When an ursa major begins attacking Ponyville, Trixie—faced with an all too familiar foe—decides that there is no better time than now to prove her newly learned magical skills. What better way to make it up to Ponyville than by being their saviour?
Trixie’s feats are, without a doubt, known all across Equestria (even if not for the reasons she would like). But, her less than stellar reputation aside, she is a bold and daring mare; a few neigh-sayers are not going to hold her back from fulfilling her destiny of being a highest-level unicorn!
When an ursa major begins venturing into Ponyville and causing devastation, Trixie—faced with an all too familiar foe—decides that there is no better time than now to prove her newly learned magical skills. What better way to make it up to Ponyville than by being their saviour? After all, as she so confidently reminds Starlight, she vanquished an ursa once before. Defeating it with her improved abilities should be easy!
Starlight really should have done her homework before agreeing to this plan.
“So you see, my dear Starlight, I simply cannot stand around any longer. The time for action is upon us! The Great and Powerful Trixie shall save this village from the monstrosity that bedevils it!”
Starlight Glimmer listened intently to her friend’s overly-rehearsed speech. Her ears flicked idly and her dark purple tail swished. Her blue eyes fixed upon Trixie’s unblinkingly. A small frown graced her muzzle. After a moment, however, she shrugged and nodded slowly.
“Alright then,” she said. Her eyes twinkled slightly and her ears pricked forwards. Trixie huffed at that and turned her head away, stomping a hoof and making a small cloud of dust.
“But Starlight, don’t you see, Trixie must—wait. Woah, woah, woah. Did you just say yes?”
Starlight nodded once. “Sure!” she yipped.
Trixie took a step backwards and cocked her head, suddenly looking less confident than usual. She rested a hoof against her wagon to steady herself. “But you’re not meant to just agree! That’s not how this works! You’re meant to fight me; to tell me what a stupid idea it is! And I, being the even greater and powerfuller Trixie, would then convince you that I am now strong enough to finally defeat that monstrosity once and for all!” Trixie stomped a hoof again indignantly. “Why can’t you do things properly?”
Starlight frowned and stepped up to Trixie’s side, draping a hoof over her back. “Well, as you said, you are—“ She wrinkled her muzzle in disgust at the mutilation of an otherwise perfectly good word, “—powerfuller now. You’re a lot stronger than when I started teaching you. If you were strong enough before to banish an ursa, I genuinely believe that you could have a good shot at defeating it for good this time.” Trixie’s tail wagged excitedly. She gave a little buck.
“Oh, Starlight, this is why we are best friends!” she squealed. “You understand me so much better than Princess Twilight and her little group of—“
“Trixie, they’re my friends too,” Starlight growled. Her eyes suddenly grew colder.
Trixie gulped visibly. “I was just going to say, ‘her little group of mares’. Obviously.”
Starlight raised a brow. “Right,” she said slowly. A terse silence sounded before she then shook her head and said, “Look, I do genuinely believe you can do it, but we are still talking about an ursa here. I’ve not had your experience with them, but… well, it’s an ursa. Do I really need to say anything else? And as your mentor and friend, I’d feel really bad to send you out there alone. So, won’t you let me come too? Please?”
Trixie was quiet momentarily before she beamed. “But of course, Starlight! I wouldn’t make you miss this for the world!” She squealed, trotting on the spot. “Isn’t this exciting?”
Starlight’s eyes widened slightly and she took a small step backwards. Once she had regained her brief loss of composure, she sighed and nodded. “I’d say it’s more exhilarating than exciting, Trix, but sure. It’ll be a real test of our strength, both as sorcerers and as friends!”
Trixie stiffened. “Well, yeah, sure, that would be nice… but… you aren’t planning on getting in my way, right?” she asked. “You’ll let me do this alone?”
Starlight’s ears fell back slightly and she raised a hoof, drawing small circles on the floor below her.
“Well, I—“
“Starlight! This is really, really important to me!” Trixie whined with her ears fallen back and her tail now clamped. Hey eyes thinned slightly. “This is my big chance to finally see how much I’ve improved since my days of being an arrogant, selfish show-off! To see how much stronger I’ve become. To show that I am a responsible mare now and that I can stand on my own four hooves!” She paused and sighed, her head hanging. “But, of course, I understand if you don’t really believe in me… After all, nopony ever wants to give Trixie a chance to prove herself…”
Starlight watched as Trixie’s face morphed into a teary, blubbering mess. Her lips formed a pout and she looked down at the dusty ground, hiding her face slightly with her forelock. Starlight could only keep her severe scowl for a second at the sight. Her body slouched and she let out a small breath.
“Alright, alright, I’ll just watch from the sidelines, yeah? I’ll only intervene if… If you’re about to get your head bitten off or something.” Starlight grinned and held out a hoof. “Deal?”
Trixie’s blubbering stopped instantaneously and she clapped her hooves together. She then shook Starlight’s vigorously. “It’s a deal!”
Starlight winced and yanked her hoof away, holding it somewhat tenderly to her chest. She watched Trixie quietly, not sure of how to continue. “So, what now?” she asked eventually, lowering her aching leg to the ground with the utmost of care. “Do you know where this thing lives, or…?”
Trixie smirked. “Way ahead of you!” she yipped. “I know the exact location of its cave and everything! See, I did my research!”
Starlight frowned. “How long, exactly, have you been planning this?”
Trixie only shrugged. After a silent pause, she then smiled again and turned, flicking her tail merrily. Whilst walking away she then said, “Well, it’s settled then! You and I shall head out to defeat the dreaded ursa tonight!”
Starlight froze on the spot and her mouth fell open. “Wait, tonight?” she yelled. Trixie only giggled with continued merriness.
“Trixie will meet you at the entrance to the Everfree at midnight, ‘kay?” she yelled back, squealing all the while. Starlight was left frozen for a moment; by the time she had come to her senses, Trixie—and, amazingly, her wagon—had already gone.
Starlight huffed and stomped a hoof. “Well, great,” she hissed, hanging her head. “Ursa hunting in the middle of the night. What could possibly go wrong?”
And with that, she vanished with an audible poof to the library—next to the “Magical and Dangerous Creatures” section, to be exact.
Starlight had been at it for hours now, working tirelessly. But, no matter how many books she tore through, she never once found any information of use on ursas. Not even a mention!
