Chapter 1

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It was afternoon in Ponyville. The hands on the clock were both just past the twelve o’clock marker and the birds were still disturbed by the hourly tolling of the bells. Only a few more days remained until the Summer Sun Celebration; but what long days they were, fraught with anticipation, anxiety, and anxiousness. Whatever the provincial town of Ponyville could muster as perfection had to be achieved, so that it might have a rightful moment of glory, a chance to bask in the glorious, golden praise of the Sun.

A lone colt sat in the grass, watching passersby, while occasionally yawning. His lack of movement stood out in sharp contrast against the hustle and bustle of those around him, and so too did his bright, keen gaze. Observing him, one got the feeling that he was deep in study, perhaps trying to learn something, to make sense of the world around him. A sort of unbridled inquisitiveness that set him apart from his peers.

Or, maybe, he just enjoyed watching ponies while he did nothing.

“Broken Oak!”

The boisterous outburst from the rumbustious mare almost caused him to jump right out of his skin. Swiveling his head around, he watched as somepony he knew approached, a mare by the name of Applejack. She pulled a small two-wheeled cart behind her, half-full of apples. Her eyes were as bright as the apples she sold, and though she wasn’t smiling, she sounded happy enough.

“Consarnit, you’d think that with as busy as things are, ponies would want to buy some apples. Quick to eat, ain’t gotta cook ‘em, and they make a mighty fine pick-me-up.” After she came to a halt, she pushed her hat back from her face and the stem of grass she chewed on bobbed up and down whilst she looked down at Broken Oak. “Mighty fine day to ya, Broken Oak.”

Looking up, he offered a polite nod in response.

“As I live and breathe, I never thought I’d see the day when ponies was too busy to buy apples.” She continued to push her hat around on her head, mopping sweat from her soaked brow, and the first hint of a smile graced her kindly face. “I still have space in my barn, ya know, should you change your mind. Just where do you sleep at night?”

Broken Oak said nothing.

“I need to get home. There’s a lot to do. I shoulda been home over an hour ago, but I was hoping that sales might pick up a bit. I’m gonna call it quits though. Wanna earn an apple or two?”

The very thought of an apple made Broken Oak’s mouth water, and he broke eye-contact with Applejack so that he might check out her apples. Scandalously red ones, wealthy golden ones, and apples turned green with envy. When Applejack leaned in close to him, he could feel her hot breath tickling his eartip. His stomach gurgled, squelched, and he felt a flood upon his tongue.

“Three. Three apples. Somehow, for a mute, you drive a hard bargain. I need you to deliver a peck of apples to Sugarcube Corner. I ain’t up for walking all the way out that way. Ain’t enough time in the day. So, what’ll it be? Wanna earn some apples?”

Even before his mind could register a reply, his neck muscles put his head into motion.

“There’s a basket back there, might be buried, but if you pull it out, it holds a peck of apples. Mrs. Cake, she’s already paid me up front, so you ain’t gotta collect no payment or nothing. Remember, she takes deliveries through the back door, so her customers ain’t disturbed.” The orange mare’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line, and her stalk of grass quivered for a bit while she looked down at Broken Oak. “Why won’t you come home and stay with me? If not me, why not somepony? Is it a matter of trust? Did something awful happen to you? Did one of them there orphanages in one of those big cities do something bad? Something unspeakable? We’re not like that here in Ponyville. We’re good ponies. I wish… I wish you could talk, Broken Oak.”

Shrugging, Broken Oak maintained his silence, because he had no say in the matter.

“Go on, eat you some apples. Those ribs of yours shouldn’t be sticking out like that. I ain’t gonna tell ya to swallow your pride, because I have a hard to swallow pride of my own, but you gotta let somepony care for you. One half-starved near-mustang foal makes all of us look bad. We’re not that kind of town. I have half a mind to tie you up, stick you in my wagon, and haul you home with me.” Grumbling something unintelligible, Applejack shook her head from side to side while her tail flicked around her hindquarters.

Cautious, Broken Oak cast a wary eye upon Applejack, because she was skilled with rope. She was looking at him, which worried him, but no lasso appeared. When Applejack’s words were revealed as bluster and bluff, little Broken Oak set about the task of getting himself an apple.

First, he edged closer to the wagon, still cautious, never quite taking his eye off the rough and tumble orange mare. Then, he placed his right front hoof against the wagon wheel to steady himself. Next came the hard part; he had to convince himself that he was a firefly. Going remarkably still, he thought firefly thoughts, the sort of thing a firefly thought while doing firefly errands.

Nothing happened, but he was not deterred.

Fireflies. Beautiful fireflies. He thought of how they blinked in the dark. Sometimes, he collected them and put them in a jar—but he never kept them for long and was quick to let them go before any harm was done to them. Broken Oak made it a point to do no harm, if at all possible. While fireflies danced within his thoughts, his own natural bioluminescence woke up. He was a firefly.

A flickering but determined nimbus of light sprang forth from his horn. Magic, Broken Oak’s one great love, wove strange patterns through his brain as it reached out with an unseen force to pick up an apple. He thought about the old, musty spellbook in the hidden place he called home. When he had first found it, he could barely read, but the book had changed him. It taught him letters, branding the knowledge right into his mind.

One apple lifted, a red one, and surrounded by turquoise light, was pulled to his lips.

The first bite was an unexpectedly juicy explosion that would leave Broken Oak’s chin quite sticky. It was a hot day and the apple was delightfully thirst-quenching. He wished that he had some way to convey his gratitude. To be able to talk, to communicate. He wanted to explain to Applejack that he had a reason for his independence, and that was magic. Through his self-imposed routine of self-reliance, his magic developed at a rapid pace to keep up with the demands he put on himself.

“This Summer Sun Celebration, why, it could make us or break us,” Applejack said while the young, hungry colt devoured his apple. “It could put Ponyville on the map. We have everything we need. So our train station ain’t the biggest and the fanciest, but it’s functional. We have a downtown. Sorta. Some of our roads is even paved… kinda. Some of us have indoor plumbing. There’s electric lights. We’re so close to being something… but sometimes, it feels like we is missing something. This here Summer Sun Celebration, it might be just what we need to establish ourselves. We made a township outa nothing. I wish I knew what we needed to do to get over this here hump.”

When the first apple vanished, a second one was selected: a green one.

