studying his watch. He grunts. “If it keeps up like this we’ll have to stay tonight.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be a shame.” Celestia mumbles, stepping through the divider and edging past her sister.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Ryan asks, glancing distractedly at her.

“Nothing Dad.” Celestia answers quietly, settling herself at the table and gazing down at the Scrabble board.

He looks at her for a moment, and then seats himself back on his cot. Luna takes her place at the other end of the board, sitting down with a little jitter and shooting her sister with a look that is equal parts imploring and encouragement. Celestia doesn’t meet her eyes.

Glancing at his watch again, Ryan leans back. “I guess we should probably figure out what we’re going to do for dinner.” He sits up, leaning towards the muddy ice chest they had hustled in this morning. “I think there’s still some leftover chili from the other night.”

Luna looks to her older sister and then answers her father. “Yeah, chili sounds good.”

“Tia Marie?”

“Yeah.” Celestia mumbles, never lifting her gaze.

“Alright then, I’ll see about heating it up.”

Luna looks from her sister to her father and back again, watching both. He’s rummaging through the ice chest, his back to them but still stiff with repressed frustration. Tia continues to stare forlornly down at the folding table, her eyes unfocused. The air seems thick and humid, packed with the smells of damp canvas, rain soaked loam, and the old lingering smells of wet fur and wet clothing. The heater continues to hiss quietly from the far corner by the door.

Fishing out a couple of Tupperware containers, Ryan closes the ice chest and opens the lid to the large foot locker next to it, where they kept their general use camping supplies. Shifting a few things about with a jingle of loose utensils, he half turns. “Tia, did you put the bowls back after breakfast this morning?”

“Yeah.” She replies quietly and without emotion. “They’re under the skillet.”

The quiet clatter of Ryan’s searching continues. Luna looks at her sister, taking in the defeated expression, the tinge of hopelessness in her eyes, and she feels a tightness wending its way through her chest. She’s been the one reassuring Celestia during this trip, for a change she’s been the one supporting her sister. This sudden shift from aggravated disappointment to quiet defeat is unsettling and upsetting. She watches her father as he sets a stack of bowls on his cot and begins looking for the silverware bag. He doesn’t even notice. The tightness grows tighter, constricting around her chest, and deep within a pressure begins to build.

“Do we have to leave tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” He answers absently, closing the lid to the camp box and beginning to fiddle with the little portable Coleman grill. “We need to get back.”

Celestia begins picking up the Scrabble tiles with a nearly inaudible sigh. Luna watches her for a moment, that tightness still wrapping her, a fluttery feeling in her stomach. “Why?”

“I have work I have to get done.” He places the grill on the metal lid of the foot locker, fingers twisting the brass connections together,
even this simple action stiff, almost jerky. Celestia packs the game board back in the box, her eyes not really looking at anything. The fluttery sensation grows worse, completely at odds with the squeezing, binding feeling.

In her mind’s eye, Luna sees masterfully crafted shapes of wood, like the pieces to a three dimensional puzzle. Fit together they formed the simple, beautiful shape of her family. Now, however, it seemed like those pieces were wobbling, the way in which they were closely meshed together failing. Little gaps were beginning to show between the almost invisible seams where they lined up. She watches her sister place the lid back on the game box, her eyes far away, her expression touched with a despondency she’s trying unsuccessfully to hide. She watches her father work at lighting the grill, his posture rigid, his body language practically yelling his desire to go back home.

She watches them, and a new feeling begins winding its patient way through her body, slipping slowly up her spine in meandering lines of ice, across her neck and down her shoulders like a horrid caress. Fear begins to fill her, blowing like a hollow wind, and in her imagination she sees that wind playing along the shape of her family, teasing at the little gaps, widening them until the shape falls apart and the pieces blow away into darkness.

That feeling of pressure continues to build as she looks at her father’s shirt covered back. “Why?”

Finally lighting the burner with a faint click, he reaches for a small pan. “Because I have things to do honey.”

“You can do them later. If we stay another…”

“No, Luna.” He cuts her off, his voice a firm and a little hard edged.

“Why?” She asks again, a small part of her realizing she’s starting to sound like a petulant child but not really caring.

“I told you...”

“Why is it important?” Her voice beginning to rise, she takes a hesitant step forward.

He turns, regarding her with a tight expression. “It just is. We’re going home first thing in the morning, and that’s my final word on it.”

She takes another short step forward, beginning to crowd the already cluttered front section of the tent. She feels that queer sensation of both constricting tightness and burgeoning pressure, her stomach kicking and jumping like a small trapped animal, and in the back of her mind she hears the building howl of a cold wind.

He begins to turn away from her. “That’s not good enough.” She says loudly, her breathing beginning to speed up.

He looks back to her, his face both surprised and frustrated. She flinches a little, but continues on, her voice growing more strident. “Why is that stupid house so important? Why can’t we just stay for another couple of days?”

“Luna…” He answers in a warning tone.

She swallows. “All you do anymore is work. It’s not fair!”

“Luna Maybelle.”

“You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, all you do is work and argue on the phone!”

“Luna Maybelle Williams.” His voice is striving for the flat, inflectionless quality he uses when he’s upset with them, but frustration is starting to color it nonetheless. His face is a growing thunderhead, his features tight and his cheeks beginning to flush, causing the stubble on his face and the dark circles under his eyes to stand out in stark contrast.

She almost flinches again, but doesn’t, and that growing pressure finally wells up and bursts free, washing her in hot tides of anger and cold eddies of fear. Not anger at being denied another day of camping, but anger at the cracks in their tight little family his hard driven, single minded stubborness has caused. Not fear of making him angry, but fear of what might happen to him if it continued. Fear of what might happen to all of them.

Taking a deep breath she takes a final step forward, close enough now that she has to crane her neck up a bit to meet his eyes, her emotions churning and boiling to the surface. “What’s so important about it huh? Why does it matter so much?”

“That is enough young lady!”

“You’ll work yourself to death and leave us all alone and you don’t even care! So what’s so damn important?”

“Because I’m trying to keep you safe you Goddamned stubborn child!” He thunders, slamming his hand against the frame of his cot with a loud, metallic creaking sound. He stares at her, breathing heavily, watching her do the same. A thick silence fills the tent, made more noticeable by the permeating hiss of the rain falling against the white canvas walls and the small ssss sound of burning propane.

He takes a deep breath, holding it a moment before releasing it slowly. He’d never yelled at either of them before. Raised his voice, yes, but never out-and-out yelled.

“What are you trying to keep us safe from?” Comes a quiet, hesitant voice from the table and Ryan glances over at Celestia. She gazes back at him, rose tinted eyes shining damply in the yellow light of the gas lantern that hangs from the peak of the roof, her face a misery of uncertainty and uneasiness and... something else.

He glances back to his younger daughter, taking in the similar emotions writ large on her features, save that these are mixed with anger. He studies her in the preternatural quiet. It’s fear, he realizes. A ragged, barely-there fear, underlying their expressions like primer underneath a coat of paint starting to wear thin.

“Dad?” Luna’s breathing is still hard, her sides heaving but starting to slow. She glances quickly at her sister, returning teal orbs to look at him that are beginning to glint with wetness. “What are you keeping from us?”

He studies them both for a few quiet moments, looking from one to the other and then back again. It’s not fear of him, he suddenly intuits, but fear for him. His mind flashes quickly back, different moments from this long weekend unwinding like a movie reel. Details jump out at him, details he hadn’t seen, or had dismissed. He feels his anger melting away, flowing out of him and being replaced with shame. They’ve been afraid for him, and they have been for some time.

“…Daddy?” Luna looks at him, her face no longer angry, but open and vulnerable and scared. Her eyes gleam, moisture that has nothing to do with the rain leaving long, damp trails down the sides of her muzzle.

He glances at Celestia, her body language awkward as she sits at the folding table, her expression a mirror of her sisters. He crouches, opening his arms, and Luna crashes into him, sinking to her haunches and laying her head over his shoulder. A second later Celestia pushes against his other side, leaning against him and mirroring her sister. Between the two of them they manage to push him back until he’s resting against the camp box, his arms tight around them. He can feel Luna’s chest hitching a little, the emotion she’d been trying to hold back finally breaking free. On the other side his shirt is growing damp at the shoulder and Celestia presses hard against him.

“Shh…shh…” He sooths, alternating between stroking along their necks and just holding them. “Shh…it’s O.K. now. It’s alright.”

Luna, breath still hitching, pulls back just enough to look at him with tear streaked eyes. “Are…are you dying?”

He feels Celestia tense against him, and he leans back a little, caught so off guard by the question that for a moment he can’t form an answer. “What? No.” Luna scrutinizes him, searching his face with an intensity that’s a little alarming. Finally, apparently satisfied, she lays against him again, her breathing settling. He squeezes them tighter for a few seconds, and then moves back where he can see both of them. “Where on Earth did you get an idea like that?”

It’s Celestia who answers him, ducking her head with a sniff and swiping at her eyes with a foreleg. “Well, you’ve been working so hard...”

“On the new house.” He interrupts quickly, rising stiffly and resettling himself on his cot.

“Yeah, on the house.” She continues, “But it’s a house we don’t need, Dad. We’re perfectly fine in the one we have now.”

“And you don’t sleep anymore.” Luna adds, shifting her wings as the tension begins to leave her.

“Well honey, I…”

“And you hardly eat.” She overrides him.

“And you won’t tell us what’s going on.” Celestia finishes, looking at him earnestly.

Ryan leans back, his shirt brushing lightly against the canvas wall, looking bewilderedly and warily from Celestia to Luna and back again. Their eyes are still red rimmed, but their expressions are open, almost pleading, and the sight of it twists at his chest, and for the second time realization drops over him. He’d handled this whole thing badly. Hell, he’d handled it wrongly, very wrongly. He’d known he was being a little deficient at home, known they were getting a little concerned, but he hadn’t had any idea that it had affected them this much, hadn’t even thought that they were getting this worked up.

This second realization is followed closely by a third, one his mind wants to reject but no longer can; they aren’t children anymore. Looking from one to the other, taking in their expressions, their posture and body language, the fact is irrefutable. They would always be his little girls, but they had grown from childhood, were growing into adulthood, and, with more than a touch of sadness, he understands that he can’t treat them like kids anymore.

Sighing quietly, he nods towards the ice chest under the table. “Luna sweetheart, grab me a beer, please.” She turns slowly, her face a little puzzled, her horn lighting up and casting azure tinged shadows under the table. “Grab three, actually. Thank you honey.”

“Three?” Celestia asks, giving him a flat look.

Three green, long necked bottles float to him, and he grasps them, nodding again in thanks. Holding them awkwardly between his knees, he twists the tops off one by one, before handing a bottle each to his daughters. They take them hesitantly, they expressions a study in surprised startlement, and he chuckles. They turn wide, questioning eyes to him.

“You’re adults now.” He answers them, unable to hold back a small sigh. “You’re old enough.”

“Umm…I’m not, actually.” Replies Luna, looking at the damp bottle uncertainly. “I’m not twenty-one yet.”

“Sweetheart, only squares wait until they're twenty-one to drink.” He says with a laugh. Celestia, who is old enough, shoots him a dirty look, and he laughs harder. He takes a long, satisfying swallow, and watches in amusement as they slowly follow suit, their expressions screwing up as they try the unfamiliar beverage for the first time.

Aside from the single, small glass of wine he sometimes let them have on New Years Eve, neither of them had ever really tasted alcohol before. He didn’t intend to let them get into the habit of drinking the way he had at their age, but if they were adults now, he might as well let them start enjoying some of the perks. Besides, they were camping.

He clears his throat, catching their attention. “Girls…” He starts awkwardly, pausing for a few seconds as he works out how to begin. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting, and I’m sorry I didn’t see how it was making you feel, and I’m sorry…” He trails off, looking down at the beer in his hand, watching the beads of condensation gleam in the lantern light as he gathers his thoughts. “I’m just sorry, O.K.?”

They both nod slowly, their beer’s floating absurdly in soft yellow and blue light. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a gust. “I have been working on the new house, that’s true. But it’s not the only thing we’re building…”

They sat long into the evening as the rain petered out, downshifting from a constant hammering to a soft patter to sporadic bursts. Celestia and Luna listened, and Ryan told them everything. The house, the land, the wine vault that was slowly being converted and refit. He explained his reasoning, in so much as he was able to, and told them about what he’d been seeing in the world at large, what he feared he saw.

They were incredulous at first, disbelieving, and they asked many questions, though they tried not to interrupt too often. They asked, and Ryan answered. They listened, and Ryan talked, for once holding nothing back from them. By the time they had finished and gone tiredly to bed the rain had stopped completely, the clouds breaking apart and moving off on distant and mysterious errands of their own. The sky was scrubbed clear, and in the cold and moonless night the stars shone down fiercely, casting the mountains, and their little campsite in that soft, blue-white light that can only be found on clear, chilly nights.

They had all gone to bed tired, but they had gone also feeling better, lighter, feeling more at ease. For Ryan it was like having a burden lifted, and for the first time in months his sleep was deep and unbroken.

They stayed four extra days, all told, making only a quick trip home to clean up and grab extra food and supplies. They were four good days, spent camping as they always had, and it was by mutual agreement on the fifth day that they decided to finally head back. Camping was all well and good, but you can only clean so much with a rag and soapy water, and in the end the draw of a long, hot shower became too much.

Things began to change after that, not all at once and not in a hurry, as Celestia and Luna had hoped, but gradually, steadily, everyday things got back to normal. They still weren’t sure about the whole thing, they had trouble even conceiving that such a thing could happen anymore, but they understood that it was important to their father, and so they made peace with it, even helping occasionally where they could.

Ryan, for his part, had come back from their extended trip with a completely different outlook on everything and, shortly after they had finally returned home, showed up at the construction site to offer his sincere apology to a very surprised and very startled Jerry Buckhouser. This apology was helped along by an ice chest full of beer for the crew, and a bottle of moderately priced, single malt scotch for Jerry himself. After that there were no more shouting matches over the phone, no more swearing or recriminations when he got a call about delays or additional costs. Ryan began sleeping normally again and eating regularly.

By mid-summer he’d replaced the weight he’d lost and then some, much to the satisfaction of his girls. It was a good summer for the Williams family, probably one of the best that they could remember, filled with more camping and hiking and outdoor excursions then they’d done in years. They started holding family game nights on Saturdays, and movie nights on Sundays, and by late August none of them really remembered what things had been like before.

They were good months, ones that would stick with them for the rest of their lives, and the memory of that year would be a comforting and much needed balm to the two sisters in times of hardship and sorrow yet to occur. Amongst all the happy and warm memories they held of their childhood and their father, that summer would always stand out to them.

***************

It was an early spring morning, strong May sunshine already streaming through the windows, filling the living room and kitchen with warm, liquid light. Spring had come again almost unexpectedly, bursting upon them out of a long, cold winter like a flower in full bloom. New growth struggled for purchase on the trees and sage outside the house, as birds flitted almost confusedly between the winter bare branches and the startlingly deep green of nascent leaves. The weather had changed all at once, and the world outside their home seemed like it was trying to catch-up.

From above the living room comes the muffled patter of a shower running, underlain by the muted rush and gurgle of the water pipes. From the kitchen comes the quiet sound of something sizzling, mixed with the occasional clink of utensils and clatter of hooves on tile, the noises pushing before them the pleasing aroma of eggs, toast, and coffee.

In the hallway upstairs, just outside her room, Celestia stretches her neck and back, her eyes squeezed tightly closed as she luxuriates briefly in the sensation, her nostrils flaring of their own accord as they catch the scent of breakfast drifting up from below. Blinking owlishly for a moment to clear the sleep from her eyes, she takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she ambles to the end of the hall and down the stairs. It was Luna’s turn to make breakfast this morning, and she had used the occasion to sleep in for a bit.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs and crossing the living room with an unhurried step, she pokes her head into the kitchen, watching as her younger sister bustles between the counter and the stove top, humming quietly to herself. Celestia watches in amusement for a few seconds, before she spies the coffee maker steaming quietly by the microwave, mugs and creamers already arrayed neatly in front of it.

“Good…” She crosses the threshold with a yawn, angling towards the aromatic smell of the coffee pot. “…morning Luna.”

“Morning sister.” Responds Luna brightly, plying the long metal spatula with enthusiasm, if less skill than her older sister or father. She stirs the skillet’s contents, singing softly under her breath as tarragon and parsley from the spice rack float nearby in a pale blue glow. “Mmm mmm mmm, I will survive, hmm mmm…”

Stirring herself an ambrosial mug of morning pick-me-up, Celestia takes a slow sip, savoring the warmth and the taste as she glances at the mess covering the kitchen counters. “Need any help?”

“Hmm mmm ohh so many nights mmm mmm…huh?” Luna looks quickly at her sister, splitting her attention between Celestia and the pan of eggs steaming gently on the stove top. “Oh, no, thanks Tia.” She gives the pale yellow mass one more poke with the spatula before lifting the skillet from the stove and flicking off the knob for the burner. “We’re just about ready.” Dumping the pan’s contents onto a nearby plate, she carries it over to the table. “Is Dad still in the shower?”

Tilting her head slightly to one side with the flick of an ear, Celestia can just make out the sound of running water, which cuts off abruptly a second later. “I think he just got out.”

“Perfect timing then.” Luna smiles to herself, arranging everything just so on the dining room table.

Taking turns at breakfast had become another one of the little things they had begun last year. Reasoning that if they were adults now they should start taking a more active part around the home place, they had talked their father into divvying up his regular chores.

Their father, though reluctant at first, had finally acquiesced, and now both Celestia and Luna were becoming pretty good at tackling the hum-drum and assorted chores and maintenance required to keep an isolated place running and in good repair. He’d even began showing them the finer points of balancing their finances, and had started introducing them to the murky and mysterious world of online banking and day trading.

All in all they were pleased with their new responsibilities, and shouldering part of the burden of keeping everything on and afloat had not only reduced the stress on their dad, but also made them feel both like productive members of the household and comfortably independent, while leaving them with a sense of being more in control of their lives.

The creak of the stair treads perks up Luna’s ears, and she pours out a cup of black coffee, setting it at her father’s place and taking a seat across from her already sitting sister.

Taking another long sip of her own coffee, Celestia glances across the table. “Today’s a news day, right?”

Shoveling eggs onto her plate, Luna nods absently. “Yeah, remember we skipped Friday.”

Celestia floats a couple of pieces toast across the table, nibbling at one before settling them in place. “Oh yeah.”

Part of the agreement they’d reached with their father was that he was no longer allowed to follow the news obsessively like he used to. He could check up on it three days out of the week, and had even thrown out the somewhat unsettling folder of articles and reports he’d been collecting. In return, they had to watch the news shows with him in an attempt to broaden their understanding of the outside world.

Scooping up eggs, Celestia looks up as Ryan enters the kitchen. “Morning Dad.”

“Morning Dad.” Luna echoes her through a mouthful of food.

“Morning.” He answers pleasantly, stopping to flick on the television on the counter, grabbing the remote before taking his seat. “Looks good honey.”

“Mmm-mmm.” Luna answers, chewing with relish. She might not be able to darken hash browns like her dad, or flip pancakes without tearing them like her sister, but eggs, she felt, she had pretty much mastered.

Dishing up, Ryan glances over at the little twenty-four inch LCD, scanning the scrolling news ticker running across the bottom of the screen. Another oil field closure in the Middle East, an attempted bombing at a synagogue in Jerusalem, a third round of budget talks on Capitol Hill. Turning down the anchor droning on about the latest celebrity scandal, he salts his eggs, taking a bite. “What’s the plan for today?”

Levitating another piece of toast across the table, Celestia glances at the kitchen window. “I was thinking about flying down to the pond later, if it stays warm out.”

“I’m going to check if the new Tattered Throne is up on MovieSync.” Luna answers, leaning back from the table and stifling a small burp behind her napkin. “I thought we could watch it tonight. Then I think I’ll work on the scrap book some more.”

Nodding, Ryan spears the last few bites left on his plate, chasing them with a swig of coffee. “Sounds good sweetheart.” He hadn’t gotten into the seemingly endless series of movies the same way his girls had, but they could be pretty entertaining. Rising, he turns the volume up a bit on the T.V. before grabbing his plate. The three of them bustle around the kitchen, cleaning up the breakfast mess and putting everything to rights.

On the counter the television drones on, providing background noise to the tune of rising gas prices, a union strike in Houston, and the extended forecast for most of the country. As Luna loads the last plate into the dishwasher there comes a weirdly upbeat jingle from the T.V.

Looking over, they see the words ‘Breaking News’ roll across the screen in a flashy animation. The picture is replaced by a long distance night shot of a small, non-descript blue building lit by street lights. The words “Negotiations Break Down” scroll along the ticker at the bottom of the screen, and Ryan grabs the remote, turning the volume up.

“…broke down late last night between North and South Korea, as the North Korean envoy stormed out during talks about the recent high profile defection of DPRK General Paek Yong-gil last month…”

“Isn't the guy who just walked across the border?” Asks Celestia, her coffee floating forgotten by her muzzle.

“Yeah.” Ryan answers, not looking away from the television. “During a border inspection. He lit that building on fire and sprinted across in the confusion.”

“…tensions between the two Korea’s has been high, with Supreme Leader Kim Jong-hae threatening quote, ‘unimaginable consequences’ if the General Yong-gil not returned to the North immediately. President Rhee Bo-seon held a press conference in Seoul this morning, stating that South Korean armed forces were currently on high alert. Neither NATO or EAP offices for the region answered calls for comment.”

“Adding to the already mounting tensions in the region is the arrival of the US 7th fleet, which has been redeployed to assist the US Navies Pacific Command with the ongoing Chinese blockade of Taiwan, which began several months ago…”

As the anchor finishes her read and the screen fades out to a commercial for fabric softener, the three share a look. Rustling her wings a bit, Luna closes the dishwasher. “It sounds bad, but I’m sure it’s not a big deal, right Dad?”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s alright honey.” Ryan says, feeling the weight of their eyes on him. Shaking himself a little, he glances at the T.V. and then back to them. “It’ll be O.K.” They both nod and make their way out of the kitchen as Ryan pours himself another cup of coffee. It’ll probably end with blustering and saber rattling like these things usually do, after all there’s been plenty of flare ups and tension between NATO and EAP allied nations, and all of them had pretty much blown themselves out; no one really seemed willing to push things to the point of starting a war.

Ryan sips his coffee, watching as the coverage changes from world events to politics, and an involuntary shiver runs down his back, raising goose flesh along his arms. This business in Korea and Taiwan would blow over. It had to, just like all the other times. Half listening to a story about a bear roaming a suburb somewhere near Cleveland, Ryan finishes cleaning up the kitchen. Pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee he stands by the window, absently looking out at the side yard as the news drones on in the background, his mind turning at its own pace, fighting off a sudden feeling of unease. It’s a strange feeling, like he’s standing in some impossibly massive shadow. Trying to shake his feeling of disquiet, Ryan stands in the wash of strong May sunlight sipping his coffee and shivers again.

Author's Notes:

So here it is, the chapter that did not want to be written. I'm still not very pleased with it, there are a lot of parts that feel sort of rough, and I'll no doubt return to it a few times to smooth them out. And that's about all I have for right now.

As usual, I greatly appreciate both the patience you've all had with me and this stories horrible release schedule, and the support a lot of you have shown. Next up is the end game, which should be a lot easier to write, and which I hope will be a stronger contender than what you've just read.

Chapter the Eleventh

December 15^th, 2035

Luna crouches low, her nostrils flaring with each heaving breath she takes. Each inhalation brings with it the fetid smell of rotting garbage and wet decay from the dumpster she’s currently hunched behind, overlaying the prevalent stale smell of smoke and damp char. Teal eyes wide, she peeks around the corner of the dark green and filth-grey steel container, her vision dancing down the dim alleyway, darting between the slowly rising streamers of steam and across the wetly reflective paving.

The sounds of distant destruction, of toppling masonry and crashing metal and terrified screams, rebound from the dingy brick and concrete buildings that line the alley, arriving at her ears as distorted, overlapping echoes. The low, scudding clouds overhead suddenly reflect a flare of diffuse orange light, off to her right, and after a moment the faraway, crumping boom of an explosion briefly washes out the ambient sounds of terror and death.

She’s got to keep going, she can’t get stuck here, can’t get bogged down… but they were so close behind her just a block ago. Where did they go? Did she finally lose them? She breaks her vigil, taking a moment to glance at the jagged gash that runs down the inside of her right foreleg. The bleeding has almost stopped, and the little drops of blood that stipple her dark fur have already dried.

She makes herself wait another three agonizing minutes, taking shallow, quick breaths, eyes darting and ears alert. She finally decides she’s safe for the moment. With a sigh she sags tiredly against the unpleasant side of the dumpster, her rump squelching as she sits on something disgusting. Her breathing is beginning to slow, her burning lungs finally allowed to glut themselves on precious, astringent oxygen. Luna assesses her situation, and begins planning out her next move.

She checks the small leather satchel affixed to the middle of her back, shifting her wings aside to make sure it’s still secured in place and sealed closed. That was the most important part; that was the thing that really mattered. Seeing that it’s still in place and tied closed, she glances down again, taking a second look at her leg. The gash is ugly, but seems to be superficial. The blood has finally clotted completely, and aside from some soreness in that limb she thinks she’ll be alright. Her hooves are a mess, chipped and pitted from her endless run across the city, but there aren’t any tender spots or cracks.

She shifts her wings, readjusting them and shooting an irritable look at the overcast sky. If she could only have flown... Her wings begin to unfurl in an unconscious gesture, but she shakes her head woefully, bringing them back against her body with an effort. It’s a foolish thought, and she knows it. The sky is theirs, now, and flying even at roof height is a death sentence. The Air Force had already tried, and everyone had witnessed the horrifyingly high cost of that particular lesson.

The remembrance brings with it an involuntary shudder, and she gives herself a little shake to dispel that dark memory. Her next step is to figure out where she is, and which way she has to go to get to the garage. Dad and Tia will be waiting for her, and they need to see what’s in the leather pouch. It could change everything.

She resumes watching the alley mouth for any movement, while her mind tries to recall the crazy, zigzagging path she took as she fled from the police precinct. From the distance comes the rapid staccato of heavy gun fire, the dull, heavy thudding of what must be a large caliber weapon rising above the general din of a city being consumed. It abruptly cuts off, causing her ear to twitch unconsciously.

Retracing her madcap flight in her mind, she’s certain she headed generally south, along the wharf until the way was blocked. She distinctly remembers turning up and crossing Adama Avenue, the once lush park where it intersected Roslin Parkway a blazing inferno, the surrounding streets choked with the smoldering husks of dead military vehicles, passenger cars and the nauseating stench of charred meat and scorched metal. After that she’d cut through a construction yard, dodging between skeletal girders, abandoned equipment and half assembled sections of drywall. She’d had a close call there, one of many since this nightmare night began, but had managed to duck through a partially completed drainage culvert, over another road, and around the corner into this alley.

Glancing at her surroundings, she can just make out a soot streaked sign bolted to the back of one of the buildings by the alley entrance; Asian Express. That just so happened to be one of her favorite places for takeout. There were two in the city, the other along the northern highway, heading out of town. Since she’d gone south, that would make this Market Street, which would mean that the garage was only six or seven blocks east of here, and two blocks north along Lakeshore Drive.

She was almost there.

With a resolute breath, she regains her hooves, taking a moment to stretch each leg individually, trying to loosen up her aching muscles. She’s going to need to move quickly. She glances at the slice of sky visible between the grimy buildings that hem in either side of the narrow lane, and then steps out from behind the dumpster. Distantly, from further south, she can hear an erratic, high pitched whump whump whumping sound, and she glances back in that direction. It sounds sort of like a helicopter. She frowns at the noise, before dismissing it from her mind. They must still be trying to evacuate people from the south side of town, God bless them.

She moves slowly towards the mouth of the alley, sticking to the edges and trying to use the languorously rising streamers of steam to obscure her movements. As she reaches the entrance she hears a clatter of falling brick, and immediately hugs the wall to her left. Creeping forward, she peeks around the corner. Mercurial firelight silhouettes the parts of the city visible up the street from her, dancing and flaring in an almost whimsical fashion. She watches the darkened roadway, ears swiveling, trying to catch any hint of sound or movement.

She’s just about to step out from her makeshift shelter when a number of bricks tumble loudly down the side of a building across the street and farther up. Her breath catches, and she pulls back, quickly angling her head until just part of a single blue-green orb and part of her horn is visible. More bricks tumble down, followed by clouds of dust and pulverized mortar, and from the top of what looks like a diner two long, hairy, jointed legs reach over, pressing themselves firmly against the diner’s brick facade. A moment later the huge bulk heaves itself into view, and the shape of the giant, bus sized spider shifts as it clings to the side of the building.

Smaller insects begin to pour around its legs and down the wall, ranging in size from large dogs to small cars, fanning out as they reach the street, cautiously questing along the gutters and over the hoods of parked vehicles with a skritching of chitin against metal.

Eyes widening, Luna backs up, glancing behind her. The alley dead ends about twenty yards from where she is now, and there are no windows looking out onto it. Trying to move as quickly yet quietly as she can, she makes her way back towards the dumpster, using her magic to try door knobs as she goes. All are locked however, and there’s no way she can get the thick security doors open without alerting the swarm to her presence. Once they know she’s there, it’s all over. From the street the sound of a trashcan being knocked over reaches her, close, and she glances up at the sky, coming to a decision.

She can still hear that helicopter flying around out there, and from the noise of it, it seems like it’s closer than before. That must mean that it’s safe to fly for the moment, at least in this part of town. She doesn’t need to go far, preferably just a few blocks east. That will allow her to elude this swarm, and put her closer to Dad and Tia.

Glancing back at the alley mouth one more time, she stretches her wings out, giving them a few flaps to loosen up the tense muscles. Eyeing the distance she has to sprint before she runs out of alley, she fights down a queasy feeling. It’s just a short flight, really more of a hop than anything. Hell, that chopper sounds like it’s actually heading right for her, so it must be alright. From behind her comes a loud, rapid clicking sound, almost a chittering, and she knows that they’ve found her. With a deep, gulping breath she begins galloping towards the end of the alleyway, wings beating for all their worth. The scrabbling of armored legs against the wet pavement behind her tries to intrude on her thoughts, but she shuts the sound out. She is focus. She is speed. She will be flight.

She lunges forward, and slowly her wings begin to pull her upward. As she clears a few feet, relief bursts over her in a cool wave, making her giddy. She’s going to make it. The helicopter is right above her now, and she turns her gaze upwards as she starts to clear the tops of the buildings. Maybe she’ll give the pilot a jaunty little salute as she passes by. Then her eyes fix on the source of the thudding, buzzing-droning sound, and as they finally find it in the dimness of the night, her heart freezes in fear.

It’s not a helicopter racing towards her, it’s them. Fifteen feet long, not counting the wicked looking stinger, they look like black Japanese hornets, their wings a nearly invisible blur as they arrow straight for her. There must be thirty of them, racing in from all directions. There’s no way she can evade them, no way to escape. Her wings lock up on her, fear freezing them stiffly outwards, and she begins to spiral back into the alleyway, the swarm that had been chasing her spread along the walls, rooftops and the alley itself, antennas twitching and serrated arms reaching, waiting to welcome her back.

* * *

Luna awakens with a snort, slowly blinking her eyes in confusion as the dream begins to break up and fade away. She’s really hot on one side for some reason, and after a long, long moment she blearily realizes that she had fallen asleep leaning against her father. Eyes rolling tiredly, her blurry, grainy gaze travels slowly across the room, coming to a confused stop at their T.V., where the credits for Them! 3: The Spider Queen are just beginning to roll. She squints at the stylized letters blankly as they scroll up from the bottom of the screen, chased by dramatic music, waiting for her mind to make sense of it. What happened to the Christmas movie they were watching earlier?

A loud snort close to her right startles her, and she sits up fully, looking over with weary bemusement at the slumbering forms of her father and older sister. Dad is still upright, head leaning back against the top of the couch at what should be an uncomfortable angle, mouth open and aimed at the ceiling. He snorts again as she watches, the sound trailing off into a sonorous rumble, his lower jaw working just a bit. Sprawled on the other side of him is the larger alabaster mound of Celestia. She lays in an odd, partly sprawled-partly tucked state, backed up against her father’s other side, three legs folded primly underneath her, the fourth and one wing dangling over the edge of the couch and brushing the floor, head draped over the armrest.

With tired amusement, Luna dismounts the couch, trying not to disturb its other two occupants overly much. She takes a moment to stretch each hind leg, shake out her wings, and then rotates her neck until it gives up a satisfying crack. With a sleepy, contented smile, she turns and trots into the kitchen. Navigating by memory and the scant light filtering in through the open slats of the blinds, she pours herself a glass of water, wandering over to the kitchen window lazily as she sips at it.

Outside the window is a muffled world of white silence. They were experiencing a lull at the moment, the heavy, gray clouds which had seemed intent on trying to squash them earlier in the day now mostly invisible against the blackness of the night sky. This was their third or fourth big winter storm in the last couple of months, a nice change from the year before, and it had dropped snow in varying quantities for most of the day.

Her eyes roam idly across the transformed landscape of what was normally the side yard, trying to pick out familiar features and landmarks that had been transformed by the weather into amorphous mounds and soft shapes. Her gaze travels aimlessly upwards, and in the odd black and white gloom she can just see something unusual about the elm trees. After a few moments and another sip of her water, she realizes with a muted sort of surprise that the branches themselves are actually drooping a bit, sagging under their freight of snow and ice.

Planting her rump on the slightly chilled kitchen tiles, Luna gazes through the window absently, musing in that comfortably tired, not quite asleep-not quite awake way, idly drinking from the glass that floats serenely within a bluish glow beside her. She loves this time of year, especially when they actually get a wet winter. She loves this feeling, this comfortable, warm, bleary sort of half wakefulness. Just awake enough for the mind to idle, without being awake enough for it to begin revving along. A dark, quiet moment within, all shapes just hinted at by the scattered, reflected light. A preternaturally silent, muffled winter world outside the window, all edges and lines replaced with fuzzy suggestions.

No worries for tomorrow, no impending tasks that need to be done, nothing outside of this still, comfortable slice of time; the cool, clean taste of her water, the near silence of the house, the gentle yet pleasant whoosh of warmth against her left flank as the floor vents kick on with a low rush of air. The way the Christmas lights from the living room reflect in through the kitchen doorway, picking out mellow, multi hued highlights off anything reflective, holding the warmth of the holidays, and the promise of a Christmas only a couple of weeks away.

The comforting knowledge that everyone she cares about is warm and safe, inside with her where they belong.

Tipping back the last of her water, she closes her eyes and swallows, burping quietly when she’s done. With an embarrassed giggle and a tired smile, she places the glass quietly in the sink, and then ambles back to the couch, grabbing a large throw from its rumpled place on the floor as she does. Settling it over her father and sister, she lifts up a corner of it with her magic and gingerly reclaims here spot, shifting against her father until she’s comfortable and mostly covered. Right here and right now, this is warmer and more inviting than her own bed.

* * *

Ryan’s hands tremble as he tries to hold them steady, his eyes narrow and focused. Holding a flap down with one thumb, he reaches over blindly with his free hand, groping for a moment before his fingers brush the strip of tape hanging from the edge of his dresser. Snagging it, he slowly brings it back, careful not to get the sticky strip stuck to itself. Gently, cautiously, he lays it along the seam beneath his thumb, squinting as he tries to keep it aligned. The tape crinkles in the middle, and as he attempts to pull it straight again, the paper beneath it rips.

“Shit.” Ryan says, and wishes for a cigarette.

Eyeing the tear critically, he finishes applying the tape, sighing dejectedly as he studies the results. The mishap is obvious, the bright, accusing white of the underside of the paper standing out clearly against the green and red reindeer that cover the rest of this end of the gift. Maybe he can cover it up with a bow?

Grunting sourly, he flips the rectangular box around, taking a moment to hang more strips of tape before he begins again. Planning the best route of attack, he notices his hand brushing lightly against his shirt pocket, and places it resolutely back at his side, watching it for a moment as if he doesn’t quite trust that it’ll stay there. It’s been 18 months since his last cigarette, and his body still sometimes forgets that they don’t do that type of thing anymore.

The girls, as expected, were beyond pleased with how he had stuck with it, and he knows that quitting is the right thing, the correct thing, for himself and for them. It was damned difficult though. Even now, a year and a half later, he’s still amazed at all the little habits and rituals he’d never even realized had been centered on that one, solitary activity.

Need to concentrate? Have a smoke. Starting to get upset? A cigarette will help with that. Relaxing in the evening? Cigarettes love to relax! Need help digesting that big meal? Grab your lighter. The cravings were mostly gone, although occasionally one would come out of nowhere and wallop him, leaving him slightly irritated and on edge for a few hours afterwards. The hardest part, though, was changing or breaking the habits he’d tied into it. When you’ve performed one specific action in conjunction with a lot of other actions for a large portion of your life, it becomes a reflex. And the body, when not closely monitored by the mind, is just one big, mindless reflex machine. It made for some very uncomfortable, awkward or downright confusing moments.