Starlight huffed and slammed shut the cover of the last promising book she’d found. With a snort, she then grabbed it in her magic and hurled it towards the nearest wall with a scream; it slammed against the crystal with a thud and then fell to pieces, individual pages floating to the ground slowly. Starlight only groaned more.
“Oh, great,” she hissed, pushing herself slowly off of her chair and dragging herself over to the pile of paper now littering the floor. With a grumble she began unenthusiastically dragging each page back to the cover, messily stuffing them all in. She then huffed once again and fell to the floor, sitting on her rump and dumping the sorry state of a book back carelessly on the shelf. It was probably the completely wrong section; by now she couldn’t have cared any less if she tried.
Starlight turned her head slowly towards the massive stained-glass of the library’s biggest window, then traipsed over to it. She watched as the scattering of little ponies in the distance headed off to bed. Celestia had mostly lowered the sun by now, and only a few of its rays still warmed the sky. Soon it would be pitch black. And, whilst normally Starlight didn’t think either way of the night, today she was dreading it.
“I hope Trixie has improved enough…” she whispered to nopony in particular.
“Starlight? You’re still here?”
The small, almost-masculine voice shocked Starlight from her thoughts. She yelped and spun around, horn sparking slightly in shock. But it was only Spike that stood before her.
“Hey, hey, cool it!” he yelled, taking a few small steps back and holding up his claws in front of his face, as if surrendering.
Starlight’s body slumped. “Sorry, Spike,” she said, hanging her head. “You shocked me.”
Spike raised a brow and folded his arms. “No kidding. You alright?”
Starlight shook her head slowly and hunched her back. “No,” was all she said.
Spike scratched his neck slowly, a frown on his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. Starlight didn’t answer. After a few seconds of silence, he then walked up to her side and placed his claws on her shoulders, smiling. “You know, if helps to talk about things sometimes. Let it out. It’s only gonna eat you up if you keep it all in. Don’t you remember that time when—“
Starlight raised her hooves and shook them in front of Spike quickly. “Yeah, that time when I literally bottled up my anger. Another thing I messed up at. Don’t think I need reminding, Spike.”
“But I—”
“Why do I mess everything up?” Starlight blurted, suddenly standing up stiffly. She narrowed her eyes and stomped her hooves. “Every time I try to help or be nice, I just end up causing devastation!”
Spike snorted aggravatedly. A small puff of smoke blew out from his nostrils. “Don’t be like that, Starlight, you know it’s not true!” he said with a sigh, tapping his foot slowly on the floor. He eyed her with concern, a disgruntled frown on his lips. “Look, something’s bothering you. It’s obvious. Just tell me, yeah? We are friends, aren’t we?”
Spike folded his claws behind his back, waiting quietly.
After a few moments, Starlight relented. “I…” She stopped and fidgeted slightly. “So, you know this whole ‘furry little problem’ we’ve been having?”
Spike shrugged. “The real problem, or the version that Twilight told Celestia and Luna?”
“Not the rabbit invasion story, Spike. The ursa attacking Ponyville version.”
Spike nodded. “The truth then. Great, I’ve had enough secrets. Dunno how Pinkie’s holding it all together.” He waited expectantly. Starlight merely stared back at him in equal silence. With a sigh, he raised a claw and twirled it in the air and said, “So, uh, what about it?”
“Well, Trixie said that she’s had a run in with an ursa in the past,” Starlight said. Spike was quiet. “And, well, I think she really wants to make it up to the town for that time when she... uh...”
“Enslaved everypony so that they did her every bidding?” Spike offered, his voice slow and dull.
Starlight frowned. “I try not to use that word if I can help it,” she said, looking slightly away.
Spike shrugged. “Right. So, um, are you going somewhere with this? Or just telling me about Trixie’s past? Because honestly, if that’s the case, I’m not interested. Trixie’s past brings up bad memories and all that.”
Starlight nodded. “Yeah, there’s a point. Anyway, with our furry problem around and no solution as of yet, Trixie decided she should make it up to everypony. I think. Or she could be just showing off—who knows with her. But… well, she’s really happy with how her magic has improved. And don’t get me wrong, she has gotten tonnes better since I started teaching her, but…” Starlight hung her head. “Well, she asked if I’d agree to her going out to find the ursa. She wants to kill it. She reckons, after banishing one before, she should be more than capable of killing this one now a—why do you look so pale?”
Spike’s eye twitched. “Starlight, that was an ursa minor Trixie was talking about.”
Starlight’s face suddenly lost all colour. “Oh,” was all she managed to murmur. “This is… This one’s a major, isn’t it?”
Spike cringed and nodded awkwardly. “But, that’s… That’s not all.” He took a deep breath in before he began to step away slowly, as one would from a snarling bear. He then swallowed and said, “Shedidn’tvanquishanursaitwasalljustalie!”
To her credit, Starlight kept reasonably composed. Her breathing was steady and she stared, blinking slowly, directly at Spike.
And then her ear twitched. Suddenly she made Dragon Lord Ember look huggable.
Spike wasn’t sure of the last time he had been as scared as he was right now. His eyes were wide as he watched Starlight very nearly go up in flames of fury; carefully, he made sure to ignite a small spark of fire in his throat just in case he should need it.
He didn’t think he would, but with a face as furious as Starlight’s, one could not be too careful.
“H-hey!” Spike called, waving his hands. “It’s probably not that big of a deal.”
Starlight stiffened and twitched. “Not a big deal?” She snorted before she then all but screeched, “Not a big deal?”
Spike yelped and scarpered back, shielding his face with his arms slightly. “So, uh, maybe what I should have said was, this is a huge deal, but it’s—ah—nothing you can’t fix! Yeah!” Spike nodded quickly, trying to hide his slight shaking. “You just need to go see Twilight… She was the one who banished the ursa last time back when she was just a unicorn too! With the two of you I’m sure you could defeat it!”
Starlight stood, twitching, for a moment longer before she let out a breath and visibly deflated. “Yes. Yes, that’s true,” she said, nodding slowly as she regained her sanity. Her posture slumped, visibly relieved. “I’ll do that. Yeah, I’ve got time. Yeah.”
Spike nodded awkwardly, uncertain. “Yeah?” he agreed, fiddling with one of his scales. “You sure?”
“Yeah!” Starlight said again, suddenly jumping to attention. Spike couldn’t help but wonder if the coffee cups littering the floor of the library had anything to do with her sudden bout of energy.