“For our town to do well, all of us has to do well.” Applejack shifted her weight from her right hooves to her left hooves while she continued to chat. “That means you too. If even one of us is poor off, that means we’ve failed. That’s why everypony wants to take you in, Broken Oak. An orphanage would be a slight against our reputation, ya see. We look after our own and we do what’s right.”

This was overwhelmingly true, he felt. The green apple, sour and tart, tickled his innards.

“You’re at that tough age, Broken Oak. Too big to be little, and too little to be big. I feel for ya, ‘cause I’ve been there. I have. If it wasn’t for Granny Smith and all of Ponyville… why, I don’t know what I would’ve done.” The big, broad-withered mare fell silent.

As always, Broken Oak said nothing.

A peck of apples was no simple thing to carry with magic. Concentration had to be maintained. It helped that he had eaten, as it gave him the energy he needed to perform this task. This was how he made his living, and he was proud of it. He did Ponyville’s odd jobs, which not only kept him busy, but gave him a chance to improve his magic.

As he trotted along the edge of the winding lane, he thought about the nice zebra in the woods. She was kind, brought him food, and occasionally gave him alchemy lessons on days when there wasn’t much work to be had. Zecora never said much, but when she did, she spoke in rhyme. A great deal of silence had been shared between them, which he appreciated. Being mute, others tended to talk to him nonstop, or worse, they talked at him, exploiting his lack of response.

Ponies meant well, but sometimes, some of them were less than thoughtful.

Zecora wasn’t welcomed in town, but Broken Oak did not know why. Ponies braved the dangers of the Everfree to seek her out though, and they bought their potions, balms, salves, and elixirs from her. Perhaps her tendency to rhyme when speaking upset them, or perturbed them in some way. The only thing that bothered Broken Oak about Zecora was the fact that she was a bit too huggy. Too clingy. He’d be working, concentrating, trying to complete whatever task she had given him, and all of a sudden, a hug from out of nowhere.

And then, also from out of nowhere, wherever nowhere might be, came a profoundly purple, pesky, perky, persistent pegasus pony named Shrinking Violet, who fell into a trot beside him. Broken Oak did his best to keep his eyes from rolling, because that was rude, and he struggled to maintain his concentration, because nopony he knew liked bruised apples.

“Hiyas!” Shrinking Violet said in her shrill, somewhat nasal voice that came whistling out from between her buck teeth.

Of all the rotten luck…

“Brokey Oakey, I was wondering… I’ve been wondering—”

The dreadful fear of what might be said caused him to cringe.

“—whatcha doing for the Summer Sun Celebration?”

Shrinking Violet didn’t speak so much as she whistled. Her name was a misnomer too, as there was nothing shy about her. He was thankful that she didn’t ambush him this time, and make him drop his precious cargo. Aerial ambushes were both frequent and terrifying. Being a pegasus, she could swoop down at any time to surprise him. Just a few years older than he, she had been a complete and total pest since his arrival.

“Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were teasing me again. They’re mean. Silver Spoon said I’d be going alone to this year’s Summer Sun Celebration, and that I’d live alone, and then I’d die alone.” Then, in a more subdued voice she added, “I hope that’s not true.”

Broken Oak hated the two fillies mentioned by name.

“They both laughed and said I’d be a crazy old cat lady, like Fluttershy.”

That certainly sounded like something those two would say. Broken Oak liked Mister Rich, who gave him jobs and paid him well, but his daughter… ugh. Mister Rich wasn’t a great conversationalist—he liked to talk about work ethic and the importance of being thrifty—but he was nice enough, if you were willing to work hard.

“This year’s Summer Sun Celebration is a really special time for me. I’m at that age when I’m supposed to be planning my life. Thinking about moving out.” The pegasus filly heaved a heavy sigh, and this caused her feathers to ruffle-fluffle. “I’d really like to spend this Summer Sun Celebration with you. I’ll pay for everything. I don’t mind, because I’ve been saving up for this moment. I want it to be special. This is our time, Brokey Oakey.”

He almost dropped his peck of apples, and struggled to keep it from plummeting to the ground.

“We’ve been friends for a while. My mother, she might not like you very much, she thinks you’re a smelly vagrant. But really, you’re not that smelly. Not like some colts I know. Whew-wee! If anypony is smelly, it’s probably me. I’ve been sweating a lot lately, like, a whole lot more than I did when I was a filly, and parts of me are decidedly stinky. I really don’t know what to do about them. But you don’t smell half bad, for being a handsome, homeless stranger.”

This time, Broken Oak rolled his eyes and kept the peck of apples aloft.

“I sniffed under my wing just the other day, and I just about died!”

Shrinking Violet shuffled closer, nearly tripping over her own hooves. So close was she, that she was almost touching him, which left him wondering if she was about to lift her wing and invite him to take a sniff. She was clumsy, and that was putting it kindly. Her many crashes were the talk of the town, and she was almost as bad as Derpy Hooves.

“You know what I like about you?” she asked while she leaned in just a little bit closer. “I can talk to you. You’ve never teased me. You don’t call me Bunny the Buck-Toofed Loser. You don’t laugh at me when I have an accident. You haven’t called me a clutz, or said I have a big butt, and you haven’t called me Purple Pooty Pegasus, the Pooting Polluter of Ponyville.”

Broken Oak couldn’t say those things, and even if he could, he doubted he would.

Casting a sidelong glance at his companion, he thought about their strange relationship. When he first came to Ponyville just a few years ago, they had bumped into each other. Afterwards, she kept bumping into him. From all angles. She tended to whistle from heavy breathing, so it was like being assaulted by an incoming unicorn-seeking teakettle. He could not deny her kindness; she fed him, gave him blankets during his first winter here, bought him cocoa to keep him warm and cold drinks to keep him cool. Now, she was offering to cover the expenses of what was sure to be a pleasant date together.

The issue, as he saw it through his eyes, was the fact that fillies were sorta gross. Shrinking Violet, like Zecora, tended to be a clingy creature, but the purple pegasus was a whole lot more enthusiastic about it. Not only that, but she favoured high-impact, rough and tumble affection. Some of what she did was embarrassing and cringy, like when she rubbed her cheek against his, or worse, rubbed her snoot against him. It was hot, wet, and just plain icky.

Yet, as they trotted together, he found that he admired her tenacity.

In fact, there were a lot of things he found he admired about her, and this left him unsettled. This was new, unexpected, and he didn’t know how or what to feel about it. He couldn’t even if tell if they were friends. If so, he’d been a rotten friend. Thinking about it made him feel a little bad, and that caused more than a little uncertainty.