Dispelling his mental wanderings with a shake of his head, he reaches out and begins folding the wrapping paper into some sort of shape that he hopes will neatly cover the other end of the present. “Why don’t you just let us do it Dad?” He mutters in a high pitched parody of Tia’s voice. “It’s so much easier with magic Dad.” He shifts to a higher register for Luna. “You can always just use gift bags Dad.” Insufferable children. Their presents were already under the tree, had been for a week. Each one wrapped neatly and cleanly, and all taken care of in less than an hour.

He hates wrapping gifts.

He’s never been any good at this stuff, something his late wife had teased him about mercilessly. The girls had always thought it cute and funny and endearing, had thought of it as one of Dad’s lovable quirks…and then they’d gotten magic and gotten better at it than him. Now every birthday and Christmas they’d offer to help him, or to do it for him, and Ryan would be damned and dead before his kids had to wrap their own gifts. He supposed gift bags would be easier, but at this point his pride was caught up in it, and he’d decided that gift bags were stupid and magic was cheating.

Folding and creasing, taping and muttering curses, Ryan slogs doggedly through his task, eventually accumulating a neat pile of less-than-neatly wrapped shapes on the floor next to his feet. Casting a critical gaze at the presents, he finally sighs in resignation, gathers them carefully and makes his way downstairs.

Grey light filters in through the living room window, the heavy, sedentary clouds outlining and highlighting the Christmas tree, which easily outshines the tepid, wash water light of the day. Kneeling down carefully, Ryan begins to arrange the girl’s gifts, fitting them in between the nicer, more professional looking packages. He squints against the brightness of the flashing Christmas lights as he leans in close, searching behind the trees base for open space, the randomly strobing illumination temporarily blinding him as he gropes with his eyes closed. The girls must have cranked up the brightness again.

It was their third year with the digital tree the girls had convinced him to buy, and he still couldn’t get used to it. The ‘needles’ consisted of thousands of tiny, flexible, transparent two inch long rectangular screens that could be configured in just about any way you could want. Set to tree mode, each one was vibrantly green and textured, like actual needles.

You could configure it to use a preset algorithm to simulate any sort of animated, colorful light pattern you could think of, you could change the settings to use clumps of the tiny screens to display ornaments in sort of almost believable 3D, you could wrap it in digital garland by swiping your phone at it, or use the built in voice commands if your phone wasn’t handy, and you could even set it to stream pictures, music and live video from the internet.

The girls absolutely loved it, in the way that the young tend to instantly embrace and love the new. Ryan guesses it is pretty amazing, but in all honesty he’d prefer to have a traditional tree, one that they cut down themselves, one where you could feel it and smell it and know it’s a tree. But this is the tree they had wanted, and this is the tree they had. He finishes placing the last of his gifts, standing upright with a sigh and trying not to notice how they stand out, tucked in with Celestia and Luna’s presents.

He watches their fancy tree idly for a few moments, eyes following lines of vivid color as they flash a complicated, spiraling pattern from the base up to the top. His parents would be amazed if they were still around, and would probably love it. His grandparents, hailing from a much different time, wouldn’t know what to make of it, and would likely think it garish and…just, too much. Scratching absently, he supposes he falls somewhere in between them. True, the tree is pretty amazing, both in what it can do and how clearly, and cleanly, it can do it. On the other hand, he’ll never lose his preference for the scent of pine, and the sticky, tacky patches of sap that inevitably end up spotting the floor beneath it.

Well it could be worse, he reasons. At least it actually tries to look like a tree. The girls could have wanted one of those minimalist, ‘ultra-modernist’ abominations that were all basic shapes, flat colors and implied meaning. Why anyone would want a hollowed out glass cone with colored balls suspended inside of it he’ll never understand.

Placing his hands against the small of his back and stretching, he heads to the kitchen, already mentally running through the checklist for dinner tonight and Christmas day. As his feet hit the linoleum he glances at the stove, reading the time displayed by the digital clock on it. It’s closing on nine o’clock, and he angles for the coffee maker, emptying out yesterday’s grounds and snagging the carafe. The girls should be up any minute. Filling the glass pot at the sink, his thoughts touch on what to make for breakfast, and his eyes brighten.

He still has half of an excellent ribeye in a Tupperware container in the fridge, leftover from two or three nights ago. With some eggs, hash browns, and some of that cut up fruit in the bottom crisper, it’d make a very good breakfast.

The girls would look askance at him, of course, but they would only grumble about it a little bit. They had, over the last two or three years, begrudgingly relaxed their stance on what Ryan had jokingly termed their ‘anti-meat fanaticism’. They still bristled at that terminology, but not nearly as much since he’d started saying fanaticism instead of fascism. He’d thought it was funny.

They still didn’t like it much, but they understood that meat wasn’t going to kill him, so long as he indulged in moderation.

Grinning and humming to himself, he gives the power button on the coffee maker a jaunty little flick, turning to the refrigerator. This was going to be a good morning.

* * *

Celestia awoke suddenly, her eyes popping open as she inhaled sharply through her nose. Blinking confusedly for a moment, her eyes slip back closed as her mind catches up with her body, and she breathes in, slowly and deeply, as she stretches her hind legs out beneath the covers.

She’d been dreaming, rather deeply, and for a hazy moment hadn’t been able to reconcile where she was with where she had been. The dream was blurry, already fragmenting and fading away, like early morning clouds evaporating beneath strong sunshine. The little bit she could pick out of her sleep fogged mind were bare impressions; green, growing things, an incredibly old yet familiar place, and…a presence. Kind, caring…almost motherly?

The impressions were…familiar, almost like she’d had the dream before, but try as she might, her sleep addled mind cannot give her anything better than a vague sense of déjà vu. Sitting up, she gives her head a shake, dismissing it from her mind. A dream is a dream, after all. Unless it’s a sign of impending magical ability, but this was probably O.K.

Jaws cracking in a yawn, she rolls out of bed, the heavenly scent of coffee and eggs drifting up to her from downstairs. Stretching again, more slowly this time, she fixes her bedding, smoothing the sheets and comforter back down with a quick burst of golden light from her horn, taking just a moment to arrange and fluff the pillows.

Exiting her room and heading towards the hallway bathroom, she glances towards Luna’s door, still shut tight. They had both stayed up later than usual last night, partially helping Dad finish up the traditional Christmas Treats -cookies and fudge and the like- but mostly getting caught up on one of their favorite shows, Circle of Fire, a fascinating story about the modern day town of Grantsburg, and how it and its residents cope after they are transported back to the 15^th century. Dad had sat in off and on for a few of the episodes, but he’d come in during the second season and hadn't gotten into it, declining whenever they had offered to start over from the beginning. It was really more her and Luna’s show, anyway.

Pushing into the bathroom, she glances in the mirror, sighing in annoyance at the large, pink rat's nest mane that frames her sleepy features. Turning on the sink and letting the water run, she peers closer, picking out the light smudges beneath her eyes, and the slight droop of her ears. Missing out on her regular seven or eight hours always seems to show immediately. Not so her -slightly- younger sister, who could burn the proverbial midnight oil for days and still wake up looking fresh every morning. Sighing again, she levitates her toothbrush out of its holder, then her hair brush out of the drawer.

Ten minutes later, teeth cleaned, breath fresh, mane and tail brushed and close to normal looking, she feels much better. She’s just splashing cool water on her face when an indigo figure darkens the bathroom doorway.

“Morning Tia.” Comes a sleepy voice.

Drying her face, Celestia glances over as she shuts off the faucet. Sure enough, there her younger sister stands, looking bleary eyed but otherwise well rested. No dark circles her, nor any droop to ear or wing. Even her mane and tail look barely mussed. It just wasn’t fair.

“Morning sister.”

Squeezing out of the bathroom as Luna squeezes in and assumes her spot before the sink, she leans lazily against the door frame, watching idly as her sister begins her own morning routine. “I think breakfast is just about ready downstairs.”

“Ih cah schell he cohee.” Luna replies, toothbrush obscuring her words. Rinsing and spitting, she dampens a hand towel, patting around her eyes and down her muzzle lightly. Grabbing her own hairbrush up in her magic, she begins taking lazy, almost disinterested swipes at her mane. “I hope he made hash browns this morning.” She says distractedly, not noticing her sister’s sour expression as the brush moves almost effortlessly through the midnight blue hair, only snagging very occasionally against a tangle. “Do you want to try to finish Circle after we eat?”

Pointedly looking away from her sister, Celestia yawns loudly before replying. “Can’t, the bathroom designs for the new place are supposed to be available off the company website today, and Dad wants me to make sure they didn’t skip anything this time.”

“Mmm-hmm…Oh O.K.” Luna runs the brush through her mane one last time, before twisting a bit and starting on her tail. “What about after that?”

“After that should be good, unless Jerry’s decided to start working again between when we went to bed and when we woke up this morning.” Luna snorts derisively, to which Celestia replies with a small what-are-you-going-to-do shrug of her shoulders. The construction project started by their father was not very far along, and had been plagued by slowdowns and delays almost from the start. Recently, it had been outright stopped, thanks to a contractual dispute between the construction firm and its parent company.

Stretching her neck until it pops, Celestia looks back to her sister. “You know if we want to watch anymore we’re going to have to do it before dinner.”

Luna nods absently. “Yeah, I know. It’ll be old movies for the rest of the night.” Studying her tail, swishing it back and forth a few times, she gives a little self-satisfied nod.

“I don’t mind Christmas Story…” Celestia trails off.

“You only like it because it’s Dad’s favorite.” Luna chides, smirking sidelong as she cleans up the sink.

Arching an eyebrow, Celestia shoots her sibling a level look. “Remind me again, why do you like Miracle on 34^th Street so much?”

Luna sputters for a moment, before adopting a lecturing tone. “It has a lot of good things going for it. For instance, the technical directing is very good for a movie that old, and the lighting and sound were ahead…”

“You like it because it was Mom’s favorite.” Celestia pitches her voice in imitation of her sister, punctuating it with a snort.

Luna fires a half-hearted glare at her sister, before turning back to her tail. “That’s not the only reason.” She says quietly.

Amongst the Williams family there existed a vast divide, a seemingly uncrossable chasm between those who loved one beloved Christmas classic, and those who cherished the other. Between the two sides, there was no compromise, no retreat, and no mercy.

Giving her tail one last appreciative glance, Luna replaces her brush, giving herself a little shake. Turning, she starts to exit the bathroom, and Celestia backs up to give her room. The two turn together and head down for breakfast.

* * *

“Good morning Daddy.” Luna says brightly, following her older sister into the kitchen. Breathing in deeply, she smiles, angling towards the table, and the far more important mug of steaming goodness that has been set at her place.

“Morning sweetie.” Ryan replies over his shoulder, eyes on the microwave. “Morning Tia Marie.”

“Morning Dad.” Celestia replies, stopping to give his side a quick nuzzle before she joins Luna at the kitchen table. Settling down, she takes a slow, leisurely sip of her coffee, eyes closed in satisfaction.

Luna takes a sip of her own, swallowing thoughtfully before she lifts the creamer from the table and doctors her cup up a little bit more. She felt like sweet this morning. Eyeing the spread before her, she smiles at the plate of hash browns. Shooting a grin at her sister, she begins loading her plate happily.

Finally perking up a bit from her morning cup, Celestia returns her sisters smile, beginning to ladle fruit off to one side of her plate. Glancing over, she furrows her brow. “What are you heating up Dad?” She notices his back tense furtively for a moment, and just manages to hold in yet another resigned sigh. This seems to be a morning for them.

With a series of beeps, the microwave cuts out, and he removes his plate, walking over and taking his place at the end of the table. Just as she figured, half of a steak sits on his plate, steaming fragrantly. She shares a knowing glance with her younger sister, before turning a long suffering look back on her father.

Ryan meets her gaze, quirking an eyebrow in something that is not quite a challenge, and then begins deliberately loading eggs onto his plate. She watches for a moment, before turning back to her own meal. Luna shoots her a sympathetic half smile, before digging into her ketchup covered hash browns.

With a fortifying sip of her coffee, Celestia takes a bite of her eggs, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. Swallowing, she glances at her father. “I still don’t think you should eat that much red meat Dad.” She watches bemusedly as her father thoroughly chews the bite of steak he’d just taken, pausing to wash it down with a hefty swallow from his own mug of coffee. His face began to take on that vexingly familiar look of stubbornness that she and her sister knew so well.

“We’ve been over this Tia Marie. Once or twice a week isn’t going to hurt me.” He grins suddenly, his eyes shining with a little glint of mischievousness. “Hell, I’ve seen you eat grass,” he begins, grinning broadly as Celestia sputters, trying desperately not to spit out her mouthful of coffee. “And if you can eat grass, right out of the dirt, then I can eat a little steak now and again.”

His grin somehow grows even wider as Celestia chokes down her coffee, shooting him a look of wounded, indignant outrage. He glances at his other daughter, who has her head buried behind a fore hoof, her sides shaking as she tries to hold in her laughter.

“I was, like, 8!” She fires back at him, swiping coffee from the side of her muzzle. She furrows her brow, giving him what, in his father’s time, had been known as ‘the ole stink eye’. “And I was curious!”

Unable to contain herself any longer, Luna lets loose, leaning back and bellowing laughter at the ceiling, her eyes screwed tightly closed. Her father chuckles, an insufferable grin wreathing his features.

Celestia leers sidelong at Luna, a sinister smile quirking the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re laughing at, sister, you did it too.”

Luna’s cheeks grow hot, her mirth subsiding into hiccupping chuckles. “I thought…thought it smelt good…” she mutters, face abashed.

The three tuck in, and Ryan enjoys his steak, pointedly ignoring the pointed looks his girls point his way. As he savors his final bite, he leans back with a long and contented sigh.

Sipping her coffee and watching him, Celestia gives a reproving, if not entirely serious, little shake of her head. By now she and her sister both know that their father is not going to change his ways, and as often as not anymore, these little exchanges were more about giving him a hard time than actually trying to change his eating habits. Ryan shrugs at her, grinning cheekily. “Don’t blame me, dear heart. It’s just the way that I’m made.”

She snorts into her coffee cup, draining the last of the ambrosial liquid before floating it over to the counter. She shares a look with Luna. “Just the way you’re made dad,” She deadpans “You have no control over it at all.”

Standing with a stretch, Ryan begins clearing the table. “Yep, if you want to hold somebody accountable, you blame God or Darwin, and leave me out of it.”

Luna stands slowly, gathering up her plate and utensils. “Really?”

“Yep.” Ryan says again, turning on the sink faucet. “I didn’t come up with the design.” Waiting for the water to get hot enough, he grabs the coffee pot and offers it wordlessly to them. After a brief moment they both nod their heads yes, and he splits up the remaining coffee between their three mugs. “If I had come up with the design, I’d be taller, that’s for sure.”

Luna snorts, shaking her head. “You’re already tall enough dad.”

Picking up a plate, he begins scrubbing it in the steamy, sudsy water. “I’d be broader through the shoulders, too.” He gives Luna a little grin, waggling his eyebrows up and down. “Women like that sort of thing, you know.” She snorts a chuckle, depositing the last of the breakfast dishes on the counter next to the sink.

Taking up a red and white striped dish cloth in her amber magic, Celestia begins drying the dishes as her father hands them to her. Luna bustles around behind them, wiping down counters and straightening up. Celestia ply’s her dish towel quietly, her mind turning. Dad’s comment, funny as it was meant to be, sticks with her, nagging at her mind for some reason. It had been a joke, just something silly meant to make her and her sister smile, but it bothered her in an odd way, and like a piece of food stuck between her teeth, she couldn’t stop picking at it.

She can’t recall ever hearing her father talk about women, other than Momma Callie, Grandma Williams, or other family members. Nor can she remember him ever discussing relationships outside of that fairly narrow scope. Thinking on it, she can’t ever recollect him mentioning so much as a pretty cashier from one of his many trips to town to run errands, no cute waitresses, nothing. She mulls it over, wondering why, and wondering why it had never occurred to her before now.

Slowly, it dawns on her that the oddness of his comment stems from the fact that she has never really connected women and relationships with her father, outside of his marriage to the mother figure she’d adopted but never known directly. In her mind, relationships were dynamic interactions, something other people had. Something, if she was being honest, she had secretly daydreamed about. Dad however, was a different topic in her mind. He occupied a different space, and the one was completely removed from the other. People on TV, and in books and magazine articles got into and out of relationships, they were dynamic until they found the right person. Dad had been married to Mom, and that was the static position he and mom maintained.

The idea that there might be a connection between the space her father occupied, and the space other people like herself occupied, was as foreign to her mind as relating stereo repair to chicken farming.

He’d always been Dad; an eternal constant. But the more she thought on it, the more she can see that that line of thinking was simple and childlike. It categorized her father as some sort of immutable object. Her father was still a person, after all. Still an adult, just as she was herself now-a-days; a regular person with wants and needs.

Wiping off the last dish and setting it in the wooden strainer, she folds the towel up with a practiced deftness and drapes it over the edge of the sink to dry. Glancing around and finding that nothing else needs to be done, she makes her way out to the living room, where her father and younger sister are already seated on the couch, the last dregs of coffee sloshing in their respective mugs. Luna and Dad seem to be engrossed in some sort of talk about the labor dispute that’s put a halt on construction of the new house; Jerry Buckhouser had called the other day, but hadn’t been willing to comment on when his guys might resolve their grievances with the parent company that owned their firm.

She hops up on the other end of the couch, not really listening to their conversation as she flicks the television on. She finds her gaze wandering absently, picking along the framed photographs scattered smartly about the walls, her mind still working over her train of thought like a dog with a bone. Her eyes find the picture of Grandma and Grandpa Williams, grinning up from folding chairs at some unnamed campground. To the left and lower is a shot of her and her sister, during what she thinks is their 8^th and 10^th birthdays. There’s a cake in the foreground, and they’re both smiling, wings around each other’s shoulders, jaunty party hats askew like small, fat garish horns above their real horns.

Closer to hand, a series of photographs, all grouped together; her father standing with Grandpa Williams and another man, standing somewhere indoors; a shot of Momma Callie standing outside their house with Grandma Williams and two other women, laughing at the camera and holding beers; and finally, a shot of Dad and Momma Callie, arm in arm behind a BBQ.

Her ears flicking idly as her sister and father’s conversation drones in the background, her eyes settle on the photo, and she begins to study it.

They’re standing on some sort of patio or balcony, she can’t tell. It looks like concrete and stucco, and although she’s not certain she guesses it might be the first apartment they lived in after they got married. They’re leaning comfortably into each other, their body language relaxed. A strong wash of sunshine falls over them, highlighting their features, which stand out in stark contrast to the severe shadows the light casts. Both are smiling broadly. The old photos still sometimes catch her off guard; Dad looks so much younger, his skin smooth, his hair a solid, deep brown.

They looked so happy together, and…right, like two pieces that fit snugly to form a whole. She looks over, eyeing her father, watching as he and her sister hold an animated discussion on the pros and cons of the workers unions of today. He looks older, his face lined and careworn, his hair has a fair amount of salt mixed into it, but he’s still substantial for all of that, still vital. In her mind’s eye she tries to picture him out on a date, sitting at a table in a restaurant, holding an intimate conversation and being charming, like on T.V., and for the life of her she can’t do it. She’s simply never seen that side of him before.

A growing feeling of guilt begins to build, slowly, inside her. Dad has always been the rock in their existence, has always been their reliable constant, taking care of them and providing, and he’d always had to do it alone. Thinking back on it, she realizes that it must have been a hard, dirty and above all else lonely job, one that he still had to do, for all that they were self-reliant. She wonders, a little bitterly, how she could have missed such an obvious thought before. Was she just that selfish, that self-centered?

Slowly, that bitterness fades. She’s not selfish, or at least not so much that such a concept would never occur to her. It wasn’t that she only saw her father for what he could provide, instead of as an actual person. Instead, embarrassingly, she thinks it’s more likely a lack of experience with the wider world outside of their home, a product of their isolation.

Blinking, she comes back to herself with a start, realizing that her sister has dismounted the couch, heading for the back room, probably to continue working on the family scrap book they had started last month. Her father stretches, back cracking, before finishing the last of his coffee. Celestia looks over to him, hesitantly.

“…hey, dad?”

He yawns, giving himself a little shake before answering. “Hmm?”

She pauses, swallowing a little awkwardly while she mentally picks over what she wants to ask. After a brief moment, she decides that bluntness is the better part of valor, and meets his eyes. “How come you never remarried?”

Ryan blinks at her, brow beetling in confusion. “…what?”

She swallows again. “Why didn’t you ever remarry, after mom passed?”

He frowns at her, uncertainty warring with confusion on his face. “Uhh…I don’t know?” He ventures, answering her slowly. Her expression falters, and a strange sort of guilt falls over her face, causing his eyes to widen a bit in surprise.

She takes a deep breath, holding it for a heartbeat before releasing it. She stares down at the seam between the leather couch cushions, studying the stitching with a downcast expression. “Is it because of us? Luna and I?” She wants to meet his eyes, but…

Ryan gazes at her with a poleaxed look, completely taken off guard. Thankfully, after a very brief moment, the pieces click together in his mind, and realization drops over him. “Oh honey,” he leans over, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her against him. She leans into him, shuffling her wings a bit. “No sweetie, that’s not why.”

She looks up at him, eyes a little wet, and he reaches over with his other hand, brushing a few stray hairs up off of her face. He smiles down at her. She opens her mouth, her question writ large across her features, but he preempts her.

“Shush. Listen...” Ryan says, falling paradoxically quiet. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out slowly as he organizes his thoughts. He studies his oldest daughter for a moment, taking in the graceful lines of her face, the soft sheen of her coat, the delicate spiral of horn lifting out from beneath the rose colored waves of her mane. She’s grown so fast, her and her sister both. It doesn’t’ seem fair.

“Did I ever tell you how your mother and I met?”

She nods, swiping at her eyes with a fore hoof. “You guys met at college, in Reno.”

“That’s right. And when I met her, I just knew, I mean knew, she was it for me.” He scratches at his beard stubble, ignoring the quiet rasp that means he needs to shave. “And when she…passed, I thought, ‘well, that’s it. There can’t be anyone else. She was my one and only.’ But I was wrong, there wasn’t just one, there were three, I just didn’t know it yet.”

She frowns up at him, brows lowering in confusion. “Three?”

He reaches over and boops her gently on the nose. “You and your sister and your mother make three.”

She giggles, pulling away from his hand and shaking her head. “That’s…really cheesy, dad.”

He chuckles, giving her a shrug. “Doesn’t make it any less true, dear heart.”

She bats at him playfully with a hoof, before her expression turns somber again. “But haven’t you been lonely?”

He shakes his head, giving her an honestly perplexed look. “How could I be lonely? I have you two.”

She pulls away, dismounting the couch before turning back to her father. Leaning in she kisses him on the cheek. “You’re a nice man, daddy.” He smiles at her, and she flashes a grin back. “You also need a shave.” She rolls her eyes at his long suffering sigh, and turns towards the stairway.

* * *

Christmas day dawned overcast and white, the frigid air motionless in the morning stillness. It also dawned with the traditional Williams family flair; hot coffee, hot chocolate, cookies, fudge, brownies, Nat King Cole and Louis Armstrong belting out the old Christmas tunes.

Presents were passed out, opened and exclaimed over. Despite his less than stellar wrapping abilities, Ryan had been listening to his girls intently over the course of the year, and had gotten them things they had forgotten they wanted, or needed. Likewise they had done a pretty good job for him as well.

After the presents came the dinner prep, which had actually been started by Ryan the night before. They cooked or finished cooking green bean casserole and mashed potatoes with gravy, hot rolls and buttered peas, fruit salad and regular salad and three different pies. The main dish was a vegetarian lasagna, crafted carefully by the girls from one of Callie’s recipes. Ryan missed his mother’s turkey, but he had to admit as they sat down to eat later, that the lasagna was damn near perfect. The girls had been fastidious as they followed the directions written in his wife’s neat hand on wrinkled paper, and it had come out better than any of them had expected.

The end of the evening found all three comfortably spread across the couch, a couple of blankets thrown over the lot of them. A Christmas Story played on the T.V., while Ryan and Celestia sipped their beers. Luna occasionally levitated a glass of wine up off the end table, from next to a large bowl of mostly unmolested popcorn. They had made it more out of habit than an actual want to eat something. Nobody wanted to eat after the shameless gorging that had been dinner.

As they watched Ralphie and his family and their issues with a questionable lamp – Miracle on 34^th Street was queued up next – they all, without realizing it, are inwardly musing over the same thing, each in their own way.

Taking a sip of the perfectly chilled Riesling in her glass, Luna, in a languorous, comfortable way, muses on how it feels when they’re all together like this; Christmas night, bellies full, all snuggled up together on the couch. Her family, and by extension her world, feels secure and full of warm light.

Celestia, after eyeing the bowl of popcorn for a moment and deciding against it, reflects on how well she and her sister did with their father’s presents this year, and how good the lasagna turned out. It was their first year cooking the whole thing from start to finish, and they had definitely nailed it. That it was her mother’s recipe makes her feel sad, but happy at the same time, and she feels connected to the other parent she’s never known. Comforted, in knowing that some of her traditions will carry on through her and her sister.

Ryan is likewise musing on traditions, and a sense of accomplishment. The girls had loved their gifts, they had been able to work through Callie’s lasagna recipe without any problems, which pleased them more than they let on, and now here they were, the old movies playing on the television. Stretched out in that comfortably tired way you get from too much food and just enough alcohol, that way that you just know means that you’ll sleep great when you finally do give it up and go to bed. This right here, all together, all warm, all content, this is what Christmas is for Ryan, what it’s meant for the Williams family, and he feels good being able to share it with his girls, to pass the traditions down and see them take to them.

Outside the snow has begun again, attempting to re-muffle the world in layers of white. Inside they sit, lights turned low, comfortably situated with each other and warm, as an old favorite plays. The feeling of warmth and security and above all, of family. It was a good Christmas, a good day, and as the night deepens behind the heavy, low hanging clouds, a good night, full of light and love and a sense of place, of belonging.

That Christmas always stayed with Celestia and Luna, a comforting balm on cold, lonely nights, remembered always fondly, as the last Christmas their family was whole.

Author's Notes:

Well, here's part of it. Apologies for any mistakes in editing. I'm exhausted, and to be perfectly honest I don't want to play anymore. My original plan was to finish everything together, and then post it all at once. Unfortunately that plan, given current circumstances and the pace of my writing, will come to fruition sometime early next century.

And so, here you go. I'll probably shift more towards a release 'em as I finish 'em sort of scheme. It won't speed anything up - I'm still doing most of my writing at work, which is a pain in the ass - but this way the few of you still around can have something for your patience, and I won't feel like I'm wasting everyone's time, including my own. Adapt and overcome and all of that.

As for the chapter, I know it's sort of 'meh', but I wanted to do one final slice of life thing before it all comes to a head, kind of one last shot of how life is for them as a family.

To my stunted thinking it makes it more impactful that way.

Chapter the Twelfth

May 6^th, 2036

Present - 11:43 AM

***SCREEEEP*** ***SCREEEEP*** ***SCREEEEP***

Shrill, strangely warbling electronic notes, followed by a long, drawn out tone, the odd frequency of the sounds almost enough to set your teeth on edge. They fade in and out, seemingly fighting against sudden, random bursts of static. The EAS alert tones, designed to grab your attention and keep it, had been repeating since they’d started the truck, but so far there hadn’t been any further messages.

Ryan had fiddled with the tuning buttons for a moment after they’d all piled in, looking for any information he could find, but it was the same on all stations. It’d been that way since the initial emergency message, instructing them to seek shelter immediately, had ominously cut off mid-sentence. He’s finally just turned the volume down, irritated at the distraction but afraid of missing out on an important update.

The engine roared, a low, throaty counterpoint to the EAS noise. The newer, more modern machine protested loudly as its usual routine of idle work and play was replaced by this frantic, panicked charge. Ryan worked the pedals, trying to maintain a steady, safe speed. His rational mind told him that ending up in a wreck, now, would be the end of them all. Deep down in his hind brain, however, there was no rational thought. Only raw, primal animal instinct. Currently, it was full of fear, full of flight, and it kept wresting control of his foot from his logical brain. As a result the engine was being constantly flooded, and then deprived, of fuel, and the electronic controllers, computer monitors, and injection system were struggling to keep up with the erratic ebb and flow of gasoline.

Thankfully, the road so far was mostly empty of traffic. They had passed a single, obviously abandoned two door coupe right after entering the highway. From the cryptic, white NHP markings scrawled on the back window, Ryan knew it must have been there at least for a few days. He glances at it in the side view mirror, sun twinkling from its dusty windshield, watching it recede into the distance. It is the last piece of normality he will experience.

He can hear the girls shifting in the camper, the open sliding window between them and the cabin lending an echoey quality to the sound as it conducts from the rear of the vehicle to the cab. The shifting has a nervous, furtive sound to it, and he resolutely eases off the accelerator again, glancing down as the needle descends slowly past the seventy-five mark to a more reasonable speed. An extra five or ten miles per won’t make any difference. Slow down, remember Callie.

This begins to run through his mind like a mantra. Slow down, remember Callie; Slow down, remember Callie. It is a drumbeat that runs counterpoint to the looping imagery in his mind; the ashen faces of the news anchors, the shaky footage of white pillars ascending from distant corn fields, scrawling across the deep blue of an early spring day, etching a terrifying geometry.

The sky overhead is becoming increasingly crowded as its usual, measured allotment of contrails is slowly replaced by erratic white lines that take odd, sharp turns and shoot off at unusual angles. Smaller, personal aircraft are starting to crowd the sky as well, more than Ryan realized lived in this part of the state. Off to his right, across the valley, he spies some sort of modern ultralight, keeping pace with what he thinks might be an ancient Cessna. Both planes are flying low and fast, weaving slightly as they power north through the already rising thermals towards some unknown destination. Farther ahead, a flight of helicopters buzzes across the horizon like a confused swarm of ungainly, pregnant bees. Only two of them appear to be military, although the distance makes it uncertain. They appear to be following three battleship grey Talon’s, the gangly, tilt-rotor military aircraft easily recognizable where the others are not.

Leaning back, one arm stretching across the seat back, he cocks his head a bit. “Are you girls alright back there?”

There is an anxious hesitation, before Celestia pokes her head partway through the window. “We’re, uh, fine, I guess.” Her voice is uneven, catching and pitching oddly. “How…how soon until we get there?”

He can hear the raw emotion in her voice, the fear, the uncertain anxiety. Ryan adopts his most reassuring Dad voice. “Shouldn’t be too much longer sweetheart. We’ll pass along the edge of town, and then it’s only about fifteen or twenty more minutes.” He glances in the rear-view, catching a glimpse of her expression. Her eyes are wide, unblinking. Her muzzle is wreathed in a tensed pensiveness, leaving her lips compressed and her nostrils flared.

Rounding a bend in the highway, sliding around the large, humped hillocks that run off at an angle to the North East, Ryan can see dark smudges rising from over the horizon, ominous marks left upon the blameless blue of the day by pillars of smoke. It’s coming from the direction of town, and Ryan feels his insides tighten up and constrict, like his body is bracing for a blow.

The last ten or so miles before the highway makes contact with Sierra Street - the road that borders the Western edge of town, and the primary jumping on/off point - is marked by a series of undulating, shallow S curves that weave their way between low hills and large gullies. The hills are more akin to large mounds than true hills, and he’s always suspected they were the leavings of the old mining trade that once boomed here in the 1920’s and 30’s. Ryan forces himself to ease off the gas even more as his visibility is reduced to curving slices of roadway, dropping his speed down to the thirty mile per hour range.

The smoke rising into the air is more pronounced now, several columns rising from the unofficial downtown, with what looks like a particularly large pillar rising from the direction of the County Commissioners office. Banking gently around a scrub covered hillock topped with the quietly rusting remains of an ancient Ford Model B, Ryan slows further, almost to a crawl. Lying on its side a hundred yards ahead is a blue and green water delivery truck, passenger door sticking straight up into the air like a stubby arm, plastic water bottles spilling brokenly from the rear.

Edging over onto the shoulder, he skirts the wreck, driver side tires bumping noisily against five gallon jugs decorated with a cartoon crab and the word ‘Kraqua’ in tropical looking letters. A glance tells him that the cab is empty, the driver nowhere in sight. There are no skid marks, no other vehicles tangled in the sagebrush lining the road, nothing at all to indicate what happened. Just a large blue-green truck abandoned on its side.

Behind he hears Luna gasp, as the two sister’s shuffle to the left side of the camper shell, cramming themselves against the window to get a look. With a final clattering of the plastic jugs skittering across the asphalt, Ryan passes the truck and pulls back into his lane, accelerating a bit. A look in the rear view shows the girls glued to the windows, eyes large as they take in the outside scenery. He has to remind himself that this is the farthest they’ve ever been off the property. It’s probably a lot to take in, on top of everything else going on.

Rounding the last hillock, Ryan slows further, passing a bright white speed limit sign. Sierra street runs mostly straight, with the majority of the sleepy little town spilling out in the middle of the scree and the sage along the right hand side of it. On the left hand side reside a small housing development, a park, and a couple of businesses, all butting up against the open desert. Sierra street had once been Armory drive, back when the highway ran right through the middle of town. An issue with flash flooding and soil erosion however, had caused the highway to be rerouted back in 1967, and consequently the only way to access the Sierra Highway now-a-days was along Sierra street.

Nosing slowly through the intersection, Ryan keeps his head on a swivel. Horns pepper the air with erratic, urgent bleats, and he can hear sirens racing away, fading as they head presumably towards the center of town, where most of the smoke seems to be coming from. Turning right, he heads down Sierra street, keeping more towards the middle and riding the dashed yellow line.

Medium sized houses march along the right hand side, neat little two and three bedroom Craftsman homes with tidy front yards and sloping concrete driveways leading to one and two car garages. People are gathered on their lawns and in their driveways, talking on phones and to their neighbors. A few seem to be packing belongings into their vehicles, but most seem to be milling about in confusion.

All of these people are going to die. The thought blazes through Ryan’s brain, and the faux-leather of the steering wheel creaks as his hands involuntarily tighten.

They wouldn’t die right away. Ryan might not be a strategist, but he knows enough to know that the town isn’t on anybody’s primary target list. It has no strategic assets, and is of no value to anyone, save those who live here. It’s what coming afterwards that’s going to take most of these people out; the fallout, the outages, the cessation of food and water and medical services that the whole world seems to depend upon. There will be starvation and disease, riots and murders. When a civilization collapses, it usually flattens all but the most hardy, or the most ruthless beneath it.

He pulls his eyes back to the road, and frowns as a minivan turns onto Sierra St., a few blocks up and heading their way, tires screeching as it corners too fast. He moves over to the sidewalk and stops, letting the speeding, weaving vehicle pass. After it’s gone he notices the people in the yard closest to him pointing and gaping. He looks at them, confused, until he hears a sweet, hesitant “Hi!” from the back of the truck, and realizes that they’re pointing at his girls. Glancing back, he sees Celestia and Luna smiling uncertainly and waving from the open sliding window in the side of the camper shell.

Ryan’s heart drops into his stomach, but then he realizes that it really doesn’t matter at this point. An older man, and the younger woman next to him, have begun to slowly wave back, the woman beginning to smile. With a sigh, Ryan checks his mirrors and pulls back onto the road, leaving them staring from their front lawn. He hears giggling from the rear of the truck, and can’t quite keep a small smile from his face. “They seemed nice.” He hears Luna comment.

The trip along the edge of town takes about fifteen minutes. They had seen only a few additional vehicles speeding along, mostly heading north, like they were. At the north end of town, Sierra Street begins to describe a long, gently curving arc as it moves to ultimately merge with the Sierra Highway, meeting up with it as it flows around gentle hills, before sweeping north again. Ryan slows as they approach the merge, rolling to a bumpy stop as the passenger tires cross the rumble-strip and onto the right side shoulder.

A semi sits jackknifed, crossing from the highway and part-way into the merge. A light blue sedan lays on its side, partially under the cab of the truck. Skid marks stand out clearly against the dark grey of the asphalt, telling a short, brutal story. The driver of the car, probably panicked, had entered the highway and had been t-boned by the truck. Skid marks spool out behind the semi, weaving and overlapping. There were none behind the car. The sedan hadn’t tried to stop, probably because its driver hadn’t seen it coming.

“Daddy, why have we…oh…” Celestia, her voice trailing off as she picks out the wreck in front of them. She swallows once, and her voice is quiet. “Can…can we get around?”

Studying the road, Ryan nods. “Yeah, we can skirt it pretty easily. It’s a soft shoulder, but we’ll be alright.” There’s no smoke coming from either crashed vehicle, so at least they won’t have to worry about a fire as they creep by. Ryan punches the button for 4-high, and crosses the oncoming lane, bumping over the opposite rumble-strip as he gains the shoulder.