He nodded quickly. “Cool. Tell you what! Why don’t you run and tell Twilight, and I’ll go see if I can catch up to Trixie and stop her from going in there?”
Starlight nodded. “Okay, that sounds fair,” she said, her face slightly scrunched in thought as if debating the matter. “So... uh, I guess Twilight’s in bed now?”
Spike cringed. “Yeah, Twi turned in early,” he said, a shadow of worry falling over his face.
Starlight gulped. “I’m a dead mare,” she whispered, her ears falling back. She then took in a deep breath and plastered a very forced smile on her face. “Hey, Spike. You’ll give me a proper funeral when Twilight burns me to a crisp for waking her up over Trixie, of all mares, right?”
Spike smirked. “Sure thing, Starlight,” he chirped, before turning. “Good luck. If I can give you any advice, it would be to just get it over and done with.” He paused in mid-stride and scratched his chin with a claw. “On that note, maybe keep up a force field just to be safe as well.”
Starlight laughed quietly and lit up her horn. “I’ll take any advice I can get at this point,” she weakly agreed, turning on the spot. She then sighed before she began to drag herself down the corridors, calling back to him, “Good luck to you too!”
And then he was alone.
“C’mon then, Spike,” he said, beginning to walk down the corridors in the opposite direction to Starlight. His little legs carried him almost instinctively; his thoughts were entirely elsewhere. “You’re not actually going into the Everfree. It’s fine.”
Stepping out of the front doors to the castle was arguably the hardest thing Spike had done in a long time—and he had done some pretty tough things, if he could be so vain as to say so himself. The darkness of the starlit night smothered him. He hissed and had to fight to keep going straight; his legs worked against him with every step, desperately trying to drag him back inside.
A cold wind blew through the streets of Ponyville as Spike shakily wandered onwards. He cringed and gritted his teeth, shivering violently. He held his arms close to his chest in a desperate bid to conserve a little heat—but to no avail.
He passed Carousel Boutique longingly, every fiber of his being pleading with his mind to give up this quest; to go and see Rarity instead. But then a thought occurred to him, and it was just enough to give him the motivation to carry onwards.
Wouldn’t Rarity be amazed if he could be her saviour?
Spike had matured a lot since he and Twilight had first moved to Ponyville. But, at the same time, his crush on Rarity had also evolved. No more were the days of him literally drooling at her hooves—but his love had grown with every generous act she did. By now, he was well and truly enamoured with her.
And in that moment, Spike made up his mind. Falling to all fours, he ran to the old tree that stood just outside the boutique and dug his claws into the bark. He scarpered upwards with ease, then ran along his favourite branch: the one that came to an end just outside Rarity’s window. Her curtains were drawn tonight, but that was okay; the window itself was slightly ajar.
With a small smirk, Spike reached out a claw and snagged the curtain through the gap, pulling it aside gently. There she was, sleeping so peacefully. Beautiful.
Spike shook his head and clambered down from the tree, looking up at the window with a goofy smile.
He would do this. For Ponyville—and especially Rarity.
He set off at a gallop now, a newfound excitement coursing through his veins. But there was no sign of Trixie at the entrance to the forest—and yet, when he pressed his nostrils to the floor, her scent was so heavily concentrated that it almost made him dizzy.
“Only one thing for it, then,” he said, now standing on all fours as before. And, with a quick backwards glance at the dark silhouette of Ponyville and a brief pause to charge up a spark of fire in his throat, he smirked with a newfound confidence and ran straight into the forest after Trixie.
Only a few dregs of moonlight managed to reach the floor of the Everfree forest, the branches of long-dead trees forming a practically impenetrable roof. It was an almost complete shroud of darkness under the canopy; had she not had the light from her horn, Trixie knew for a fact that she would have lost all of her nerve by now.
There was a reason, it seemed, that ponies avoided this place if they could. Except, of course, Twilight and her clique.
Trixie snorted and walked a little quicker, head held high. Sure, they were amicable enough with her these days, but there was always that little tension between them. Everypony put on a smile for Starlight’s sake, but Trixie always found her blood simmering—not quite boiling, but the point still stood—when in their company. She had no doubt they felt the same towards her.
A smirk grew on Trixie’s muzzle. “Not so special, now, huh, girls?” Trixie said with a snort.
She kept her smirk as she continued forwards, ascending to a trot. She knew where she was headed; she’d already asked those arrogant colts where the ursa cave was. Plus, the Celestia-sized pawprints helped.
“Oh,” she breathed, pausing directly in the middle of one of the marks. After a moment, though, she scowled and plastered that smirk back on her face, snapping, “Don’t be a foal, Trixie!”
The forest creaked in reply. Trixie hissed but carried on.
All was fine for a few strides—until everything went still. The wind stopped. The corpses of long dead trees froze. A bird made a single squawk.
Then silence.
Complete, perfect silence. And that was somehow even more bone-chilling than before.
Trixie gulped and plodded onwards again, her fur now standing on end. The only sounds in the forest were those made by her own hooves across the floor. Twigs snapped as she stepped on them. To her, they sounded like tiny bones splintering under her weight.
The cave was close, now. It had to be. Snips and Snails had said to look out for a tree that looked ‘kinda like a pony rearing up but with, you know, a knife through its heart’. And that tree was—without a doubt—the one she was now approaching.
It really did look like a pony.
Trixie cringed.
“Time to fight,” she murmured, her voice shaky.
Her magic fizzled into life as she continued onwards. The cave slowly became more and more visible with every step that she took. Her heart pounded louder in her chest with each passing second. And then, when she came to a halt at the cave entrance, she noticed it.
The noxious smell of blood and rotting flesh hit her like a train. Trixie gagged, reeling backwards before she collapsed to her knees. She heaved, whimpering. Her vision darkened and she moaned again, falling to her stomach and thrashing in her discomfort.
A low grumble sounded from the cave. With a hiss, Trixie rolled over and climbed up to her hooves. Her horn sparked. Her legs trembled where she stood, but she tried not to let herself look as petrified as she was.
“Who dares to growl at the Even Greater and P-Powerfuller Trixie?” she yelled, stomping a hoof indignantly. The grumbles only sounded again, louder this time and accompanied by the thunderous padding of heavy paws against rock. She cringed, but didn’t shy away—yet. “Beast, you should know, if you leave this cave I will show you no mercy!”