“Meet me in town on Summer Sun Day,” she said to him. “I’ll be waiting by the clock.”

Before he had a chance to respond, to nod and accept, the purple pegasus flew away.

When Broken Oak banged on the back door of Sugarcube Corner, he was more than a little shaken. He could not stop thinking about his relationships, and with Shrinking Violet in particular. His maturity had taken a tremendous leap forward, and he himself had not yet caught up with it. At some point, he had become a part of this community, a resident of this town, and he had ceased to be an adolescent vagrant seeking shelter.

The door opened, revealing a frazzled Mrs. Cake, and a second later, Pinkie Pie shoved the heavyset mare out of the way so that she too, could stand in the doorway. Covered in flour, Pinkie Pie snorted, shot out plumes of white from her nostrils, and dusted Mrs. Cake’s mane. Annoyed, Mrs. Cake cast some side-eye at Pinkie, who giggle-snorted in return. Taken off guard, Broken Oak smiled, and then wheezed out silent laughter.

The colt’s sublime mirth dispelled Mrs. Cake’s annoyance.

Pinkie Pie snatched the basket full of apples, vanished, and then was right back in a jiffy. Her eyes, merry, and her smile, mischievous, stood out in sharp contrast with Mrs. Cake. Her eyes were kind, and her smile—now that she had one—held an indescribable volume of warmth. Mrs. Cake pushed and shoved her way out of the doorway and then stood outside with Broken Oak.

She walked around him in a circle once, twice, and on the third time she said, “We still have a room. I’m not even asking you to work, you can stay in the room. You are too thin. It’s worrisome, dear.”

Hearing all of this, Broken Oak felt annoyed. Frustrated. He longed to express his gratitude. If only there was some way to tell Mrs. Cake how thankful he was. His frustration lingered, turned into something that was almost guilt, and he thought about his previous encounters this day. Applejack had talked his ear off, but she had also fed him, and offered him a place to stay. Shrinking Violet had once more made her feelings known, though he was uncertain of what those feelings were, exactly. And now, Mrs. Cake had once more offered to take him in.

What was the point if he had all of these feelings, but no way to express them?

It left him feeling sulky, a bit guilty, angry, and ashamed. Along with his realisation made just mere moments ago, that he was a member of this community, the sudden surge of emotion was almost overwhelming. Turning to face Mrs. Cake, he attempted to share everything he was feeling with his eyes.

But even as he did it, he wondered, what good would it do?

When he thought of Shrinking Violet once more, these thoughts were painful. Did he avoid interaction to spare himself the trouble of trying to express all these feelings? He had so much to say, but no way to say it. Guilt took on punishing physical form and impaled the tenderest places it could find.

“My goodness, you must be hungry. Those ribs. That sad expression. You had to carry a peck of apples this whole way while you were hungry, you poor dear.” Mrs. Cake was frowning now, her ears, angled out over her eyes, were touching one another, and her brows were now home to deep, troubled furrows. “I’m going to have to have a chat with Applejack!”

He shook his head from side to side, and tried to quell his panic as he pantomimed eating. Mrs. Cake was confused for a moment, her troubled expression intensified a great deal, and she took a step closer to Broken Oak, as if close proximity could somehow solve the communications issue.

“Oh, you ate… but you’re still hungry?” The broad-bodied, heavyset mare clucked her tongue as she turned her commanding gaze upon Pinkie. “Keep an eye on him, Pinkie Pie. I’m going to go fix him some food.”

With that, Mrs. Cake went back indoors, leaving him all alone with the most talkative pony alive.

“So…” Pinkie Pie bounced in place, flexing her knees whilst her sides heaved from her heavy breathing. “Are you going to escort Shrinking Violet to the Summer Sun Celebration? She talks about you all the time, you know. Usually to herself, when she’s sitting all alone. She sits at the corner table, by herself, eating and talking to herself about you. When I go to talk to her, she gets awful quiet.”

Broken Oak swallowed; a gulp was one of the few sounds he could reliably make.

“Are you proud, like Applejack? Applejack is proud.” Pinkie Pie rolled her eyes so far back into her head that the blue vanished for a time, before reappearing at the bottom of her eye and rising back into place. “Too proud. She won’t accept any help either. It’s awful… she’s a lot like you. But at least she has Granny Smith, Big Mac, and Apple Bloom.”

As was so often the case, Pinkie Pie abruptly changed the subject.

“Are you looking forward to the Summer Sun Celebration? Have you ever thought about how much celebration sounds like Celestia?” After a sharp inhale, she continued, “I’ve been to the Summer Sun Celebration in Canterlot. It was spectacular! The Cakes and I, we were vendors, and everything was so amazing that I had trouble doing my job. The whole day was so magical, from the glorious dawn to the beautiful sunset. And when Princess Celestia made the moon rise, I just about cried for some reason. It just felt so sad and I don’t know why. She was crying too, weeping, bawling like a foal. I guess maybe because it was beautiful.”

“You know”—she barely paused to breathe as the ceaseless chatter spilled forth—“I bet that you could get Shrinking Violet to watch the moon rise with you after the Summer Sun Celebration. It’s a special time for special someponies.” Pinkie Pie’s eyebrows bounced up and down like rubber balls and she batted her long, curved eyelashes. “It’s a shame her mom thinks that you’re a smelly vagrant. I was a vagrant once, you know. I came to Ponyville as a foal. The Cakes took me in. They’d take you in, if you let them. I wonder if I was smelly. I mean, being a vagrant is tough, but being a smelly vagrant, that’s a bit rougher. Hard to be charming when you’re stinky. Ponies don’t have fingers. It’s tough to pinch our noses. You know, if you stayed with us, and maybe bathed regularly, Violet’s mother might feel differently about you.”

Broken Oak felt his brain glazing over, like a hot, fresh donut from Sugarcube Corner.

“Do you eat a lot of garlic or something?” Pinkie Pie asked point blank.

Taken aback, Broken Oak could only stand there, blinking.

He thought about the food Zecora fixed for him. Garlic abounded. The wise zebra believed that garlic kept away diseases and maladies. Still stunned, almost reeling, the colt tried to think of a time when he had been sick since coming to Ponyville, and nothing came to mind. Zecora fixed garlic and swamp cabbage stew at least once a week, and left him a clay pot for him to consume at his leisure.