He hears Luna clamber up next to her sister, a quiet gasp escaping her as she takes in the wreck. “Why isn’t anyone here to help them? Where’s the ambulance? Where’s the cops?”

The tires dig into the loose gravel and soil that line the side of the road with a low grumbling sound, and Ryan makes sure they’re moving alright before he quietly answers. “There’s no one to help them right now honey.” To their right, another flight of helicopters rumbles through the spring morning, angling towards the east.

Behind them, from the center of town, the first strident, wailing banshee shrieks of the town’s fire whistle begin to color the air.

* * *

Earlier That Morning - 7:50 AM

With a bleary eyes and a huge yawn, Celestia ambles into the kitchen, nostrils flaring at the scent of fresh coffee and warming toast. She smiles sleepily at Luna, who’s watching the coffee brew with a quiet, tired intensity. “Morning Luna.”

“Good…” Luna’s reply is split by a jaw cracking yawn. “…Morning, sister.” A dark blue coffee cup floats lazily next to her, a picture of a cartoon owl emblazoned on its side.

Grabbing a mug for herself and pouring in her creamer, Celestia sits next to her sister on the cool kitchen tile, her own mug floating gently in an amber aura as she settles in to wait. The coffee drips and drizzles and spits and gurgles, the pot filling at a slow yet steady pace.

A rush of water sounds from the pipes in the ceiling; the toilet flushing. “Dad’s up.” Celestia notes absently. Her sister Hmm’mmm’s quietly beside her, her horn flashing alight as the toaster pops on the counter. Bread and butter and a knife begin a slow waltz within an azure glow as the coffee pot finally tops off. Celestia’s own horn comes alight, as she fills her and her sisters coffee cups, the pot spinning slowly back towards the machine as the fridge glows with a soft golden hue, the door opening and disgorging the gallon of milk from the shelf.

With absent minded precision the two sisters set about a simple breakfast for the family as they sip their coffees; cereal, milk, toast, and sliced fruit. The food items are crowded onto the counter as neatly as they can be. Just as Luna places the silverware at the end of the line, Ryan walks into the kitchen, slippered feet almost silent.

“Morning girls.” he mumbles, absently brushing each with his hand as he arrows for the delicious black liquid that’s quietly filling the kitchen with its heavenly aroma. Filling a mug, he stands aside and sips his coffee as the two sisters gather their breakfasts together. When they’ve finished and turn towards the kitchen table, he fills a plate with toast and fruit.

As he takes his place at the table, the T.V. flickers to life, a golden hue briefly surrounding the remote on the countertop. The three sit quietly, silently munching on their food and taking increasingly large sips of their beverages as the weather report plays sedately in the background.

Swirling her coffee with a tired, almost meditative focus, Luna flicks an ear towards the counter, catching the last of the seven day forecast. “Should be warm again today.” she tells her coffee cup. Ryan and Celestia mumble their replies. The three had been up late the last two nights, either working, or trying to catch up on work missed due to an impromptu camping trip. Their weeks were like this a lot anymore, the three member family working together to tackle upkeep, divvy up chores, and work on both the families finances, and their project.

It normally left them feeling pretty tired and worn down by the time the weekend rolled around but all three also felt a sense of accomplishment, and a sense of togetherness. They were draining weeks, but also very satisfying in a way that none of them could really voice aloud.

Eventually the three begin to liven, and with a twist of her neck and a loud crunching-pop, Luna looks over to her older sister. “Do you need the computer this morning? I’d like to check a few things with the Day-Run account.”

“Worried about that dip in the market?” Ryan asks, popping a piece of mellon in his mouth.

Luna turns his way, dabbing at her muzzle with a napkin. “Not really. I just want to check some of the account settings, mostly. Besides,” she sips her coffee “we’re not really that invested in the tech start-ups.”

“I just need to check some emails first, then it’s all yours.” Celestia replies absently, stirring her cereal before taking a bite. Chewing, she looks across the table. “I think Jerry’s crew might be close to starting up again.”

Ryan raises a skeptical eyebrow, pursing his lips before answering. “I’ll believe that after it happens.”

Celestia shrugs absently, stretching her back. “We got an email from Core Construction’s resolution department. It sort of reads like they’re about to strike a deal.”

“I still think we should cancel the contract and go with my idea.” Luna adds, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin.

“Even if we could get full value for the land, which I doubt, what are we going to do afterwards?” Celestia asks archly, eyeing her sister.

Luna sips her coffee, settling herself before she answers quietly. “Buy a place in Bocca.”

“How exactly do you see that working out, dear sister?” Celestia asks incredulously.

Ryan lifts his hands up, catching their attention and forestalling what is starting to become a routine argument. “Nope, not this morning girls. I’m too tired.” He looks pointedly at his younger daughter “We are not selling everything and moving to Florida.” Celestia shoots her younger sister a victorious look, which Luna answers with a half-hearted glare.

“Besides, “ Ryan continues, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, “I’d look terrible in a speedo.” Both girls adopt disgusted, almost offended expressions at the mental imagery, and he chuckles.

This particular disagreement had become somewhat common place in the Williams household. Luna, fed up with the way the contract kept getting stalled, was beginning to believe that they should just sell the whole thing and start again fresh, with a new, more reliable contractor.

Celestia was of the mind that, as they’d already sunk a rather large amount of time and money into the project and new house, they’d be better off just seeing it through to the end. Although he could strongly emphasize with Luna’s point of view, Ryan tended to fall on Celestia’s side of the argument more often than not. It was a tempting idea though…

Shaking her head to clear it of the abhorrent picture, Celestia sighs resignedly and glances across the table at her father. “You’re still planning on sanding the front porch today, right daddy?”

Ryan gives her a blank look for a moment, before his eyebrows lift. “Oh right, I am.” He upends his mug, draining the rest of the coffee and rising from his seat. Turning towards the counter, he looks back over his shoulder at his girls. “Anyone want me to top them off?”

Both alicorns nod, and he returns with the pot, refilling their cups. “What do you two think about sandwiches from Mike and Miguel's for lunch?” His question is greeted with enthusiastic nodding, and he smiles as he empties the last of the coffee into his own mug. Mike and Miguel’s was a deli that had opened up in town a few months prior. Their sandwiches were already a favorite, and not just in the Williams household.

He glances at them nonchalantly. “Of course, before we get to any of that, we’ll have to unpack the camping stuff and put it away.” He nods towards the living room, where their saddlebags, panniers and other assorted camping detries have been sitting in an undignified heap for two days.

Luna moans dejectedly. “That’s not fair, you can’t dangle Mike and Miguel’s in front of us and then demand something like that.”

Ryan laughs, taking in the similar, sour expression plastered across Celestia’s face. “Who’s idea was it to go camping in the middle of the week?”

They both groan this time, and he laughs louder. “Oh, quit being such babies. Do what you need to do this morning, and then we’ll all get started.” He turns back towards the counter, reaching towards the coffee machine to return the carafe. “I’ll run into town about eleven-thirty and we can do lunch, and maybe we can watch…”

He trails off, pot still in hand as his eyes glance at the T.V. next to the sink. The sound is turned low, so he hasn’t really been hearing anything other than a background drone. This makes the bright red ‘Breaking News’ banner across the top of the screen even more jarring. His eyes automatically begin scanning the scrolling ticker beneath the anchors desk as he absently reaches for the remote.

‘...ald Fogleman, U.S.S. Clifton James And U.S.S. Ray Davis Reportedly Damaged / Sunk ...US 7th Fleet Surging From Sasebo Japan And Chinhae S. Korea...President Returning From Martha’s V…’

“Dad?” Luna calls, noticing his sudden change in demeanor. “Dad? Are you alright?”

Squinting at the rolling lines of text, his brain trying to fit the words into the context of his morning, Ryan presses the up-volume button on the remote, the morning anchors voice growing louder.

“...started with the shooting down of a Russian fighter by Turkish forces three days ago has since escalated in a series of increasingly alarming clashes along Turkey’s northern border with Russian occupied Georgia. Turkish outposts and facilities have been facing increasingly heavy bombardment from Russian and Chinese coalition forces in the beleaguered region, which culminated in the firing of several cruise missiles by NATO warships against border positions in Georgia and Armenia, from which it's believed most of the artillery fire was coming. Now, in what seems to be a direct escalation by EAP forces…”

Quite hoof-falls announce Celestia and Luna as they step to either side of their father, eyes glued on the well groomed anchor displayed on the small screen. “What’s happening?” Luna asks, her tone worried.

“...was presented as a routine naval exercise, EAP vessels in the East China Sea launched a massive barrage of cruise missiles after opening fire on nearby NATO observer ships early this morning. As of now, at least three US destroyers are believed to be either heavily damaged or destroyed, in addition to two British vessels and a Greek cargo ship...”

Ryan glances to his left, and then his right, taking in the alert nervousness plain on his girls faces. He sets the coffee carafe on the counter, and then puts his arms out, resting a hand on each girls withers in as comforting a gesture as he can.

“...missiles appear to have targeted anti-aircraft sites, defensive installations, and coastal bases along the Taiwanese Straight, and our news desk is now receiving reports of a massive air and sea assault by Chinese forces...” The screen cuts to a shaky cell phone video, showing terrified people flooding night darkened streets as explosions blossom in the distance like hellish fireworks.

Celestia looks up to her father, fear and worry tightening her features. “Daddy, what…”

Ryan tries to return a level, in control expression, rubbing her neck with his hand. “I don’t know honey.”

* * *

Present - 12:05PM

Traffic seemed to pick up the further out of town they got. What had initially started as a mostly open road had begun to slowly crowd as they moved steadily northward. Surprisingly, most of the traffic seemed to be taking it easy. Vehicles were stopping along the shoulder in little groups, collections of confused and scared people trying to figure out either what was happening, or what they should be doing.

Occasionally some panicked driver would come flying by, heading one way or the other; an older woman in a blue SUV weaving around slower moving traffic and probably doing eighty-five, a young couple on a crotch rocket who decided to use the shoulder to pass an RV and almost clipped a middle aged man getting out of a grey sports car, also parked on the shoulder.

All in all, the whole thing was very surreal. Ryan can hear the muffled sounds of movement from the camper, the girls shifting back and forth. They couldn’t stand up back there - they were much too tall - and the best they can manage is either a sort of bent legged straggle, or shuffling around on their bellies. At least he’d had the forethought to layer blankets over the truck bed, back when he’d first installed the camper shell. It had to be better than banging their knees on the bare metal.

“Why are all of those people stopped?” Luna’s voice drifts up. Ryan glances in the rearview mirror, and sees her pressed against the side window, peering out. “I dunno,” her sister answers, moving awkwardly over beside her and taking a look herself. “...maybe they don’t have anywhere to go?”

Ryan returns his eyes to the road, and brakes sharply. The girls tumble and exclaim from behind him as he slows to a stop. Ahead of them is a small knot of vehicles, bunched up around the remains of a brown UPS panel truck and a white FedEx panel truck. They had suffered a partial head on collision, and the two trucks looked like they were in the process of slowly chewing on each other in the middle of the highway. The UPS truck’s back doors had swung open, and brown and white packages littered the roadway.

Idling, Ryan eyes the scene for a moment, noting the group of people clustered around the two delivery drivers off to the side. He also notices three people on their cell phones, two filming the scene, and another couple of guys who are trying to direct traffic around the wreck.

Ryan stares for a moment, unable to comprehend why these people are all just milling about. It’s a scene out of everyday life, and the only thing out of place is the lack of emergency vehicles. Ryan glances down at the radio, twisting the volume knob just enough to be able to hear the squealing, screeching tones of the EAS system still warbling over the airwaves. He pushes the knob in and mutes the radio.

A large, burly guy in a rock band t-shirt waves at them, directing them over, and Ryan edges around to the right, passenger side wheels leaving the pavement and running through the soft, sandy shoulder with a hiss as they pass him and the milling group of good samaritans.

Once they regain the highway, traffic thins out considerably, and for a time they have the road to themselves. He can hear the girls shuffling forward, towards the cab, and Celestia pokes her snout through.

“How much longer until we’re there?”

He glances in the rearview for a moment, noting that Luna is crammed in right next to her sister at the window. “Should only be about ten or fifteen more minutes, sweetheart.” He checks the empty highway behind them in the side mirrors. “We’re pretty close now.”

“Why aren’t people more...panicked?” Luna asks hesitantly, trying to put the offness of the whole situation into words. “I mean, most everybody seems to be confused, but aside from a handful of people running around, it all seems...a lot different from T.V.”

“There was the smoke back in town, and the sirens.” Celestia offers, glancing sidelong at her darker colored sister. “Plus the way everyone is pulling over…”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t there be more...I don’t know, running and screaming? Or like, maybe shooting or something like that?”

Ryan clears his throat, catching their attention. “I think…” he trails off, taking a second to check his mirrors again. They are now completely alone on the highway. It’s deceptive, the bright blue of a beautiful day, sun shining down, wispy clouds forming over the mountains to the west. “I think maybe it’s because of how remote we are. We’re pretty far from the larger population centers, sweetheart. I’m sure it’s a lot worse the closer you get to the bigger towns and cities. But there’s still all the air traffic,” He gestures out of the drivers side window, where another group of helicopters is flitting passed in the distance “and the emergency system is still running.”

He reaches down and flicks the radio back to life. The strident, urgent ***SCREEEEP*** ***SCREEEEP*** ***SCREEEEP*** fading in and out through static, looping endlessly. He lowers the volume again, reducing it to slightly annoying background noise.

Luna turns her head, glancing out the passenger side window at the sunlit desert sagebrush flowing past. “Maybe it was a...a false alarm, or something.”

Celestia snorts once, shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure it’s not a false alarm Luna.”

Undeterred, Luna ignores her. “...maybe…” Luna falters, licking her lips. Swallowing dryly she continues a little more firmly. “Maybe it isn’t as bad as it seems. Maybe everyone stopped, and thought about it for a minute. Maybe they all pulled bac...” Luna cries out in surprise and terror. She is echoed by her sister and father.

Light blooms, far to the north, instantly washing out the interior of the truck, growing so bright so quickly that it is blinding in its terrible incandescence. “Look away!” Ryan screams, eyes tightly closed as he follows his own advice, turning his head and attempting to shield his face with his arms. “Look away and get down!”

The truck begins to weave, and Ryan just barely has the presence of mind to take his feet from the pedals, causing them to begin to slow. The light burns his skin, feeling like a million watt sunlamp on his face and arms even through the windshield. As the hellish flare begins to fade away Ryan squints his eyes, head turned and peering out of the driver side window, seeing the guardrail, roadbed and scrub brush outside the cab in a violent contrast of blinding white light and almost pitch black shadow.

Keeping one arm up he grasps with his other hand, fumbling with the steering wheel, attempting to keep them straight while he feels for the brakes. Before the first burst of light has entirely faded away, however, a second flares, seeming more brilliant, causing the girls to shriek from their prone positions in the truck bed. Ryan jerks involuntarily, trying to simultaneously grasp the steering wheel and bury his face in the crook of his elbow, and the truck veers sharply to the right, brakes squealing loudly before the vehicle smashes into something with a crumping of metal, and the deceptively bright, tinkling sound of shattering glass.

* * *

Earlier That Morning - 10:20 AM

“...with active engagements by both Russian and Chinese forces in support of the North Korean offensive...and now it looks as if we are receiving word that President Whitmoor will be making an announcement from the White House in just a few moments.”

Ryan, Celestia and Luna had watched the emerging coverage from the kitchen television for about ten minutes, before decamping to the living room and its larger, more robust T.V. Now all three were sitting side by side on the well-worn, plush leather sofa, as close to shoulder-to-shoulder as they could get. It was an unconscious posture that none of them noticed, save for the vague feeling of comfort it brought.

On the T.V., in bright, vivid colors, various video clips played, mostly showing handheld footage of the DMZ that ran across the Korean peninsula. The clips were very disorienting, and mainly seemed to highlight distant explosions.

The reporter speaks quietly to someone off screen for a moment, before addressing the camera again. “We now go live to the Oval Office for the Presidential address.”

The camera cuts to an image of a silver haired man in a rumpled looking suit. Seated behind the Resolute Desk, President Whitmoor adjusts his maroon tie, a pained expression momentarily deepening the creases in his lined face before he schools his expression back to stillness. “My fellow Americans,” he begins, folding his hands neatly on the desktop.

“He looks awful” Luna says quietly, her wings fidgeting a bit.

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees, “he looks like he's aged ten years.”

“Ten years at least.” Celestia chimes in.

On the T.V., the President clears his throat. “In the last seventy-two hours, the world has seen an act of overwhelming hostility, unprecedented in our history. Using the incident in Turkey as an excuse, the charter members of the East Asian Pact have, with deliberate misdirection, launched an all out assault against our friends and allies in Asia and Europe, shattering the tenuous and hard fought peace of the region, and indeed threatening peace throughout the world.”

The President takes a deep breath, exhaustion coming through loud and clear despite his best efforts to hide it. “We cannot...we will not, accept this state of affairs. World peace, and nothing less than our very way of life, are at stake. It is with these thoughts in mind that, after consultation with and overwhelming approval by Congress, that the United States will join with its NATO al󠄂lies in issuing a formal declaration of war against the constituent states of the EAP. As of this moment, we have…”

He trails off as a concerned looking man wearing the uniform of a military attaché quickly ducks in from off camera, whispering something into the president’s ear. More people begin to crowd into frame, talking in low, urgent voices as a look of shocked disbelief begins to dawn over the President’s face.

The television cuts suddenly back to the reporter, a dapper looking man in a neat black suit and tie. The reporter looks up from his tablet and into the camera, licking his lips uncertainly. He opens his mouth, hesitates, and as he does so a pit opens up in Ryan’s middle, a dark, yawning chasm of worry and uncertainty and above all, fear.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” he trails off, swallowing as he slides his tablet aside and absently shuffles papers on his anchor desk. “Ladies and gentlemen, this news station has just received a report of a series of massive explosions in the East China Sea. They originated off the coast of Zhejiang Province, where major elements of the US 7th Fleet were deployed to provide support to the embattled Taiwanese defenders...”

He pauses, holding a hand up to his ear piece and listening as if his life depends on it, before becoming animated once more. “...and now we’re hearing similar reports from key military installations in Alaska, Greenland, Poland, and Turkey...We are being told that these military facilities, among other uses, are primarily home to elements of NATO’s Ballistic Missile Defense System. It is believed at this time that these explosions may have been the result of the use of tactical nuclear weapons...”

Suddenly Ryan is very, very cold. His mind reels, and for a bad couple of moments he is very dizzy. Giving his head a firm shake to clear it, he glances to his left and right. Celestia and Luna gape at the television, wings dropping, eyes wide and disbelieving. He studies them, and all he can see in that moment are two scared little fillies, all alone and unprotected, as they were when he first found them.

Slowly, his eyes turn back to the screen. The reporters voice has faded, becoming a murmur of words, droning sound with no meaning. Large, capital letters scroll across the news ticker at the bottom of the broadcast. “...ONAL EMERGENCY...NORAD DECLARES DEFCON 1...NATIONAL EMER...” Above, increasingly animated, the news man begins gesturing erratically, only to be replaced moments later by what looks like a video shot from the front yard of someone’s farm. Silos and other buildings dot the fields of corn that seem to run off towards some hills far away. Suddenly, bright, flickering lights begin to ascend in the distance, riding on long, white plumes of exhaust, carving straight lines up up up into the blameless blue sky.

The news anchor has become an unfocused, blurry noise in the background, and the whole world seems to go quiet. All Ryan can hear is his breath rushing in and out of his lungs. He blinks, slowly, and notices for the first time that Luna is speaking to him.

“Dad? Dad?” Her large, beautiful teal eyes look up at him as he turns to her, full of fear and confusion. “What do we do?”

Before he can answer, the news broadcast is interrupted by a series of loud, strident, screeching tones. The screen flashes to black, and the words ‘NATIONAL ALERT’ flicker at the top. An eerie, robotic voice begins speaking as words scroll unnoticed across the bottom of the screen. “This is an Emergency Action Notification...Confirmation of a probable nuclear attack against the United States has been received... This is not a drill...Immediately seek nearby shelter...Immediately seek nearby shelter…”

Ryan is on his feet suddenly, with no clear memory of deciding to stand up. He looks at the camping gear stacked by the front door. “You girls go upstairs. Grab warm clothes.” His voice is firm, brooking no argument. He turns and looks at his younger daughter. “Luna, I want you to grab everything useful from the medicine cabinet. Grab some towels, too.” He looks at his oldest daughter. “Tia, I want you to grab the winter gear and my small tool kit from the closet.”

Celestia and Luna look up at him with large, shock filled eyes. Celestia swallows loudly. “What are we…” Her voice is hesitant, and he cuts her off with a look.

Kneeling down, he reaches out, cupping Luna’s cheek with his right hand, and Celestia’s with his left. “Girls,” He looks from one to the other. “We need to get going. We don’t have a lot of time.” They look at him with lost expressions, and he tries to smile encouragingly. “Go, get what I asked you to. Don’t rush, but don't’ dawdle either. You don’t want to forget something we’re going to need.” He leans forward, kissing first one cheek, and then the other.

“Go, meet me down here in ten minutes.” The two sisters share a glance, and then turn away, moving towards the stairs at an uncertain pace. He watches them climb towards the second floor, a large hollow in his chest. He spins around and begins laying out and organizing their camping gear.

As usual, it’d been left in a heap. All of them loved camping, but none of them enjoyed the clean up when they got back home, putting off the chore for as long as possible. This time their procrastination was a boon, and he thanked whoever might be listening that they’d never managed to break the habit. He opens pockets and pouches and panniers, doing a rough inventory as he goes. Their most recent trip had been cut short by a freak windstorm, and so their supplies were mostly still intact.

As he absently listens to the clatter of the girls moving around overhead, trying to track their progress, he grabs the cardboard boxes from the pantry that were reserved for their non perishable camping goods. Repacking several of the bags, he looks over his work, nodding in approval. A thought occurs to him, widening his eyes, and he deliberates for a moment, before jogging back into the kitchen to snag something from one of the cabinets.

Stuffing the item into the bottom of Luna’s camp bag, he lets his gaze wander the living room, mind trying to think of anything else they might need. His eyes come to the coffee table, and he stares at it. Laying in the middle of a scattering of loose pictures is a photo album. He almost dismisses is, but then looks at it again. It was a side project that the girls liked to work on while watching that incomprehensible show about time traveling rednecks.

With a snort, he crosses the room in three strides, sweeping the loose photos in between the pages of the album. Closing it, he returns to the camping stuff, making a space for it in the pannier. He looks up as the girls descend the stairs in a clatter of hooves, each carrying bundles.

Luna pulls up short. “We got everything Dad.” She says, a little breathlessly.

Ryan gives them his best smile. “Good job. Now, let’s get this stuff packed and get to the truck.”

Setting her collection down, Celestia gives him an uneasy look. “We’re going to the construction site?” He nods, and she gives him a searching stare, before nodding towards her camping bag. “We should pack the clothes in the other pocket.”

They all look up as the emergency message steadily repeating on the T.V. suddenly cuts out, replaced by silence.

* * *

Present - 1:25PM

Thickening storm clouds were piling up over the mountains to the west, dark and ominous, sending tendrils and streamers marching across the towering peaks on growing gusts of wind. Carefully, Ryan turns left off of the highway, crossing the oncoming lane and bumping over the rough transition from paved roadway to dirt track. About a hundred feet up from the highway a metal gate crosses the rocky, unfinished lane. Not seeing the length of chain that normally secures it closed, Ryan noses the gate open gently with his truck, stopping briefly to allow it to swing fully open on squealing metal hinges full of dust.

The wind begins to pick up as he crosses the fence line, blowing handfuls of grit against the side of the vehicle in sporadic, rattling bursts. Ryan follows the dirt road away from the gate as it describes a broad, gentle S curve, swinging first to the right, around clumps of sagebrush and scrub grass, and then bending back the other way around a low, broad hill.

The hill could accurately be described as a foothill, as that’s what it was. One of the first of many that humped the area around them, and began to cluster and grow in size as they ran towards the foot of the mountains. Fifteen minutes after he’d nosed the gate out of the way, and about forty-five minutes after he’d managed to run them off of the side of the highway and into the left-hand post of a mileage sign, they’ve finally arrived.

Ryan pulls into the broad, mostly leveled area nestled up against the backside of a rather large hillock, slowing to an idle for a moment as his eyes roam the scene. Off to the right sits the new house, for what it was worth. The frame was up and completed, but the skeletal looking beams were only partially clad in plywood, leaving it looking more like the picked over carcass of some poor beast than a future home for he and the girls.

Stacks of plywood and lumber, and plastic wrapped bundles of insulation lay arrayed along one side, beneath the empty eye sockets of the unfinished windows. The sight pulls at Ryan's chest a bit, the plywood sunbleached to a mottled gray and speckled in growing dark splotches, likely mold. The rolls of insulation lie half exposed to the elements beneath brittle, sun-opaqued sheets of broken plastic that flap and wave in the errant breeze. His eyes travel along where the front porch would have gone, and he sees that some enterprising soul has spray painted “All Hail Los” beneath one living room window in a red that has since faded to pink.

Ryan feels a surge of anger at Jerry and his crew, and at the company that contracted Jerry’s crew, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Then he glances at the darkening clouds north of them, and his anger subsides. Jerry’s office was based out of Fernley, just a quick jump on-and-off the freeway from Reno. If Fallon had been hit - and that’s what those twin flashes had to have been, the total destruction of Fallon Naval Air Station and Combined Forces Training Area - then there’s a very likely chance that Reno would have been hit as well. With nuclear devastation to both the west and the east of him, poor Jerry probably had a whole different set of problems to deal with at the moment.

Provided he wasn’t in Reno or Fallon when it happened. Ryan swallows at the thought, his stomach going queasy. With a slow sigh, he lets off the brake, driving past the stillborn house, past the leaning frame for the detached garage and shop, and skirts around the staked off area that marks the expansive backyard. Angeling to his left, he heads towards a steep-walled draw on the other side of the property, hard up against the angular hills that run back away from it and into the mountains.

“The boards are rotting, or molding, or something, right? That’s what that black stuff is?” Luna’s quiet voice floats into the cab, just audible above the low grumble of the tires rolling over the compressed dirt of the lot.

“Yes sweetheart. Probably from all the moisture last winter.”

Celestia sighs with a sort of quiet wistfulness from the back window. “It would have been a pretty nice place.”

The girls had been very quiet since the accident, as had Ryan. When the world had exploded ahead of them in twin flashes of brutal brilliance, Ryan had swerved off the highway. Traveling along the shoulder at an angle, they’d fetched up against a mileage sign set atop two steel posts. The sign was already listing to one side, the result of a previous collision from who knew how long ago, and so the already leaning metal post had, thankfully, given way to the front bumper with a loud metallic squeal, instead of possibly wrecking the radiator.

This bit of good fortune was balanced, however, by the fact that the previous damage had left the large green sign itself sagging on one end. And where in normal times the bottom of the sign would have maybe scraped along the top of the truck cab, in this instance it had smacked corner first into the windshield as the truck finished the job of knocking the supporting post to the ground, punching out a large chunk of safety glass into the middle of the bench seat, throwing the rear view mirror into Ryan's very surprised lap, and leaving a large column of cracked and sagging glass down the middle of the windshield in a fat, opaque stripe.

However the real good fortune was that none of them were seriously hurt. The girls had been bumped and bruised a bit, but were otherwise fine, and the worst that Ryan had was a darkening bruise from the seat belt and some shallow cuts along his forearms from little, sharp edged cubes of safety glass. A blessing of the low speed of the impact.

They pull up in front of the sheer rock faces that make up the entrance to the draw, roughly one hundred and fifty yards away from the aborted house. The draw itself runs off to the north-east, up steeply into the hills and away. A meager stream straggles its way out of the mouth, angling off to be absorbed by the arid soil. The draw is not their goal, however.

Set back into the rock face, deep enough to make it look like a natural feature at first glance, while also keeping it partially sheltered by the overhang, sits a large, circular steel hatch. Reminiscent of a bank vault, but somewhat about half the size, Ryan can just pick out mellow highlights gleaming from the shadowy alcove, kicked back by the oily looking metal. Throwing the truck into park, he kills the engine, and the three of them sit in silence for a moment, contemplating the entrance to the shelter as the wind begins to pick up.

“OK,” Ryan begins, unbuckling his seat belt, “Let’s get everything moved in.” He glances in the rear view as the restraint slithers back into its holder with a muted click, and sees both girls regarding the shelter door through the side window of the camper. He twists around, eyeing them through the open pass-through. They are twin approximations of nervousness apprehension, equal parts fear and uncertainty held in trembling check. He clears his throat, startling Celestia and catching both of their attention. “Girls, let’s get to it.”

Luna nods hesitantly, before taking a deep breath and firming her resolve. Celestia likewise nods slowly, and beneath the general anxiety of the situation, he can see a growing look of unease as she meets his gaze. The growing dis-quietness in her eyes kicks up a turbulent ball of foreboding and guilt in his gut, which he studiously tries to ignore.

Within minutes they’ve all dismounted the truck, and the camping bags and panniers settle into the still dusty soil in the sheltering overhang. Ryan studies the steel portal for a moment. The door is mostly featureless, save for the large rivets spaced evenly around its periphery, and sits flush within the rectangular steel frame that’s embedded directly into the surrounding sandstone. There’s a large, squared off pull handle near the left hand edge, and set a little off center in the round edifice is an old fashion looking crank wheel, secured from moving by a length of chain that loops from it through a steel pad eye at the edge of the frame. A big, serious looking padlock secures the chain, and Ryan lifts it with one hand while he fumbles his keys from his front pants pocket.

Unlocking it, he pulls the chain free with an abrasively loud, metal-clinking before tossing it to one side, out of the way. Throwing a quick glance back at Celestia and Luna, he grasps the crank wheel and begins spinning it, ears straining to pick up the silky smooth sounds of bolts receding quietly into their receptacles. After about a dozen rotations the wheel hits its mechanical stop with a clang, and the door swings ever so slightly outwards. Grabbing the handle Ryan hauls back, and six inches of layered steel and ceramic composite open nearly silently on recessed hinges.

Darkness yawns before them, and Ryan fishes a maglight from the camping pannier. Flicking it on, they cross the threshold and step into the shelter. They step from what is still the dry, warm air of spring day rapidly losing its promise, into the shocking coolness of the dark interior. The change is startling, and they pause near the entrance, twenty feet of tunnel carving away from them on a mostly straight course, save for the small dog-leg it takes about mid-way. Ryan hears a rustling behind him from the girls saddle bags, and two more beams of light click on, stabbing through the darkness.

Ryan hasn’t been in the place for some time, not since Jerry and his crew walked off the job. The girls, it dawns on him, have only ever seen pictures and construction plans themselves. It was shaping up to be quite a day of firsts for them, he thinks with some bitterness. The place has an incomplete feel to it, which makes sense, as it’s only half finished.

The entrance passage is wide enough for the three of them to stand side-by-side without feeling too crowded. Walls of naked rock rise to a height of roughly ten feet, to meet in a curved ceiling of rough stone. The floor is made up of interlocking hexagons of lightly textured concrete. Where the floor meets the walls, a squared off lip of cement rises about four inches. Cutouts and hollows lend it a gap-toothed appearance, forms and recesses designed to accommodate conduit, pipe fittings, structural pieces, and to help hold when the walls and ceiling were eventually sealed, one of the final phases of the project that will now never be completed.

Ryan glances behind him, and the girls shoot him identical looks of uncertainty. He forces his most reassuring smile and waves them forward, until they stand on either side of him. Tucking the flashlight into his armpit, he reaches out to lay a comforting hand on their necks. “Here we go.”

The trio walk slowly ahead, following the passageway up and around the bend, foot falls and hoof steps echoing dully in the dark. Before long the passageway opens up into the main chamber. To their right, the concrete hexagons end in an irregular, zig-zagging line that crosses the width of the chamber, giving way to sandy looking soil and marking where the flooring phase of the project had been halted. Across the soft dirt floor two dark openings reveal themselves in the bright beams of light, a wide one which seems to split into two other chambers, and a narrow one which branches up and away from them.

Across from them and off to the left, the irregular chamber wall leads to another narrow, branching tunnel full of darkness, situated next to a smooth concrete wall, set about six feet back. Studying it for a few moments produces the distinct impression that it was a smallish chamber or alcove that has been sectioned off. An empty doorway in the middle of it leads back into further darkness.

The sound of gusting wind comes dimly to them from the entry passage, and a metallic rattling from overhead pulls their gazes up towards the steel vent enclosures set at regularly spaced intervals in the chamber’s ceiling - portions of the half-completed ventilation system that was designed to feed, eventually, out to the surface. Ryan takes a deep, steadying breath, and begins leading them towards the sectioned off chamber.

Within is a smallish room, with an open area in the front and a back end divided up into three stalls. Originally intended to house HVAC equipment that had obviously not been installed, it was the most completed section of the entire, aborted project. Ryan hesitates for a moment, and then sets the camping bags he’s carrying on the dusty concrete. “OK,” he looks back at his girls. Luna is studying their surroundings with a look of trepidation painted on her face, her flashlight swinging here and there as it bobs in an azure glow. Celestia is staring at the middle stall, the largest of the three, her flashlight aimed steadily straight ahead, her eyes large and wet. Every so often they flick up to Ryan, before returning to the dim, grey space.

Ryan swallows. “OK, this is the spot.” He drops what he’s carrying, gesturing with his own flashlight. “This is the most protected part of the whole cave.” He bends and starts checking the bag at his feet, tightening straps and tugging buckles. “You’ll be shielded by cement, which is shielded by rock, which is buried beneath a lot of earth.” The pannier is still as secured as it was when he originally closed it up. Releasing a breath, he straightens back up and turns towards them. “This is where you girls will bed down.”

Luna glances into the gloomy, cell like room. With a sniff she levitates her saddlebags over to sit in a corner of the space. Celestia shoots him another look, and he can see a stark, depthless fear in her eyes. The knot of guilt in his middle tightens, and his stomach begins to sour. He motions, and she slowly steps into the stall, turning back around to face him. Her eyes are huge, her magenta orbs seeming to drink in every speck of him they can.

Distractedly, Luna steps in next to her sister, giving her a confused glance as she gets turned around to look back out. She stretches out her hind legs one at a time, and then glances at her father. “I guess it’ll have to do. Where are you bedding down, Dad?”

Ryan’s resolve begins to crack, and he breathes in deeply through his nose. He opens his mouth to answer, but Celestia speaks before the words can form. “He’s not.”

Luna looks at her, brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Face expressionless, save for huge eyes which remain locked on Ryan, Celestia answers in a quiet, toneless voice. “He’s not staying.” Her whole body sags slightly, as if the words had replaced all her joints with jelly on their way out. She sucks in a breath, half gasping, and a shudder runs down her length.

Luna’s expression of confusion deepens, and she squints at her older sibling. “What do you mean?” She turns her gaze on Ryan, and the look on his face causes her puzzlement to be replaced with a growing alarm. “Dad, what does she mean?” Ryan returns her look with a face full of guilt and resigned sadness, and she takes a trembling step toward him, the alarm in her voice building, highlighting her growing look of panic. “Dad? Daddy? What does she mean?”

Ryan studies them for a moment, taking in the fear and near hysteria on Luna’s face, and the blank, expressionless face of Celestia. Luna’s teal eyes, full of bewildered dismay, and Celestia’s rose colored eyes, full of bleak, heartbroken understanding. He breathes deep, exhaling explosively, and then kneels before them. “Luna, honey. I can’t stay here with you.” Her eyes widen, and she jerks back slightly as though struck, her breath quickening.

Celestia nods once, slowly, and then settles down into a seated position on the gritty cement. Her saddle bags shift with her, laying uncomfortably against her croup, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She blinks slowly at her father. “You knew this would happen.” She states, voice quiet and emotionless and just so horribly empty that for Ryan it’s like being stabbed in the belly.

Ryan shakes his head. “I knew that it was a possibility.” He chuckles weakly, and the sound echos flatly in the enclosed space. “I didn’t know it would happen like this. I hoped…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely for a moment before dropping his hands again. “But it doesn’t really matter what I hoped, not anymore.”

“But we can stay here.” Luna’s voice is full of dismay, tinged with a growing dread. “We can all stay here. There’s food, we can find water…” Her eyes are beginning to roll wildly around, bouncing from her father to her sister to the roughly finished ceiling overhead. “We have enough supplies…”

Ryan holds up a hand, and she falters, tears beginning to run down her muzzle in damp streaks. He scoots closer to them across the scratchy floor. “Honey…” He trails off, drawing a deep breath before sighing dejectedly. “Girls, I could stay.” They both perk up a bit, but a certain wariness shades their expressions. “I could stay, and we could try to make this work, and if we’re really, really lucky, we could eck out another five or six years before the end.” They both flinch, but he muscles on, each word feeling like a punch to his chest. “This isn’t going to die down for a while, not with all the money spent on automated systems and dead man switches and third strike capabilities…” He fetches another deep sigh.