A small breeze moved the tree branches just enough to let the moonlight shine right down to the forest floor. A massive pair of fangs emerged from the pitch black shadows of the cave at that moment, glinting. A bloodied, scarred muzzle followed suit quickly after, the dark pink nostrils flaring. Two tiny red eyes came next, blinking quickly in the bright moonlight. And then its gaze landed upon Trixie.
Its maw opened and it roared. The sheer power of the noise sent Trixie flying directly into the branches of the dead-pony tree. She screamed, scrambling to get down as the beast quietened and slashed out with its paw, missing her by hair lengths. It then lunged forwards, mouth open wide. Trixie froze in terror; each of those teeth was the size of her!
She leapt to the side at the last second. The ursa’s teeth clamped down around her tail, tearing out a massive chunk of hair. She screamed in pain, hopping on the spot as the beast spluttered, displeased with its catch. It then rose up onto its hind legs, its knees brushing the tips of the dead trees, and roared again.
Branches snapped instantly under the pressure of the beast’s breath. Whole trees toppled all around her, pummeling the ground. Trixie, for a moment, could not breathe—and then she ran.
Branches crashed down all around her, each one causing a small explosion of dirt and rock. A particularly heavy one swiped across the side of her rump; she cried out in pain again, falling to the floor instantly when her leg gave way. The beast fell back to all fours at that moment; the weight of it catapulted her roughly into the air.
Trixie landed heavily against cold, rough rock. She rolled a few metres, every inch of her body on fire. She tried to squint her eyes open, the pain of even that movement making her gasp and shudder. And there it was. The ursa.
The beast sniffed the ground frantically, its nostrils as big as she, and made cruelly laughable chuffing noises. With wide eyes Trixie scarpered to the wall of the cave, her breath held. But still the ursa crept ever closer until it was mere metres from her.
And then its yellow eyes shot open wide. The red pupils bored deep into her soul and she recoiled, suddenly unable to hold her breath. She screamed.
And then the beast struck, its massive tongue smothering her entire body and dragging her into its waiting maw.
Trixie tried to scream, but her mouth was clamped by the roughness of the ursa’s tongue. She thrashed wildly, barely able to free a hoof; when she finally succeeded, all she could feel was hot, wet air against her bloodied fur.
She hissed in agony as she was jostled around. Her wounded leg smacked heavily against something smooth and hard. She bristled, her back hunching up. Her teeth ground together and she bit back a scream, but a groan still escaped her lips. She kicked and struggled again, feeling her lungs constricting and shrinking, collapsing on her.
Her eyes shot open in a panic, seeing nothing but an off-black shade pink, and she fought ever more frantically, nostrils flaring uselessly. She opened and closed her mouth equally desperately, but all she got was foul-smelling saliva as opposed to the air she so desperately needed.
Dizzy. She was so dizzy now. She struggled weakly again and tried to elbow the ursa’s gravelly tongue, but could barely move her foreleg; her lips slipped shut, only slightly parted, and she let the muscles of her face relax as a sudden calmness washed over her. Her eyes began to close, the lids slowly, slowly getting closer together.
Everything happened so suddenly.
The ursa’s tongue released its grip, leaving Trixie’s hunched up body to fall. Her eyes shot open once again and her lungs instinctively contracted so heavily that it was almost painful. Putrid, warm air flooded into her and, for that moment, she didn’t even care that it was so foul. She breathed as deeply and as quickly as she could, but it was not enough.
What fool would do something like this to prove a point?
A rush of liquid spewed over Trixie’s body, shocking her into action. Though every muscle trembled visibly she shot to her hooves quickly and looked around, only just able to light her horn.
Oh, dear Luna.
She was genuinely in the urea’s mouth.
She was positively puny in the vast expanse, standing unsteadily on its twitching tongue. And then she realised exactly what was happening; the tongue was rising slowly, trying to send her down into the ursa’s stomach!
Trixie couldn’t hold back a scream. Frantically she dug her hooves into the ursa’s muscular tongue, struggling to find any grip. It was useless! As she rose higher and higher, she fought more and more, kicking frantically with her only usable rear leg—and then the tongue flattened out for just a moment, and it was all the encouragement she needed.
With a cry of pain she pushed her body clumsily forwards, tumbling onto the flat section of the tongue. Just as it began to straighten again, she leapt from the side in a blind leap of faith. It was only as she fell that she realised just how stupid a move that had been.
Those teeth were directly below her—and they were sharper than anything Trixie had seen.
A spell jumped to mind almost instantly, and she was working on it before she could even debate if it was a good idea. She lit her horn weakly and focused her magic in front of her chest, condensing the feeble power into a massively high-pressure ball. It was small—too small. Her strength had been drained. She could barely keep the magic stable, feeling a migraine picking relentlessly at the edge of her mind. The tight ball of magic wavered slightly, threatening to disintegrate.
Trixie gritted her teeth and clenched her eyes shut, pouring every last trickle of magical power she still had in her reserves into the breaking ball—and then let it go. The power exploded outwards, but it was barely big enough. Only a small rush of air was formed in the explosion. It collided directly with Trixie’s chest, as she had hoped, but she only moved slightly further away. It hadn’t been nearly as much of a force as she had wanted.
The beast’s teeth snagged her fur, ripping out small chunks. But she hadn’t been impaled.
Trixie landed heavily on the ursa’s gums on her rump. She tried to scream but couldn’t make a sound. She scrabbled at the skin of her chest as she fought to take a breath but found herself incapable of doing so—and then the air rushed in for the second time and she sighed, collapsing to her stomach and trembling.
But this wasn’t over.
The ursa snapped its maw in aggravation and threw its head around, bumping Trixie against its teeth mercilessly. She squeaked, flinging her forehooves around one of the beast’s canines and clinging on desperately. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she scrabbled to take the pressure off of her torn-open rump. And then the ursa’s tongue peeked over the top of the teeth, searching for her lazily. It approached slowly, slowly, slowly creeping closer and closer. It brushed against Trixie’s ears painfully. She hissed and shrunk her body down, cowering—and then the ursa’s tongue brushed against its lips, parting them to the outside world.
She had no choice. With a deep gulp of hot air, Trixie withdrew her hooves from the canines so that she was merely sat on the ursa’s gums. And then, with a pre-emptive scream, she closed her eyes and dove towards the small gap to the outside.
Her body slipped through the small parting easily. The cold air hit her like a train and she cringed, the wind rushing around her body as she fell. It ripped the heat from her, leaving her shivering in mid-air as she plummeted.