Swamp cabbage was also known as skunk cabbage…

Lost in thought, the young colt stood rubbing his chin.

Was this why Zecora was all alone in the Everfree?

“Things are gonna change,” Pinkie Pie blurted out, “I can feel it!”

Mere seconds after Pinkie’s cryptic outburst, Mrs. Cake emerged from the back door with a plate carefully balanced on her nose and forehead. With swift, sure movement, she slid the plate onto a wooden crate near the back door, and gestured at it with her hoof while nodding.

“Eat up,” she said to Broken Oak.

He could scarcely believe his good fortune. Not one, but two sandwiches of some unknown variety, a slice of chocolate cake, and muffin that smelled spicy with cinnamon. Before he could react, Pinkie Pie departed in a blur, leaving behind her cupcake-scented wind, and she returned in an eyeblink with a tall glass of chocolate milk, which was put down near the plate without a single drop spilt.

“I made you chocolate milk,” said Pinkie Pie, “but I drank the first glass so I had to make a second.” Then, without further ado, the pink mare belched while pounding her chest with her hoof. “Drank too fast, sorry!”

As Broken Oak began to investigate his food, he heard Mrs. Cake say, “I have a job for you. Payment is a few bits. A box of eclairs needs to be delivered to Carousel Boutique. Rarity is overworked and she’s really stressed out. A lot of customers want to look their best for the Summer Sun Celebration.”

“And Rarity is going to pig out! She’s gonna eat the whole box, and she’ll be fine for a while, but then she’ll get even more stressed out, because eating two-dozen eclairs has consequences, let me tell you! She’ll be crying into her pints of ice cream later, terrified at what the eclairs might do to her trim, prim behind. I swear, she measures it every day to see if its shrunk or gotten bigger. Usually, it’s bigger.”

Mrs. Cake—who had a generous helping of hindquarters—cast a deadpan stare at her oblivious helper.

“You know, Rarity has been my friend for as long as I can remember,” said Pinkie Pie. “Do you think it has something to do with the fact that I’m a baker? Hmm.” She struck a pose, tapping her hoof against her chin, her ears bobbing with every absent-minded boppity-bop-bop.

“I’m going to fetch that box of eclairs,” Mrs. Cake said as she took a step towards the door. “Pinkie, let the poor colt eat. Don’t be too much of a pest, dear.”

“I’d never be a pest!” cried Pinkie, without a single hint of self-awareness.

Chuckling, Mrs. Cake went inside and shut the door behind her. Meanwhile, Broken Oak checked out his sandwiches; cheese and butter, something of a favourite. Unable to ask for them specifically, he just sort of had to hope that he got lucky somehow. Mrs. Cake was the pony most likely to fix them, though there were others. But nopony put as much butter on the bread as Mrs. Cake did.

Everything was better with butter, the butterier the better.

As he chomped his first bite of sandwich, thinking of fireflies all the while to keep his magic flowing, Pinkie Pie heaved the sort of sigh that was a warning sign, an indicator that she had trouble containing herself. Her mane seemed even poofier than usual, and her bright eyes darted in every conceivable direction as she watched the whole of the world around her.

“Twitcha-twitcha! Somepony just got their first real job! I’ll have to help them celebrate!”

The bread, baked just this morning, was moist and chewy. Buttered as it was, it didn’t stick to his teeth or the roof of his mouth, which made it easy to swallow. Since it went down with so little effort, it was almost too easy to inhale—which explained why half of it was already gone. Only the chocolate cake would slow him down, but not by much, because he was a determined eater.

“Darkness is coming to Ponyville.”

Pinkie’s ominous prediction of doom was oddly cheerful—so much so that Broken Oak wasn’t the least bit bothered by it. If darkness, doom, and gloom were coming, it didn’t sound so bad coming from Pinkie Pie. Perhaps a party could be thrown and they could wait it out, like the storms of summer or the snows of winter. Darkness, doom, and gloom might as well be just another season with its own peculiar weather. Princess Celestia’s sun would rise, just as it always did, and whatever darkness lingered would be dispelled.

“Before this day is over, you will know doom,” said Pinkie Pie as her body went through a series of convulsions and twitches. “I gotta go take notes and add them to my secret collection of files. Don’t tell anypony I said that!”

Before he could react, Pinkie Pie was gone, leaving behind the promise of doom and the sugary scent of cupcakes. With his second sandwich held in his magic, he took a moment to ponder what the pink party pony had said, but not long. There was food to be eaten; if doom was coming to him, the need to eat was more important than ever, because it was hard to do magic on an empty stomach. If doom wanted him, doom would have to somehow find him and catch him.

Determined to make doom work for it, Broken Oak devoured his sandwich.

As one went deeper into the center Ponyville, one could feel the frantic energy that radiated from the heart of town. Mayor Mare could be seen running from place to place, location to location, trying to offer her approval or her encouragement to do better. The stores were all busy rearranging their window displays and making sure that everything was as tidy as possible.

Broken Oak was thoughtful as he made his way downtown, loaded down with a tremendous box of chocolate eclairs. He decided that there might be more he could do, to be more communicative and expressive. Anything was better than just standing there. Something had to be done about Shrinking Violet, but he had no idea what. He was only vaguely aware that he felt something about her, but he was clueless as to what it was, or might be.

If only she would be quiet long enough to allow him to sort and settle his thoughts.

“No, Miss Hooves, straighten out that line!”

“Sorry, Mayor Mare!”

Looking up, Broken Oak saw that disaster had been averted—for now. Perhaps this was the doom he had been warned about. He and the eclairs he carried were in dangerous territory. The decorative pole wrapped in ribbon still wobbled as a flock of pegasus ponies worked together to steady it. Derpy still found work; she was still a member of the community, and much beloved. But her inclusion, acceptance, and assistance came with risk, like right now.

Derpy Hooves was strong, too strong, stronger than most of the other pegasus ponies.

The lack of coordination showed. Broken Oak hurried away from the pole as it was lashed into place. A second pole was already secured, and a tremendous banner would be strung between them. Beneath the banner, the town’s band would play a concert, and everypony was practicing, or would be if they weren’t scattering in terror at the moment.

Keeping one wary eye on the swaying, wobbling pole, he made a beeline for Carousel Boutique.