“When it’s all finally said and done, the world is going to be poisoned for decades. Maybe even longer.” He shifts slightly, looking from one alicorn to the other and back again. “The land will be barren, what little food and water remains will be contaminated. There will be survivors fighting for resources. There will be disease. There will be endless fallout, and a nuclear winter that will last for who knows how long.”

“So, we could make a go of it, and like I said, if we’re very lucky, we’ll get another five or six or maybe seven years. Years where every single day is a life or death struggle, with zero certainty that we’ll live through it to see the next one.”

They’re both crying a little now, small, quiet sobs that leave damp trails along their muzzles. He reaches out with both hands, his left cupping Luna’s cheek, his right cupping Celestia’s. Just like when they were small. “I want more than that for you two. I want you to have a chance to survive, to make a new life for yourselves.” Tears were beginning to paint faint, cold lines down his own cheeks. He takes a deep, deep breath of the chill, musty cave air. “This is how it has to be, dearhearts.” A corner of his mind notes, with an absent sort of pride, just how calm and reassuring his voice is. “This is the way you two survive.”

A sound fills the cavern, a distant, distorted roaring which echos strangely through the incomplete vent system and into their odd little redoubt. Celestia glances upwards, they all do, and when at last the awful noise fades away, she looks back to her father.

She studies his face, just barely suppressing the panicked, drowning feeling that fills her chest to overflowing. She takes in the worn lines around his eyes, the haggard yet determined countenance, the carpet of stubble just starting to sprout after this morning's shave. She burns his visage into her memory, eyes tracing the way the reflected glow from their flashlights throws him into partially indistinct shadow. He looks both wonderful and terrible at the same time, and a part of her absently worries about what the stress may be doing to his health.

“H...ow Daddy?” her sister asks, voice catching. “How is this supposed to work?” Celestia looks over at her younger sibling, noting that Luna looks about how she herself feels.

A look of dawning comprehension bloom's beneath Luna’s despair, and she returns her older sisters look. Celestia’s eyes widen, and her wet gaze swings back to her father. “You want me to use the petrification spell.” A lost sort of quality has replaced the flat, tonelessness of her voice. “Just like the rabbit.”

“That’s right, sweetheart.” He smiles sadly at her. “You said the amount of power you put into it effects how long it’ll last, right?”

She nods in reply, that awful, helpless drowning feeling somehow getting worse.

“And it works on things, like the bags and supplies.” She nods again.

“And on yourselves.” Remembering how she’d tested the spell on her and her sisters feathers and hoof shavings and clipped off samples of mane, she nods a third time, feeling like she's tumbling end over end down down down into pitch blackness.

Her father swallows roughly, fingers gently massaging her cheek through her coat. She can smell the scent of his soap, and his aftershave, and sweat and dirt and beneath it all the basic himness that is her Dad. She closes her eyes tightly, pushing her face into his palm and inhaling as deeply as she can.

“I want you to use the spell, Tia Marie, and I want you to give it as much power as you possibly can.” His voice is broken, and she opens her eyes to look at him again. His gaze shines damply in the diffuse glow of their lights.

She and her sister move at the same time, almost as one, and her father is caught completely off guard. In moments he is seated on his butt, back against the roughly textured concrete wall, as both Celestia and her sister hold to him with a panicky tightness. Celestia pushes herself as far into his side as she can, head against his breast. Her position mirrors Luna, who’s curled into his other side. His big arms come around and pull them even closer, threatening to squeeze the breath from her.

The three sit like that, an occasional sob the only sound to intrude. For how long Celestia doesn’t know, or particularly care. None of them are willing to risk breaking the moment, staving off for as long as possible what will follow.

Eventually, however, she pulls her head back, looking up to him. “How are we supposed to survive without you, Daddy?” Her voice is a breathless whisper, quavering in the asking, and she feels the huge, irrevocable finalness of the situation pressing down on her, threatening to crush her beneath its dark, unfathomable weight.

Luna pulls back as well, her tear matted muzzle turning to likewise look up at him. His smile is gentle, melancholy and heart wrenching. “You’re my girls.” He says quietly, blinking water out of his eyes. “You, both of you, have the brains, and the talents, and the skills, to figure it out.” He squeezes them again, briefly this time. “And you have each other. Between your minds and your magic, you’ll figure it out.” He leans down, kissing first Luna on her cheek, and then Celestia.

He takes a shuddering breath, and nods towards their bags. “You should have everything you need to get started in there. Most of the camping stuff, plus the extras you guys grabbed before we left.” Celestia and her sister follow his gaze, eyes lingering on the bags. “What…” She gulps, trying to dislodge the question from her throat. “What about you?”

Her father chuckles, a genuine sound, and both she and her sister turn back to him. “I’ll be fine, dearheart. Once I know you two are safe, and secure, I’ll be fine.”

Luna looks at him beseechingly “But what about all the things you said…”

“No more questions.” He cuts her off, a little sternness entering his voice. He nods towards the bags situated in their dim alcove. “It’s time girls.”

“Can we wait…” Celestia pulls in a shuddering breath, her wings ruffling miserably. “Can we wait a little while longer?”

He looks down at her, fresh tears running down his stubbled cheeks. “Oh sweetheart…” He trails off, chest hitching, and hugs them tightly. “If we take any more time, I’ll never be able to let you two go.” He sniffs, releasing them and leaning back. “I don’t think I’ll be strong enough to.” He kisses them both again, and then nods towards their spot in the stall. “Up with you now, both of you.”

Celestia smiles sadly, recognizing his patented ‘Dad’ voice. She and Luna share a look and then the both slowly rise, moving back a few paces to give their father some room. He stands, swiping halfheartedly at the seat of his pants, and the three of them slowly enter the stall space.

Her father gets them situated, laying near each other, legs tucked beneath them, tails curled around their rumps. Then comes the bags, her father positioning them near, then repositioning them. After a lot longer than the action warrants, he finally steps back, swiping at his eyes with a shirt sleeve. He nods to them, and tries a grin. “Alright...alright. You two are as set as you can be.” He falters, and Celestia see’s just how close to breaking he is. She shares a teary-eyed look with Luna, who nods slowly.

Celestia feels herself entering a sort of spaced out, disconnected frame of mind, and fights against it. This is really happening, and she won’t allow her brain to protect itself by unplugging from the situation. Oh no no no, oh God why… she struggles internally, forcing her thoughts away from the gibbering fear and despair and the fathomless, bottomless sense of loss that threatens from the edges of her mind. By pure force of will she keeps herself focused on the here and now. These are literally her last moments with her father, and she will have them crisp, and clear, and forever burned into her memories.

Blinking once, and then again, she finally nods at her father. “Okay.” She tries to swallow, and oh lord she’s never been so thirsty before. “Okay dad. I think we’re ready.”

Her father smiles sadly, his fidgeting hands finally going still. “Alright.” he says again, nodding back. He crouches before them, gently holding Celestia’s face with both hands, tilting it so she meets his eyes. “I love you, Tia Marie.” He kisses her gently on the forehead. Turning, he does the same to her sister. “I love you, Luna Bell.” He kisses her forehead as well, and then stands slowly, taking a few steps back. Celestia’s breath catches in her throat, and she sees that her father is crying openly. “You girls have made proud. The proudest dad who ever was. And I’ve never once regretted a single bit of it.” He wipes at his nose with his hand, sniffing loudly. “I love you girls.”

“I love you daddy.” Luna’s voice is quiet, broken by an odd, hitching sob.

“I love you too, dad.” Celestia’s voice is no better than her sisters.

Her father nods again, still wearing that sad smile. “Give it everything you have, Tia Marie.”

Celestia closes her eyes, dimly aware that Luna is doing the same besides her. She focuses, opening herself up to that terrible, wonderful, ever present heat, and for a third time that awful day, the world becomes blindingly white.

* * *

Ryan lowers his arms, the blinding golden-white light from his eldest daughters horn finally fading. Blinking his eyes to clear them, he looks anxiously towards his girls, and his eyes widen in both wonder, and a bit of horror.

Celestia and Luna both lay as they were, resting on the dirty concrete, legs folded neatly beneath them, tails curled around, but changed. Instead of the soft, deep azure of Luna’s coat, and the downy alabaster of Celestia’s, instead both are the soft grey of a thunderhead. He takes a couple of steps forward, marveling at them. He can still pick out the individual hairs of their coats, the strands of mane and tail, even their eyelashes. His eyes narrow, and he can just faintly make out tiny wisps of steam rising from Celestia’s horn.

Unable to help himself, he pokes at Luna’s nose, noticing the smooth, almost slippery feel of it. Much different from the rough, grainy texture he was expecting. It’s as if they’ve been carved from polished grey marble by an exceedingly detailed hand. He does a check, and sure enough all of the camping supplies have the same, finely hewn look to them. He steps back until he reaches the far wall, and slides down it, heaving a deep sigh as he settles heavily to the cold concrete floor.

He sits in the clammy dimness, studying them. He’s not sure what he’s looking for. Partially, he thinks he’s worried that they might reanimate right away, that maybe Celestia got something wrong. Mostly though, he has to admit to himself, he just doesn’t want to leave them. Now that they’re here, and the deed is done and they’re safe, the thought of just leaving, of walking back through the heavy steel door and back to his truck, of driving off and leaving them here in the dark, is hard. Incredibly hard. Just a few more minutes his mind whispers to him, a few minutes longer isn’t going to hurt, just watch them...you’ll know they’re safe so long as you watch them...

Eventually, after struggling with the feelings that swell and crash within him like waves, eyes drinking in the details of his two daughters, he rises creakily, favoring his bad knee.

He has to let them go. It feels as though he’s been sitting for days, but in reality couldn’t be longer than an hour or two. Pausing to stretch, he walks back to them, leaning down to press a final kiss against their cool, silky smooth foreheads. Tears begin falling unnoticed from his eyes as he straightens up. “Good bye, dearhearts.”

He lingers for a moment longer, and then walks back out into the cavern, foot falls crunching softly through the grit and dirt that cover the concrete floor tiles. The weight of just how alone he is falls across him, and he sobs once, quietly. They’ll be okay now. This is the best way for them to survive. He repeats to himself, over and over again. His part in their story is at an end, and even though it is the hardest thing he’s ever done, he knows they’ll be alright. Deep down, somehow, he just...knows.

Fifteen minutes later, heavy steel portal secured but unchained, Ryan stands by his battered truck, taking in the sky. He’d taken some time to pile brush and tumbleweeds in front of the door, beneath the overhang, and weighed it all down with some large rocks. From a distance it looks like any other part the the landscape, and you’d have to walk right up to it to see the steel hatchway. It’s far from perfect, or even permanent, but it’s better than nothing, and the hatch wasn’t that visible from out here to begin with.

To the north he can see a dim, orange glow. It peeks up from over the horizon, ominous and dreadful, the funeral pyre for Fallon, the Naval Air Station, and probably much of the surrounding area. The wind whips past him in restless gusts, and he glances up at the storm clouds overhead, thick and black, steadily advancing out from the west without end.

He breathes deeply, and fancies he can pick up the scent of wet char on the fitful wind. His eyes sweep back to the shelter door, his mind on the precious beings inside it. He wishes he’d said more to them. Wishes he’d been able to lift the enveloping veil of his emotions long enough to piece together something more meaningful. Sighing again, he opens the driver side door, his eyes catching on a bright rectangle of yellow.

An old legal pad lays across the front seat, probably thrown up there from the back during the crash. He contemplates it for a minute, mind turning. Making a quick foray into the seatback pockets, he lays out several items beside the notepad; a half crushed box of Ziplock brand Vac-Bags, a tube of aluminum foil, sans-box, and a battered roll of duct tape. All leftovers from various trips and chores. He nods, stretching across the seats to fish a pen from the glove box.

Thunder cracks in the distance, and a drop of water hits his forearm. Wiping it off, he rubs the water between his pointer finger and thumb, frowning at the odd look and gritty feel of it. Another lands on his hand, and he sees that the water is almost black. Brushing his hand against his shirt, he turns back to his notepad. Overhead, thunder cracks again, closer this time, and the rain begins to fall in earnest.

* * *

Later

“Tia, Luna, time for dinner!”

“Coming Daddy!” Twin, sweetly pitched voices from around the front corner of the house, excited and out of breath. Ryan stands in the front doorway, ears even now picking up the faint but rapidly approaching clatter of hooves running along the dirt and gravel. He looks outward, the waning daylight already painting the front yard in the fiery hues of the setting sun, the cool, comfortable July air wafting almost lazily against his arms, neck and face.

His contemplation is broken by the huffing and puffing of two breathless fillies as they finally round the corner of the house, slowing to a tired canter as they make their way to the front porch and up the steps. He smiles down at them, taking in the streaks of dirt and mud, broken here and there by irregular clean lines and patches of sweat. They’re going to need baths tonight before bed.

“Girls,” he starts, trying to keep his smile out of his voice. He has to be Dad, after all. “Girls, you’re filthy. What in the world were you two doing?”

Luna looks up, still panting, an earnestness in her eyes so sweet it’s almost heartbreaking. “We were farming Daddy. We had to irrigate the crops!”

Despite himself, Ryan can’t keep a chuckle from escaping. “And what were you farming, dear heart?”

Tia smiles up at him, brown streaks of half dried mud marring her face and coat. “Wheat and grains!” She declares brightly, before her smile is replaced by a somber expression. “Those are the staple crops.”

Chuckling again, he reaches down to further muss her already disheveled mane. “That’s right sweetie.” He straightens, a contented sigh leaving his lips. “Come on, let’s get you two washed up.” He looks out over the yard again, wondering a little at how the sunset seems to wash everything in orange and pink light. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow. It’s beautiful, but even with the bit of altitude they have it’s still a little warm.

Motioning to the door, he follows his two girls into the living room, rolling his shoulders a bit uncomfortably. It’s warm in the house, too. He’ll have to button the place up and kick on the air conditioning after he gets the girls ready for dinner. He takes a breath, detecting the slightly unpleasant odor of sweat, and something else he can’t identify. The girls must have been really playing hard if he can smell them already.

Musing for a moment, he glances about the living room. Where are the girls? Looking around, he spots them gazing out the front window. “Girls, come on, we need to get you cleaned up.”

“Daddy, the lights not right.” Luna replies quietly, not looking at him.

“What? What are you two looking at?”

“Daddy, the lights too bright.” Tia whispers at him, eyes intently focused on the front yard.

Frowning, Ryan wipes more sweat from his face. How did it get so hot in the house? It’s July, but the temperature up here has been pretty mild all week. Shaking his head to clear it, he walks over towards the girls, trying to ignore the unpleasant smell, with the intent on putting an end to this foolery. Dinner’s going to get cold at this rate.

He reaches Celestia before he notices the orange glow highlighting her face. Wiping more sweat from his eyes, he studies her for a confused moment, his gaze dancing over the bright limning that picks out her features, before he turns his head slowly to the window. The front yard has changed since he walked in a few seconds ago. The sprawl of white and gray gravel, the willow trees, his truck, all of it is bathed in a bright, red-orange light. He stares, feeling his stomach start to go queasy. Everything outside the house is bathed in a furnace glow.

“Daddy, you don’t look so good.” Luna’s voice, sounding strangely far away.

Ryan blinks, and pain seems to fill him in an instant. He doubles over, hands on his stomach, his joints suddenly feeling like they’ve been filled with ground glass.

“Daddy, are you alright?” Celestia’s voice, not concerned or afraid, but echoing, as if she’s speaking from the end of a long hallway.

Sweat streaming down his face, Ryan slumps to his knees with a strangled cry, breathing in the thick, cloying odors of old sweat and sickness and blood. Slowly, he falls over onto his side, his stomach a churning, nauseating mass at his center. The light gets brighter, and he squeezes his eyes closed, his vision blurring and his skin on fire.

“Daddy, I think you’re sick.” Luna’s voice, echoing distantly.

“Daddy, I think you need to rest.” Tia’s voice, echoing distantly.

Pain

Ryan blinks awake, consciousness returning to him all at once, as if someone had flicked a switch. He stares dully out through the living room window, feeling languid waves of disorientation wash over him, his mind sluggishly trying to sort out the difference between dream and reality. He’s sitting in a kitchen chair he’d dragged out into the front room, shivering despite the sweat coating his neck and beaded on his face. Outside the window, the world is slowly being erased.

The rain had turned to snow sometime around the afternoon of the second day, after he had bleakly returned to the house. Fat flakes of listless gray falling in an ever growing torrent, piling outside the living room windows, the once pristine white crystals stained by the ash they unwittingly carry. Ryan sits before the window, discarded blankets lying pooled around his legs like the shed skin of some strange animal, watching the joyless downfall as it works silently to entomb the outside world. He’d dug out the blankets when the power had died, thinking to keep warm, but he didn’t need them now. He was already warm, hot even, his body enclosed by a slowly baking heat that leaves him nauseous, making it difficult to think.

Three days. Three days since his world came crashing to a halt, the familiar, uncertain path that he and his had been traveling falling away into a bottomless pit right beneath their feet. His eyes feel grainy, dry and unpleasant in their sockets in a way that blinking doesn’t seem to help. His breathing is harsh and labored, his breath rattling on every inhale, every exhale sounding like the shaking of padded chains in his chest.

The dream floats through his mind, and for what feels like the thousandth time in the last few days his eyes seek out the muffled shape of his truck, still sitting at an angle in front of the porch where he’d left it. His girls are safe, as safe as they can be, but no matter how many times he tells himself that there’s nothing more that he can do - that going back and opening the door to the shelter would actually expose them to danger - his gaze inevitably returns to his pickup.

It’s steadily disappearing beneath the growing drifts, mounds of powdery slate building up against the tires, spreading slow tendrils towards each other and reaching for the undercarriage. It’d probably be completely covered by now if it wasn’t for a spurious wind that seems to snap and howl at irregular intervals, scattering the loose powder and helping to freeze the larger piles. He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in as deeply as he’s able, coughing wretchedly as he breathes out.

Opening his eyes again, he deliberately looks away from his vehicle, focusing instead on the growing piles inching their way across the front porch. He knows he can’t go back, can’t do anything more, certainly can’t sit sentinel and guard the entrance like he’d fleetingly considered. He knows that to be a fact, but still…

He burns to go to them, to embrace and protect them, to see to it with the last of his fading strength that they remain safe.

He burns with fever, a sick heat that radiates outward from every square inch of his failing body, drying his eyes, his throat, making normal thought difficult.

He looks back across the yard, still able to pick out the leaves on the oaks. The grey snow sticks to them, standing out in stark contrast against their summer green, and his mind begins to wander in the heat of his fever.

Grey snow doesn’t seem right, doesn’t seem true. Snowfall is supposed to carry with it memories of sledding and snowball fights, winter holidays and great, gaping stillness, Good, meaningful times. This surreal, grey mess stands as an affront to all of that, a negation of every pleasant memory he can recall. It’s the ash that makes the snow look so dirty, just like the black rain that started all of this, and as his heat baked mind process this thought a macabre curiosity fills him.

It’s ash in the snow, most likely what’s left of California. The ash from people, from things, from trees and forests. That’s what’s filling his yard and burying his truck. How many buildings is he looking at right now? How many cars, how many big rigs, how many boats?

Could he be looking at the remnants of the Golden Gate? Or even the 49ers stadium? Part of the Hollywood sign, right in his front yard? His eyes crawl over the encroaching, lifeless snow, taking in the grey, taking in the ash, his mind turning sluggishly. Whole cities gone. Whole cities, houses and apartment complexes and parking garages and office buildings, all gone, leaving only the ash. How many people dead so far? How many dying right now? How many families could he be staring at…

He leans over suddenly, vomiting loudly between his feet and trailing off into a series of dry heaves when he’s rid of the meager contents of his stomach. Breathing shallowly, he leans against his knees, eyes squeezed tightly closed as he rides out the spasms, waiting long minutes before it finally seems to settle once more. Blinking his eyes slowly open, he sees a distressing amount of crimson streaking through the bile and half digested food on the floor. With a shuddery sigh he rises on shaky legs, half determined to get something to clean the mess up with.

Standing unsteadily, swaying, he glances towards the kitchen, the distance from himself to the doorway looking impossibly vast. Looking back down at the mess on the floor, he weakly kicks a discarded sheet over it, snorting disgustedly to himself.

He knows what’s happening to him, knows what’s going to happen. He’d known how this was going to end as soon as he’d seen the news clips, shaky footage of missiles arcing across the sky, their contrails journaling the horrific last chapter of the human saga against that depthless, blameless blue.

No, he’d had no delusions about how he’d end up, and as long as his girls were safe, as long as he was able to give them a chance, he could accept it. He’d done his job as a parent, taught them what he could, prepared them the best way he was able. It was out of his hands now, and in theirs.

He tries desperately to reassure himself of this.

Rousing out of his contemplative reverie, he throws another fleeting glance at the slowly steaming mess mostly hidden beneath the sheet, turning away from it and shuffling towards the couch. No, if he’s going to go out, he’s going to do it with as much enjoyment and comfort as he can. Angling towards the armrest he carefully leans over, reaching for the end table, partially numb fingers fumbling with the little pull knob for a moment before finally sliding the single drawer out.

Searching through old magazines, mismatched decks of cards and dead batteries that never made it into the garbage, his fingers finally reach the very back of the drawer to brush against his prize. Moving carefully, he fishes out a partially crumpled red and white pack, pushing open the top to make sure the little book of matches is still folded within.

Turning, he half sits-half drops onto the couch, wincing as he leans back against the coolness of the leather, giving his aches and pains and nausea a few moments to settle. Cautiously he tweezes a bent cigarette out of the pack, chuckling roughly at the sudden urge to check and make sure he’s unobserved.

He lights it. The smoke is harsh and stale, causing his dry mouth to flood with saliva as he inhales gently. The pack is old, but it still tastes like heaven, if heaven was made mostly out of crap. He coughs raggedly for a moment, before resolutely taking another drag.

He should feel guilty about having hidden the pack in the end table, lord knows he did when he stashed it there in the first place, but at this particular point in his life he’s finally beyond guilt. Hell, at this point he feels pretty strongly that he’s earned a smoke. Guilty or not however, he is rather glad that the girls aren’t here to see it.

Closing his eyes he relaxes his body, enjoying this simple pleasure even as it causes him to cough, his already damaged lungs protesting. It hurts, everything hurts, but he’s damned if he’s going to put it out until he’s done with it. Besides, it’s not like he has to worry about getting cancer anymore.

Laughing to himself in a rusty voice, he feels his mind clearing a bit, his senses returning to him as the semi-delirium he’s inhabited these past few days begins to lift. He knows he can’t return to the shelter. He’d never make it in his current state, and even if he could, what then? The girls wake up in seventy or one hundred years and the first thing they see is the skeletal remains of their father?

His girls are as safe as he can make them, and when they wake up, it’ll be up to them to take care of themselves . And that’s all there is to it.

Sighing softly, he feels the worry and stress leave him, and he finally accepts everything, not just his own fate, but the girls, the war, the end of the world, the fact that it doesn’t matter what he does now. The entire situation currently at hand. In all honesty it feels liberating in a way he’s never experienced, filling him with an almost Zen-like feeling of peace.

With an amused smile, he reaches over, crushing the last of his cigarette against the top of the end table. Looking at its remains, he decides he’ll have another one, and maybe a beer to go with it. The power might be out but it’s cold enough that the contents of the fridge should still be pleasantly chilled. Leaning forward he attempts to stand, getting almost all the way upright before his knee gives out. Spinning a little he flops gracelessly onto the floor with a weak cry, pain radiating throughout his body and causing his head to spin.

He lays there, right arm pinned beneath his body, left arm flopped partially up on the couch, his eyes closed tightly as he rides out the pain and nausea and unpleasantness washing through him. After a while his dizziness passes, his lurching stomach mostly settling back into its correct place, and he opens his eyes, vision roaming over the dim landscape hidden beneath the couch. He see’s layers of dirt and dust, broken up by the occasional feather or tangle of hair. He exhales, blowing little clouds of particulates around in eddies of breath, and his eyes spot something. Craning his neck slowly, he notices a clean rectangle of color, bordered in white.

He studies it for a moment, thoughts starting to churn and bubble sluggishly again, and finally he brings his left arm down, sliding his hand through the mess and grasping it with trembling fingers.

Pulling it closer, he sees it’s a picture, and after some confused consideration he comes to the realization that it was from the album he hastily packed for the girls. It must have slipped off of the table during his scramble to get everything together and ended up underneath the couch.

Holding it close to his chest, he closes his eyes, silently marshaling his strength before rolling over and weakly sitting upright with a pained grunt, resting his back against the couch as he fights off another wave of dizziness. When the room finally stops spinning again, more or less, he gazes down at the picture, a small, wistful smile blooming on his face.

It’s from his birthday, sometime recently too, maybe two, three years ago. In it he’s sitting, a broad grin on his face as he holds up a large, brightly wrapped package for the camera. Celestia and Luna sit on either side of him, wearing those pointed cardboard hats that he always found silly, smiling beatifically as they each embrace him with a wing. Just around the border of the picture is the barest hint of bluish light, almost like some strange sort of lens flare. Luna’s magic, subtly caught on film as she had manipulated the camera and snapped the photo.

Sadness washes over him as he stares first at the picture, and then through it, his mind traveling back in time, to a place he used to live only a few short days ago, where he was Dad and his whole world consisted of two odd, beautiful, wondrous girls, whom he loved more than anything. He sniffs, blinking moisture from his eyes.

He’ll never see them again. He’ll never see them completely grown up, never be there for them when they’re scared, or nervous, or uncertain. Never hear their laughter or grow exasperated with them, never endure another lecture about his health, or be there with the answers to their questions.

The loss floods through him anew, compressing his chest and making it even more difficult to draw breath, and with it the uncertainty comes flooding back again, trying to drown that brief, tenuous moment of peace, pulsing away in his brain like a second heartbeat.

Will they be O.K.? Did he pack them enough, did he prepare them enough? Did he tell them everything he needed to?

Could he have done better? Could he have made better plans, or taken better precautions? Their whole lives had been inside this house, in the trees and brush and hills and valleys of this property. They’d never really been outside, never been somewhere else. Could that have been a mistake? Could he have found someone else, another person to share the secret of their existence with? Another person to help them grow, to give different opinions and answers to their questions, to prepare them?

Doubt worms its way through his clouded thoughts, reaching with slick tendrils to squeeze his heart in his chest. All their lives they’d been so sheltered, so isolated from everything normal. It had seemed right at the time, had seemed like the best way to keep them safe, but had it been, really?

He peers closer at the photograph, eyes focusing and dancing, absorbing every little detail. His hand trembles as he begins to feel the chill in the room. Callie had been the best thing to ever happen to him in his life, and for a time he had believed that she would be the last good experience he would ever have, that there was nothing left for him in this world. And then he’d found two strange, unbelievable creatures one day, two foals who by all rights should never have existed in this world.

Two young children who had challenged him, frustrated him, and on some occasions even frightened him. Two young girls who had started out as his secret, and had ended up becoming his whole life. They had given him purpose again, had given his life meaning, and he can’t remember at what point in the beginning days he had stopped living solely for their safety, and had started living for their love.

His breathing begins to come with difficulty, his chest rising and falling laboriously as he gazes at their smiling faces, their eyes bright with life and love, family and home. A different sort of moisture begins collecting at the corner of his eyes, and the uncertainty fades to mist, before being blown away.

They’d given him a better life then he would have ever thought possible, certainly better than he used to feel he deserved. The decisions he’d made in the past, the self doubt and maybes and what-if’s, all of it falls by the wayside.

He’d done the best he knew how to do, the best he could, and he has no regrets. He’s raised two smart, resourceful, and very capable young alicorns, and he knows deep down, in that place where truths are whispered and always heard, that no matter what they face in the future, no matter what obstacles or trials or setbacks they encounter, they will prevail, and they’ll do so together. Because no matter what right or wrong decisions he made in the past, he did his best, and his two amazing girls are all the proof needed to let him know that his best must have been pretty damn good.

He leans his head back, resting it against the couch and staring languidly at the ceiling. His hands have stopped shaking, his breathing growing shallow and slow. The chill no longer bothers him, nor does the creeping numbness in his arms and legs alarm him. In fact it seems to be sapping the pain away. A grey-black haze has begun to obscure the edges of his vision, and he brings his dimming gaze to rest on a framed picture hanging on the wall across the room. In it he sees a younger version of himself, dressed in a very dapper black tuxedo, his arms wrapped around the slender midsection of a beautiful, fire haired woman in a traditional white wedding gown, her striking emerald eyes sparkling with happiness as she smiles with him at the camera.

Ryan studies the portrait for a moment, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips as he remembers that day, before his eyes unfocus suddenly, seeming to see something else entirely. He frowns, shaking his head a little in confused negation, his left hand clutching the recovered photograph to his chest, and then understanding dawns over his expression.

His hand slides downward to rest limply on his stomach, and a slow smile begins to spread across his haggard face, tired yet full of recognition, and joy. He sighs, a deep, abiding feeling of absolute peace coming over him, wrapping around him like a warm blanket as his sight begins to fade and the numbness creeps steadily up his neck. He takes one, last shallow breath, his eyes beginning to glaze, and speaks in a croaking, broken voice that’s full of wonder, relief and most of all, recognition. “Ah. Hello again, my love…”

Author's Notes:

This chapter was surprisingly difficult for me to begin, and later on for me to finish. I guess after so long (and holy shit has it been a long time, how do you people put up with me? Why have you people put up with me?), it was difficult to take the last step, moving the characters from a place where they could conceivably still live, what is for them anyway, a normal, happy life, and transition them down the path towards the conclusion. This story’s alway been in the back of my mind over the years, one way or another, and I guess it’s hard to say farewell to it. So if it seems like the final bits are annoyingly drawn out, it’s because I am terrible at saying goodbye, I guess.

Fun fact: I wrote Ryan’s death scene quite a bit ago, and I had a good, long think as to whether or not I should keep it here when I’d finished this chapter. But hey, it was already written, mostly edited, it gives closure for Ryan, and it also has a half-assed sort of link to the bonus chapter, so why not? Never let it be said that I’m above murdering my own creations.

Chapter the Thirteenth

There was nothing, not even darkness. No light, no sound, no sensation, no feeling of the passage of time. Just…nothing at all. Slowly, infinitesimally, there came about a presence, the nascent beginnings of awareness, and that awareness, in its glacially ponderous course, noticed, just barely, that there was nothing, that there was void, nonexistence, that there was a complete lack.

It was all very odd.

In a span of time that was both instantaneous and an eternity, the awareness observed the nothingness, pondering over it, and eventually formed a conclusion; there shouldn’t be a lack. There should be something, anything. The fact that there wasn’t was very confusing. And in that moment, the awareness unknowingly created something, a feeling, which exploded outward and rapidly began to fill out the void at what was both the speed of light, and the speed of lack. Touching off other feelings, setting chains of memories and their associated emotions ablaze, coalescing into something larger.

And suddenly there was a lot.

* * *

Luna blinks her eyes slowly open, her muzzle damp and chilled beneath her teal orbs. Her vision gradually clears, and she sits very still, feeling incredibly heavy and strangely… off. Her eyes are dry, grainy and full of grit, her mind slowly turning over, trying to gain traction and failing. After long minutes, the gears mesh and slowly, slowly begin to turn, and she starts receiving the telemetry that her senses have been sending her.

The first thing she notices are the sounds, and as they wash over her she picks out a number of them, her ears twitching and flicking slowly. Most of them sound like water; drips and drops and splashes, and as she brings her growing focus to bear, she can just make out what sounds faintly like a decent sized stream, quietly echoing somewhere.

This begins to match up with the information she’s been getting from her nose; the mineral scent of wet rocks, the heavy smell of damp earth, the mossy, moist smell of green things growing, and the clean scent of water. The air is humid, with a chill to it. She blinks again, and her eyes finally begin to focus. Directly across from her is a vertical surface, all irregular protrusions and oddly patterned striations. Mostly rock, with some lichens thrown in.

It gleams wetly in spots, the dampness throwing back shimmering pinpricks from a brilliant shaft of sunlight that falls from the ceiling a short distance to her left. The ground is soft, almost spongy, and a slow glance down reveals that the floor of the space is covered with patches of moss in varying shades of brown and green, growing out of the dark loam. They have a sweet, wet-scratchy smell that tickles her nostrils.

She turns her head incrementally, her neck cracking and creaking with alarming loudness. Her sister rests beside her, head down and eyes screwed tightly closed. Luna gazes at her, brow beginning to furrow. Her sister looks wrong, somehow.

The back half of her has a dull, unfinished look, and after frowning vaguely for several heartbeats, she realizes that her sister is still stone from about the wings back. Alarm begins to grow in Luna’s befuddled mind, but before she can become too concerned, she sees that the grey, polished looking stone is receding, fading backwards like a time lapse of melting frost. It marches slowly yet steadily towards Tia’s tail at a stately pace. She looks on in muddled fascination, watching as individual hairs spring up in a slow moving wave across her sister’s alabaster back and up along the curve of her rump.

The process takes only a minute or two, the smooth, marble-like coloration retreating until it reaches the tip of Celestia’s pink tail, and simply fades away. Her sister breathes deeply, holds it for a long, long moment, and then exhales loudly. Her ears twitch, but she does not stir. Sleeping, most likely.

“That just happened to me...” She thinks sluggishly, realizing that the odd, heavy feeling she woke up with has left her at some point.

Luna blinks slowly, watching her sister sleep. She’s aware that something isn’t right, that something’s missing, but it’s so difficult to think. Everything is foggy and disconnected, just a series of impressions and vague feelings with no meaning. There’s no context for why the sound of water is out of place, or how the look and smell and feel of this... wherever they are, the feel of time passing and great age, seems wrong.

The vague notion that there’s something missing is worrying, but she doesn’t know why. She blinks, then blinks again, more slowly. Each time her eyes take longer to open. Distantly, deep down inside, she knows that something bad has happened. Something so unimaginably big and awful that she can’t even see the shape of it, can’t even begin to process it. If she could just get her brain to start working right…

She blinks a third time, then a fourth, and this time her eyes do not open again. Her breathing deepens, and her head slowly sinks down until her chin rests against her breast. Her sister snorts from beside her, and Luna answers back with a low, nasally snore.

* * *

“Daddy!”

Celestia awakens with a start, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Where the hell was she?

From her left her sister surges to her hooves, wings starting to flare, teal eyes wide with panic. “Dad!” She yells, her voice echoing strangely from their surroundings, her gaze sweeping back and forth erratically. “Dad where are you?”

“Luna…what’s going on?” Celestia tries for a calming tone, but her voice comes out cracked and harsh and barely audible. Her mouth is dry, her throat feels like it’s been lined with dirty stones. Next to her Luna spins this way and that, hooves throwing up little clods of wet earth, her expression frantic, and Celestia knows that she’s just moments away from complete panic, from bolting.

Giving her head a firm shake, trying her hardest to dispel the cobwebs, she stands shakily, her joints popping and cracking. She tries taking a step forward, gritting her teeth at how stiff she feels. “…Luna…”

“I can’t find Dad!” Her sister shouts, trotting this way and that with short, quick steps, eyes darting. “Daddy!” She yells, nostrils flaring and breathe hitching.

Celestia takes another step forward, trying vainly to work some moisture back into her mouth. She has to calm her sister. She’s not sure where they are, and if one or both of them lose it and gallop off blindly there’s no telling what may happen. She works her tongue back and forth, grimacing at the stale taste. “Luna, stop.” She manages, her voice husky. She clears her throat and tries again. “Luna, stop, calm down...”

“I can’t find…we need to find…” Luna begins swaying, dizzy and hyperventilating, and Celestia takes advantage of her momentary lapse to push her sister’s rump down with a quick flash of magic, leaving her in a sitting position.

“Just…just calm down, OK?” Celestia walks shakily over, sitting down against Luna with a relieved sigh. Her gaze travels around the cave, looking for anything familiar. They need to figure out where they are, and what they’re doing here. Her memory is a foggy blur, all grey indistinct shapes merging and separating into meaningless patterns.

Beside her, Luna’s breathing finally begins to slow, her hitching, frantic breathing sputtering into a series of weak coughs, before changing to a more controlled, if still distressed pacing. She looks over at Celestia, her expression frightened. “Tia, I can’t remember where we are.”

Celestia nods, her face mirroring her sisters. “Neither can I. I… remember that there’s a reason we’re here, where ever ‘here’ is.” She pauses, muzzle scrunching in a frown. “At least I think there is, I just don’t remember why.” Luna nods in turn, her gaze traveling over their surroundings.

The cave was familiar, yet alien. That was the most disturbing part. They both felt like they should recognize this cavern, should know it, but they didn’t. It was almost like waking up in the morning, only to find that someone else had completely remodeled your house while you were sleeping. You might recognize the overall size and shape, you might even see pieces of your old home peeking through, but it would be fundamentally different than the house you had fallen asleep in.

Feeling uneasy, Celestia focuses on her sister, taking a decent look now that things have calmed down a bit. “Why were you freaking out like that?”