She hit the floor without any means of dulling the impact. The rock met her body eagerly, making her scream and gasp as she bounced heavily. Her entire body beaded with a mixture of blood and gravel, burning her skin like dragon fire. And then, when she finally managed to summon the strength to squint her eyes open, she watched as the ursa’s elephantine paw drew closer in one final, deadly blow.
Spike galloped as fast as his legs could carry him. His claws dug into the ground with each step he took, throwing up a cloud of dirt behind him. Every few hundred metres he would skid to a stop, having lost track of Trixie’s scent. It would only take a few seconds before he would find it again and head out once more, the sense of gloom and dread hanging over him growing increasingly heavy each time.
“Move it, legs!” he cried, the scales of his cheeks red and flushed. “Geez, I really need to lay off the Topaz.”
As he got deeper and deeper into the forest, the scent became stronger and stronger. It was a good thing, really; by now it was practically pitch black and, even though his draconic eyes were designed to be able to see through such darkness, he was struggling to make out the path Trixie had cantered.
As he lumbered onwards, Spike noticed a new smell on the moaning wind. It was metallic, a sharp contrast to what he had been focusing on; Trixie’s scent of something akin to burnt wood (mixed with flowery perfume) was now smelling increasingly bitter. It was as if an unpleasantly sharp note had been laced with the odd but not wholly horrible combination. His nose crinkled in disgust—and then he realised what it was.
Blood.
Spike froze in place, his ear scales dropping. His eyes widened and he shrunk backwards, blood all that he could now smell. A single, fleeting thought passed through his mind.
“We’re dead,” he uttered, feeling suddenly alone for the first time since he’d started his trek. Sure, he had been by himself the entire time—but only now did he realise just how much he would have appreciated some company.
A low growl sounded, making Spike’s ears perk up. He stood on his rear legs defensively. His neck spikes pricked outwards automatically in an attempt to exaggerate his laughable size. He hissed instinctively and immediately got to work with starting a spark in his throat. His eyes darted around the blackness quickly, looking for any sign of movement.
There!
His heart sunk as an eye—the brightest shade of yellow but with a pupil of deep red–landed upon him through the blackness. Then, as his own vision adjusted, he could just about make out the outline of a massive, castle-sized cave in which the ursa was crouched. Spike gulped visibly.
A scream tore through the silence of the forest, echoing cruelly around. The ursa roared at the interruption, its body banging against the rocky walls of the cave. It threw its head about, drowning out any other noises. Spike could only yell out in surprise as massive cracks sounded all around him; as the first of the branches began to fall, he found himself trapped!
Well, he was stuck now. He wasn’t going down without a fight! He was, at the end of the day, a dragon!
With a puny roar of his own—he couldn’t even hear it over the ursa’s, but it felt like the right thing to do—he charged towards the beast. He galloped as fast as he could, leaping from side to side to avoid the projectile branches, blasting others to smithereens just before they struck him. He snorted smoke as he did so, a power unlike anything he had ever known coursing through his veins.
It was stupid and reckless; he knew that. But as a scream—Trixie’s scream—sounded again, this time coming undoubtedly from the ursa’s side, Spike knew what he had to do. Digging his claws into the wall of the cave, he clambered up clumsily.
He could see now, his eyes having fully adjusted. He watched with horror as the ursa toyed with its prey, batting Trixie against the wall as he, himself, would a rubber ball. The ursa rolled her with its claw, chuffing happily as she weakly cried out in pain—and then it suddenly stopped, snorting. It raised its paw up high, dangling it above the mare—and then it went to strike.
There was no time to prepare. Spike leapt from the cave wall, his own claws outstretched as he landed on the beast’s rump. He clung on as tightly as he could, biting down hard with his tiny fangs. And then he released a spark of fire in his throat, lighting it as he did so.
He let go, flinging himself towards the ground just as the fireball smashed directly into the urea’s flesh.
The explosion knocked him completely off course, sending him hurtling through the air with such force that he knew this was going to be the end. He couldn’t help but scream then, thrashing wildly and desperately trying to beat his arms like wings. But the floor got closer and closer, ready to greet him in a dramatic embrace.
His body smashed into the rock, and it was over instantaneously. There was no pain; suddenly, he felt weightless.
And then the pain came when he landed, face down against the rock, with a thud. The force shuddered through his body and drew a pained cry from his chest. He then lay still, whimpering. All he could hear were the sounds of the ursa’s agonised roaring and heavily stomping paws.
“Help!”
The voice was so weak that it was barely audible over the ursa’s panic. But it was enough, and Spike remembered what he had come here to do in the first place.
Save Trixie.
His eyes darted around frantically from his spot on the floor, but he could not see her—and then he finally found her again, laying in a pitiful heap by the wall. The ursa was right next to her, its paws coming dangerously close to landing on her.
Spike snorted, rolling up so that he stood shakily on all four claws. And then he charged up a fireball in his throat, stepping forwards slowly.
He had to fight. Because he was the only one who could save them both.
The ursa didn’t notice as Spike moved closer, smoke billowing from his glowing mouth. He crept forwards, his belly kept as close as he could to the rocky floor. His tail flicked slowly, steadying himself. He kept his eyes focused on the ursa’s thrashing body, careful not to let it see him.
Spike slunk around the edge of the cave, careful not to disturb anything that might alert the beast. When he got to Trixie’s side he nudged her ever so gently, cringing when she didn’t respond. But then she reacted ever so slightly by flicking an ear.
“You survived… the fall…” Trixie whispered out loud, but Spike could barely hear it over the sound of the beast’s shuffling and grumbling.
“I bounced,” he said with a shrug. “Was that you?”
Trixie rolled over to face him slowly. She winced as she did so. “Yeah,” she breathed, her face drawn tight in a pained frown. “I could only… do it once…”
Spike held up a claw and shook it. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he murmured. He forced a smile. “I’m in one piece.”
Trixie grimaced. She tried to turn her head slightly downwards, but paused after only the slightest movement. “More than.... can be said for… me…” she said, shuddering slightly. In the dim light from Spike’s charged up flames, her face visibly paled.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he whispered. “I got this.” He stood taller and, standing on three claws, flexed one of his fore muscles. He gave it a small kiss, then sent a wink her way. “Spike’s on the job.”
Trixie had just enough strength to grimace. “Am I supposed to… be happy now?” She took a deep breath and shuddered again. “I just… saved you.”