Rarity pulled him inside before he could protest, relieved him of his heavy box, and slammed the door behind him. This fashionista was frazzled, for certain. Her mane was less than perfect, her eyes were bloodshot, the glasses she wore were askew, and her tape measure was a tangled, knotted mess around her neck.

The lid to the box opened, an eclair was selected at random, and in the blink of an eye, it had vanished, with the only trace of its passing a smear of chocolate in the corner of Rarity’s mouth. She eyed the box, casting a sidelong glance at it, but then tore her eyes away so that she might give her full attention to Broken Oak.

“Why, thank you, darling!” Her voice, wavering and scratchy, made it sound as though she needed sleep, not chocolate eclairs. “Oh, this has been just exhausting! The announcement came and left us with such short notice. Two weeks, darling, two weeks! That is not enough time to put together a proper Summer Sun Celebration. Though, I suppose the challenge might be part of the appeal? We barely had time to create and pass a budget!”

Rarity moaned, a demure, polite sound made in the depths of her throat, and then walked in a circle around Broken Oak. She did this almost every time they met, and he knew what would happen next, he anticipated the now-familiar routine. Why, he even enjoyed it, because it was flattering, and it made him feel good.

“Such a distinctive shade of bronze,” she said while smoothing out his left side with her hoof. “And the blue”—she poked at his tail with her hoof—”somehow both dark and vibrant. So electric.” The fashionista was almost purring now as she examined his right side. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to come and work for me? Your silence is ideal… it makes you brooding and mysterious. You’re gawky now, and maybe a bit awkward, but those are temporary states. Only a foolish fashionista would turn you away or cast you aside. That shade of bronze makes you look like a living statue, which is ideal for modeling classy couture. A statue come to life…”

Rarity lifted a clean white hoof to her horn and let go a well-rehearsed sigh.

Broken Oak disagreed, but could not voice it. He felt that he looked a bit too dingy and brown. Not even a good shade of brown, like chocolate. Still, he was flattered, and he knew that Rarity was sincere in her belief of what was fashionable and beautiful. He just did not share that belief. The idea of strutting around—or worse, staying still—while wearing ridiculous, silly outfits left him feeling flighty and a bit twitchy.

Now, she was on his left again, and he felt her hoof touch him just below his cutie mark.

“I do wonder what this means,” she said, revealing a side with more depth. “A shattered stump. Why, it looks like lightning struck it. What does it mean, and why is it there? See, this is the sort of mysteriousness that would would set you apart as a model. This could mean anything. Enigma adds value to your brand, darling, with the meaning left entirely to the viewer. With your silence contributing to your sense of mystery, ponies would talk about you. Why, darling, most ponies have to pay to generate this sort of buzz.”

Broken Oak attempted a good-natured nod.

“Oh! You agree! How delightful!” Rarity became quite animated as she circled around to stand before him. “I have something for you, darling. A little something I put together. It’s summer, so it won’t do you much good, but come fall and winter…” She stood there, smiling and batting her eyelashes at Broken Oak. “Do be a dear and wait right here while I go get it!”

She took off at a hurried trot and he was left alone, standing just in front of the door. He had himself a look around at the fashionable clothing on display, and wondered what Ponyville was doing with a shop like this one. Carousel Boutique was a store with secrets though. The bulk of Rarity’s business was not fancy dresses as one might expect, but durable, sturdy outerwear, heavy coats, frocks, smocks, and hats of all types. It was no secret that Rarity made the best, most durable felt in all the region, and ponies came down from Canterlot to purchase it.

Broken Oak had certainly hauled quite a bit of it to the train station.

Rarity’s success with simple, sturdy outerwear and felt allowed her to transform her business into something respectable and classy, and most of her customers bought the items not on display. Word of mouth was a powerful thing, and as a mute, Broken Oak respected it a great deal. He was aware of it, even if he couldn’t be a part of it.

“I made it from scraps,” Rarity said as she appeared from around a corner, bearing something made from thousands of colours. She walked with a smooth sashay that was visually satisfying, a well-practiced walk that hid her provincial upbringing. “I had all of this extra felt and didn’t know what to do with it. So I turned it into a project.”

With a crooked smile, Rarity draped the heavy scrap-felt over him. It weighed a ton and almost right away, he started baking beneath it. Every conceivable colour could be seen in the slivers, ends, and scraps that made the cloak. Broken Oak, not a stupid colt by any means, understood the work that went into this. By itself, a cloak was just a blanket with a hood, but this…

Each scrap would have to be measured, shaped, and sewn in such a way that it would lay flat. It would take time, because it would have to be assembled like a picture puzzle. The scrap bits wouldn’t just go together willy-nilly, one would have to test-assemble and hold things together with pins as the cloak slowly took form and shape. This was no mere project, but a masterpiece, a monument of hard work.

Broken Oak’s eyes stung with tears.

“Oh, you understand, do you? This… this is unexpected, I must confess.” She leaned in close, too close, close enough that Broken Oak almost had a curious awakening. “I made one of these for my sister, Sweetie Belle. She leaves it in her closet. I overheard her saying it was ugly to one of her schoolmates. So much work went into it. It’s a labour of love, darling. It isn’t enough to be generous. Anypony can give freely and abundantly. I try to put a little bit of myself into everything I do. Not everypony appreciates or even notices this extra effort.”

A hankerchief appeared from out of nowhere and Rarity went to work daubing Broken Oak’s eyes while she continued talking: “Just when I think I’m done being generous, somepony comes along and stokes the fire. It’s not that I demand appreciation for my work, or even recognition. Well, maybe I do, just a little. Mostly, I just want to know what I do is meaningful. My sister hurt me when she said her cloak was ugly. But you… your silence speaks volumes, darling. Thank you.”

He wished that he could say something.

“Tensions have been so high lately and gratitude has been at an all time low. I don’t know how many times I’ve almost called it quits with my generous nature. It isn’t enough to run a business, to operate a store and be a fashionista. No, I have to cling to my values. All this work for the Summer Sun Celebration has me burnt out.” She sniffled a bit and her mascara began to run, leaving charcoal streaks along her cheeks.

Now, things were awkward. Rarity ceased wiping his eyes, and Broken Oak watched as she dabbed at her own. All of her attempts to prevent her mascara from smearing where for naught, but she smiled a brave, determined smile and kept dabbing anyway. It wasn’t often that a mare left herself vulnerable and messy like this, at least in Broken Oak’s experience. Rarity was revealing a part of herself to him, and it left him feeling strange.