Luna turns to look at her sister. “I…I don’t really know…” She admits, cheeks heating. “I just woke up with this…” she shuffles her wings, eyes moving to study the floor. “…this feeling, like something horrible had happened to…” She looks up, her eyes widening. “Tia…where’s Dad?”

Muzzle wrinkling again, Celestia returns a slightly perplexed look. “What do you mean? Dad’s back… home…” and with sudden, brutal clarity, the fuzzy grey outlines shrouding her thoughts vanish from existence, flooding her mind with images.

The news broadcast, the warning tones from the television. The frantic packing, the madcap flight from the house to the shelter. smoke and people on the road, and a flash, oh God, oh lord, a flash so bright, even from so far away, even with her eyes screwed closed as tight as she could make them. Her and her sister tumbling around in the camper, Dad shouting, crying out as the truck swerved…

She looks to her sister with a horrified, hopeless expression, and can see the same thoughts settling into place in Luna’s head, can chart their course by the way her expression falls, by the glint of tears that appear in her eyes.

Luna meets her hollow look, tears beginning to fall. “No. No, it didn’t happen, no, don’t…”

She looks just like Celestia feels, like the bottom just dropped out of her world, and nothing would ever be safe, or secure again, forever. She feels empty and cold, all the vast, frigid nothingness of deep space compressed within her rib cage. Luna trembles, then doubles and becomes blurry, and Celestia blinks away tears she hasn’t noticed are streaming down her own face, dripping and wetting her muzzle.

Luna looks to her for confirmation, and when Celestia slowly nods her whole body sags brokenly, as if she were held together by a series of bolts that had all been loosened a half turn. She doesn’t scream, she doesn’t cry out, she doesn’t weep loudly, she just lays down awkwardly, and tucks her head between her forelegs.

“No. No. No no no no…” Her sister mumbles in a strained tone, voice cracking. “Nope, it’s not true, it’s not true, no no no...”

With a hitching half-sob, half-gasp, Celestia collapses in slow motion next to her sister, laying stiffly down beside her on the sweetly scented loam and taking her into an embrace. After a time Luna shifts, returning it, and the two sisters lay in the dimness of that dank smelling cave, shivering and breathing raggedly as a pain and loss so large and so great it doesn’t seem real, doesn’t seem as if it can be real, rolls over them.

Time passes, and their world contracts down into a small bundle of sensations; the warmth of each other, the rustle of feathers as one of them shifts, the intake and expulsion of breath, the occasional ragged sob, and above all, a feeling of being adrift, anchorless and rudderless and completely alone. Eventually they both fall asleep in an intertwined pile of wings and legs and necks.

* * *

This time, Celestia awakens first. Blinking her eyes open, she moves her head painfully, her neck stiff and sore. Her and Luna are still laying together, but had mostly tucked themselves away, their wings the only parts still draped one across the other. Moving slowly, due both to overall stiffness and a desire not to disturb her sister, Celestia carefully makes it to her feet, taking a moment to stretch each leg and wing, and finally twisting her neck until the gross cracking stops. Giving her head a little shake to clear the strands of her mane that have fallen across her eyes, she looks around.

She gazes at the cavern walls, then up across the ceiling. It’s hard to believe that this is the same cavern cum shelter that they had gone to sleep in. The change is remarkable. The smooth expanses of concrete are gone, subsumed by an irregular, craggy surface that she guesses is made up of dirt, dust and mineral buildup. The sound and smell of water is everywhere, which would explain part of it. She wonders if this place gets a lot of runoff, or possibly floods during stormy weather. Her eyes linger on the crooked opening in the ceiling above and in front of her. Wan sunlight streams through, casting an almost orange hued illumination. She assumes she’s looking at the remnants of one of the metal sheathed ventilation shafts. She studies the light falling through it. It could be morning or evening right now.

Morning she thinks, and doesn’t question her surety.

The overall shape of the stall is still there, the doorway that once was an empty rectangle in the concrete now a fuzzy but mostly still recognizable hole leading out into the cavern proper. She glances back, and her eyes pick over the strange shape of the ground mosses. They grow in erratic, uneven mats and lumps, except for two spots near the back.

There, the growth curves in regular lines around empty ground. In some areas, it grows up into smooth backed humps that start out on the ground and seem to weirdly stop a few inches in midair, like they were growing against the glass side of an aquarium. She studies it for a moment before she realizes that those are the two spots she and her sister occupied, and the shapes that she’s seeing are where the moss grew around, and in some cases, started to grow up over the top of, their sleeping forms. She imagines a stone statue of herself slowly consumed by creeping growths until just one eye remains uncovered, and shivers involuntarily.

Glancing down, she sees her sister is still sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Dad always said that Luna cold sleep like the dead when she wanted to, and he liked to joke that…no, no not yet. Her mind shies away from the memory, her entire body tensing up. She’s not ready to face the loss of her father and her home, not right now.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, she sighs tiredly, giving her head a shake and turning towards the mostly still rectangular opening in the wall. She steps out into the main chamber of the cavern. Three more shafts of early morning light stream down from the ceiling to splash across the cavern floor. Their spacing is regular, and they form a straight line.

Together they’re enough to bring the cave from pitch black to a hazy sort of grey illumination. The sound of the stream is louder out here, and the floor beneath her hooves is rocky and uneven, a mixture of what looks like sand, gravel and dirt. She picks at it with a hoof and finds little bits and chunks of concrete that crumble at her touch.

To her right a crooked spur runs off for maybe three feet, ending in a jumble of fallen rock. To her left the main chamber opens up into a roughly elongated space, short, stubby stalagmites and stalactites grow in little, random bunches. Glancing behind her, the stall area blends in almost seamlessly with the natural rock it’s carved out of. Next to it is a rounded opening, what she remembers was supposed to lead back to the living quarters. The sound of rushing water echo’s out from the darkness within it.

The other half of the main chamber is gone, blocked by a slanted, jagged mound of broken rock and dirt. It must have caved in long ago. The entryway looks clear enough, and she wanders down it, around the little dogleg in the tunnel and finally to its end. It’s much dimmer here, and she focuses on the tip of her horn, squinting when harsh white light suddenly erupts from above her head. She frowns up at it for a moment, eyes going a little crossed. It’s not normally that bright when she does this spell.

The outline of the main door is still visible, although it looks like the surrounding rock has started to grow over it. The metal looks brown and dirty, little streaks of rust marking meandering lines and irregular patches down its pitted surface. It takes her a moment of looking, but she finally makes out a sagging, brown-red bulge that must be the remains of the crank wheel. Gingerly, she places a hoof against the door and presses. Flakes of brown fall away, revealing more brown and rust beneath. Pulling back she knocks on it, the sound dull, not the clear ring of struck metal.

She focuses again, eyes narrowing as she takes in the overall shape of the door, tracing its features and variations with her eyes. Experimentally she flexes with her mind, and imagines pushing, budging, shoving the thick steel portal. With her mind’s eye she can almost see little flows and eddies of amber hued energy coursing over the thing, running like little rivers along the cracks and folds, pooling in the dents and pits, pulsing with her will.

To her immense surprise, the door begins to shiver, raining down dirt and small rocks and brown flakes and clouds of choking dust, sagging outward, hanging for a moment, and then falling with a loud crack and a thump she can feel in her hooves, cracks spider webbing across its surface. Sunlight floods the opening, momentarily blinding her and causing the golden nimbus enveloping her horn to wink out.

Coughing, she blinks her eyes open slowly, vision gradually adjusting. It hadn’t seemed that dark in the cave, but the bright, new light falling through the opening makes it seem comparatively Stygian. Ruffling her wings, she takes a cautious step forward, still blinking owlishly.

Outside is quite literally another world.

Gone is the desert and sage and scrub brush, gone also is the frame of the new house, and the mounds of construction supplies covered in flapping, tattered plastic. No sign remains of the former work site, or the road that led to it. A green, lush looking meadow spreads before her, sloping ever so slightly downwards as it runs headlong into a line of encircling woods. The trees look like a lot of pine, white ash, and maybe some sort of oak, but there seem to be others that don’t look like anything she’s seen before.

She glances back, towards the meandering little draw that runs backwards past the entrance to the shelter and up into the rugged hills. Reddish mayberry and what sort of looks like mountain laurel fill out the space, and off to her left a small stream winds languidly past, burbling and splashing on its way along a sandy bed, to empty out into the meadow before her. She can hear birds singing and chattering, and from above her, the clatter of something small scurrying along the rock face.

Overriding all of this, almost blocking out her five senses completely, is something else. The magic, the presence of energy. Before, it had felt like the sun was beaming down on her, just out of sight over her shoulder. That’s how it had always felt. Now though…

Now it felt like she was in the sun, and she halfway wonders that she isn’t burnt to a crisp yet. The magic was absolutely everywhere, coursing around and through her. She could feel it flowing into and out of every inch of the ground, every blade of grass and fluttering leaf. She could feel it moving through the air in currents, ebbing and flowing and swirling with the breeze. It was in the small insects flittering nearby, intertwined with the bird song lilting from the trees, it was in every single breath that entered and left her body. It permeated her every follicle, fiber and cell.

She stands rigidly, stunned and in something akin to shock, breath quickening, sides beginning to heave. It’s too much too much too much. She can’t take it all in. She retreats backwards into the cave on shaky legs, stomach doing slow, nauseating loops, until she backs up around the jog in the tunnel.

She breathes deeply, trying to slow her heartbeat, which feels like it’s about to hammer a hole straight through her rib cage. Gradually, she begins to calm, her stomach deciding, finally, to pick a location in her guts and stay there. She can still see the light from the entrance, brightening and reflecting off the rock wall, but it's better back here, she feels safer, more…grounded.

Outside, with the light and the greenery and the magic flooding her senses, she had felt fluttery, panicky, like she might dissolve into a mist of particles and pink hair and blow away in the breeze. Back here, in the dim steadiness of the cave, she feels better, more solid. She can still feel the pulse of energy, the overwhelming, throbbing presence of magic, but it feels lessened, attenuated almost, as if the rock and soil enclosing her block it out a bit.

With a final, shuddery sigh, she turns her back on the entrance and begins picking her way carefully across the rock and debris strewn main chamber, exhaustion dropping over her like a weight.

* * *

“How long, do you think?”

The fire crackles, flames dancing and writhing, sending flickering, mercurial shadows scampering and chasing each other along the rock walls of the stall. Celestia watches it, her eyes dull and a little haunted. She’d chanced another trip to the entrance, snagging deadwood and loose tinder with her magic, dragging it back into the welcoming, safe interior of the shelter.

Poking at the fire with a branch, Luna stirs the coals around the bottom for a moment, before tossing the stick to the hungry flames. She glances over at her older sister, taking in her expression, and then nudges her with a wing.

“Huh? What?” Celestia startles, finally looking over at Luna.

“How long do you think it’s been?” She repeats, levitating a package of dried fruit over from the pair of open saddlebags next to her. The bags had remained largely ignored for the first day or two, but driven by thirst and hunger they finally had begun to go through them. So far there seemed to be enough general supplies to last them for at least a week, maybe longer if they stretch it. Although in all honesty they had really only opened up one bin of Luna’s camping pannier, which had been packed full of dried fruit. Neither one of them had searched further yet, or even begun thinking of doing an actual inventory.

Neither had they ventured outside of the ruins of the shelter since Celestia’s foray that first, awful day. They hadn’t so much as ventured outside of their little sheltering stall since then either, aside from bathroom considerations, and a single trip twenty feet down the other passageway to get water from what turned out to be a pretty respectable and fast moving underground stream, cold and clean.

Celestia frowns, mind working over what she’d seen, both inside and out. “I don’t know.” She says, voice both uncertain and expectant, meeting Luna’s eyes once more. Seeing Luna’s expression, she snorts. “You haven’t been outside yet, Luna. Things have changed more than you can imagine.”

Luna continues to eye her skeptically, absently chewing on a mouth full of dehydrated raisins and apples. “So it’s a little greener outside. So what?” She pauses to swallow, then continues. “Maybe we just had a really good, wet winter.”

Celestia rolls her eyes, snorting again in frustration. This had become Luna’s tactic over the last two days, after her initial freak out; absolute denial. “Luna, it hasn’t just been one winter.” Luna huffs in derision, and Celestia locks eyes with her sister. “It. Is. Not. The. Same.” She enunciates each word, trying to drive them through her sister’s stubbornness. “It hasn’t been one winter, or two, or six, or sixty.” Luna looks away, sighing in exasperation.

Celestia leans over, capturing Luna’s eyes with her own again and holding them. “I’m pretty sure that it hasn’t even been a century or two.” She watches hot denial spring to her sisters lips, can tell she wants to look away again, to focus on something other than the facts before her, but the intensity in Celestia’s gaze holds her quiet. “The way things have changed, the way everything is different…Luna, it’s been hundreds of years. Hundreds.” Luna’s face begins to fall, her eyes taking on a wet shine. Finally Celestia breaks eye contact, looking off into the shadowed corners of the stall. “Maybe even longer.”

Luna’s jaw begins to tremble, before firming. Blinking away her tears, she studies the reflected firelight as it dances along the mostly rough walls of their little shelter. “No.” she states, voice rough and more than a little uneven. “You’re wrong, sister.” Her tone is overly forceful, full of flat rejection.

Blowing a frustrated breath out through her nostrils, Celestia resumes her study of the fire. There were a few reasons neither one of them had made any effort to peek outside, but there was really only one for her sister. Celestia knew about the stages of grief, in the way you know about things that you hear mentioned on television, but never really look into yourself. She knows there’s at least five of them, and that the first and last are denial and acceptance, respectively. She’s pretty sure anger and depression are in-between somewhere, too.

She herself feels like she runs the gamut, seemingly experiencing all of the stages at once. The last few days have left her feeling depressed, angry, guilty, pretty much everything shy of acceptance. Her sister though…Luna seemed to be stuck firmly in denial, seemed to be clinging to it with a desperation that was beginning to worry Celestia. She knows that these things take time, that you need days or weeks or longer to ‘process’, as her father put it…had put it. They were working on their fifth day, camping out in the little cavern, shut away from everything, and Luna’s derisive comments, her absolute rejection and refusal to entertain the reality they now found themselves in, was beginning to chaff.

If she had kept to herself, Celestia is pretty sure she could have dealt with it, but Luna kept asking questions she didn’t really want the answers to. Kept making Celestia go over it again and again, seizing on the smallest detail or triviality, trying with a sort of hopeless determination to invalidate Celestia’s accounting. And when she couldn’t do that? Flat out, complete rejection, total dismissal, such as right now.

She looks over at her younger sister, eyes studying the set of her wings, the way the firelight plays along the arch of her neck, reading the denial, the fear, the standoffishness bordering on hostility displayed by her body language.

She wonders which stage of grief involves wanting to strangle your kid sister. Was that still stage two, or did it represent a completely different stage? She muses on it almost idly, mind beginning to dream up a scenario in which her hoof smacks that look of smug, disdainful disbelief right off of her sisters face, replacing it with an almost delicious expression of shocked surprise, forcing her to face this thing.

She can perfectly see the change as it comes over Luna’s expression, occurring in slow motion. Can imagine pinning her younger sister against the cavern wall and yelling at her, forcing her words into Luna’s brain, making her understand, making her move along in her grief and accept this horrible, awful world they now inhabited. As she fantasizes, it occurs to her that moving along through the different stages also represented growing stages of acceptance, of letting go. She wonders, again, which stage she herself is at. Nearer the end of the spectrum? Is she almost done with her grief?

A strangled sob escapes her at the thought, causing the darker colored sister in question to drop her facade of skeptical disinterest for a more genuine look of concern. Celestia's head lowers, her wings tightening around her barrel. She’s not ready to accept it, not ready to let him go. Right now letting go feels too much like forgetting him, and she can’t bring herself to do that.

Taking in a shaky breath, she curls in on herself, loss and pain and pure misery washing over her, threatening to drown her beneath heavy waves of icy water. She sobs brokenly, all vestiges of self-control gone. Curled in on herself, she cries, not as an adult, not as an individual completely in control of her own destiny for the first time in her life, but as a child; frightened, cold, and alone in the dark.

Gently, almost tentatively, she feels her sister lay beside her, pulling her out of the tight little ball she’s in and embracing her, wrapping her up in wings and legs. Luna holds her older sister, squeezing her as tight as she can. She stays silent, laying her neck across Celestia’s shoulders, holding tight while she shivers.

Celestia shuffles her wings a bit, moaning horribly, and Luna wraps her own around her. Celestia exhales, and Luna inhales, concern growing in her breast at this sudden change.

Their entire lives Celestia has been the stalwart one, the strong older sister. She’d been the one to comfort, to sooth, to reassure, unconsciously emulating the example set by their father.

Now however, she’s wounded in a way Luna never thought she could be, broken, and her careful attempts at composure, maintained Luna now realizes for both of their benefit, have shattered. Luna holds her sister as she releases her pain and loss completely. Sobbing, howling, Celestia finally returns the embrace with an almost panicked fastness, as if she’s afraid that Luna will disappear, too, leaving her all alone in this frightening, empty new world.

Luna tries to be soothing, in her own way emulating the example set by her older sister, but Celestia’s breakdown unnerves her. For days she has clung, first firmly, then desperately, to the notion that things hadn’t changed, could not have changed.

How could they have? In her mind’s eye they had all been together, happy and warm and familiar, just a few days ago. Hell, they hadn’t even finished catching up on the new season of Circle of Fire yet. And she hadn’t had a chance to try that new fire sub from Mike and Miguel’s, and she had some sheets in the washer that really needed to come out already, and dad... Things couldn’t have changed, it was too unreal to be real. She needs things to be the way that they were, and always have been.

Only, holding her sister, feeling the grief and loss and pure emotion coming off of her in almost physical waves, she knows that Celestia is right. Things have changed, forever, and no matter how she denies it, or how far into the sand she shoves her head, her life will remain as it is now. There is no going back to what was.

She’s always known, deep down in the secret places we all hold to, where we keep the truths we don’t know how to face. From that moment she first awoke in a panic. Had the shelter not changed one hair she still would have known. She could feel it, could taste the difference in the air, feel the pulse and ebb of magic in a way that she never has before, even muted as it was in here. Hundreds of years, at the very least.

She just hadn’t been willing to face it.

It was like going to sleep in your warm, comforting and familiar bed, and waking up suddenly on a mountain top in the dark, caught up in a frigid wind, uncertain of your footing or what lies below you in the blackness. The loss of home, family, the loss of love and light and warmth. Of security and certainty, of familiarity. It wasn’t just jarring, or unsettling, or alarming. It was unbelievably terrifying, completely unnerving in a way she’d never known before. She hadn’t been ready to face that, hadn’t been willing to.

Tia shutters again, her weeping carrying such an awful note to it that Luna begins to worry in earnest about her older sibling. She adjusts herself, tightening her wings around her sister as best she can, gazing down at her hitching, alabaster back.

Tia was normally the one who did the soothing, and if she didn’t or couldn’t she at least tried to maintain a steadiness. Even crying she still exuded a kind of calm in-control-ness that always reminded Luna of their father. Seeing her like this, broken and vulnerable and so lost sounding, makes it more real than any description of the outside world can, more real than her own feelings and perceptions. Luna’s mind tries to keep it together, tries to hold onto the fiction that nothing has really changed for them. It’s her hind brains last ditch effort to stave off what she knows to be true, what her heart is telling her is true.

Luna sobs once, wretchedly, the wall of denial she’d been building crumbling, and suddenly she’s returning Celestia’s frantic, panicked clutching, tucking her head partially beneath one gleaming white wing. Celestia shifts, wrapping her wings around her younger sibling, heart hurting at Luna’s pain, heart hurting with her own. Luna shudders against her side, and Celestia tightens her grip.

For the second time in five days, the two sisters hold each other, crying and sobbing, a final acceptance of what has happened, of what they have lost settling over them. Long into the night they lay, intertwined, both offering and accepting the comfort of each other, until the fire has reduced itself to glowing coals. It won’t be the last time they lay this way. Over the coming weeks and months this scene will repeat itself over and over again; in this cavern, in different caverns, in sun dappled forests and around campfires on endless plains of grass, beneath alien yet beautiful star strewn nights. Loss is like that, you find yourself stumbling over it unexpectedly, like something you forgot to put away before you turn off the lights and head to bed.

Unlike that first cold night, however, this grieving carries with it an acceptance of what they must face. The loss, while fresh and painful, is understood. The hurt will never fade away, not completely, but every embrace, every offer of comfort and acceptance of same, will blunt its edge, will dull it. They had finally, as their father would put it, began to process.

* * *

The morning of the sixth day dawned with a lot of stretching – they had slept together, all in a pile – followed by breakfast and a full and complete inventory of their bags. These weren’t just the saddlebags their father had bought for them for everyday use, with side pouches and another pocket over the rump. There were also the large canvas panniers they used for camping. This was fortunate, as they were designed for maximum storage space.

It was a further bit of good fortune that they had mostly been packed already, after their previous camping trip had been abruptly ended by inclement weather. Aside from the packages of dried fruits and nuts, there were an assortment of snacks, and one whole pannier full of the new MSL’s - Meal, Survival Long-term. It was a spiritual successor to the MRE, and boasted twice the calories per meal at half the weight and size. At least according to the commercials. They had planned to try out the new rations on their last trip.

The second pannier, so far, appeared to have a lot of the hardware they’d need; first aid stuff, matches and lighters, flint and steel, rope, various pocket knives and folding saws. Compass, a sealed plastic package containing two extra rain ponchos, tarps, collapsible canteens, as well as two full sets of winter clothes each.

They hadn’t finished unloading everything in the second set yet, but they were working on it. After that they still had their individual saddle bags. Carrying everything was going to present something of a challenge, but Luna had said she had a few ideas that might work.

And that was the thing. They were working together, and working towards something more than just making it through another day. They hadn’t come to terms with the events that had happened, hadn't begun to work their way through it all, but they had taken their first shaky steps on a path that would lead them there, eventually. Going through the saddle bags helped. They also planned on taking a little trek outside, to range around the meadow and see what there was to see.

By mutual agreement, tonight was going to be their last night in the enclosed stall area. They had discussed it, and decided that it was time to move out into the cavern proper. It gave them more room, and the ventilation had to be better to boot.

The hole in the ceiling where they were now tried, but just couldn’t provide enough airflow, and as a result the smoke from their pretty much constant fire tended to linger, usually settling lower to the ground as it cooled. They had both awoken coughing and sputtering, with the taste of ashes on their tongues.

They had further tentatively decided that, going forward, they would stay only another week in the defunct shelter. They would use the time to scout a bit, and to get themselves and their supplies ready. It was, all told, a productive day.

As the evening rolled around, Luna busied herself with the fire, humming quietly as she levitated two metal cups of water over the flames, trying to heat them. She had found an old zip lock of tea bags mixed in with the salt and pepper and other condiments, and had decided they could both benefit from a nice cup.

Celestia reclined off to the side, counting and organizing their food items. A small, battered notepad and pen floated beside her, encased in amber colored light. Once used to keep score for Scrabble and the like, she now used it to keep a detailed inventory.

“How’s it looking, sister?” Luna asks, eyes focused on the rims of the two cups, waiting for the first telltale wisps of steam to rise lazily from the stubborn things. She hated boiling water this way, it took forever. She supposed she could try a spell to do the job, maybe divert some of the heat energy from the fire into the metal of the camping cups, but it could be dangerous, and she’s tired.

Besides, a cramped room was not the place to experiment with that sort of magic. That’s what Dad would have said, anyhow. The cups begin to sink slowly, and she shakes her head with a sigh, working through the complex welter of emotions in her breast. After a few seconds, the cups rise again to bob gently just above the lick of the flames, Luna losing sight of them as she swipes at her eyes with a foreleg.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s looking good, Luna.” Celestia answers absently, touching her pen to each package as she counts them. With a final check, she writes the total down next to the word ‘Assorted Nuts’, and sets both pen and notepad down. Stretching her neck out, she yawns, jaws cracking unpleasantly. “We should have enough to keep us for about six weeks. Longer, if those MSL’s work as advertised. We should also be able to forage something out there to extend our supplies.”

Her gaze wanders towards the fire, and the pair of cups floating above it, stopping with amusement as she takes in the building impatience on her sister’s face. She’s never been a patient one, her sister. With a little smile her eyes move on, looking over the enclosing walls of their little shelter. It was hard to believe that this had all been reinforced concrete not even two weeks ago. Two weeks for her, anyway. God alone knew how long it had actually been.

Eventually, her gaze settles on the two, oddly shaped bare patches on the other side of the fire. The two curved swatches from when they had...slept. Mosses and lichens grow right up to where they had been laying, in some cases humping up, as if pressing against an invisible surface. She shivers involuntarily.

She knows, in her mind at least, that the plants couldn’t have actually grown into them, not like they did with the regular rock. The thought still makes her uneasy though. Slowly creeping mats of greenery, steadily overgrowing their forms. Like being eaten alive while you slept. Theoretically she knew they would have been fine had that actually happened. While they were turned they weren’t indestructible, not by any means, but they were a hell of a lot more resilient. It doesn’t keep away vivid images of one rose colored eye opening in a blanket of green though, nor the nauseating feeling that accompanies it.

Shuddering, eyeing one of the humped growths of brown and green, her muzzle twisted up in distaste, she notices something. The swell of growth rises from the ground, likely where it had started to grow over a knee or other joint. When they had awoken, the body part the moss had been growing over had been removed, but the rounded shape still partially remained. It left an odd form, like a mossy pocket that was starting to collapse. It’s this pocket-like opening that she’s studying, in all honesty trying to decide if it was formed by a knee, a sweep of tail, of possibly something else. But within the recesses of the mottled brown and green blanket, just faintly, she can see a shape, the firelight mutely highlighting…something.

Walking over, two extremely hot, soot blackened cups trailing the fragrant smell of steeping tea, Luna settles carefully beside her, floating one cup over to rest on the sandy earth. She looks from the cup to her sister, before following her Celestia’s line of sight over towards the far side of the room. “What are you looking at?”

“…Not sure.” Celestia gets creakily to her feet, stretching her legs a moment before making her way around the fire. Approaching the twin spots of bare ground, she leans over, eyes searching curiously. “Luna?” She calls over her shoulder.

“What?”

“Did you ever notice this before?”

There is a shuffling sound of movement, and then Luna steps next to her, tea still floating casually next to her horn. “Notice what?”

With a small flare of her own horn, a softball sized ball of blue-white light springs into existence in from of Celestia, causing her sister to hiss and squint her eyes. Before Luna can do more than sputter, however, the ball has drifted down, illuminating the object beneath the lichen mat, causing Luna to gasp. Her own eyes widen, and she glances up, meeting Luna’s surprised expression. Without a word, she reaches in gingerly with her magic, peeling back the fragile mat of plant growth and carefully extracts the thing.

It’s a lump, flat on the bottom, roughly oblong in an odd, square-ish way on the top. It looks like it’s layered in a powdery, flaking grey. Bits of a crinkled silver grey, tarnished and dull, peek out from beneath in places. The white lines embedded in the powdered grey make her think of duct tape, and the crinkled bits look like aluminum foil. She glances again to her sister, who returns only a wide eyed look in answer.

Slowly they both walk back to their spots by the fire, settling again. Celestia places the weird thing in front of them, where Luna promptly prods it with a hoof. The grey powdery stuff falls away, and jagged looking tears appear in the crinkly parts. Celestia swats her with a wing.

“Be careful.” She chastises at Luna’s sour expression. “Use your magic, Luna.”

Face heating a bit, Luna nods, and her horn begins to glow with azure light. Slowly, carefully, she begins to peel what they can now see is a number of outer layers away from the object. The duct tape is long gone, and the foil comes apart in brittle pieces. Eventually they’re left with a yellowed, squishy looking lump.

Studying it for several moments, Luna spies a familiar looking bulge at one of the rounded corners. “Tia!” She exclaims, leaning closer to the thing. “I think it’s a vac-bag!”

Looking it over, Celestia nods in agreement. Gently, she prods at what used to be the little valve on the bottom corner that was supposed to allow you to remove all air within, watching without surprise when it tears and crumbles away in a shower of degraded polymers. With surgical precision she opens the bag, and then the bag within it, and again the one inside that. Each bag had been wrapped in foil, then duct tape, and then placed inside the next. Each layer is in slightly better shape than the one that came before it, and by the end of the operation they are left with a modest pile of shredded, worn out plastic, stained and crumbling tinfoil, a scattered mound of powdered duct tape, and finally, a yellowed piece of paper, folded into thirds.

Gently, ever so gently even with the ethereal grasp of her magic, Luna lifts the paper, unfolding it with great care. Sweat beads and rolls from her brow, and with a glance she can see a similar sheen of effort upon her sister’s face. Celestia materializes another sphere of light, bringing it close, and the two lean forward to read the faded writing.

Dear G

Celestia Marie and Luna Maybelle

Celestia, Luna,

Girls,

By the time you read this, well, you’ll know what has happened. And if things go to plan, it should have all happened a long time ago. I don’t know what you’ll wake up to, or what sort of world it’ll be. All I know is that you’ll have a chance, and that’s the most important part.

The only important part.

I’m so sorry that I had to leave you. I’m sorry that it had to be this way. You two are the best part of me, and the best thing to ever happen to me. When I found the two of you that morning in the canyon, I was broken, looking for a way out. And the two of you gave me one, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. You took a wretch and made him a man again. You found the empty places inside me, the ones I thought could never be filled, and then you went ahead and filled them up anyway, you made me whole.

Celestia, Luna, you girls are my everything, and always will be. Never forget that, no matter what happens, no matter what you see or do or have to go through.

I want you two to watch out for each other. Remember to love each other, and cherish each other. You’re family, and even when family doesn’t agree or get along, you will always be family. Be careful in this new world, very very careful. Be wary of who you put your trust in, but make sure that you do trust, and remember, family isn’t just the people you’re related to.

And always remember, I love you both, now and forever.

-Dad

-P.S. I almost didn’t pack this, but check in Luna’s camp bags. Outer pocket, left hand side, buried in with all the dried fruit. It was your grandfather’s favorite, and it’s the very last that will ever exist, so make sure you enjoy it for all of us.

Eye’s shining wetly, the two sister’s gaze at the message for a long time, neither speaking. Eventually Luna rises, turning to where her pannier leans against the near wall, and begins to dig. After a few moments, she laughs loudly, startling her sister and breaking her away from the letter.

“What is it?”

Chuckling, Luna settles back down next to Celestia, something bobbing in her indigo grasp. “I can’t believe we both missed this.”

“What is it Luna?”

With a smile that is both mischievous and sad at the same time, Lune brings the object fully into the light of the fire. Celestia looks from it to the letter and back again, surprise painting her features, and then she too breaks into a sad grin. Floating there is a small silver flask, battered and tarnished, its front stamped with the intertwined letters WR, the old brand of the Williams Ranch. It was their fathers, a family heirloom passed down to him by his father, who had received it from his father.

Unscrewing the lid, they both sniff appreciably of the rich, woody aroma of what could only have come from their father’s prize bottle of GlenFiddich. The 50 year old single malt scotch was almost an heirloom itself, passing through the same hands as the flask. It was normally stored in a special cupboard, and only brought out on very rare occasions. Celestia can actually count the number of times she’s seen her father uncork the bottle and carefully pour out exactly two fingers worth of the dark amber liquid.

Dad had of course shared it with them, once or twice. Neither one of them was exactly sure how they felt about scotch, preferring instead a glass of wine or a light beer, but neither had either one of them hated the stuff when they’d had occasion to sample it.

Tears begin to collect along the bottoms of Luna’s eyelids as she hoists the flask up in a small toast. “Thanks daddy.” Her lips tremble, and then she takes a discreet drink, the warm liquid burning a line down her throat and causing her to cough at the unfamiliar heat.

Taking the flask from her sister, Celestia raises her own toast. “Thanks daddy.” She echo’s quietly, blinking away tears as she takes a sip, face still as she tries not to grimace at the burn as it travels down. Replacing the cap, she returns the flask to her sister, who floats it over into a pouch on her saddlebags. The two settle down next to the fire, the letter still floating between them.

They spend the time in silence, each lost in thought, wading through their emotions as they re-read the message again and again. Eventually, by unspoken agreement, Celestia carefully folds the letter back up, sealing it in one of the spare zip lock bags included in their camping supplies and tucking it safely away in her bags. She’s exhausted, both mentally and physically, and a quick glance shows her that Luna is in the same state. With a yawn and a stretch, she returns to the fire, settling in and leaning against her younger sister, who leans back against her in return.

“Hey sis?” Luna asks quietly, eyes lost to the flickering of the fire.

Celestia stifles another yawn, gaze following the shadows cast against the far wall. “Hmm?”

“Do you think…we’re going to be OK?”

Celestia looks over at her darker sibling, reading her uncertainty and vulnerability at a glance. She drapes a comforting alabaster wing across the dark indigo of Luna’s back. “Yeah, actually,” she gives Luna a squeeze. “I really think we will be.”

* * *

The time passed, and as it did the two sisters moved from the closed off, and frankly increasingly claustrophobic stall section out into the main cavern. In all, they spent five nights there, using it as a sort of base camp for their increasingly long-ranging forays into the outside world. The cavern was nice, open and better ventilated, but eventually even it became a little oppressive, and the two eventually decamped out into the meadow that fronted the shelter.

Their first night had been...somewhat alarming. As the sun set and the stars began to peer through, it became apparent that some things were not right. Luna had been the first to remark upon it, asking her sister if she happened to recognize the constellations next to the Big Dipper. When Celestia answered, in a cautious voice, that she did not, they began scanning the sky, trying to make sense of it. This was completely derailed, however, when the moon, half full, began to rise from over the mountains.

They watched it silently, fire crackling unnoticed behind them,until it had cleared the mountains and hoisted itself a goodly ways into the night sky. Gone was the white and grey coin they’d grown up with, with its familiar blemishes and markings. Now the moon was larger, closer, its surface mostly free of dark shadows.

It was a jarring sight, to be sure, and they kept unconsciously throwing untrusting glances towards it as they had tried to puzzle out what was going on. They discussed, long into the night, how the stars were different now, with some constellations missing, and others seemingly merged together, and the moon’s radical alteration. This in turn led to a discussion of the apparently ambient magic that even then was washing over them in continuous waves of warm energy.

At one point they broke out the heirloom scotch and each took a healthy slug. As the night wore on, they grew quiet, contemplative, each trying to make sense of how the world could have changed in the ways that it apparently had.

Luna began to speak of parallel worlds, overlaying each other. She described, with a halting, unsure voice, a book with an infinite number of pages. The front of one page may describe one thing, while the back of that page may describe something different. If liquid is spilled on the page however, the two sides may begin to bleed into each other, merging in a fashion.

Celestia spoke about the increase in magic, and how its presence had changed so dramatically. She wondered aloud about its seeming lack, before they discovered they could use it, and how they were almost designed to use it. In her mind she imagined a huge balloon, or an enormous water bed. If you were to poke a hole in the bed, water would leak, and you’d have water where previously you had none. She spoke to Luna about what might happen if the water bed were not only full of water, but under pressure, how the hole would grow larger, tearing open wider as more water forced its way through, and how the room might change if you let it continue to leak for years.

It had been an introspective night for both of them, and had led to little sleep. The next night, however, had been better, and the night after that more manageable still. They kept busy, they had more than enough to do after all, and decided to stay a bit longer because of it. The nights had passed into days, leading them to this morning, their fourteenth and final day in the meadow.

* * *

The morning sun streams brilliantly over the clearing, flooding the air with light and banishing the stark shadows of the surrounding trees. Birds flit and sing from the boughs and branches, their songs sharp in the crisp, clean morning air. The remains of their fire smolders, thin streamers of grey smoke lifting almost vertically into the cool stillness.

Luna dumps wet coffee grounds onto the fire, their very last, where they sputter and steam fragrantly on the sullenly glowing coals. She pours a little bit of water from her canteen into the pot, swirling it around before dumping it, too, into the stone lined circle. Behind her Celestia finishes the last of her own coffee, stopping a moment to savor it, before stowing the small, metal mug in a pannier.

The two sisters spend a few moments tidying up their camp site, finishing the job of packing and readying that they had mostly completed the night before. Today is the day, and they both work with determined, purposeful motions, colored by faint traces of trepidation. They have been both anticipating and dreading today in equal measure, but they remain resolved.

With a burst of amber light, Celestia levitates a large scoop of damp earth, settling it into the stone ring of the fire pit, filling the rough circle and smothering the steaming remnants. She glances to her sister, who finishes snapping pouches and pockets closed on her set of bags, and then stands up straight. They share a look, and with a mutual nod they walk back towards the entrance to the shelter.

They had debated for some time on where to build the cairn, torn between wanting to protect it from the elements on the one hand, and what their father would prefer on the other. In the end they had compromised, choosing a spot in the main chamber of the cavern that was beneath the largest opening in the ceiling, the remains of the original ventilation system. Now, their father could still be under the night sky, while the stones would be mostly protected from the weather.