Spike opened his mouth to reply, but the ursa stiffened then. It had stopped thrashing and had spun back around to face the pair, its eyes narrowed as it sniffed dangerously. Then, after a momentary stare-off when its eyes met Spike’s, it raised a paw and swung it in a massive, perfect arc.
Spike snarled and leapt to the side, the claw slashing one of his tiny spines clean off.. His own claws instantly flew up to assess the damage; he couldn’t help but whimper and gasp when he felt the horrid warmth of blood coat his hand. But there was no time to tend to his wounds, for the ursa had recovered enough to strike again. Spike, however, wasn’t in the firing line this time.
“Trixie, look out!” he cried, pouncing towards her as if he could shield her from the blow.
But he was too slow, and she could only watch as that deadly claw drew closer. Her only attempt to escape was to duck her head slightly down—but to no avail. The claw slashed directly through the centre of her horn in a flash of blinding light accompanied by Trixie’s deafening screams. And, when everything dimmed enough to be visible once more, neither the ursa or Spike could move for a moment.
Trixie had quietened now, looking more shellshocked than pained. From her horn, massive sparks of magic spurted wildly in all directions—for she had no control at all. The horn was useless, shattered in half and splintered around the edges. A trickle of blood dribbled down the sides and into her eyes. But she hardly even blinked.
Spike growled, suddenly overcome with a raging fury the likes of which he wasn’t sure he had ever known before. With a roar he formed the largest spark in his throat that he could, then shot it directly towards the ursa’s ears. The beast recoiled immediately, but that had been exactly Spike’s plan; the fireball collided just inches from the ursa’s huge eyes, exploding in a puff of unbearably hot flames.
The ursa bellowed, recoiling into the wall, but Spike wasn’t done. With a growl he charged forwards, pouncing on the swishing tail and clinging on. With his claws as hooks he then climbed up to the beast’s back, shredding its skin as he went, until he was stood atop the charred flesh of its flank. He dug his claws in deeply as the beast began to strike at him, leaping in a circle in its attempt to dislodge the dragon riding atop its back.
Spike snarled and dug his fangs into the beast’s back, almost scratching against its spine, and charged up another blast of fire. Just as he was about to release it, though, the ursa put in a particularly nasty buck. He yelled as his claws were dislodged, leaving him joined to the beast by his mouth. He scrabbled to get some grip again, but the ursa’s movements were too frantic—and so he gave a throaty cry and released a third fireball directly atop the beast’s spine, sending himself flying again in the process.
Trixie didn’t cushion his fall with a trick, this time. He screamed as he stretched out his body desperately to touch his claws against the wall, looking for some traction. Mere metres above the ground, he finally got his wish; he dug all of his claws directly into the rock, grooves carved out from him momentum.
A massive boom sounded as the ursa fell to the ground, howling. It writhed in place, its body a mangled but bloodless mess. Still it snapped its teeth dutifully at Trixie’s hooves, though, and she squeaked quietly in fear.
Spike fell to the ground, laying uselessly on his stomach. Shouting in the momentary pauses between each of the ursa’s roars, he was only just able to yell, “I’m all out, Trixie! Finish this thing off!”
Trixie whimpered, her eyes staring directly into the ursa’s unseeing face. She then lowered her head shakily and released the few feeble drops of her magical power. But there was no way of channeling and controlling it now. The beam of white light shot directly in between where the ursa’s eyes would have been, and its body crumpled immediately.
Starlight sped through the hallways, her hooves slamming heavily against the polished crystal of the castle’s floors.
She panted as she ran, her cheeks flushed red despite the rest of her face being completely drained of colour. She then skidded to a stop outside of Twilight’s room; her body crashed into the wall with a small bang, the impact knocking a few candles from their holders. Starlight hissed as they fell to the floor, catching on the edge of the red carpet and causing it to burst into flames immediately. The small flames licked at her hooves and made the fur smolder; she cried out in pain, scarpering backwards and waving her hoof in the air to extinguish them. She then scowled and grabbed a vase of flowers from nearby, duplicating them before all but hurling them at the rapidly growing blaze. It fizzled out with a sizzle and a hiss, leaving only the blackened remains of the rug behind.
She’d fix that later. She had bigger problems right now.
She ran back to Twilight’s door and reared up, slamming her hooves heavily against the wood. She then stepped backwards, muttering to herself and rehearsing her perfectly worded speech (devised over the past minutes). But there was no answer.
“Argh!” she yelled, before ensnaring her body in magic and picturing the other side of the door.
Starlight vanished from her place with a pop, then reappearing inside the bedroom. She slammed her hoof heavily against the switch on the wall, the room then drenched in white light.
“Twilight! Twilight!”
The alicorn only snored lightly, rolling over in her sleep. She had been working on her new spell for forty-eight hours straight, after all.
Starlight frowned. “Twilight! Tirek’s back!” she cried.
Nothing.
“Twilight, Princess Celestia’s been kidnapped and tortured!”
Still nothing.
Starlight looked around the brightly lit room desperately, searching for something—anything—that might wake Twilight. And then her eyes landed upon the perfectly organised writing desk. An evil smirk grew on her face.
She tapped the cup of quills with her magic. The knock was gentle, but enough to topple the lightweight stationary. They fell on the floor with a quiet tap-tap.
Twilight awoke with a cry and shot upright, wings flared out and horn sparking. Her eyes then landed upon the intruder.
“Starlight!” she screeched. She hoisted the covers up to cover her body instinctively, before suddenly realising the futility of such an act. She let the duvet then drop back to the bed and she groaned, falling to her stomach and quite literally rolling out of bed. Twilight fell with a thud on the floor, her exhaustion hitting her again now that the adrenaline had dissipated. “What do you want? It’s,”—she glanced at the clock—”My stars, Starlight! It’s only 12am!”
Starlight nodded frantically. “It’s Trixie!” she cried, dancing on the spot.
Twilight’s scowl only deepened. “You woke me up,” she said, “because of Trixie?”
Starlight nodded again. “I am so, so sorry!” she squeaked, still prancing. “Trixie said that she wanted to defeat the ursa and—”
Twilight shook her head and raised her hooves. “Woah, woah. Trixie wanted to go after an ursa major? Seriously?”
Starlight hung her head. “Yeah,” she said, her voice higher than usual. “And she asked if I’d agree to her going, what with her being stronger at magic now, and I… I said yes!”