Even worse, it made him think of Shrinking Violet, and all of the times she had exposed herself to him. He had ignored her, for the most part. Was he a callous jerk? He might be. But for whatever reason, Violet was still giving him a chance. Why? What was it about his experience with Rarity right now that brought all of this up? He felt terrible without knowing why, and the hurt was such that he could not stop the flow of tears.

“Oh, look at us! I did this to us!” Rarity stomped her hoof against the floor.

Rarity pulled the cloak from his shoulders, folded it up with great care, rolled it into a tight bundle, and then tied it up with scraps of ribbon that she conjured. A spare strap was conjured, slipped through the middle, and then secured into a loop. The cloak, now a compact bundle, would be much easier to travel with. She slipped the strap over his head and adjusted it as it slid down his neck. She pulled his small, tattered rucksack to one side, pushed the cloak to the other, and did all of this while trying to contain the flood of mascara running down her cheeks.

“You need a new satchel,” she said to Broken Oak. “This one is coming apart at the seams. Oh, this won’t do at all. I’ll see what I can do once everything calms down and I’m not so overworked. We don’t want what few coins you make falling out, that’d be awful, darling.”

Reaching up with his foreleg, he took a swipe at his eyes.

“I don’t need those silly eclairs,” she said, her voice cracking. “Might I ask you for a favour?”

Still scrubbing at his face with his foreleg, he nodded.

“Could you be a dear and take that box of eclairs to Fluttershy?” Rarity’s nose glistened with moisture that wasn’t water. “By all means, have a few for yourself. But Fluttershy has a hungry bear, and all those animals. Animals can eat eclairs, right?”

Broken Oak shrugged.

“Well, those delightful treats can’t be left here,” Rarity murmured. “They’ll go right to my thighs, and other places I’ll not mention.” Again, she raised her hoof up to her horn, and let go a dramatic shudder. Then, after a moment of marshmelodramatic recovery, she looked Broken Oak right in the eye, and there was something magnetic about her piercing gaze.

“I think I see what Shrinking Violet sees in you.”

The words made his insides clench tight, and with no room to keep beating, his heart ended up in his throat. It was hard to breathe now, he was still rather weepy, and a moment of cold, clammy terror gripped him. It was as if the whole of the town was in on it, some great conspiracy to bring him and Shrinking Violet together.

“She comes in here and tries on dresses,” Rarity said with a quivering lip-trembly smile. “I know what she’s really doing. Things must be going well between you two for her to be thinking that far ahead. That poor filly. She’s so shy. Why, she’s practically Fluttershy, but purple. Well, violet, actually, as her namesake suggests. But when she comes in here to try on dresses, she’s almost a different pony. She actually looks at herself in the mirror and you can tell that she is admiring what she sees. Trust me, I know the difference. Lots of ponies look in the mirror and don’t like what they see… like myself, after too many eclairs.”

This gave Broken Oak pause, and he gave the fashionista’s words the careful consideration they deserved.

“I must get back to work. Thank you for delivering those eclairs, even if I didn’t eat them. And you’re very welcome for the cloak.” Rarity waved her hankerchief, which was now stained greyish-black with mascara. “Your appreciation means so much. Thank you.”

Standing so very still, Broken Oak allowed the fashionista to hug him goodbye.

With the afternoon progressing, Broken Oak thought of heading home. The way home was dark and dangerous by day, and downright treacherous by night. He would need to head home soonish, if he was to make it there before nightfall. All things considered, he liked the Everfree. Sure, it was dangerous, but it had taught him much. He had learned how to survive there, using every means at his disposal. His wit, his magic, his remarkable speed, all of them had been tested by the Everfree, and Broken Oak appreciated the challenge it offered him.

Zecora had taught him the secret paths, the means of travel that allowed for a little bit more safety. But safety was no excuse for complacency. Even the secret paths were still incredibly dangerous. The road winding through the Everfree was a treacherous easy path, one that ended in tragedy all too often. Yet, ponies traversed it, because what other means did they have? As for himself, he avoided the road, because he knew the dangers. Moving through the thorny brambles was far, far safer.

He would have to hurry and hope that Fluttershy wouldn’t talk his ear off.

A lazy blue pegasus lounged in a birdbath, much to the annoyance of hot, dirty, dusty, thirsty birds perched in the nearby branches of trees. Just a few yards away, an enormous bear named Harry was sprawled on the grass beneath a shade tree. Harry the Bear was Fluttershy’s guardian, and the means that allowed her to roam the Everfree in relative safety. More than once, Broken Oak had been saved by Harry, as Harry liked nothing more than to be lazy and pick fights with things that ate ponies.

Harry was a good bear, but not all bears were good.

As for Fluttershy, she flew from bird feeder to bird feeder, pouring in seed from a burlap sack. She sang as she worked, trilling sweetly, but this ended when she saw Broken Oak. A little seed spilled to the ground as she hovered, caught off guard. After only a few gasps, she collected herself, set the burlap sack down in the crotch of a tall tree, and flying mere inches above the ground, she came over to where Broken Oak stood.

“Why’d you stop singing, Fluttershy?” asked Rainbow Dash as she lounged in the birdbath.

“Because, we have a visitor,” the soft-spoken pegasus replied.

“Well, sing for them.”

Under pressure, the sunny yellow pegasus squeaked, “I can’t!”

Groaning, Rainbow Dash flopped around in the bird bath, her legs and wings all hanging askew, but she did not open her eyes. “Ugh, I can’t nap in his heat!”

Broken Oak gestured at the box balanced on his back, nodded a few times, and Fluttershy was quick to catch on. She took the box, flew off with it, set it down on a cluttered table covered with bandages, brushes, and medicines, and then she took a moment to read the note stuck to the side.

After putting the note down, Fluttershy flew over to where Broken Oak stood and said, “How are you? Are you well?”

For lack of a more meaningful response, he nodded.

There was a splash as Rainbow Dash flopped over onto her stomach and then went still.

“Thank you, Broken Oak, for bringing those treats over. I’m sure Harry will enjoy them. Though, I hope he doesn’t get a tummy ache. He doesn’t have very good judgment.” For a moment, Fluttershy’s face was darkened with a vague, worried expression, but then she smiled and everything brightened.