It was all symbolic, of course, their father’s body being so much dust by now. However building it had felt right to them, had felt necessary. They both realized that the act was as much for their benefit as it was a memorial to him.

They had kept it simple, out of respect for what he would have wanted. Built on an area of the cavern floor that had been cleared and mostly leveled, the arrangement of stones was simple and unadorned. An unassuming rectangular mound formed the base, with an upright portion of larger stones, fit carefully together, that thrust out and up from the middle. The whole thing was around three feet by five, and only four or so feet tall.

They had worked on it for the last three days, almost from dawn to dusk. It had been taxing, trying, exhausting work, but neither had complained. It was also needed work, and symbolic of more than just their departed father. They hadn’t just been building a monument to him, they had also been physically expressing their willingness to close out this chapter of their lives, and start another. It was closure, another step down the path. Now, finally, they were ready to move on. They had just needed to leave something behind, for him.

With another shared look, Luna lifts a small, mostly rectangular stone from her pannier. It’s smooth sided, flecked with mica and startling dark green striations. Celestia had found it submerged in a nearby creek that runs through the trees a little south of the clearing, and Luna had spent hours carefully shaping and polishing it with her magic. They’d both taken turns engraving it, slowly and with great care each night by the crackling fire, heart sore and physically exhausted from the day.

When it was all said and done, they’d ended up with a roughly five pound stone, smoothed and polished into a mostly rectangular shape, sort of like a large bar of soap. In the center, on the broadest face and surrounded by simple, crude scroll work, was inscribed the following;

RYAN S. WILLIAMS

1985 - 2036

BELOVED FATHER, HUSBAND

We Miss You Daddy

They share another look, the final stone bobbing absently in the cerulean glow of Luna’s magic, and with a sigh she places it into the niche near the top, left open specifically for this purpose. It slides into place with a gritty rubbing sound. They study their work for a time, and then Celestia floats a bundle of wild flowers out of her bags, placing them on the foot of the cairn.

The two sisters sidle next to each other, and Celestia drapes a wing over her younger sisters back, and they spend a while in somber silence. Eventually, Luna leans over and kisses her sister on the cheek, smiling sadly. Celestia returns her smile, her eyes wet, and they both look one last time at the representation of their father.

“Goodbye, Dad.” Luna says quietly, a hitch in her voice.

“Bye, daddy.” Celestia echo’s after a few moments, sniffling.

The two stand for a moment longer, before embracing tightly, tears streaming from eyes tightly squeezed closed. They share some words, quietly and privately, and eventually with a final squeeze, they pull apart.

They make their way back across the clearing, stopping at the remains of last night’s fire. Checking around once more, making sure that they haven’t missed anything, they turn, eyeballing the forest ahead of them.

Celestia glances at her sister. “Are you sure this is the direction you want to go?”

“Yeah.” Luna nods absently, eyes dancing about the shadowed trunks and canopies. “It’s as good as any other.”

The bird song is beautiful this morning, in a way neither of them can really put their hoof on. The air is crisp, and clean, carrying with it the woody scents of the trees, and the fleeting, sweet smell of wild flowers. With a shared smile and a deep breath, the two take their first steps into this strange, new world.

Author's Notes:

I struggled with this chapter. I have this annoying habit of wanting to cover every conceivable little detail when I write, and so this chapter lost a lot of bloat as I finished it and then edited the shit out of it. Left on the cutting room floor was an entirely too long bit about how the MSL’s (you know, that throw-away food to help extend their supplies) worked, with a bunch of bullshit, pseudoscientific prattle to legitimize it all. Also gone, the super extended sequence of Luna’s struggle for acceptance (as seen from Celestia’s POV), where we needlessly go back and forth and back and forth for-freaking-ever before she gets her shit together. I became annoyed with that overcompensation of words.

Epilogue

Princess Celestia opens her eyes slowly, the clean, bright notes of a trumpet fading as the remnants of her dream dissolve into a sluggish, bleary eyed wakefulness. The faint light of the setting moon, coming through the balcony windows, illuminates her chambers, painting blurred shadows on the walls and picking the furnishings out in soft, silver highlights.

Yawning hugely, she rises, giving her wings and back a stretch, and heads to her bathroom to begin her morning. As she performs her familiar ritual, her sleep fogged mind mulls over the dream, recalling the slowly fading fragments; gentle sunlight splashing across the ceiling, the strong scent of coffee overlaying the downy aroma of pancakes cooking with a barely audible sizzle from downstairs, the faint rhythms of her father’s voice, humming along as his favorite album plays softly from the living room.

She remembers that particular song, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, its lone trumpet climbing sweetly through the registers during the opening, peaking before the assorted ensemble joins in to begin the song in earnest. As she rinses the last of the toothpaste out of her mouth, she tries to recall what the name of that record had been. Call of the East? Our Man Down South? No, the title definitely had the word ‘Horn’ in it somewhere.

Stepping back into her chambers, she casts a glance at the barrel clock adorning the mantel above the fireplace, confirming the time. Smiling in satisfaction - after so long she has her morning routine down to a science - she moves towards the balcony. It’s time to start the day.

* * *

“Luna?” Celestia asks, reading over the petition that’s lying next to her breakfast.

“Hmm?” Luna responds distractedly, studying several pages from her own stack of parchments. She’s been putting it off, but now she’s run out of excuses, and has finally had to start going over the changes to the tax code proposed by the Royal Treasury. Taking a bite from her strawberry waffles, she shuffles from one page to the next.

Due to the nature of their celestial duties, and aside from certain functions and holidays, a few hours at breakfast and again at dinner are the only practical times the two sisters can go over matters of state together, handling the various requests, petitions, announcements and pronouncements that might require a joint decision on their part. It also allows the siblings to spend some a rare moment together, sharing the details of their respective shifts, talking over personal matters and enjoying each other’s company in general.

“What was the name of that record dad used to listen to?”

“What record?”

“The one he would play on Saturdays, while he made breakfast.”

Looking up from her papers, Luna’s brow furrows, her face adopting a far away expression. “Louie Armstrong, wasn’t it?”

“That’s who played it, but what was the album?”

“Our Man Down South?” Luna hazards, taking a meditative sip of her tea, a rather delightful breakfast blend with a hint of berry.

“No, it had the word ‘Horn’ in the title of it, I’m sure.” Celestia replies, levitating a quill to scribble her approval across the bottom of a request for a Royal audience. She would really rather have declined the it outright, if only so she didn’t have to listen to the Hoofington Merchant Association’s latest attempt to obtain fee exemptions. Honestly, sometimes it seemed like bits were the only thing some ponies cared about. However, despite knowing that she is ultimately going to deny them their exemption, it’s still their right to have their say. Sighing, she places the parchment off to one side, atop a pile of documents that already bear her signature, before levitating the next one from the stack.

“Satchmo Plays the Horn?” Luna offers, quill marking down notes in the margins of her own paperwork.

Finishing the last of her fruit salad, Celestia begins scanning the new parchment. “Hmm…no, no that’s not it either.”

As breakfast is cleared away, the two sisters continue attending to the never ending paperwork required to run a nation, warm morning sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows and washing over the table as they pass documents back and forth, quipping over various items and sharing the occasionally laugh.

As the allotted time draws to a close, the two share a brief, tender embrace, before separating to go their respective ways; Celestia to attend to her duties as Ruler of the Day while Luna goes to bed to recover from her duties as Ruler of the Night.

“Are the flowers ready for tomorrow?” Luna asks over her shoulder, beginning to ascend the stairs that lead, eventually, to her chambers.

“Of course, sister. I think these may be the best ones yet.” Celestia responds, gathering up the pile of signed documents to be handed over to the Royal Chamberlin. She hesitates, glancing at her younger sister. “Are you sure you’re alright with bringing Twilight Sparkle along?”

Pausing with her hoof on a riser, Luna looks back at her sibling. “She’s your student, Tia. I know you’re grooming her, and if you think it’s time to let her know about this, then I trust your judgment.”

Celestia looks at her pensively. “It’s just that it’s been so long since we shared this with anypony, do you think…”

“It’ll be fine Tia. You said it yourself, she’s proven that she’s capable, and if she’s to assume a larger role in the grand scheme of things she deserves to know the full history. If you want to do it this way, then it’s alright with me.”

“I know, you’re right Luna. Thank you.” She says, giving her sister an appreciative smile. “Good night, Luna.”

“Good Morning, Tia.” The two share a grin before parting ways for the day.

* * *

Twilight Sparkle wakes with a satisfied stretch, rolling over with a yawn before rising. Ponyville was her home now, but it always felt good to sleep in her old room in Canterlot. Fussing with her mane a little in the oak mirror above the dresser, she turns and trots out to meet with the princesses.

She doesn’t know why her mentor has summoned her, and the sister rulers had been closed mouthed about it after she had arrived by chariot the previous evening, answering her questions over an oddly quiet dinner with a shared look and a stoic “You’ll see tomorrow.” By the time they had retired for the night, Princess Luna to assume her duties and Princess Celestia and Twilight heading for their respective chambers, she had been a slowly boiling kettle of frustrated curiosity.

She hated not knowing something, and while she trusted her teacher implicitly, she was still full of questions; questions that had only multiplied due to the odd summons, and odder behavior of the two rulers.

Well tomorrow was now today, and they had said she would find out. Smiling a little, she picks up the pace, eagerness giving her step an extra bounce.

Coming at last to the small dining room the Princesses like to use, she pauses at the portal, the tall, intricately carved doors slightly ajar, allowing the sound of clinking plates and conversation to slip out.

“…be fine, Tia. You know he was never into big, elaborate celebrations. Remember what he used to say? ‘Just keep it simple, girls.” Luna’s melodic voice drifts out, accompanied by the muted gurgle of a filling cup. “Oh, and thanks to you, I’ve had that song stuck in my head all night.”

“Did you remember the name of the record?”

“Not yet. You’re sure it had the word horn in the title?”

It is at this time that Twilight's stomach issues a low rumble, causing the purple unicorn to start a little. Feeling somewhat ashamed for what is essentially eavesdropping, she pushes one of the doors open and steps in. The smells wafting from the laden table are delicious, and she feels her stomach clench a little in anticipation as she gives a bow to the two seated royalty.

“Twilight!” her mentor calls out, giving her that small smile that always brings a warmth to Twilight's chest. “Please, join us. I was beginning to think you planned on sleeping all day.”

Taking a seat, Twilight responds to their questions, telling them that she slept well and that her old quarters were as comfortable as she remembers. She grins as a palace servant deposits a large plate of pancakes and sliced fruits before her. Tucking in, the three chat amicably about current events in both Ponyville and Cantorlot, discussing frivolities and laughing together. The difference between last night’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast is noticeable, and Twilight again wonders what’s going on.

The plates are being cleared away when Twilight notices the twin bouquets of flowers sitting on a small sideboard along one wall. They’re beautiful; roses intermingled with white lilies and sprays of lilac, and little pink blossoms she doesn’t know the name for peaking out. She’s never seen such gorgeous flowers before, each blossom perfect in form and color, each stem straight and richly green. They almost seem like they’re still growing in the white paper they’re wrapped in.

Noticing her gaze, Celestia turns to her sister. “I told you this year’s were the best yet.” She says with a smirk.

“You say that every year.” Luna responds, sticking her tongue out.

Twilight watches the interplay, her curiosity somehow managing to grow even larger. “They’re incredible. What are they for?”

“They’re part of what we wanted to show you, dear. They’re for somepony very special that we want you to meet.” Celestia answers, appreciating the slightly awed tone of her favorite student.

“Who?” Twilight asks, turning to look up at her mentor.

“You’ll see. In fact, we should be getting on our way. We don’t want to be late on his birthday.”

Wearing a look of growing bewilderment, Twilight rises with the two sisters, who gently place the flowers into the small saddle bag that has gone unnoticed on the floor. Donning it, Celestia and Luna make their way out of the dining room and towards the courtyard, a confused Twilight following in their wake.

* * *

The land had changed dramatically during the sister’s long sleep, and while the home place was long gone - the only remnants some petrified logs sticking out of the mulch, within a copse of ash that now cover the spot - the canyon was still there. It, too, had changed; weathering had smoothed out much of the roughness of the granite sides, soft grass replacing the sage and scrub brush, the pinion pines replaced by a forest of oak and maple. Three lone birch trees still stand, tall and white at the canyon’s apex, like pale sentinels.

Other changes have occurred, but these are intentional; a tall, beautifully crafted rock wall crossing the mouth of the canyon, pierced by a wrought iron gate intricately worked in a sun and moon motif, the royal crest of the two sisters, at its center. This is what greets Twilight as the three make their way up a well worn path, the chariot left in a small clearing behind them. As they approach, Celestia looks to Luna, receiving a reassuring nod of her head, and begins to speak.

“I know that you’ve been curious as to why you’re here, Twilight, and I appreciate your patience. You’ve learned a great deal during your time in Ponyville, and though you still have much more to learn and experience, we…I, felt that it is time to teach you where we came from.”

“I know our history, majesty.”

“You know Equestria’s history, I’m sure.”

“Well, since the founding, and the time of tribes.” She pauses, trying to puzzle out her teachers point. “And everyone learns the old foals tales, of when the sun and the moon broke loose of their bindings and wreaked havoc on the old world…” Twilight says, uncertainty causing her to falter. Where was this going?

“I’ve no doubt, dear. But what do you know of the time before that?” Celestia replies, looking over her shoulder.

Coming to the gate, the three stop, and Celestia turns to her most faithful student. Looking down at the confusion and uncertainty writ large on the purple unicorns face, she smiles, feeling a burst of motherly warmth. “Before there was Equestria, before there were ponies and magic, there was the Earth.”

Brow furrowing, Twilight looks at her mentor. “...the Earth?”

“Well, not just the Earth,” the sun goddess shares a chuckle with her sister. “We are not the first civilization to call this world home.” Chuckling more loudly at the shocked expression dawning on her young protege's face, she removes the flowers from her saddlebag with her magic, floating one bouquet to her sister. Turning, the two touch their horns to the gate, and with a flare of magic it swings open gently on silent, well oiled hinges.

Following the princesses in, Twilight looks around, a little feeling of wonder falling over her as her gaze roams. Tall granite sides speckled with green moss throw back small pinpricks of light as they meander towards a point at the far end, fragrant green grass carpeting the ground, running back to some birch trees. The wonder isn’t caused by the scenery, though it is rather beautiful in a rough hewn, natural way. It stems from the feel of the place. It has a welcoming air to it, inviting but at the same time solemn, peaceful, almost like an old temple. Standing a few paces away from the birch is a strange statue.

It seems to depict a tall creature, bipedal, like Spike. Following the two sisters closer, she begins to make it out with greater clarity; The quality of the carving is amazing, the stone worked into almost life like detail. Studying it, she half expects to see the chest rise and fall. She can’t be sure, of course, but the features and stance lead her to guess that the creature is male, and, judging by the wrinkles in the features, on the older side. It’s almost completely covered in what she realizes is clothing, its arms cocked out slightly, the odd, long fingered hands resting on its hips, its legs spread slightly apart, ending in peculiar looking coverings of some sort.

The face is smooth, strangely flat featured, and some sort of short cropped mane grows from the top of its head. Assuming it’s to scale, the creature is quite a bit taller than she is, even discounting the square base it stands on. Glancing over quickly, she estimates it’s almost as tall as Princess Celestia.

It’s the face, however, that truly captures her attention, fine wrinkles lining the eyes and the corners of a warm smile below its small, rounded nose. It almost seems as if the creature depicted is giving her a look of amusement, a wry, good natured expression that’s on the cusp of laughter.

Celestia and Luna stop, looking up at the statue, and Luna tilts her head towards her sister. “Daddy Plays the Horn.”

“Ahh.” Celestia replies, smiling slightly.

“What?” Twilight asks, turning to the two royal sisters. “Your… father played the horn?”

“No,” Luna replies with a chuckle, “He never played any instrument. But he liked to listen to a man who did.”

“A what?”

“A man. A human, to be more precise.” Celestia answers, smiling softly up at the statue. “Daddy was a man. A good man.”

The two sisters gaze lovingly up at the statue, memories flooding their minds, taking them back in time; Daddy singing a nonsense song as they splash happily in the tub, giggling as he rinses them with a pitcher of water. Watching cartoons on a Saturday morning, the scent of pancakes and strong coffee lingering long after the dishes have been cleared away. Playing with their toys as he sits nearby, smoke drifting lazily from the end of his cigarette, watching them as they romp and run in the strong summer sunlight. Camping trips and birthday parties and Christmas presents.

Bedtime stories and movies and football games. The pain, and loss and uncertainty as he tried to comfort them at the end. So many memories, so many events, good times and bad, taking them back. Back to a time when Daddy Played the Horn, and their father loved his Lunabelle and his Tia Marie, and they loved him and nothing else mattered. Nothing else in the whole wide world.

“Happy birthday, Daddy.” The two say softly in unison, eyes shining wetly as they set the bouquets into rounded holders at the statues feet.

Backing up to give the two alicorns some room as they turn around, Twilight gazes from one to the other, surprise and bewilderment painting her features at the display of emotion. The two sisters share a look, and then settle to the ground, Luna motioning for Twilight to join them with a tilt of her head. Opening her saddle bag and reaching inside with her magic, Celestia pulls out an odd looking book. It takes a moment, but Twilight recognizes it as some sort of photo album, its outside yellowed with age and slightly tattered.

“Let me tell you a story, Twilight,” She says, placing the album on the fragrant grass between them. “Long, long ago, before there was Equestria, before there was magic and harmony and ponykind as we know it, there was the Earth. And on the Earth there resided the race of Man, a highly advanced and industrious species, to whom we owe much of our culture, and many of our customs today. Mankind flourished all across the Earth in great numbers, and their achievements were as breathtaking and numerous, and as varied, as their sins.”

Twilight listens, eyes wide and ears forward, and Celestia and Luna share another quiet look. Celestia swallows, and continues, her voice somehow melancholy and warm at the same time. “There was one man in particular, a man named Ryan Williams. Ryan was a good man, who had lost his wife and child.”

“He was lost, and alone.” Luna picks up the telling, her eyes far away. “And one day, while he was visiting this very canyon, he came upon two strange foals in the birch trees, who were also lost and alone, and very scared…”

Looking away from a wide eyed Twilight Sparkle, Celestia opens the photo album. She shares a sad smile with her sister, and then looks back over her shoulder at the statue of her father, before returning her gaze to her favored student. Taking a deep breath,, she begins to tell their tale.

Author's Notes:

Fun Fact; This epilogue was written after the first or second chapter, which would be some time when Season 2 was still going on. It may seem off that Twilight is not an Alicorn, or that other, equally obvious things are note being referenced. I thought about retconning everything, but to be honest, I like it taking place before she ascends and all that nonsense. Also, self-high five for sort-of predicting she would be.

And that’s it, I suppose. You’ll notice a bonus chapter that follows this chapter, and if you feel the need to, you are more than welcome to read it (although it is not required). This story has taken way, way too long to finish, and I just want to say that I appreciate, truely, everyone who’s been keeping tabs on it over the years. Likewise, I appreciate those who’ve only just stumbled upon it, and decided that it was their cup of tea.

I’ll be posting a blog entry to sort of wrap everything up, so read that if you’re interested in the maudlin ramblings of some asshole who writes about pony princesses.

I want to honestly and sincerely thank everyone who’s had an interest in this story, and I wish you all the best.

*Bonus Nonsense

Authors Forward: This is an idea that I had somewhere around chapter 2 or chapter 3, which I absolutely could not get out of my head until I wrote it up. I’ll leave it up to you to decide how seriously to take it. If you’re pretty content with how the main story ended, this bonus shit may be a bit much for you, and you can disregard it. However, if you want some additional content, and don’t feel that a poorly executed deus ex machina type of thing ruins the impact the main story had, then read on. But don’t come bitching to me if you end up feeling like this totally optional, and frankly really rather excessive, bonus chapter somehow cheapens the experience of the main tale. You’ve been warned.

*IAW the fact that I finally decided to write a sequel, this chapter is now canon to the story, as the sequel couldn't occur without it. At least, not without me having to do a whole lot of work that I really don't want to do.

* * *

Somewhere…beyond the sea…

Somewhere waiting for me…

The gentle hum of the white wall ovals slipping effortlessly over the charcoal grey of the asphalt is lost to Ryan, carried away in the slipstream of air that flows over the windshield and across the open top of the car. Carried on that fast moving current of sun kissed air is a myriad of scents, each one distinct, yet combining in just the right way. The scent of moisture and salt from the ocean passing below the road on his right, the green smell of growing from the trees and brush climbing up the incline that runs away from the road on his left, the underlying smell of sun warmed asphalt.

My lover stands on golden sands…

And watches the ships that go sailing…

The cliff side road enters a gentle turn, flowing with the contours of the coast upon which it runs, describing a mild series of back-and-forth undulations that the old Lincoln handles effortlessly. Left arm cocked out of the driver side window at a jaunty angle, his right firmly on the wheel, Ryan marvels at the absolute perfection of the moment. Glancing to his right, he smiles at Callie, who’s seated comfortably across the vast expanse of white leather in a similar pose, light glinting from her sunglasses. She returns his smile ten-fold, laughing at his goofy expression, the sound like chimes tinkling brightly before being carried swiftly away by the slipstream.

From between them there comes an answering laughter, smaller, more high pitched. A young boy sits strapped into a car seat, giggling to himself as he plays with a couple of action figures. The sight of the boy, his red curls and brown eyes, fills Ryan with an unmatched joy, almost to the point of bursting, and Ryan begins laughing himself, his deeper voice providing a counter note to the boy’s mirth.

Isaac, his son.

If I could fly like birds on high…

Then straight to her arms

I’d go sailing…

The radio continues to fill the air with the warm noise of music from a lost era. Spotting a turn-out in the distance, he catches Callie’s eyes, gesturing towards it. She smiles and nods, and a few moments later they’re parked, the engine idling with a powerful bass rumble before he twists the key in the ignition.

The turnout provides a breathtaking view of the ocean before them, the deep cobalt of the water fading into the distance in a series of gentle rollers, merging with the sky and making it difficult to pick out the horizon.

Spotting a couple of picnic tables along the mossy rock wall that encloses the space, they quickly set out lunch, grabbing a couple of baskets from the cavernous trunk of the car. The meal is, of course, perfect, large neatly built sandwiches on rye bread with just a hint of spicy brown mustard, potato salad and coleslaw, and a thermos of sweet, dark tea. After they finish, he and Callie lean against each other, watching Isaac run and play along the old stones of the wall, each reveling in the presence of the other.

Eventually they begin to clean up, and as he packs the last of their meal into the trunk and closes the lid, he runs a hand along the lines of the sparkling automobile, a small smile crinkling the corners of his mouth. It’s a beautiful machine, an authentic 1967 Lincoln Continental painted fire engine red. The exact car that his dad had always dreamed of having. Smiling wistfully, he helps his wife collect their son and settle him back in his seat. Starting the engine with a throaty rumble, the small family backs out of the scenic overlook and pulls onto the road.

The day remains beautiful, and he takes in the scenery that rolls endlessly past. Sometimes it makes him think of California, other times it reminds him of the Oregon coast. He knows however that it is neither. Knowing the ways of this place like he does, he suspects that it’s possible that it’s actually both. In the end though it doesn’t matter, and he takes a deep breath, luxuriating in the day, in the car, in the presence of his family.

The radio switches to another song, and he finds his eyes drawn to the rearview mirror, focusing on the empty back seat. His brow furrowing, he gives his head a brief shake before looking back to the unfurling asphalt in front of them. There’s a beautiful little strand of beach another twenty minutes down the road, the destination of today’s outing. He tries to focus on that, on getting there, on the serene peacefulness of their surroundings, but his eyes invariably keep flicking back to the mirror, to the large, empty white leather of the back seat.

Eventually they reach the turn-off, driving a short distance to the small parking area that fronts a gorgeous section of beach, the waves lapping endlessly at the pale sand. Callie lets Isaac out of his seat, and as he tears off towards the water with a joyous whoop she looks back at Ryan, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder, jolting him out of his contemplation of the rear view mirror.

He looks over at her, his expression somber and a little sad. “I miss them, Callie.”

She studies him for a moment, before nodding her head slowly. “I know love. I wish they were here too, but it’s not their time yet.”

Fetching a deep sigh, he nods his head in turn. “I know, I know, but I can’t help but feel like…”he trails off, gazing out at the endless surf that runs off out of sight in either direction. “It’s like there’s something missing. Like looking at a perfect painting that hasn’t been completely finished yet.”

She nods slowly, studying his face a moment before smiling. “It’s alright love. I feel the same way. Besides which…” she gazes out at the beach, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Sometimes we still need our parents. For comfort, if nothing else.” She shifts a bit, eyes distant, as though listening to something only she can hear. “They’ve done great so far, done so much more than even I thought they’d be able to.” Looking back at him, she catches his eyes, holding them with her own. “They carry a lot of weight on their shoulders, and by doing so they limit those they can turn to for support. Support they need when they’re worried, or stressed, or scared. Support that a father can give.”

Ryan looks at her blankly, before realization begins to blossom. “Will they let me do that?

Callie nods slowly, giving that dazzling smile of hers. “They will. They sort of owe you, after all.”

He hesitates, face faltering. ”But what about you and Isaac…”

She squeezes his shoulder, cutting him off. “We’ll be here, love. You know how this place works, how time passes. ” She leans in, kissing him briefly, softly. “We’ll be here when you return.”

* * *

We’ll meet…beyond the shore…

We’ll kiss just like before…

The song plays faintly in the back of Ryan’s mind, echoing gently as it’s drowned out by a confusion of sensation.

Happy we’ll be beyond the sea…

And never again…I’ll go sailing….

Bobby Darin he thinks disjointedly. One of Callie’s favorites.

Something isn’t right. It feels like he’s lying on some strange bed, soft, yet slightly prickly along his arms. He can feel warmth, and after a prolonged period of sluggish contemplation he eventually links the feeling to the reddish hue that fills his vision. Blinking his eyes open he confirms his suspicions. It’s the sun, sitting high over head, radiating heat and light down upon him from a field of depthless blue.

That doesn’t seem right.

The last thing he remembers is cold, cold and darkness, not sunlight and warmth. The house, something about the house and dismal, dirty looking snow. Except, he does remember something warm. Afterwards. An ocean, and warmth and peace and… Blinking again he manages to sit upright, his thoughts dissolving into a confused haze. As his field of vision tilts and reorients, he’s greeted by a view that is both oddly familiar and strangely alien.

Grass, a deep verdant green, runs away from him to a point about a hundred yards distant, hemmed in on both sides by tall, mostly straight walls of mica flecked granite. The granite is spotted here and there in a patchwork of mosses and lichens, creating small, abstract mosaics of greens and browns in places.

Turning his neck with a creaking sound he gazes at one of the rock walls, lifting his eyes to take in what appears to be a forest over-topping it, tall pines and oaks and other tree’s he doesn’t recognize obscuring the horizon. Looking the other direction he sees more of the same, a plethora of trees, some of which he’s pretty certain shouldn’t be growing next to each other at all. Returning his gaze to the front, he finally notices the small flowering shrubs and bushes that line the base of the walls. They seem to grow randomly along either side, but not in the middle, leaving a wide, clear ribbon of emerald green that seems to run headlong into some sort of dark grey obstruction in the distance.

Taking a deep breath he leans forward, rising shakily to his feet. He braces for the jolt of pain he knows is coming, his knees old, tired complaint. However as he stands fully upright he grunts in surprise. It doesn’t come. Glancing down at the limb in question he picks his right foot up slightly, bending it back and forth, marveling a little at how normal it feels. There’s no pain at all, no throbbing, no stiffness. For more years than he cares to recount there’s always been something from that particular joint. Even when it wasn’t hurting he still had an awareness of it, a feeling that something was just a little off, a feeling of bulk. Now, nothing.

“Huh.” He smiles a little, giving his right leg a few kicks. It feels like it did before the accident. How about that?

Looking around again, he studies the rock walls on either side of him, nodding in agreement with himself a minute later. He’s pretty certain that this is his canyon, the distinctive granite and general shape are pretty hard to mistake. He shakes his head at the differences.

What in the hell is going on? Turning around, intending to see if the birch trees are still there, and further confirm what he’s already certain of, he comes face to face with a large, dark figure, looming over him menacingly, preparing to attack.

Taking a step backwards with a startled cry, his left foot tangles with his right, and he falls heavily onto his rear, his teeth clicking together with the impact. He looks up, shielding his face with one arm, and as he starts to make out his attacker his panic turns to confusion. The figure is tall, a mottled grey, and after looking for a moment longer, appears to be made out of stone. Blinking up at what he now recognizes to be a statue, he suddenly leans closer, his brow furrowed in scrutiny.

“What in the hell is going on?” he whispers to himself. It appears to be a statue of him, meticulously carved and almost life like in its detail. Regaining his feet he approaches cautiously, circling slowly as he studies the stone reproduction. It’s exquisitely done, and as he lays a wondering hand on one of its arms he almost expects to feel the cloth shirt rustle. Completing his circle, stopping again where he started, he stands back, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets as he watches this odd statue mock him.

His fingers brush against something tucked into the bottom of his pocket, and he fishes it out, holding it up and revealing a folded square of white. Unfolding it, he’s surprised to find that he’s holding a photograph, the one he found underneath the couch. The one missing from the album he packed for the girls. Turning it over, he sees writing on the reverse side of it in an angular and unfamiliar hand.

When daughters did of a father need,

Thou did provide both home and heart.

Now a father in want of daughters be,

For love, delivered are you from the dark.

Below that, in a far more familiar script, is another note.

Until we meet again upon the shore, my love.

He stares at it dumbfounded for a time, eyes roaming over the words again and again, until finally returning his gaze to the statue, absently noting the small number of pale trunks behind it, where the meandering vertical granite faces meet up.

Yep, this is his canyon alright.

Why is this his canyon? How in the hell had he gotten here? What had happened to it? And why in the name of all that is holy is there a very well done statue of himself standing in it? Glancing down at the base of the thing, he finally notices the wilted remains of what are, still, beautiful flowers poking out of a pair of rounded stone holders.

He stares for a moment longer, mind spinning as he tries vainly to find some sort of context or perspective into which this canyon and this statue belong. Eventually giving it up as a bad job, he takes one last look at the stone figures gently smiling face before shrugging and turning on his heel, stuffing the picture back into his pocket.

The whole thing puts him in mind of a cemetery for some reason, or a shrine, and he begins to make his way toward the grey obstruction that lies across the mouth of the canyon, his shoulder blades hunching involuntarily. He can feel that damn thing looking at him. It’s creepy.

Noticing a few stray blades of grass out of the bottom of his eye, he brushes absently at his shirt, stopping when his hand bumps across a lump in his breast pocket. He halts, looking down at himself, and fishes a battered red and white pack of cigarettes from it. It looks remarkably like the cheater pack he had stashed in the living room end table. He opens it, noting the folded, half used pack of matches tucked inside, a sense of déjà vu sweeping over him. He stares at it for a time, face blank. Then, with a slow blink, he re-pockets them and continues onward.

Approaching what he recognizes to be a finely crafted rock wall, he slowly makes his way towards the intricate wrought iron double gate set in the middle of it, eyes picking out a finely worked pair of symbols at its center; a wavy rayed sun, and a crescent moon. Those symbols are very familiar to him, and a suspicion begins to form in his mind, one that is bolstered by the figure he sees standing on the other side.

It looks like a small horse, its grey coat peeking out from beneath ceremonial looking golden armor. Its standing rigidly, back to him as it looks out across the small road that crosses from left to right. The soft grass muffles Ryan’s footsteps, and he walks up to within a few feet of the thing without being noticed. He studies the odd looking creature for a few moments with a bemused expression, noting that the crest on its helmet is the same white as its tail. Idly he wonders if the helmet crest is really a crest at all, or if this things mane has been styled and pushed out through a hole in the top.

Shaking his head and suppressing a laugh at the growing ridiculousness of his situation, he takes a deep breath, letting it out quietly before clearing his throat. The reaction from what he’s pretty certain is some sort of guard is both immediate, and hilarious. Its ears flick backwards a split second before it jumps straight up, spinning about even as it lands facing him. Its overly large, bronze colored eyes are almost impossibly wide with surprise, and it emits a high pitched squeak when they focus on him.

The sound is too much. The canyon, the statue, the picture, the damned pack of smokes in his shirt pocket. The little equine guard in old fashioned looking armor. That tiny, high pitched squeak is the icing on the cake. Ryan throws his head back, bellowing laughter at the sky. He simply cannot help himself.

His laughter cuts off as he feels himself lifting slowly into the air, his arms locked at his sides. Frowning, he looks down, noticing a shimmering light enveloping his chest and arms. His bare arms. “Huh.” He grunts in surprise. “That’s new.” Looking back to the guard, he sees for the first time a short horn, the same shade of grey as its coat and enveloped in a similar glow. The little horse yells over its shoulder in a strange voice, its words an incomprehensible mix of sounds and tones that make no sense to Ryan. There is an answering call from down the path, and a second guard comes galloping in from the left, skidding to a halt in a spray of dust and small stones as it takes in the scene.

The two hold what sounds like a terse conversation before the first one glares up at Ryan. It says something in a questioning tone, which Ryan answers with a shrug. “I don’t understand you.”

Both guards watch him suspiciously before speaking rapidly back and forth to each other. The second one performs a funny sort of salute and turns, galloping back in the direction it had come from. Watching it depart, a small rooster tail of dust growing in its wake, he looks back at his impromptu captor, one brow lifting quizzically. It growls something in a low and threatening tone, body tense, head lowered enough that it can keep its stubby looking horn pointed at the middle of his chest yet still watch him.

Ryan fidgets a little, testing to see how far he can move his arms. He has a notion to pull the photograph from his pocket and show it to the little unicorn, but it appears to have a solid grip on him. His attempts cause the guard to bark out something that sounds like a command, and he finally gives up. Sighing, he relaxes, looking down to meet its eyes. “So, uh…what happens now?”

* * *

Ryan marches through the opulent hallways, or rather is marched, staring in wonder at the beauty of it all even as he’s hurried past everything. The six guards surrounding him follow the lead of the dark blue stallion marching purposefully at the head of their little procession, the filtered light of the hall reflecting dazzling patterns from his ornate and complicated armor as they sweep down broad corridors lined with fluted columns, past grand statues and intricate, colorful tapestries. The muted click of the shackles binding his wrists together provides a subtle counterpoint to the businesslike clip-clop of hooves against the black veined marble floors.

The interior of the palace is fantastical, almost fairy tale-like, richly appointed while avoiding, if just barely in some cases, being gaudy. He’d love to slow down and take in the amazing architecture, pause and look at the panoramic view offered by some of those arching floor to ceiling windows, but the guards escorting him have different ideas. His rump still smarts a little from the prodding one of them gave him when he tried to slow down earlier. The occupants of the palace garner almost as much attention from him as the building itself. They’ve passed scores of colorful little equines, singly and in groups, most standing, some even hovering on the beats of what seem to be disproportionately small wings, much to his wide eyed amazement. They peer at him from crossing hallways and open doors, all wide eyes and slack jaws. As he stands twice as tall as the encircling ring of guards they all get a good eyeful.

He imagines they must be some sort of servants or court functionaries or the like. Several times he’s seen what look like ceremonial uniforms, while others wear more normal looking, if still odd clothing. He’s pretty certain he even saw one wearing a top hat of all things. That had almost made him stop in his tracks again, and if he wasn’t keen on avoiding any more prodding from the rear guard he probably would have.

Eventually they come to a junction of corridors, the wide one they’ve been traveling meeting a smaller crossing hallway. Set in the middle of the opposing wall is a large set of wooden double doors, easily twice as tall as he is. Dark and polished to a mellow gleam, they are intricately carved with a number of symbols that mean nothing to him. Inset in the center, however, are two symbols that he is exceedingly familiar with, the same two that adorned the wrought iron gate back at the canyon; a wavy rayed sun and a crescent moon. Looking over the door and its carved and gilded molding, he lets out an impressed breath.

His girls seem to have done pretty good for themselves.

Some sort of functionary or attendant stands outside the great portal, a soft yellow creature with a seafoam green mane and tail, wearing a vest. Ryan looks her over, but can’t find any hint of wings or a horn. Interesting. She’d watched them approach with wide eyes, and it takes the stallion in charge a couple of tries to get her attention. Meeting his gaze, the two speak quietly in that strange, melodic language, before she motions towards the doors, one of which swings open wide enough to admit the group without them having to break their formation.

Stepping inside, the door swinging silently shut behind him, Ryan looks around, letting out a low, appreciative whistle which earns him a half hidden smirk from one of his guards. The room is large and well lit, delicate ivory pillars spaced along either side rising to meet the vaulted ceiling high overhead. Detailed and beautiful stained glass windows set in intricately carved molding march along both walls, reaching from floor to ceiling, the multihued light straining thought them casting fanciful and irregular patterns of brightness that overlap a wide runner of red carpet bordered in darker crimson. His eyes following the runner as it flows down the center of the room, and he takes in some kind of tall golden dais where it terminates at the far end of the chamber. A pair of dais’s actually, for situated next to the golden one is a similar affair wrought in dark blue stone.