Twilight froze. Her wings ruffled slowly. Her ears fell back. Her pupils dilated to the size of pinpricks. “You,” she began, raising a hoof to point at Starlight slowly. She then took a deep breath and reared up, screaming, “You said WHAT?”
Starlight brindled under Twilight’s gaze. Behind her, a lone candle burst into life and crackled violently.
“Well, she said that she’d vanquished an ursa in the past…” Starlight began, her voice growing increasingly quiet. Twilight pursed her lips.
“And you believed her?” she snapped, stomping a hoof. “I vanquished the ursa, not Trixie! And that was a minor, a baby, not a major! Don’t you think there’s a reason the authorities—or the girls and I—didn’t just rush in to defeat the thing? Ursas aren’t your average pests!”
Starlight hung her head. “I know. Spike said the same.”
Twilight froze. “Oh, horsefeathers! You got Spike involved? He’ll be chomping at the bit to lend a claw!”
Starlight frowned. “He’s only going to stop Trixie going into the Everfree. He’s not gonna get involved in any fighting.”
Twilight groaned. “Spike’s got a hero complex, you know that! He’s too small to fight, but he can’t stand just being a sidekick! Of course he’s going to try to take the thing down!”
“Oh,” was all Starlight said.
Her voice was suddenly pitiful. She had backed up against the wall by now, looking absolutely terrified. She fiddled absently with her hair, looking anywhere than but at Twilight.
“Thing is,” she continued, her voice shaking, “I need your help.”
Twilight huffed. “You’ve got Spike involved. I haven’t got a choice.” The disdain in her voice at that moment was evident. “When was Trixie going? I’ll have to shoot on down and have a word and—”
Starlight laughed. It was a feeble noise—and Twilight caught on instantly.
“Starlight…” she warned, wings flared out. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Well, it’s just…” Starlight paused and rubbed the back of her neck, shrinking backwards even further. “You see…”
Twilight’s eyes flashed dangerously. The candle behind her spat out a small burst of flame just at that moment. “This is serious, Starlight! Spit it out!”
“That’s the thing,” she said, cringing even before she finished her sentence. Then, with every ounce of her strength, she whispered, “She was going into the forest at midnight.”
Twilight glanced to the alarm clock and then back to Starlight. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. The candle behind her suddenly snuffed itself out, a small puff of smoke drifting to the ceiling.
“You’d better pray that Spike stopped her, then. Because if he went in with her, both our friends are dead!”
The pair sped over the trees of the Everfree Forest, stray twigs snagging the fur of their hooves as they went.
“We must be close now!” Twilight cried, though her words were slurred and she was undeniably struggling. She flapped a little harder and ground her teeth, struggling to keep up with a speedily levitating Starlight. “See anything?”
Starlight looked around frantically, dipping quickly down into the forest. She bolted back up, looking shaken, but she shook her head quickly. “No, nothing yet. Do you—oh!”
Starlight froze in midair, her eyes suddenly glancing slightly to the right. She turned slowly and drifted closer, cautiously dropping down to the tree canopy. Her ears fell and her telekinesis momentarily wavered. She then turned in midair, gesturing with a hoof over her new position.
That amount of damage to the trees was undeniably caused by a monster.
“We’re here,” Twilight whispered. And then, ever so slowly, she drifted down to the floor. Starlight followed suit reluctantly. The shadows engulfed them both as they descended, drawing them deeper into the seemingly endless abyss of darkness. The most terrifying thing, though, was the ear-shattering scream that sounded just as their hooves touched down.
The pair froze and their eyes connected, wide with horror. They then turned slowly around and—in the hazy light of their horns—something the likes of which should only exist in nightmares could be seen.
The ursa’s massive body filled the entirety of the cave, even as it fell to the ground. It gave a deafening bellow as it did so, colliding with the rock with a force so great that shockwaves rippled through the dirt floor beneath Starlight and Twilight’s hooves.
Starlight was the first to react. She galloped towards the cave without hesitation, hurdling the fallen debris like cross country jumps. Twilight fumbled after, her legs still sluggish and uncoordinated from her lack of sleep.
The sight that met their eyes at the cave entrance was equally as impressive as it was horrifying.
The downed ursa lay, unmoving, on the cold rock of its very own cave. Its entire top line appeared to have simply melted away, leaving gaping holes in its flesh—if one could call it as such. Its gargantuan head was simply a mangled mess of meat, though one eyeball could be spotted rolling uselessly down into the depths of the cave.
Next to it, two bodies lay, unmoving. First, Trixie—completely soaked through with her own blood from the hundreds of cuts and scratches that now marred her body—sat in a hunched up ball by the beast’s head. Her eyes, wide but with pupils the size of pinpricks, met the newcomers’ with complete and utter horror. She twitched, her body spasming. She then wrapped her hooves around her rear legs and pulled them up to her chest. She began to rock, back and forth and back and forth. She muttered quietly. The incoherent strings of words couldn’t quite be called sentences.
Spike lay not far off, next to the ursa’s alicorn-sized fore paws, panting. His own hands were a state, covered with small scratches and cuts, with the right sporting a particularly deep gash. His own claws had been almost completely filed down. But he still tried to smile, even as he shakily pushed his battered body up. “It’s weak to fire.”
Twilight was at a loss for words. When she recovered from her shock, she simply said, What?”
“Fire,” Spike said, smirking. When his friends did not instantly reply, he then said, “Ursas are weak to fire.”
Twilight frowned and looked from the ursa, to Spike, and then back to the ursa. “You did this?”
Spike nodded. Suddenly, he looked less like a feeble baby dragon. “It’s basically made of darkness, right? Well, the fire just melted it away.”
Twilight looked taken aback. “Wow, Spike,” she murmured, then beaming. She ensnared him in a weak magical field and pulled him over, dumping him down (somewhat heavily) upon her back. “You’ve grown a lot stronger than I give you credit for!” She paused and turned. Her eyes suddenly bored into Trixie. “On that note, what in Equestria were you—Oh my word!”
Twilight froze. Starlight screamed. Trixie just blubbered quietly, still rocking back and forth on her rump.
“It’s gone, isn’t it?” she whispered, raising a hoof gingerly. When she tapped the sawn-off stump of her horn, she froze. Her face went white. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in a breath of horror. “Oh my stars, it’s gone!”
Starlight began to step forwards slowly, warily. But, just before she could move, a massive, high pitched howl sounded.