It was at this point that things got awkward. Broken Oak couldn’t say anything and Fluttershy didn’t have much to say. The shy pegasus mumbled something while the mute unicorn stood rubbing his neck. This continued for far too long, far longer than anypony could ever be comfortable with, and far, far too long for Rainbow Dash, who roused herself from the birdbath.

“I’m in charge of making sure that Ponyville has perfect weather,” the rainbow-maned pegasus boasted as she took the conversation into her own hooves. “We’re going to have the most awesome, most perfect weather. There won’t be a cloud in the sky when I’m done. I’m betting that Princess Celestia will be so impressed that Ponyville will host the Summer Sun Celebration every year.”

Fluttershy, hovering demurely, covered her mouth with her left front hoof.

“It’s about time that Ponyville showed up on the map,” the boisterously blue pegasus mare continued. “Sure, we’re famous for apples… but who wants to be famous for apples?” She tossed her hooves up into the air while effortlessly flapping her wings to maintain her hover.

“Can you do something about this heat?” asked Fluttershy.

“No!” Flustered, Rainbow Dash zigged, then zagged, all while rubbing her cheeks and making exasperated raspberries. After a few raspberries, perhaps a few too many, she pulled her hooves away from her cheeks, waved them around, and shouted, “This heat is Princess Celestia’s fault! She’s making this harder than it needs to be! My thighs keep sticking together when I go cloudbusting!”

With a soft, polite squeal, Fluttershy settled to the ground and stared at her fellow pegasus, her face a mask of disgusted horror. Broken Oak’s head turned about in a wild, desperate search to stare at something, anything, whatever he might find that wasn’t Rainbow Dash, who was flying around in circles with her hind legs kicked out in the splits.

Gasping, squeaking, squealing, Fluttershy rose into a standing position, hurried over to Broken Oak, and covered his eyes with her wings while Rainbow Dash continued to circle spreadeagled overhead. The colt grunted, one of the few sounds he could make, but didn’t pull away from Fluttershy, because that might upset her.

Blinded, he could see nothing other than yellow and a few stray rays of sunlight. He heard the sound of flapping wings though, and then he heard a splash. When Fluttershy pulled her wings away from his eyes, Rainbow Dash was back in the birdbath again, rolling around on her back while kicking her legs in the air.

Pegasus ponies… something about them wasn’t quite right. They just weren’t right in the head. Broken Oak thought of Shrinking Violet, which made him go scatterbrained. What was it about pegasus ponies that made them act the way they did? The only thing he could think was that it had to be the feathers—what else could it possibly be? Mammals shouldn’t have feathers, he decided, because it made them birdbrains.

Backing away from Fluttershy, he decided it was time to go home.

For a moment, she looked sad, and he reconsidered, but then she waved and said, “Goodbye. Stay safe, Broken Oak. And stay out of the Everfree. That place is dangerous and you shouldn’t be there. Harry tells me that he sees you there all the time.”

Still retreating, Broken Oak could do nothing but squirm. Fluttershy was keeping an eye on him. Well, her animals were. This worried him a great deal, because he kept a pretty big secret, something that he didn’t want any other ponies knowing. Somehow, this secret had been preserved, and nopony knew of his secret hiding place, his home. At least, not that he was aware of.

“Fluttershy,” Rainbow Dash whined, “the birdbath needs more water!”

For Broken Oak, this was the perfect opportunity to make good his escape.

Broken Oak was a colt with a secret: he lived in a castle. Sure, it was a bit of a fixer-upper, most of it was falling down, and it had far too many booby traps. But he was no booby and the tiny cubby he called home was quite safe and well-protected. It was where he found his spellbook, a secret room with a well-hidden door.

For a colt who lived in a castle, he was shockingly well-adjusted.

Today was a good day in Ponyville. He’d made a few bits, eaten well, and had gained some new insights into, well, pretty much everything. But he couldn’t think of them now, because the way home was treacherous. The shadows had grown long—too long—and with long shadows came significant risk.

He slunk from tree to tree, from shadow to shadow, from thicket to thicket, never once staying in any one place for too long. The thorniest places were the safest places, and he used his magic to protect his tender skin from the merciless bloodthirsty thorns. He knew these woods and the dangers that lurked within them.

Since coming to Ponyville, he had survived here. This was where he gathered his firewood. The very worst dangers were the things that sheltered him and gave him safety, though it was a risky gamble. Living here made his magic strong, which was something he took pride in. It gave him purpose, meaning, when magic and survival entwined, that was the moment he felt truly alive. While this brought him happiness, it also caused him great sadness, because he couldn’t talk to others about it. He couldn’t share the joy he felt. To have and be filled with all this purpose, but to be unable to share it with those who lived by their purpose, it was crushing—so crushing.

Hearing the snap of a twig, he froze. Moving only his eyes, he had a look around, but saw nothing. Knowing it was a risk, he turned his head a bit, and that was when he saw it: a timber wolf. Thankfully, he knew how to deal with a timber wolf. Reaching out with his mind, his bioluminescence flashing—a great risk indeed—he picked up a stick and flung it with all his might.

The stick made noise, thumping against some distant tree, and when the timber wolf bolted to investigate the sound, Broken Oak made a break for it. Swift and silent, he slipped between shattered trunks, fallen logs, and bloodthirsty thickets. Terrifying though it was, it was also life-affirming, and these were the moments when Broken Oak felt his very best. He flung more sticks in all directions to cover his escape, and he could hear that other timber wolves had joined the hunt.

He would have to lose them in the ravine, but for now, he would have to survive.

Breathless, with terrible stitches dancing all along his sides, Broken Oak ran for his life, evading a pack of timberwolves that were far too close. The ravine was just up ahead, a great yawning gap in the earth, and beyond it would be safety. Crossing the ravine was no real trouble at all; it was a simple matter of leaping and not plummeting to his death.

How many times had he practiced this? He couldn’t count very well, so it was hard to tell. Running flat out, his ears pinned back, his head low, he ran like a streak of lightning, as fast as Rainbow Dash flew, or so he imagined. What came next was tricky and required perfect timing. He lept, pushing up from the earth, and landed guts first on a tree branch, which almost knocked the wind out of him.

Struggling, scrambling, his hooves scraping against dry, half-rotted bark, he hurled himself upwards to climb the leaning tree. Going from branch to branch, he made his way up, away from the timber wolves, until at last he made his way to the place where the tree leaned over enough for him to run along the trunk. This was the hard part, because there was so little room and every step was up a steep incline. One misstep, a crumbling bit of bark, or if a chunk of rotting wood gave way, he would fail to jump the gap and would fall to his untimely demise.