Only one dais is currently occupied however, and it is that occupant that draws his complete and total attention. A large white alicorn sits primly atop the ornamental seat, the alabaster of her coat standing out against the deep red of the cushions. Most of her face is hidden behind what looks, fittingly enough given the rest of the place, to be a roll of parchment.

He can see some sort of golden crown perched above her horn, a large, complicated necklace or chest plate, and what appears to be a set of matching golden slipper…things on her hooves. It is not the jewelry, fine though it is that steals his attention though. Rather, it is the figure that is wearing it, and it is that figure that makes him stop dead in his tracks, causing the guards behind to come up short unexpectedly, and those in front to half turn with menacing looks.

He doesn’t have to see her face to know that a pair of rose hued eyes are scanning intensely over whatever it is that she’s reading, her lips likely compressed into a line as she focuses. Likewise he doesn’t have to see her side profile to know that while her face is all concentration, her wings will be fidgeting, just a touch, or that there will be a wavy rayed sun adorning each flank. He’d know her from any distance, any angle. It’s her, it’s his Celestia Marie. He had rather expected to find one or both of them at the end of this strange little journey, but to finally see his daughter, to see her alive and safe and by all evidence thriving…to see her in the flesh stops the breath in his throat, and for a moment all he can do is drink in the sight of her.

She’s changed. Changed a lot. True, it’s something to be expected after however long it seems to have been, but expected or not it’s still a shock. She’s larger than the last time he saw her, taller. He suspects he’d have to look up a little to meet her eyes, a concept he’s not too sure if he likes or not. However tall she’s gotten, by far the biggest change and the largest shock, is her mane and tail. Gone are the delicate shades of pink, replaced by some prismatic, ethereal thing that never seems to hold still.

The pink is still in there, but it’s now bordered by a veritable rainbow, a full riot spectrum of colors that flow gently away from her head and neck, billowing softly to one side. He manages to tear his eyes away from it just long enough to check for an open window or a fan, something to explain the constant motion, but can’t see anything that stands out, and he frowns a little. This isn’t a commercial, hair doesn’t just flow because it’s pretty.

So caught up is he in the moment and the sight of her that it barely registers when the lead guard approaches the dais, bowing low and speaking words that don’t mean anything to Ryan. His shock is competing with his disbelief, the surrealism of the situation threatening to lift him up and carry him away. It is when she responds in an absent tone to the guard that he comes crashing back to himself. Funny sounding language or no, her voice is unmistakable, and it is that voice that cements him in the here and now, that brings it all home and verifies that all of this is really happening.

Unconsciously he takes a step forward, unaware of the warning looks he’s receiving from the surrounding guards. Clearing his throat quietly, he takes another step, the shackles binding his hands and feet clinking with a muted sound, his mouth working a little before he finds his voice.

* * *

“Highness, this is the intruder we captured.”

Celestia flicks one ear absently in the Guard Captain’s direction, silently acknowledging his presence. She’ll deal with whatever fresh distraction has currently been presented to her in a moment, but this proposal from the Griffin Kingdoms requires her full attention. They were suggesting a series of alterations to the current trade agreement between the two nations, and for a change they were being reasonable in their proposals. That’s what has her back up. They were being too reasonable. Long experience has taught her that when a griffin offers you a fair deal, it’s only to distract you while his friend steals your coin purse. After reading and re-reading, she feels she’s just on the cusp of understanding what they’re really after.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment, Guard Captain.” She squints at the document, silently bidding it to reveal its true intentions. She would have to go over their proposal line by line, pick it apart word by word. Ordering the Ministry of the Interior to provide a report would be a good idea as well. But there was something about this particular section, right after the mention of fishing rights. Something about the way it was worded…

“Tia?”

She rustles a wing absently, eyes pouring over the flowery, elaborate prose in which the damnable thing was penned.

“Tia Marie?”

“I said just a moment. I’m almost done…with…” She trails off as realization slowly dawns on her, causing her to stop mid-sentence. She’s answering in English, in response to a question in that same language. A language that hadn’t been spoken by anybody other than her and her sister for millennia. A language that no longer existed outside of their respective personal libraries. A language that was, for all intents and purposes, dead. This realization is followed closely by a second, and her wings tense up a little.

That hadn’t been the Guard Captain’s voice.

Slowly lowering the parchment until she can see over the top of it, she takes in the ring of guards surrounding a tall, bipedal figure. Shock begins to slowly wash over her as she really takes in its features. A brown linen shirt, buttoned up the front and tucked into dark blue jeans, a pair of hiking boots peeking out from beneath the bottom cuffs. The wrinkles surrounding the dark brown eyes, the salt-and-pepper hair, the disbelieving smile now wreathing that all too familiar face.

A perfect image of her father.

“What is this?” She asks, her voice coming out in a husky whisper. She feels like she’s been hit in the head with a mallet made out of putty. Not taking her eyes from the impossible apparition before her, she turns her head slightly to address the captain of the guard. “Captain, what is this?”

Looking suddenly uncertain, the captain clears his throat roughly before returning a hesitant answer. “This…is the intruder we told you of, Majesty. The one we, uh, captured in the Royal Preserve.”

“You told me it was a diamond dog.” Celestia says flatly, the shock that is still settling over her beginning to transform into a growing heat.

“I assumed it was, Highness.” Glancing over his shoulder at their captive, he looks back to his regent once more with a quizzical expression. “What else could it be?”

The two legged figure in the middle of the group wrinkles his brow, tilting his head a little to one side before speaking. “Celestia, sweetheart, it’s me, it’s…” He’s cut off by sudden movement from the dais.

Lunging to her feet, Celestia marches quickly down the steps, scattering the guards and stopping in front of the creature that’s impersonating her father. Her anger is threatening to turn into a boiling rage, an all consuming fire befitting the celestial body for which she’s responsible. The thing before her shies back from the heat in her eyes. “What is this?” She asks coldly, her voice at odds with her blazing gaze, her face hard and commanding.

Blinking, the creature looks at her with confusion. “Tia, honey, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

Switching to English, she moves almost nose to nose with the wretched impostor. “What. Is. This.” She repeats. The guards surrounding them go tense, picking up on her tone even if they can’t understand the weird, guttural language she and the thing are speaking. They begin to circle in closer, assuming combat stances as they watch its every move.

“Tia…it’s me. It’s…” He’s cut off again as he’s lifted bodily from the floor, enveloped from head to toe in a powerful nimbus of amber light.

“You will be silent!” Celestia roars, drawing a startled gasp from one of the encircling guards. Turning her furious gaze to the captain, she notices his wide eyed expression is growing increasingly fearful. Taking a deep breath, and then another, she closes her own blazing magenta orbs for a moment, before addressing the captain in a more controlled voice. “When you captured this…thing, did you cast the new divination spell on it?”

Regaining his composure, the guard glances at the suspended biped, nodding his head. “Yes Majesty, we scanned it three times. It’s not a Changling, nor anything else that we can detect. As far as we can tell, this…being isn’t especially magical at all.”

Nodding, Celestia draws the creature closer, casting a quick divination spell herself. The captain is right, this…whatever it is, isn’t a Changling. She cannot find any magical ability, save for the same base magical essence that all creatures share. “Captain Silverwing, send two of your officers to check the statue garden at once.”

Listening half-heartedly as the captain begins issuing his orders, she studies the being before her with an intense scrutiny. “I don’t know who or what you are, but I know what you’re not.” She says in English, her voice soft and dripping with deadly intent. “My father died over two thousand years ago. You are not him. I don’t know what your game is, but I will find out, and when I do, I will make you regret that you ever had the audacity to commit this…foolishness.”

The creature looks down at her with her father’s eyes, its features growing still, its brow slowly furrowing, not in confusion, but what she can only assume is anger of its own. Good, maybe if it’s angry it will let slip what this is all about. Looking away in contempt, she seeks out the next ranking officer present, intending to order a cell prepared.

“Celestia. Marie. Williams.”

The voice is steady and without inflection, that calm tone that still manages to convey deep displeasure, and that brings back unpleasant memories of being in really big trouble, causing the flesh between her wings to tighten up involuntarily. She looks back at the thing, a little surprised that it could pull such an emotional response from her. What she sees takes her aback.

Not anger, but fury. This thing is hanging before her, completely helpless, wearing her father’s face, and that face is furious.

“I have had enough of this nonsense.” It says in that tone of voice she remembers so well. “I don’t know what has become of you, for however long it has been. But this will stop, and it will stop right. Now.”

“How dare you.” She hisses back, her own anger flaring. “How dare you come into my kingdom, pretending to be him, and talk to me like that. I promise you, you will rue the…”

The figure glares at her, and despite herself she cuts off in mid sentence. “Young lady that is enough. I didn’t raise you like this, and I sure as hell will not accept this type of behavior from you now. I don’t give a damn if your empress of the largest talking horse kingdom in existence. I have been poked, prodded, pushed, shackled, and one of those damn guards tried to stab me in the ass on my way here.” The figure takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly, nostrils flaring. “It has been a long and ridiculous day already, Celestia Marie, and I am not in any mood for your nonsense on top of it.”

Standing up straighter, Celestia makes a conscious effort to un-flatten her ears and loosen her wings. Whatever this thing is, it’s eerily good, and she begins to consider how dangerous this situation may truly be.

The expression of displeasure and disappointment, the flat tone that still somehow spoke of anger. That it could have such an effect on her…for a moment, as it had started addressing her, she hadn’t been Princess Celestia, co-regent of Equestria and raiser of the sun. For a brief moment, she had been Tia Marie, six years old and in trouble for breaking those two picture frames in the living room because she was roughhousing with her sister. The two picture frames, she was informed as she stared miserably down at her hooves, that had held the only surviving copies of his wedding photos.

That this thing could have such an effect on her, could have that sort of influence over her emotions, that it could pull at them so successfully…this was a dangerous situation indeed.

“You give yourself away by your very existence, creature.” She spits, eyes narrowing once more as she rallies herself. “My father was non-magical, a thaumic void, as were all of his kind.” She nods to the magically bound and floating man-thing. “I can read you, deceiver. I can feel the base magic that makes up your being, the same as any other plant or animal in this world. I’m touching you with it.” She snorts angrily, feelings she had long ago made peace with swelling and bubbling within her.

Glancing down at itself, the creature makes an effort at a shrug, hampered by the way its limbs are restricted. It huffs in frustration. “Well, you got me there.”

“Enough.” She cuts him off, voice deadly, her breath a bit labored. Fighting to regain her bearing, she looks at the prisoner with a scorn that’s only partially affected. “My father is dead. You cannot be him, it isn’t possible.” She snarls, pain and outrage flitting briefly across her features.

The figure studies her for a long moment, and as it does its face softens, the anger draining swiftly away. It meets her gaze steadily, its eyes growing a little sorrowful. Finally it takes a deep breath, holding it in briefly before letting it out in a gust. “Your middle name.” He says simply, quietly.

“What of it?”

“You’re named after your Grandma Williams. Your sister is named after your Grandma Anders. I found the two of you hiding in between the birch trees in the canyon when you were little. I used to make you pancakes for breakfast every Saturday morning.”

Fetching another deep sigh, the creature looks down, its expression growing wistful. “You both started learning how to fly when you were eight, and your sister was seven. When Luna was eight she sprained her leg. She tried to blame it on you. When you were fourteen you started getting headaches, and eventually we learned that was because of your magic. You also tried to hide how bad those headaches were, and the dreams, from me.” He frowns at her for a second, before continuing. “A couple of months later you nearly burned the house down trying to bake a cake.”

Celestia looks at the figure, struggling to keep her expression neutral. “All of that could have been obtained through scrying. You’d better have a more impressive trick up your sleeve.” It would have had to have been extremely skilled scrying, to be sure, and over a very long period of time. The likelihood of a magical practitioner being able to pull off such a thing undetected was actually pretty slim, and despite her better judgment, her anger begins to slip away, leaving behind a solid core of doubt that she clings to like a lifeline. There is no way this thing is really her father, it simply cannot be.

The figure sighs again, searching her face before nodding to himself. “After…when you woke up in the shelter, you should have found some things I packed in your saddle bags. One of those things was a photo album. Did you?” He smiles gently at her slow nod. “Good, I’m glad to know that made it. Inside that photo album, about midway through, are some pictures from my birthday one year. One of those pictures is missing, correct?”

She nods again, her doubt beginning to splinter and erode away, to be replaced by that slow, creeping shock once again. Only two others knew about that photo album, her sister, and her student. Even now it sat wrapped in cloth in the bottom of a silk lined trunk in her chambers. The album, cloth and trunk were all enspelled in a keeping to preserve them. To open the trunk, to unwrap the cloth, was to break the keeping, which had to be recast every time. The last time she had removed the album she had broken her own spell, the weaving and final casting of her own work easily recognizable to her, and she had had to subsequently recast the whole thing when she put it back.

Nobody else could have accessed that trunk without her knowing about it.

“I found the photo after… after I left you two. It had fallen off of the coffee table and ended up under the couch.” He nods towards his legs. “It’s in my front right pocket.”

A clatter of hooves announces the return of two guards. “Majesty, we’ve checked the statue garden, and…”

She holds up one wing, cutting off the guards report, studying the…creature, peering into its eyes, trying with all of her centuries of experience and accumulated political savvy to detect even the faintest trace of deception.

She sees only honesty. Sincerity.

Manipulating the flows of energy connected invisibly to her horn, she frees the beings right hand, nodding towards his pants pocket in answer to his questioning look. She feels a pit form in her stomach as he reaches in and draws forth a folded square of bright white, holding it out to her. Taking it in a flow of amber light, she unfolds it, gazing down at the glossy picture, a photograph of exceeding sharpness and clarity that far outstrips the current state of the art in modern day Equestria. The pit in her stomach yawns larger and larger, eroding her doubt until, helplessly, she falls into it, her body going numb. There is a soft thump in front of her followed by a muffled grunt as the creature is released from her magical grasp, landing upright on the carpeted runner.

“Captain Silverwing.” Her voice is strange to her ears, husky and just barely audible.

“Yes…Highness?” He answers, her sudden shift in demeanor causing him to hesitate.

“Clear the throne room, please.”

The captain stares at his regent for a long moment. “Majesty?”

The solar diarch doesn’t’ look up from her study of the picture. “Clear the throne room captain, yourself included. Immediately.”

Slowly the captain motions the guards and other occupants towards the entryway, throwing a worried and bewildered look at his princess every few plodding steps. Not noticing as the guards and assembled functionaries’ crowd out through the door in a confused clatter of hooves and the nervous rustling of wings, she finally looks up when the door has swung completely closed. Turning wide, glistening eyes from the picture to the man standing shackled before her, her breath catches in her throat for a moment, her eyes roaming his form as she struggles to speak.

“…Daddy?”

His shackles jingle quietly, the sound unnaturally loud in the suddenly still air of the throne room. He brings his bound hands up to wipe gently at the moisture that’s beginning to run down her cheeks, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth and deepening the crow’s feet around his eyes. “Hello, dearheart.”

* * *

Captain Silverwing stood his post rigidly outside of the royal throne room, the semi-constant motion of his ears the only outward sign of his anxiousness. One of several Guards Captain, Silverwing had been promoted rather early for one with so relatively little time in service, his performance reviews always citing ‘duty above and beyond expectations’. There was talk he was being groomed to eventually replace Commander Bulwark . As a Guard Captain, his duty mainly involved overseeing several regiments of the royal guards, tending to the day to day details of keeping his troops in good fighting order, creating and disseminating watch rotations and patrol schedules in conjunction with the five other Guards Captain, enforcing discipline and issuing reprimands, and the other various and sundry minutiae of running part of a larger military whole.

Despite his comparatively short time in service, Silverwing had seen a lot in the line of duty, from border skirmishes and diamond dog raids to the return of Nightmare Moon, and most recently the Changling Incursion. He’s watched his regents deal with any number of sinister issues and unexpected emergencies. As a high ranking member of the Guard he had seen them both in just about every type of situation imaginable, and he was cautiously sure he was one of only a hoof-ful of ponies who could say that he had a reasonably good understanding of Their Majesties, particularly his solar diarch.

In the performance of his duties he has seen his princess frustrated, he has seen her incensed, he has seen her mischievous and he has seen her sorrowful. Above all, however, he has seen her calm. In whatever manner she may react after the fact, she has always confronted every problem and issue placed before her with a stoic sort of reserve, had been a source of stability, in the face of every situation, that helped other ponies keep their cool under stressful circumstances. Today, however…he has never seen her like she was today. He’s seen her truly angry on rare occasions, but this was so far beyond anger he’s not even sure what to call it.

To see her furious, so suddenly and completely, to see actual loathing in her blazing eyes… He’s always been respectful of the royalty, awed even, especially by both of Her Majesties. This is the first time he’s ever been afraid of one of his rulers, the first time he’s ever been disturbed by her reactions. It had been frightening enough to see her slip into such an icy, almost hateful anger, but even more chilling was what came afterwards. He didn’t know why that weird mutant diamond dog had made her react so, nor did he care what it was they were discussing in that strange, harsh sounding language. But at the end, just before she’d ordered everypony out of the throne room…

He’s never seen his regent truly afraid, either, and try as he might, he cannot convince himself that what he saw on her face as she gazed at that weird scrap of paper was anything other than fear.

By the Divine Sisters, he never wishes to see such a thing again.

A scraping sound draws his attention, and one half of the door cracks open. He spins, head lowering a little, eyes locked on the doorway, prepared to face whatever is waits within. He’s taken by surprise, then, when Princess Celestia’s voice drifts out, summoning him. Entering cautiously, his eyes scan the interior, seeking out and locking onto the strange thing standing beside Her Majesty. Oddly, its eyes are red and wet looking, as if it’s been crying. Glancing at his regent he’s alarmed to see her in the same state. One of the things paws rests on Princess Celestia’s neck, and he growls under his breath at its audacity. Taking a menacing step forward, readying to teach the creature a lesson for its presumed familiarity with the sun princess, he’s shocked to stillness when she glances at him and speaks.

“Captain Silverwing, good. Spread word throughout the ranks. Hence forth, our…guest here, is to be treated with every courtesy, and given every accommodation. He is to receive anything that he requests, without question, and is to be shown the same honor and respect that my sister and I receive.”

Silverwing has always been a pony of discipline. It’s one of the reasons he’s advanced as early and often as he has throughout his career, and is in fact something he has prided himself on. All of his discipline and self-control, however, cannot stop his jaw from dropping open, nor can it keep a stutter from his voice as he answers. “Ma…Majesty?”

She says something to the creature in that odd language, and it chuckles quietly, trying to hide a smile behind one misshapen paw. “You heard me correctly, Captain. Also, fetch my Chamberlain, and inform her that, for the next day at least, all royal functions, meetings, and courts that are not of the utmost importance are canceled. Then have her send somepony up to my chambers with an assortment of foods, some tea, and a bottle of Ice Wine from the cellar. The best vintage we have.”

Turning away from the stunned captain, she and the creature begin making their way towards a smaller exit hidden from view behind the Royal Dais. “Oh, and have somebody wake my sister and tell her to meet us in my rooms.” She glances back over her shoulder, and a familiar impish grin spreads across her muzzle. “But don’t tell her what’s happened. I want it to be a…surprise.” She giggles mischievously as they exit through the doorway.

* * *

Luna walks groggily up the wide spiral staircase, trying to blink residual sleep from grainy eyes. The summons had been abrupt, and very vague. Her sister wanted to see her immediately on a matter of some importance, but hadn’t wanted to say what, other than a promise that the situation wasn’t dire.

Stopping finally in front of the sun carved doors she hesitates, deliberating slowly for a moment before simply pushing the portal open with a flare of her horn. Celestia had awoken her, after all, and currently she doesn’t feel that something as polite as knocking is warranted.

Stepping inside, she searches around the plush interior of the large apartments, finding nothing of note. Faintly she can hear a voice from the other side of the room, and looking in its direction she can see a wash of sunlight falling across the floor from around the corner, coming from the balcony.

Taking a few steps closer she stops, listening as she catches the sound of her sister speaking, not feeling the least bit guilty for eavesdropping. Padding on quiet hooves, she strains to make out some part of the conversation, her ears swiveling forward. Who is she talking to, anyway?

“So I leaned forward and looked him right in the eye, and I said to him, ‘Say the word bananas to me, one more time. I bucking dare you’.” Laughter drifts into the room, her sister’s chime-like giggles mixing with a deeper baritone that almost sounds familiar. Is she with some stallion? Possibly one of the nobles?

Something about the words being spoken bothers Luna, and after perhaps a moment longer than it should have taken her, her mind finally catches up to the information her ears have been receiving. English? Is that English they’re speaking?

Her sister is out on the balcony, telling some story or other, in English? She can’t remember the last time either one of them actually used that tongue. Furrowing her brow, Luna cocks her head, ears standing straight up as she focuses on the conversation outside. She couldn’t have possibly heard that correctly.

The laughter dies down after a moment, and she can hear the muted clink of glasses. “Well, after that the union representative suddenly decided that maybe it was extortion after all, which might not be such a good idea. They were back to work by the end of the day.”

Luna blinks owlishly, a frown creasing her features. She is hearing correctly, but why would Celestia be telling a story in English? The other laugh certainly didn’t come from Twilight Sparkle. Has she been teaching somepony else on the side? “Sister?” She calls out, deciding she’d very much like to get to the bottom of whatever this is and just get back to bed, while she still can.

“We’re out here, Luna.” Her sister’s cheerful voice calls back.

There is a shifting from out on the balcony, and Celestia meets Luna just as she rounds the corner. Luna peers blearily past her sister’s shoulder, but she can’t see who else might be out there. All she can make out is a round table covered in food, and an open wine bottle poking out from behind the squat shape of a pitcher. Focusing back on her older sister, Luna blinks in confusion. “Tia, what’s this all about? Is everything alright?”

Her sister gives her a strange look, one that is an odd combination of giddiness and apprehension. “Luna, something has happened. Something amazing, and impossible, and…and…” She trails off, glancing back towards the open balcony doorway before turning again to meet Luna’s eyes. “Look, there’s somebody out there that you need to see, but I have to talk to you about him first.”

Luna rolls her eyes with a weary sigh. “Tia, I’m happy you found a special somepony, and I’ll get around to meeting him, I promise. But this could have waited. I was sleeping, after all.”

“What? Oh, no, no no no.” Celestia answers quickly, her eyes widening. “No, trust me, it’s not that. Look, I need to tell you what happened today, and I need you to hear me out completely before you react. He’s had sort of a rough time of it already, and I… didn’t do much to help that.” She leans forward, her eyes at the same time serious and earnest. “I need you to trust me, sister. Can you do that?”

Luna studies her older sibling’s face, carefully reading her expression. Celestia is being completely open and honest, and she’s acting strangely anxious, almost jumpy, like a nervous school filly. Where is her bearing, her royal reserve? Confused, and growing more than a little concerned, Luna settles back on her haunches, giving her wings a quick stretch before tucking them along her sides. She has a bad feeling about this for some reason. She locks eyes with her older sister, her voice tense. “If this is some sort of prank, sister, so help me…” As Celestia shakes her head, Luna relaxes. Fetching a sigh, she nods. “Alright, go ahead.”

Celestia throws another quick glance over her shoulder before taking a deep breath. “Thank you. Now, don’t overreact, but…”

* * *

The view is…stunning. Stunning is the word that Ryan wants. Stunning, with maybe some approximation of awe inspiring. It’s beautiful, at any rate. The city glistens below in the waning sunlight, fancifully shaped and elegant buildings of grey and white stone set along curving avenues, all laid out like a creative child’s fantastical miniature. Tiny colorful dots move to and fro along the streets and through the air above it, the whole setting framed by the gorgeous landscape behind. The rolling green of the hills, the dark, craggy, snow capped mountains to the east. The dun smear of some forest, he thinks Tia called it the EverFree, off to the west, a glittering little gem of a town nestled right next to it, just barely visible. Distant rivers and waterways shimmer like jeweled belts, wending their individual ways across a lush and overwhelmingly living landscape.

Inside the…palace? Castle? What exactly is this place, anyway? He’ll have to ask when they come back out on the balcony. Back inside Tia’s rooms he can hear the strains of an excited sounding conversation, maybe even an argument. It’s in that strange, melodious language that puts him in mind of bird song, so it’s difficult to tell. Despite not being able to understand a single word of it however, he can clearly make out Luna’s voice, her tone and timber unmistakable to his ears. His overwhelming instinct is to go to her, to wrap her and her sister up in his arms and never let go.

Instead he makes himself lean back, taking in the panoramic view before him and sipping from a glass of dark red wine. Ice Wine, Tia had called it, and while he’s never been much for the stuff he has to admit it’s excellent, sweet and spicy, with just a hint of bitter after taste. Celestia had told him to wait while she tries to explain the situation to Luna, and after their ordeal in the throne room he’s inclined to let her handle this in her own way.

The voices begin rising in volume, the incomprehensible words drifting out through the open doorway to mix with the bright, warm air. In actuality it sounds nothing at all like birdsong, that’s just the closest approximation he can come up with. The individual words are difficult to pick out when spoken rapidly - such as he’s hearing now - the sounds seeming to merge and flow together in a most amicable fashion. It’s rather pleasant to listen to, in a way.

An actual bird flits past, alighting on the edge of the short semicircle of stone that encloses the balcony. Ryan frowns at it, trying to place its species. It’s definitely not a sparrow or blue jay or any of the other types that should inhabit a mountainous desert region, but then again this isn’t exactly a desert anymore. Is it some kind of lark, maybe? The bird cocks its head to one side, eyeing him right back in a surprisingly direct manner. Behind him the voices grow louder, very identifiable anger beginning to color their speech, and he begins contemplating whether or not he should poke his head in there or refill his wine glass.

As a father his parental instinct is to break it up before it gets out of hand, but…they’re both adults now. Rulers even, and he’s pretty certain that if they can construct some sort of super pony civilization, than they can probably…

“Because it isn’t possible Tia!”

“I’m telling you, I checked him myself!”

“Then you’re obviously mistaken!”

The bird disappears in a frantic flapping of wings, leaving behind only a small off-color splatter against the white stone to show it was ever there. Sighing, Ryan tilts his head back, finishing his wine in a single swallow and rising to his feet. That wasn’t pretty birdsong language, that was English, and he takes it as a bad sign that they’ve dropped back into it to shout at each other. Setting the glass down he takes a moment to make sure his shirt is still tucked all the way in, then turns and strides through the arched doorway.

Inside he stops for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the relative dimness as he takes in the scene before him. Both of his girls are standing at the corner that marks the bend between balcony doorway and bedroom proper, nose to nose, wings partially flared, their legs rigid. Celestia’s ethereal mane is snapping in its non-existent breeze, matched only by Luna’s, which seems to boil atop her head, their eyes flashing. This…is not good. They’ve gotten into spats before, but he can’t remember ever seeing them quite like this.

Considering for a moment how best to proceed, Ryan decides on the old standby, and settles into his sternest Dad expression before clearing his throat loudly. The effect is instantaneous, and more than a little comical. Celestia freezes, her eyes going wide, her wings flinching slightly, looking for all the world like he just caught her sneaking sweets before dinner. Luna’s eyes snap up instantly, looking past her older sister’s shoulder and locking onto him. He glimpses a great deal of anger and pain on her face, and a little bit of fear as well, before shock wipes it all from her countenance. Her teal eyes open so wide it’s a wonder they don’t roll right out of her head, and he manages to keep his composure, if only just.

“Girls,” He starts out, frowning, “there is no need to carry on like this. Half of the…castle or whatever, has probably heard the two of you by now.”

Tia spins around, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “Dad, I asked you to let me…”

He raises a hand, cutting her off. “I know sweetheart, and normally I’d let you handle this your way, but all you two are doing is fighting, and it’s not helping anybody at the moment.” Studying her face for a few seconds, he nods to himself, motioning her to one side. As she moves a couple of paces over he steps towards Luna, who has straightened up and re-tucked her wings. Her eyes are still wide, and they’re starting to get a little wild looking.

Ryan stops a respectable distance from her, scratching at his chin for a moment as he looks her over. Like her sister, she too has grown a lot. She can just about look him in the eye, which is a far cry from the size she used to be. Also like her older sister, her mane has changed, has become ethereal and strangely wonderful, cascading away from her face and down her neck like a pool of liquid night sky bejeweled with stars. Her eyes are older, and he sees in them a sort of wisdom and experience that was never there before. The sight both fills him with pride and breaks his heart a little. She’s not his innocent little girl anymore. Neither of them are.

“Hey there, Lunabelle.” He says softly, a gentle smile on his face and in his voice.

She seems to flinch a little at that, inhaling sharply through her nostrils. Throwing a quick glance at her older sister, she begins to approach him slowly, eyes never leaving his face. With careful, measured steps she circles him, studying every facet and every angle, the only sound her steady breathing. Inhale through the nostrils, pause, exhale through the nostrils, her hooves nearly silent on the thick layered rugs that cover the floor.

Ryan glances over at Celestia, who watches tensely from a few feet away, her legs fidgeting. Eventually Luna circles back around, turning to face him directly. She leans in, her blue-green eyes searching his with a sort of frantic intensity, and he breathes in hints of lilac and jasmine, probably from her shampoo. He’s about to speak, when her gaze finally softens and her eyes grow moist. She hesitates for only a moment before leaning into him and laying her head along his shoulder, her eyes squeezed tightly closed as she inhales deeply.

“Daddy.” Her voice comes out husky with restrained emotion, not a question but a statement of fact.

Reaching up, he strokes along her neck, his fingers combing through the silky softness of her mane, which feels no different for all its radically altered appearance. “Hi sweetheart.”

“That’s it?” Celestia bursts out, going slack jawed. “After all of that arguing and your stubborn…that’s all the convincing you need?”

Pulling back, she smiles shyly up at her father before throwing a smirk at her apoplectic sibling. “I just know.”

* * *

“Wait, wait…so she cast some sort of, compulsion or whatever on this doll, and the whole town ended up rioting?”

“Well, not quite a riot, but pretty close.” Celestia chuckles, her cheeks heating a little. “She thought she needed to solve some problem before she wrote to me. Twilight can be…”

“A little obsessive.” Luna finishes for her older sister, levitating her wine glass to her lips.

“Yes, she can be a bit.” Tia nods, taking a drink from her own glass. “She is getting much better about it though.”

Ryan shakes his head, smiling. “She sounds like a pretty good kid.” Looking down at the little table, he swirls his drink in its glass meditatively, looking thoughtful. He glances back up, opening his mouth when his musing is interrupted by a knocking from within the room behind them.

Peering through the arched doorway, Celestia nods her head once. “Ah, that should be my Chamberlain.” She smiles at her father. “Excuse me for a moment.” Rising, she makes her way back into her apartments, calling out something that Ryan can’t understand.

Watching back through the doorway Ryan glances over at Luna. “Chamberlain?”

She nods. “Sort of like a chief attendant, or head personal assistant.” Stifling a yawn she leans back against her seat. “We both have one, although mine is asleep right now. Or at least, she should be.” Ryan looks her a question and she sighs softly. “Chamberlain Dazzler, my Chamberlain, is...very dedicated. And while I do appreciate all of her efforts, she’d likely work herself to death if I let her.” Luna shakes her head ruefully. “Last year I had to order her to take a vacation.”

Ryan snorts a little, trying to cover the noise by taking another sip of his wine. Luna raises an eyebrow at him, and he smiles, embarrassed. “Sorry sweetheart, it’s just that…well the names will take a little getting used to.” The names seem to range mostly from silly to downright ridiculous, but he isn’t going to say that. Funny sounding names or no, these are his daughter’s people and he’d be loath to be disrespectful.

“They translate a little strangely into English. They’re more poetic sounding in native Equestrian.” She answers, a touch of defensiveness creeping into her voice.

He reaches across the table, laying a hand apologetically on her foreleg. “I don’t mean to laugh honey.” He leans back into his seat, glancing out over the edge of the balcony to the city sprawling gloriously below. “It’ll just take me some time to adjust to everything. So much has changed, almost instantly. Yesterday this was all part of the Great Basin desert, and today it’s the seat of power for a thriving nation of ponies.” He sighs quietly, his eyes taking on a lost look. “So much has changed…”

Two sets of hoof falls approach the doorway, and Ryan and Luna look up to see Celestia stop at the threshold, a smaller pony at her side. The smaller figure, a light blue unicorn with dark blue mane and tail, dips her front half towards Luna, before straightening up and staring at Ryan. Her eyes match her coat, and she looks uncertainly at him, casting the occasional glance at either Luna or Celestia, as if seeking reassurance in their presence.

“Dad, this is my Chamberlain, Willow Wisp.” Tia gestures towards the mare with a hoof, speaking something in Equestrian. Willow bows slightly towards Ryan, answering in a quiet voice. “She’s going to set up some rooms for you.”

Ryan inclines his head towards the nervous looking pony. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wisp.” He gives her a reassuring smile, which doesn’t seem to do much to set her at ease.

Luna speaks up briefly, after which the Chamberlain responds. “She says she looks forward to accommodating you, and that should you require anything you have but to ask for it.”

Ryan smiles, bowing his head again, before his brow begins to furrow. Looking over at his younger daughter he clears his throat. “How?”

She shoots him a confused glance. “How what?”

“How am I supposed to ask her for anything if I need a translator just for the introductions?”

Luna opens her mouth to answer, before stopping short, her own brow beetling. They both glance up at Celestia, finding a similar expression on her face. The elder sister clears her throat. “I… haven’t quite thought that far ahead.” Looking down at Willow Wisp, who by now is starting to look confused on top of nervous, she smiles brightly, speaking a few short words. The blue mare nods her head, bowing low again before turning and trotting back the way she came. Walking back out onto the balcony and taking her seat, she chuckles weakly. “We’ll figure that out.”

The trio sits quietly for a time, basking in the warmth of the sun and each other’s company. Eventually Luna breaks the silence by clearing her throat. “Dad?” He looks over at her and she clears her throat again. “I’m not entirely sure how to ask this, but…how did you get here?”

“Like I said honey,” he smiles gently at her, “I just woke up…”

“In the canyon, I know. But how…” Luna trails off, unsure of how to continue. Glancing at her sister, she sees the same questions reflected in her rose colored eyes. Luna leans forward, her voice hesitant. “Dad, what…what happened? After you left us? How…” She falters for a moment, throat working a little. “How are you even here right now?”

Ryan looks at her for a moment, brow beetling. “I’m not sure.” Frowning, his eyes take on a faraway look, his gaze sliding down to rest upon his wine glass. Idly he begins swirling the deep burgundy liquid, staring at it as if it might contain the answer to her question. And in a way, it might, for he opens his mouth again to speak, his voice hesitant and quiet.

“I remember…” he pauses, still frowning at his glass. “Snow…there was grey snow, piling up outside, starting to cover the truck. And it was cold, at first. It was cold and there wasn’t any power, but it didn’t really matter because of the rain.” He glances up, meeting both of their gazes, taking in their concerned looks. “It’s sort of fuzzy, like a dream I can’t quite remember.”

He returns his eyes to the wine glass in his hand, frown deepening. After a few moments of silence Luna opens her mouth to speak, cutting herself short when Tia nudges her, giving a surreptitious shake of her head.

Eventually Ryan begins speaking again, not really seeing the wine glass, his voice troubled and lost sounding. “I got caught. In the rain when it started, the fallout. After I closed up the shelter. I was sick….” He shudders a little in the warm sunlight cascading over the balcony, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I was sick, and I was…” He glances up at them, an odd, tight expression on his face. “Let’s just say I was very sick.”

The two royal sisters share an uneasy look, both able to fill in the part he isn’t saying, and Celestia leans forward, intent on telling him he doesn’t have to do this if he doesn’t want to. The lost quality of his voice both unnerves her and tears at her heart. She doesn’t want to hear about this, she decides. She’d already spent so much time agonizing over what probably befell their father after he left them for the last time. She doesn’t need to hear this, and neither does Luna.

“After I…was done being sick,” His face changes, the lost look leaving his features, replaced by a look of pleasant surprise, and she just stops herself from reaching a hoof across the table. “There was darkness, for a time, and then…something else. Someplace else.”

Luna leans forward again, her eyes riveted. “Where dad?”

Ryan looks up with an unfocused gaze, a gentle smile wreathing his face, a sort of sereneness coloring his voice that they have never heard before in all their long lives together. It’s unsettling, like their father isn’t even there with them in this moment. “Momma Callie says hello...”

Both sisters lean back in their seats, eyes wide. All is silent for a moment, before Ryan shakes his head, snapping suddenly back to the here and now with a bemused expression. “Like I said, it’s all pretty fuzzy. I was sick, then...not sick, and then I was here. I don’t really remember anything els…what’s wrong?”