Spike blanched.
“You know what, that’s okay. It can be fixed,” Twilight said hurriedly, her eyes darting about as she turned her head. “But I, for one, don’t want to be timberwolf chow.”
Starlight nodded, pulling Trixie up with her own magic. “Twilight’s right,” she said. Trixie scowled slightly. “We’d best get back to Ponyville. Those things sound darned close.”
Trixie pouted, though looked somewhat reassured by Twilight’s promise. “Can’t I at least get a…” She paused for breath, wheezing slightly. “A souvenir?”
“Your wounds aren’t enough?” Twilight snapped, stomping a hoof.
Trixie looked away slightly but shook her head.
“Just let me prove this tale actually happened?”
Starlight sighed, looking to Twilight with a smile that said, ‘I’ve got this’. She then placed Trixie down gently and turned to the beast, cringing. She used her magic to make a saw, placing it against the tip of one of the ursa’s claws and slicing it off cleanly in one swipe. She then snagged a tuft of the fur and snipped that off, too, passing both to Trixie.
“Satisfied?”
Trixie beamed, though tears of pain ran down her slightly bloodied cheeks. “Very.”
Twilight smiled very slightly, but yawned massively just a moment later. “Well, I don’t know about you lot, but I need my sleep—and I’ve hardly got the strength to fly anymore, let alone teleport. So can we please go now?”
The trek back to Ponyville was arduous at best. With all of the claws on each of his four hooves sawn off down to the scales, Spike was unsurprisingly sore on his feet. No matter how he tried to walk—on two legs or four—he was horrendously lame. Each step he took was limped, and though he tried to smile, his pain shone through in his eyes. He, of course, had hence needed a ride back home.
With her magic reserves drained and not replenishing from fatigue, the best that Twilight could do was carry him on her back.
Trixie was in an even more worrying state. She had—to give her credit—dragged herself wearily to her hooves and had tried to hobble forwards, her injured leg dragging uselessly. Any normal mare would have elevated it, but in her case, doing so was impossible when the muscle in question was torn in two. She yelped in pain each time that her hoof tapped against the ground or a rock, but she kept going valiantly.
As soon as Starlight stepped up to her side and offered a helping hoof, though, she all but collapsed where she stood. Now she, too, was being carried back to town—though Spike undeniably had been given the better transport. There he was, lounging on fluffy alicorn wings over a few chipped nails, whilst she hung like a ragdoll in Starlight’s magical aura because her leg had been half torn off by a monster.
Needless to say, Trixie couldn’t have been more thrilled—relatively speaking—to see the first rooves of the Ponyville cottages through the treeline. Not long after, they reached Trixie’s wagon, only just past the outskirts of town.
Twilight came to a complete stop. She glanced towards her castle in the far distance, her ears falling. She then stomped a hoof and huffed loudly, spinning on the others and telekinetically throwing Spike over to Starlight.
“Take him,” Twilight snapped. “This is your mess, not mine. I should be asleep. I’ve not slept in two whole days. And I’m not walking a step more until I get some sleep.”
Starlight frowned. “Twilight, I don’t—” She paused, watching as her friend turned and walked straight for the wagon. Her horn crackled. The door popped open with a small click. Without another word, she then slipped inside, her tail swishing.
“Hey!” Trixie cried, though her voice was somewhat shaky. “That’s my wagon! I didn’t give you permission to—”
Twilight rounded on her. Her horn erupted with a colossal burst of magic. Trixie shrunk back in her telekinesis bubble.
“You know what? You’re right. I’ll just… bunk with Starlight. Right. Good idea.”
Twilight frowned. “You can sleep on the couch,” she snapped, wings flared out. She then relaxed and sighed, turning back into the wagon. She flopped onto the bed heavily, the springs creaking. The door slammed shut with a bang.
Starlight turned to Trixie, being careful not to dislodge Spike who was now laying atop her back. A frown was evident upon her muzzle. She then shrugged and began to walk in the direction of the castle, her eyes constantly flicking to Trixie in the background until her curiosity became too great. She froze and spun on the wounded mare, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“You’re uncharacteristically okay with this,” Starlight said. She didn’t utter another word. She didn’t need to; Trixie knew exactly what she was talking about.
“What? She’s helped me out big time tonight. Least I can do is let her sleep at mine.”
“That’s not like you.”
Trixie gasped, raising a hoof to her forehead in mock horror—but froze when she brushed over the stump of her horn, knocking a few more fragments off of it.
“Well… my alarm clock is rather effective,” was all she said to begin with. At both Starlight’s and Spike’s raised eyebrows, she sighed and added, “You’ll know exactly what I mean at breakfast.”
The pair looked to each other, then glanced at Trixie. For a moment, Starlight even considered turning back and warning Twilight of whatever prank was sure to be played upon her—and then an owl’s hooting shocked her back into reality. It was stupidly early in the morning. They needed to sleep. And Twilight would probably roast them all alive if she got awoken again, good intentions or not.
Starlight shrugged. Probably best to just leave it. And with that, she began the short trek to the castle, offloading her two wounded patients before she finally collapsed in her own bed.
Oh, Celestia, what a day.
She sighed, slipping under the covers and letting her eyes drift shut slowly. But, try as she might, her mind simply couldn’t quite turn off. She tossed and turned, trying to get comfy. But with each passing hour, she found herself only growing increasingly infuriated and fed-up.
In some ways, the buzzing of her alarm was almost pleasant that day. At least she could justifiably get up at that time.
And it was in that moment that she realised what had been haunting her all night long.
Breakfast.
Twilight.
Oh, no.
She trotted down the hallways slowly, picking up Spike and Trixie on the way. They both roused groggily, their late night escapade—and wounds—slowing them down massively. Not that Starlight overly minded; she was arguably in less of a hurry than usual.
But it had to happen eventually. With a deep gulp, after having stood awkwardly outside the doors to the large dining room for easily five minutes, she sighed and nudged her way in. Twilight, of course, was already there. She had seen better days, to be sure.
“Trixie,” Twilight greeted curtly, raising a hoof. She clasped it over a strand of her now blackened mane, extinguishing a smoldering ember. She coughed. Her eyes then became slits and she stood, wings flapping dangerously and horn sparking slowly. She stepped closer slowly, deliberately. Her tail swished behind her, worryingly calm. “How come you forget to mention that your alarm clock is a loaded fireworks launcher?”