Celestia comes back to herself first, sharing a wondering look with her sister before turning back to their father. “Nothing, dad. It’s…it’s okay if you don’t remember.” Taking a deep breath she gives her wings a little shake, resettling them along her back. “The important thing is that you’re here, now.” Smiling, she leans across the table, placing a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek. Beside her, Luna nods, smiling, before kissing his other cheek.

Ryan chuckles quietly. “Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right.” He reclines, hands folded across his stomach, gazing out over the balcony at the landscape below. An uneasy look comes suddenly over him, and he hesitates for a moment before speaking, for some reason having difficulty meeting either of their eyes. “So, Tia, sweetheart. You said earlier that…all of these ponies are…yours?”

“Well yes, mine and Luna’s, actually.” She smiles at Luna before turning a grin at him. “They’re our little ponies.”

Ryan swallows roughly, his face a little disbelieving as he glances at them. “All of them?” At their twin nods he closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before looking at the tabletop. “Both of you huh?” His voice grows a little strained as he uses his index finger to draw idle abstractions in a bit of spilled wine. “Look honey, it’s really none of my business, you and your sister are adults after all, but…”

Luna and Celestia share a puzzled look, before nodding for him to continue.

Clearing his throat, he finally manages to look up from the table, meeting their eyes with an uncomfortable grin. “So… different fathers, or...?”

Both sisters share another confused glance, before their eyes go wide.

“I beg your pardon?”

* * *

Knock Knock Knock.

“Mr. Williams? It will be starting soon, and your presence is required.”

Struggling with the ties that run down the side of his outfit, Ryan turns partially towards the door, calling back over his shoulder as he works. “Thanks Miss Wisp. I’ll just be…just be another moment…” Attempting to lift the overhanging fabric obstructing the view of his left side, without letting go of the damnable ties, Ryan twists, one voluminous sleeve catching on a stack of books perched on his night stand and sending them tumbling to the floor in a clatter. “Damnit!”

There is silence from the door, and a hesitant Willow Wisp finally noses it partially open, calling into the room again. “Do you require any assistance, Mr. Williams?”

Scowling at the folds of garment concealing his hands, he grunts absently. “No, I…wait. Yes, yes I do, actually.” Letting his hands drop in disgust, he turns towards the front door, attempting to smooth the frustration from his face. Celestia’s Chamberlain had grown more accustomed to his presence over the last week or so that he’s been in the palace, but she still seemed to be easily spooked by him. Not that he can really fault her for that, it seems to be an affliction that most of the ponies he meets suffer from. The only explanation he’s been able to come up with so far it that they’re intimidated by his height.

Trotting forward with a neutral expression, the sky blue unicorn takes a look at the open side of his outfit, her horn lighting up and beginning the process of correctly closing it before he can even tell her what the problem is. Making sure to keep his arm up and out of her way, he smiles appreciatively at her. “Thank you, Miss Wisp. I’d hate to be late because I can’t figure out how to properly dress myself.”

She makes a vague, noncommittal sound as she finishes up, the light of her horn winking out as she leans back to study her work. Nodding to herself, she meets his eyes with only a slight hesitation. “Will you require anything else Mr. Williams?”

“No, I think I’m all set.” He nods to her, bending slightly at the waist and smiling. “My thanks again, Miss Wisp.” She bows low to him, holding the pose for only a moment before turning and trotting back out of the room. Ryan suppresses a frustrated sigh.

He hates it when they bow, it makes him feel strange and out of place. Unfortunately, his close but undefined association with the Princesses seems to have caused most of the residents of the palace to approach him with a cautious attitude. Nobody knows quite what his real relationship with the two rulers is, but the fact that they spend so much time with him, that they seem almost to dote on him even, means that he must be somebody pretty important, and possibly influential. That means playing it safe where he’s involved, which unfortunately means a lot of bowing and scraping, almost as much as Tia and Luna receive. It’s enough to give a man indigestion.

Shaking his head to clear it, Ryan strides across the room to stand before the tall mirror set in the far corner. Checking that everything is hanging as close to correctly as it can be, he snorts in amusement. A royal banquet, his daughters had told him, tended to involve a lot more pomp and ceremony than a normal dinner would, and so necessitated more formal attire. They had been quick to point out that blue jeans and a buttoned shirt simply would not do. Ryan’s half convinced they just wanted an excuse to dress him up like the dolls they used to play with. They’d certainly had that amused glint in their eyes when they first made him try this ridiculous thing on.

Ryan snorts again, eyeing his reflection. He’s dressed in a long, blue robe type thing, bordered around the hem in thick bands of lighter blue, which hangs to just below his ankles. Extra fabric drapes down from the shoulders and hangs down from the elbows, covered in simple, boxy repeating patterns of silver thread. That it was a simple boxy pattern and not an abundance of hearts is something he counts as a small victory. Despite Tia explaining to him, over and over, that the familiar heart shape from their old world had become a symbol of life and vitality, in addition to the mushier concepts it used to represent, the thought of being decked out in the things was just a tad too ridiculous for him to accept.

The ties that close the whole getup are hidden in yet more folds of fabric that run down the sides. It was, he’d been told, an altered griffon Maira’ Tel, a ceremonial outfit worn by lower ranking griffon dignitaries. It had been altered to fit his bipedal frame, the wing and back leg openings had been sewn closed, and the whole thing had been dyed from its original tan color, which signified some sort of rank, to its current blue one, which as far as he’d been told didn’t signify anything. It was the only item of clothing they could find that would decently fit him on short notice.

The extra folds of fabric were meant to dress a griffon’s front and hind legs, partially concealing them while not restricting movement. On the more militaristic griffons it provided both form and function. On him it just looked silly.

Adjusting himself slightly, Ryan snorts again before turning towards the door leading to the hallway. When he had asked Luna why they couldn’t just remove the stupid bunches of extra material, she had told him that the thing would look too much like a robe, which wouldn’t be appropriate. When he’d pointed out that it already looked pretty much like a robe, she’d scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Luna had promised they would get around to making something more suitable for him to wear, but he’d seen the humor in her expression. He’d have to make doubly sure whatever they provided wasn’t some ridiculous color, or decked out in sparkles. Or both.

At the end of the short hallway that leads from the guest apartments to one of the main thoroughfares of the palace, he spies Chamberlain Dazzler waiting for him and grins. Ryan likes Miss Dazzler. Not that he doesn’t like Miss Wisp, but where Willow Wisp is quiet, reserved, and cautious around him, Dazzler is open and good natured, almost bordering on boisterous. She doesn’t seem to suffer from the same sort of hang-ups about him that other ponies do, and often traded good natured jabs with him, when she wasn’t ribbing him about something. She had also stopped bowing when he’d asked her to.

Ears swiveling at his slippered approach - and how embarrassing was it to be wearing slippers to a function like this - Dazzler turns, taking in Ryan’s appearance with a grin. “Good evening, Mr. Williams. You look very…dapper, tonight.”

Smirking at the sandy coated unicorn, Ryan grunts in displeasure. “I look like a damn fool, which is exactly how I feel.”

Eyes twinkling, Chamberlain Dazzler trots a quick circle around him, checking the outfit before taking a few steps back to take in the overall effect. “You do make for a very confused looking griffon,” she chuckles, giving him a wink. “But I think you’ll be fine. After all, no one knows what a human is supposed to wear to one of these things anyway.” Standing, she turns and trots out into the main hallway. “We should hurry, wouldn’t do for you to be late, after all.”

Catching up to her, he chuckles himself. “No, no I don’t suppose it would.” Matching her pace, he reaches to his chest, checking to make sure the pendant he’s wearing is still in place. Wouldn’t do for it to get tangled in the fabric he’s draped in and rob him of his ability to communicate.

It had been a simple matter to overcome the language barrier, some sort of enchanted necklace thing that changed his spoken words from incomprehensible English to understandable Equestrian, and vis-a-versa when ponies spoke to him. It was only a temporary measure, since the damn thing had to be recharged at the end of each day, or sooner if he talked a lot, but it did allow the inhabitants of the palace and city to actually understand him while he learned the local language.

Fidgeting with it a final time, Ryan makes a conscious effort to leave it alone. He doesn’t know if he can break it by mistake, but he does know he will definitely need it for this banquet. Ryan and the girls had discussed how they were going to fit him into the day to day life of the palace… well the girls had discussed it, and then they had told him what was going to happen. He’d tried his best to swallow his pride and listen.

He was to be given the position of Royal Advisor to the Crown, and introduced to the assembled nobles and dignitaries that inhabited both the capital and its political sphere. The post would give him some authority and rights, while hopefully placing him mostly above the scheming, intrigue and infighting that normally occupied the nobles. That last part had been at his explicit request. Ryan hates politics.

Sweeping around a corner, Ryan and Dazzler come to a tall door, a side entrance into the main banquet hall. Studying it, Ryan takes a deep breath, nodding towards the Night Chamberlain with only a little nervousness. As it swings open silently in a glowing field of blueish magic, he shakes his shoulders, trying to loosen himself up. He knows he doesn’t have anything to be nervous about, but his daughters are the rulers of this place, and even if that relationship isn’t exactly public knowledge he doesn’t want to embarrass them needlessly. He glances down, and Dazzler gives him an encouraging smile, nodding for him to go ahead.

Crossing the threshold, he stops, not noticing as the door closes quietly behind him. The hall is large, the ceiling reaching from one side to the other in a graceful arch, dotted at regular intervals by intricate and beautiful chandeliers of finely worked iron and blown glass. The walls are a mellow white, enclosed by thick bands of mahogany molding where they meet the floor and ceiling, and set with spaced niches that contain statues, fine porcelain and pieces of worked gold and silver. He shifts his feet, and they slid easily along the repeating, patterned mosaic set in the polished stone floor.

“Wow.” He can’t help himself, even after a week’s worth of exposure this place still manages to throw surprises at him regularly. He’d be perfectly content to stand and just take in all of the details of the room, but his wandering gaze is pulled instead to the cloth covered tables dotted around its expanse, and the milling guests who are already filing in through the main doors across the way.

Ponies of every size and description, wearing ensembles that seem to run the gamut from simple elegance to complex absurdity. He glances to his right, and sees a long trestle table running across the shorter wall to one side, set with gleaming dinnerware and tall bottles of wine. Several nobles and court functionaries are seated at it already, and he nods in greeting to the ones he’s been introduced to. Taking a deep breath to settle his nerves, he makes his way over.

The girls had instructed him on the basics of what was expected. Occupying the center section of the table are two large, ornate seats; those are for the Princesses. To either side of those are smaller seats spanning the length of the table. He’s supposed to take to the first seat to the right of the girls, who will enter after everyone else is at least in the room. When they enter he is to rise, if he’s not standing already, and bow, although not as deeply as everyone else.

They had stressed that part, and he’s pretty convinced the idea of him bowing to them makes them very uncomfortable. It was something he wryly intends to test later on.

Taking his seat, an affair sized more for a minotaur and thus a little taller and more appropriately shaped, he looks out over the rapidly filling hall. The attendees mill about, intermingling with a quiet hum of conversation as they gradually begin to fill up the vacant tables. The crowd is about what he was told to expect, mostly ponies with a smattering of foreign dignitaries.

A delegation of griffins enters, and he has to stop himself from gaping at them. According to both his girls, and some quiet, carefully worded questions asked of Dazzler, a great many mythological creatures existed in this strange new world. It had taken him almost a week of constant exposure just to start to get used to seeing waist high ponies everywhere, but the way his eyes keep trying to stare at the griffins, slowly filing towards their seats, lets him know that he still has a lot of adjusting to do.

Of course, he’s not the only one trying not to stare. Every single being entering the banquet hall has stopped to look at him quizzically, either upon first entry or quickly thereafter, and a cursory look tells him that he appears to be the subject of a number of discussions amongst the shifting groups of nobles. They’re reactions seem to range from simple curiosity at his appearance, to bewildered questions about his place at the main table, to sly glances amid hushed conversation.

It’s about what he expected, in all actuality, although the latter reactions are what cause him to sigh quietly and reach for the full glass of wine next to his plate. Taking a sip and already wishing this could be over with, he lets his gaze wander where it will, trying to relax.

The tables are quickly filling up, and a handful of servants are already circulating amongst the seated. Except, he sees, for one attendee near the back. Standing next to a table is a lavender colored unicorn, decked out in some sort of royal blue dress hemmed with stars. Unlike the others she isn’t looking at him with a questioning or confused expression, nor is she glancing at him shrewdly. No, she’s staring at him with a combination of wide eyed disbelief and amazement, like somebody just pulled him out of a hat on stage.

He frowns at her, and she finally seems to realize he’s watching her watch him. With a shake of her head, she appears to come back to herself, shooting him a sheepish grin before taking a seat next to an older unicorn couple, who greet her warmly. He continues frowning at her, not quite sure what to make of her actions. He’s about to motion a serving…mare over, with the intent to ask her who the strange unicorn is, when he’s interrupted by the sounds of trumpets.

Rising with everyone else, he turns towards the set of doors inlaid with the royal seal, off to the side of the hall. He sighs in relief, the weird lavender mare already forgotten. Finally, they can get this thing started.

* * *

The evening has been surprisingly mild so far, and as Ryan’s plate is taken away by a bowing servant, he reclines, trying not to rub his stomach. Seated next to the two Diarchs, Ryan has a commanding view of the hall, although his place at the head of it makes him feel like he’s on display.

Everyone seems to be having a decent sort of time, although the reserved atmosphere, the quiet six piece orchestral music, the muted hush of conversation and clink of glasses and silverware can’t cover the occasional glances, stares, or glares he’s been receiving all night. The first two he can understand, considering his appearance, dress, and favored place next to the Princesses. He hasn’t been announced yet, and there’s going to be curiosity. He can understand the latter, as well. He’s some unknown quantity, from out of nowhere, who seems to have been instantly favored by the co-rulers. Unfortunately there’s going to be some jealousy as well.

Leaning towards Luna, who’s seated to his right, he clears his throat to get her attention. When she quirks an eyebrow at him he leans a little closer, reaching with one hand to hold the amulet around his neck away from his chest so his words won’t be translated. “Sweetheart, how long is this thing supposed to last?”

Luna gives him an encouraging smile. “A few hours longer. Tia is going to make the announcement in a couple of minutes, she’s just waiting for the majority of them to finish eating.” She answers back quietly in English, levitating her wine glass and taking a polite sip. “After that it’s customary for the new appointee to mingle with the nobility and introduce himself, in a more informal sort of way.”

Ryan drops the enchanted necklace back against his chest. Stifling a groan, he eyes his own wine glass for a moment, and Luna nudges him gently with a wing. Looking back at her she gives him another encouraging grin and leans close to whisper to him. “Relax daddy, so far you’re doing fine. And it’ll be over before you know it.”

Eyeballing his wine glass again, he finally reaches out, pushing it firmly away in favor of the water that sits next to it. True to her sister’s word, Celestia rises from her seat a few minutes later, sliding her seat backwards to give her some room. She clears her throat a few times, and silence finally fills the hall.

Looking over the seated guests, she smiles. “Ladies and gentlecolts, honored dignitaries and treasured guests. The Crown would like to extent its sincerest thanks to you all for being here this evening.” She watches the crowd turned audience, occasionally making eye contact with an ambassador or high ranking pony. “This week has brought with it a most unexpected, and a most welcome, surprise. The return of one who has been absent from our kingdom for far too long. A very close confidant, and personal friend to both myself, and my sister Princess Luna.”

Ryan watches the seated guests for a moment as Celestia continues her speech, before looking over at his oldest daughter with no small amount of awe. She has a way about her, managing to sound like she’s addressing everyone together and individually at the same time, with a style of speaking that seems to command your attention with a gentle firmness. She sounds far different from when she talks normally, and it dawns on him that he’s seeing her in her element. He can’t help a small, prideful smile as he watches her. She’s good at this, really good. Of course, she is co-ruler of an entire nation, a nation that she helped to found no less. Maybe getting used to the whole princess thing won’t be as hard as he thought after all.

“…And so it is with no small amount of joy that the Crown welcomes Mr. Ryan Williams to the royal palace, to Canterlot, and to the nation of Equestria.” She pauses a moment, waiting for the polite applause of the crowd to die off. “In light of Mr. Williams prior services, he is granted official citizenship to the nation of Equestria, and shall assume, immediately, the position of personal Royal Advisor to the Crown, with all rights and privileges therein.”

Quiet murmuring breaks out amongst the seated guests, and Ryan studies them closely. The Griffon delegation remains stoic, sitting quietly in a group and calmly watching as events unfold, while there seems to be a good deal of back and forth between many of the nobles. There are a lot of unhappy expressions at the various tables, no doubt from those who thought to gain such an influential post for themselves. Tia and Luna had told him to expect it, though, and it looks like they were right. That they were right doesn’t make him any more comfortable with it, and Ryan swallows some of his unease, chasing it with a sip of water.

Celestia gives the audience a moment, before continuing. “In light of his new position and duties, the Crown is most pleased to bestow upon Mr. Williams the title of Archduke, and adoption into the Royal Family. In addition to his new title, the Crown grants Mr. Williams estates and holdings in Canterlot, Fillydelphia, Trottingham, Seaddle, the Abaco Coast…”

Ryan chokes on his water, struggling to swallow without spitting it across the table. Gasping and a little red faced, he leans over towards Luna, his eyes growing wide as he fights to keep his expression neutral. “What?” He manages in a strained whisper.

Luna leans close to him, a hesitant, uncertain smile on her muzzle. “We knew you would balk if we asked you first so…surprise!” Her eyes meet his nervously for a moment, before darting back to the guests.

Ryan starts to gape at her before remembering himself. Turning stiffly he gazes out at the seated nobles and foreign dignitaries, trying not to flinch as Celestia continues to reel off a list of places he’s never heard of. Places where, apparently, he now owns property. Out in the audience he sees a lot of slack jaws and wide eyes. He also sees something else that makes him a little sad; anger, outrage, envy, and a cold sort of calculation. No matter what race, what wonders of magic, or how fantastical a world is, some things never change.

He looks at his eldest again, noticing a slight ruffling of her wings, too slight to really notice, unless you knew her tells when she was nervous.

Celestia fights to keep from shifting her wings, steadfastly ignoring the tense feeling in her joints as she finishes up. “…Appeloosa, and the Sway Back Mountains.” Celestia pauses to let the audience absorb what is no doubt a fair sized shock, just barely managing to keep her eyes on the crowd and away from her father.

How is he taking it? She and her sister had both discussed this, and they had agreed that had they broached the subject of a title and lands to him, he would have refused. May even have refused the position they were giving him. Her eyes start to slide towards her left, and she forces them back onto the crowd. She’s going to get an earful from him later, they both are, but for now she needs to study the assembled nobles. That’s where the real trouble will come from.

There’s a lot of distasteful expressions, but for the most part they seem to be taking it about as well as could be expected. She’ll have to keep an eye on things for a while in the wake of this. There’s bound to be a hoof-ful or two that will be keen to position themselves for maximum personal gain. The idea causes her eyes narrow for a moment, before she forces a smile back onto her face.

If any of these overstuffed, over bred popinjays think they can use her father for their own ends, they most definitely have an unpleasant surprise in store.

Taking a few slow, deep breaths to center herself, she beams at the assorted social elite. “And now, honored friends and guests,” On cue a number of servers enter from the sides of the room bearing drinks and platters of deserts. “Please, relax and enjoy your evening.”

She hears a glass clink against the table, and hazards a glance at her father. Ryan looks at the drink in his hand, contemplating the water as though it has done him wrong before sliding it next to his half full glass of wine.

The low murmuring from the assembled guests picks up as normal conversation resumes. At Luna’s urging, Ryan rises to his feet, moving with her to stand next to her older sister. Taking a pull from the wine glass he doesn’t remember picking up, he plants himself in front of his oldest daughter, his face tight. “Archduke?”

She meets his gaze, schooling her expression to stillness. Still or not though, this close Ryan can make out traces of both amusement and apprehension. She leans towards him, pitching her voice low. “It’s for the best, Dad. It would be odd to adopt you into the Royalty and not give you a title.” She glances around, eyeing the other attendees who are starting to rise and mingle around the hall. “And besides, this way none of the nobility will try to bully you around. They can’t, since you outrank most of them.”

“I don’t want to be Royalty, Celestia Marie, and I don’t want to outrank anyone…”

“But you are Royalty, Daddy.” Luna interrupts, a small, sweet smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “In fact, you’re the most directly related member of the Royal Family that we have.” She shares a quick look with her older sister, both of them turning back to him with gentle, sincere grins.

Ryan studies them for a moment, several arguments lining themselves up neatly in his mind, before he fetches a deep sigh and drains the last of the wine from his glass. “…Alright. Alright, fine.” His shoulders slump in defeat, and he grabs a full wine glass from a passing server. “I suppose the fact that you two will occasionally know what’s best will take a little getting used to.” Celestia’s smiles grows wider, until he skewers her with a scolding look. “But I do not like it, Celestia Marie.” Luna begins to chuckle, only to have it die in her throat when he turns that same look on her. “I don’t like this political, royalty stuff.” They both nod in response, and he sighs again, then gives them a gentle smile. “Okay, fine, so what’s next?”

Celestia steps closer, turning to stand beside him. Partially wrapping a wing around his shoulders, she nods towards a cluster of ponies standing politely nearby, patiently waiting for their conversation to end. “Now we start introducing you to everypony, beginning with the rest of the Ministers over there.” Ryan harrumphs in answer, and she leads him away with a quiet giggle.

* * *

Nodding to the stone faced guard, Ryan steps through the curtained doorway and out onto the balcony, the cool night air dancing delicately along his face and neck in greeting. It’s a welcome greeting to Ryan, who stops for a moment to enjoy the comparatively milder temperature with his head back and eyes closed.

Night had long ago fallen, and the stars twinkle overhead like gemstones cast haphazardly upon a swatch of black velvet. Sighing in relief, he opens his eyes, vision dancing amongst the pinpricks of light, traveling down imaginary lines that connect them together. So many constellations are different now, and for a moment the sight drives home to him, again, how much has changed. The moon is just beginning to peek its pale face over the distant mountains, and the sight stops him for a moment, bringing him back to the surreal conversation he and the girls had had a few days ago regarding their ‘additional duties’.

At first he’d thought they were joking, trying to pull one over on him. When he’d finally realized that they were serious about this whole raising of the sun and moon thing, he’d become honestly angry with them. He’s thought, for a moment, that they had pulled one over on everyone else, and had loudly told them that he hadn’t taught them to take advantage of the ignorance of others.

They had eventually calmed him down, and launched into a long explanation of exactly what it was they did. He hadn’t been able to follow most of it, something incomprehensible about naturally occurring Ley Lines girding the planet, connecting it to several celestial bodies in a web of extant magical energy that they used to ‘nudge’ things in the right direction. When they’d finished, he’d been too flabbergasted to ask for an explanation of the explanation, and had instead settled on going to bed early.

His mind retreats from the memory, and he closes his eyes again. That, he has decided, is something he will process slowly, over time. Trying to tackle it in addition to everything else that’s happened is just too much right now.

Distantly he can remember a time when one of his most pressing concerns had been making sure they didn’t spend too much time watching cartoons, and he smiles a little, firmly returning himself to the present.

Sighing wistfully, his hand absently seeks out one of the small pockets sewn into the interior of the robelike, not-a-robe-thing he’s wearing. Unbuttoning the small flap that closes the top, he fishes out a very familiar, and very battered red and white package. He smiles at it for a moment, as if greeting an old friend, before fishing a slender, mostly straight tube from within. There’s only six left after this one, so he’ll have to husband them carefully. Replacing the pack in its pocket, his fingers search for a few seconds before finding the half book of matches. Striking one alight and inhaling with a relaxed expression, he leans against the grey stone railing that encircles the balcony.

He needs to remember to thank whoever designed this particular part of the castle for thinking to install a balcony. After what seemed like an eternity of introductions, small talk and forced politeness, he needs to be away from everybody for a few minutes. It’s bad enough being the one and only overly tall biped in a room full of short, curious four legged beings. It is infinitely worse being the one and only overly tall biped who has, without warning, just been named High Royalty, and to a highly influential and sought after post.

And so, while Tia and Luna had been engaged in conversation with some Baroness or other, Ryan had slipped away, making a beeline for the mezzanine he had spotted earlier. Taking a deep drag, the cherry glowing brightly in the darkness and highlighting his face for a moment, Ryan lets it out in a gust.

These ponies may not be as gifted in the art of guile as one would expect, but he’s received enough calculating, searching looks from the various attendees to last him a lifetime. This is what politics is, and one way or another he’s sure that he’s going to get caught smack in the middle of it. Sighing again, he closes his eyes.

There is a quiet shuffling from behind him, and a voice speaks up hesitantly. “Excuse me, your Grace? Mr…Mr. Williams?”

Good lord, can’t he even get five minutes? Turning in annoyance, he sees the same purple coated unicorn from earlier bowing to him from the doorway, the thick curtains behind her swishing slowly back and forth as they resettle. Tamping down his annoyance, he shakes his head. “Please don’t do that.”

She looks up, head still held low to the floor. “Ex…excuse me?”

“Don’t bow. Please. It makes me feel weird.”

Swallowing nervously, the lavender mare slowly straightens herself. “But it’s only proper when addressing High Royalty, your Grace. I meant…”

“And for the love of God, do not call me that.” Ryan takes a deep breath, fighting down a wave of irritation. “Call me Ryan, or Mr. Williams if you must be formal.”

The mare studies him for a moment, before smiling shyly. “Okay… Mr. Williams.”

Nodding, Ryan draws slowly on his cigarette, looking the mare up and down, taking in her admittedly fine dress and hoof…things. He squints, studying her face, and intuition suddenly hits him. Pointing with the glowing end of his smoke, he smiles gently. “You must be Twilight Sparkle.” Her wide eyed expression is all the response he needs.

“Yes, how did you…”

“The girls told me about you.” He says with a grin. “The way Tia tells it, you’re practically family.”

Twilight smiles, eyes looking down in embarrassment at the flecked white and grey stone beneath her hooves. “…I don’t know about that.”

Ryan chuckles, walking over and offering his hand. “It’s very nice to finally meet you, Miss Sparkle. And from now on you call me Ryan, I’ll have none of that Royal address nonsense.”

She considers his outstretched hand for a few seconds, before gingerly bringing her hoof up to meet it. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Ryan.” She looks curiously to the smoldering cigarette held in his off hand, then quirks an eyebrow back up at him in silent question.

He shrugs a little uncomfortably, then smiles wanly. “Eh, it’s an old habit I’m soon to break.” He stares at the red-orange cherry, then back to the little lavender mare. “Oh uh, let’s just keep this between us. Alright?”

Twilight returns a look that lacks comprehension, then nods and smiles. “My lips are sealed.”

The two share an awkward sort of silence for a minute, until Ryan turns and pitches his cigarette over the edge of the balcony. Looking back, he motions Twilight over beside him, taking in her wide eyed look and strained expression. It’s a look he’s familiar with, and he fights to keep from laughing. The poor girl looks like she’s about to burst. “You want to ask me something, Miss Sparkle?”

She nods quickly, a large grin spreading across her face. “I have so many questions.”

He glances down at her, before turning his gaze back out to the night darkened vista laid out before him. She fidgets a little, and he nods for her to continue. He can’t help feeling amused as she settles herself a polite distance from him, her face growing distracted as she no doubt gets her thoughts in order.

“I don’t even know where to begin, and I didn’t bring my quill or any parchment…” She trails off as Ryan holds up a hand towards her, chuckling quietly.

“Tia did say you were curious one. Why don’t we try to keep it brief for right now, since I’m going to have to go back in there pretty soon.” Taking in her crestfallen expression, his face softens, and he smiles at her gently. “I would, however, be willing to meet up and answer more questions tomorrow, preferably sometime after breakfast.”

She smiles shyly up at him, nodding in agreement before adopting a thoughtful expression. “What was it like?” He glances at her, quirking an eyebrow, and she hastens to clarify. “Raising the Princesses. I mean, you raised the two founders and rulers of Equestria, it must have been pretty amazing!”

Ryan takes a breath, thinking on the question and how he wants to answer. “Well, it was pretty amazing, truth be told, although not in the way I think you mean.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles. “Well on the one hand,” he holds his right hand out, palm up and fingers slightly curled “they were two creatures straight out of mythology. You guys are used to unicorns and pegasi and griffins just trotting around all day, every day. But back then they were nothing more than fairy tale creatures, beings that never really existed in the first place. Finding them, and realizing what they were, that was pretty amazing.”

He looks back out into the distance, breathing in the night scented air. “On the other hand though, they were kids. They played, they fought, they got into trouble. They liked pancakes on Saturday mornings and watching cartoons in the afternoons.” Noticing her expression, he sighs quietly. “You can ask me about those are tomorrow.”

He sighs, looking out into the night and back through the years. “They were my kids.” He trails off, then looks down at Twilight. “It’s really sort of tough to explain.” He has trouble making out her expression, which seems to be equal parts wistfulness and fascination with just a hint of disappointment. “I’m sorry, I’m not really used to talking about them. They were a secret for so long, you know? I’ll try to be clearer tomorrow.”

Reaching into the pocket again, he fishes out another cigarette. Twilight watches in fascination as he lights the end and takes a deep drag. Flicking the spent match over the railing, he exhales a stream of grey smoke, angling his head so that it flows upwards and away. “Remember,” He says, waggling the cigarette a little, “this is our little secret.” He smiles down at her.

“What secret is that, exactly?” Comes a voice from behind the heavy curtains that partition the banquet hall from the balcony. A moment later a dark head pushes its way through, followed by a flowing, star filled mane and a dusky blue body. Luna looks archly at the cigarette still smoldering in his hand, then at him for a long moment. Finally she calls back over her shoulder in lilting Equestrian “Sister, we have found him.”

Celestia pushes through a moment later, stopping short when she sees what he’s unsuccessfully trying to hide in his hand. “Dad,” She begins, slipping momentarily into English, “…what are you doing?” She asks in an exasperated, outraged tone. “Where did you even get one of those things?”

Ryan sighs irritably, and then takes a defiant drag from his smoke. “They were in my pocket when I woke up. And what I’m doing, Tia Marie, is enjoying one.”

“Those things are going to kill you Dad.” Luna says, noticing Twilight Sparkle for the first time. “Good evening, Twilight Sparkle.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve crossed that bridge once already, sweetheart.” Ryan huffs, shooting them both with a frown. “Besides, I’ve only got a few left, and then that’ll be that.”

Luna huffs in irritation. “That’s not the point daddy, and you know it.”

“Where am I going to get more, once these few are gone? Just let me enjoy them while I have them.” Ryan folds his arms, cigarette still gently smoldering between two fingers.

Celestia sighs. She squares up, adopting the look of Royalty, of a ruler, of a mare who’s spent the past millennia molding others to her will. She is the Goddess of the Sun and Ruler of the Day. With an expression that speaks of the end of long suffering patience, and with a heavy helping of motherly disappointment, she frowns at him, bringing all of her countless years of experience to bear. “Father,” she begins, “You will put that out this instant, and furthermore…”

Ryan, face slightly amused, arms still folded, arches an eyebrow upwards, and she falters. He leans back against the stone balustrade encircling the balcony, and simply looks at her.

She hesitates, her wings beginning to fidget, unnoticed, on her back. “...And furthermore, you will…”

Ryan continues to look at her, and it seems as though she can feel the weight of his gaze. She swallows. “...You will start…”

For the first time in for as long as she can remember, her impenetrable, unassailable royal dignity and gravitas begins to first crack, and then deflate, swept away before the I-am-your-dad-and-I-am-amused-but-not-for-much-longer expression he currently wears.

When he sees that she’s done talking, he nods once, slowly. “Celestia Maria,” Turning his head slightly he spears his youngest with his eyes, causing her to actually flinch. “Luna Maybell, you may be Princesses, and you may have built a working, powerful civilization. You may even control the sun and the moon. But I am an adult, and, I might add, quite a bit older than both of you combined.”

Trying not to laugh at Twilight’s poleaxed expression, just visible from the corner of his eye, he soldiers on. “I have raised you, educated you, and sacrificed for you. I taught you how to go to the toilet like civilized beings, how to read, write, and use silverware. I have worked hard, kept a roof over your heads, paid my taxes, and witnessed the apocalypse.” His stare has grown stony. “And if I want to have a cigarette, then I damn well will.”

Luna, eyes downcast, hoof kicking idly at a seam in the stone flooring, mutters quietly “We witnessed the apocalypse too you know.”

“What’s that young lady?” Ryan asks archly.

“...Nothing Dad.”

Turning, he looks to his eldest. “Celestia Marie?”

She returns his look for a moment, before dropping her eyes. “Nothing Dad.”

He watches them for a few seconds longer, and then nods approvingly. “Good.” Taking one last long, challenging drag, he pitches the smoldering remains over the railing and out into the night.

Celestia and Luna share a look, one which seems to carry an entire silent conversation about parental stubbornness and picked battles, and then both sigh in unison. With a wry shake of her head, Celestia smiles over at her most faithful student. “Forgive us, Twilight Sparkle, but we must discuss some things with the Archduke.”

“...of course, Princess.” Twilight gives a short bow, and turns to Ryan. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr...Ryan.”

He grins at her. “Likewise, Miss Sparkle. I look forward to speaking with you tomorrow.”

She grins back. “I can’t wait.” With another shallow bow, she turns and trots back into the hall.

Celestia and Luna walk over to their father, and he places a hand on their withers. “Honestly girls, I only have four left. Four cigarettes won’t kill me.” He chuckles, mussing up their manes, much to their displeasure. “You two aren't that lucky. You’ll be stuck with me for a little while longer.”

Luna smooths her mane back into shape with a simple motion. Glancing at her older sister, who’s still fussing with her own mane, she beams a knowing grin. “I take it you haven’t told him yet, sister.”

“Told me what?” Ryan frowns at Luna, before turning to face Celestia.

Shaking her mane out with a huff, Celestia sniffs. “Do you know how long it takes me to this looking halfway decent?”

Ryan laughs, booping her on the nose. “Don’t make me pull out the dad card then, sweetheart.” He brushes her forehead with a quick kiss, earning him a smile. “Now, what’s your sister talking about?”

“Well, we’re not one hundred percent sure, yet, but it seems that it’s possible you’ve slowed, like we have.”

Brow beetling, Ryan looks over at Luna. “What?”

Luna gives him a slightly mischievous smile in return. “Let’s just say that we may be ‘stuck’ with you for longer than you’d think.”

“What does that mean?” Ryan asks, starting to frown.

The two sisters share another look, and it’s Celestia who answers this time. “It’s a magic thing, Dad.” She huffs at the face he pulls, shaking her head slowly. “We’ll talk about it later, after we know more.”

Luna glances over her shoulder, towards the curtained doorway. “We should probably get back in there.” She says, her lack of enthusiasm noticeable.

“Yeah, we probably should.” Ryan agrees, turning instead to look back out over the balcony railing. After a moment, both Celestia and Luna join him, one on each side. “I like your night, sweetheart.”

Smiling up at the blanket of stars, shining jewel-like on the black velveteen sky, she nudges him with her wing. “Thanks daddy.”

Silence reigns for a few more minutes, and then Ryan clears his throat. “So, that Cadence you mentioned earlier, she’s an Alicorn too, right?”

“Yeah, she is.” Celestia answers absently, eyes picking out constellations as her mind wanders over the radical changes this week has brought.

“And she’s an empress or something like that, right? In charge of a whole empire?”

“That’s right, dad.” Luna answers. “She’s doing a pretty good job, too.

“And you said she’s married, right?”

Luna nods absently, eyes roaming the night darkened landscape before them. “To Twilight Sparkles brother, no less.”

Ryan nods, fingers drumming lightly on the grainy surface of the balustrad. “Oh, I didn’t know that.” The silence resumes briefly, until Ryan clears his throat again. “So...she’s an empress, and she’s married.”

“Yes, that’s what Luna sai…” Celestia looks over at him, brows lowering “Oh, come on, Dad.”

Ryan holds his hand up defensively. “I’m just saying, is all.”

Luna turns an incredulous look towards her father. “We discussed this, Daddy. Celestia and I cannot simply…”

“Excuses excuses. Empress Cadence is married, and she’s an empress. I don’t know how that matches up to being Princesses, but it’s got to be similar.” The two sisters groan dejectedly, causing Ryan to chuckle to himself quietly. “The two of you founded an entire civilization, and run it very well I might add.” He shrugs. “At least from what I can see. Are a few grand kids too much to ask for?”

The two groan again, before taking turns thumping him with their wings, as Ryan tries in vain to defend himself. From just the other side of the curtain, the stoic, stone faced guard tilts an ear, trying to discern the ruckus coming from outside.

Author's Notes:

Yeah, so I wrote this because I’m a sentimental cunt who just wants his characters to be happy. It started, in my head, with a less detailed version of the confrontation between Ryan and Celestia in the throne room, and just sort of exploded from there. I offer no excuses, and have no defense. It is what it is, and you read it, so it’s on you now, too. Live with that if you can.

**UPDATE: This is now canon to the story, to line up with the sequel. I'm still sort of a cunt, but now I'm a lazy cunt.**