Knowing that failure meant death, he gave it all he had.

Flight was not natural to unicorns, but this was not the first time that Broken Oak had flown. The landing would be rough—it was always unpleasant—but it was better than the alternative. His escape tree leaned out well over halfway across the ravine, and the first time he had done this, he had been absolutely certain that he would die.

Now, as he soared through the air, he was only somewhat certain that he would die.

Though steering was nigh-impossible, he tried to aim for the softest rocks, the rocks that had the fewest murderous jagged edges. This was a bad leap, with a dreadful crosswind, but thankfully, no headwind. Cringing, he feared this might be the legbreaker leap, or worse, the neckbreaker. If he broke a leg, his best hope was making it to Zecora’s hut, but that would be a long, dangerous trip—one made on three legs, if he had three legs to walk on.

Gritting his teeth, he prepared for impact.

Scraped knees, throbbing fetlocks, and sore hooves were an acceptable price to pay. Broken Oak gingerly made his way along the secret path that took him home. There was a sort of tunnel in the brambles here, a tunnel of his own making. He kept the thorns trimmed back and kept the path free with lots of careful pruning.

Well protected, he was still not safe.

Almost panting, sweating profusely, he crested the rise and paused at the top. The view never failed to take his breath away. His castle was old, crumbly, and falling down, but it was his. Finders keepers, losers weepers. Now he felt mostly safe. There was a magic here, a force that he could not explain, and it seemed to repel danger. Only harmless things came here, and Broken Oak shared his home with them.

One day, when his magic was stronger, he would know this place’s secrets.

The well held the sweetest water, and in the bottom of the well, there was a metal grate that he could not get open. It was rusty, but not yet crumbly. The water in the well was shallow, and only deepened with heavy rains. Thirsty, parched, he made his way to the well so that he might slake his thirst.

He slipped through the wide crack in the wall, clambered over the pile of rubble, and froze when he discovered that he had company. An unexpected guest—and what a guest she was. A princess stood within his castle walls, and as he slipped down the slope of treacherous loose stones, she turned to look at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Princess Celestia was the biggest pony that Broken Oak had ever seen, and he stared at her, mutely. There was no way he could answer, to tell her that he lived here, and that she was trespassing in his home. When she began to walk towards him, he decided to flee and with his sides still aching, he bolted.

He did not make it far at all, because she grabbed him, lifted him, and held him up for inspection. She radiated curious heat; being this close to her was like standing uncomfortably close to a raging fire. Princess Celestia gazed upon him with all of the terrific majesty she possessed, and Broken Oak felt very small indeed. Miniscule, even.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

Reaching up with his hoof, he tapped his throat while he shook his head from side to side. He saw the princess’ eyes narrow, then widen a bit, and her expression changed to one of serene kindness. When he was put down—gently—he made no effort to run, but rather, stood there looking up at the princess looking down at him.

“I know you,” she said in a voice as soft as her downy, magnificent wings. “Wait, hold on. Mayor Mare sends me reports about you, because she’s terrified about your well-being and safety. You… you’re Broken Oak.”

His nod was so faint that it was almost unnoticeable.

“Do you live here, young Mister Oak?”

Again, an almost imperceptible nod.

“Oh my, where are my manners. Prince Oak. Forgive me.” She made a courtly gesture with one golden-shod hoof.

Squinting one eye, he glared up at her, wondering what she was doing, making fun of him like that. Was she even making fun of him? It was hard to tell. She was nice, far nicer than he expected, and her teasing didn’t seem the least bit mean-natured or cruel. Princess Celestia was no Diamond Tiara or Silver Spoon.

“I used to live here, little Prince Oak,” she said in a somewhat wistful voice. “That was a long time ago. A very long time ago.” Her graceful neck arched as she turned away. “This place isn’t safe. Now more than ever. Tell me, Prince Oak, can you show me where you live? Do you at least have a roof over your head?”

Thoughtful, he considered her request, and after thinking it over, he nodded.

“Oh, most excellent. Please, lead the way. It has been so long that I have almost forgotten my way around this place.”

She followed him through the cracked gatehouse and into the ruined hall. Rotting tapestries of indeterminate age still hung on the walls. Leaves littered the floor and crooked rays of sunlight poured down from overhead. When he didn’t hear her hoofsteps, he stopped, turned around, and saw that she had stopped to look at one of the tapestries.

When he saw that she was crying, he didn’t know how to feel, or what to do.

What could make a princess cry, anyhow?

“A terrible battle was fought here once,” the princess said to the colt while tears ran freely down her cheeks. “I fear that history will soon repeat itself. I came here with the hopes of evening the odds. To see if I could rig the outcome. A long night is coming… potentially an endless night. I must do what I can to ensure that does not happen. It cannot be allowed to happen.”

Broken Oak knew gritty resolve when he heard it.

Wearing a look of disturbed horror, Princess Celestia now stared at a cracked section of floor. “I landed there,” she murmured in the softest whisper. “I thought it was my end. The impact was such that the foundations cracked.”

Perhaps showing her where he lived might distract her, make her feel better. His hooves still smarting, and his scabbed over knees stinging, he trotted over to the corner, only to halt near a still-intact pillar. At the base of the pillar, there was a little metal mouse, which he nudged with his hoof. He saw Princess Celestia eyes widen, he heard her sniffle, and then he watched as she approached.

The sound of stone grinding against stone filled his ears, and a narrow gap opened in the wall just behind him. He had found this place quite by accident, because he had tried to polish the mouse to see if it was valuable. Finding the intact room had been his good fortune. Turning about, he gestured at the narrow opening.

“Of course this place would survive,” she said to him. “This was one of many safe rooms. It was heavily enchanted to offer protection The door seems so much smaller than I remember, or perhaps I am so much larger. But it is just the right size for you, isn’t it?”

Feeling a hint of mute frustration, he nodded.

“After you, Prince Oak.” Princess Celestia held out her wing and beckoned him to enter. “Show me what you’ve done with the place.”

This room, his room, had never felt too small before, but it felt that way now. Princess Celestia was too tall to stand up in it, and she had to keep her head ducked low. She looked at everything, eyeing his few precious possessions. His bed was a few blankets piled in the corner. There was a small fireplace here, which was remarkably clean at the moment.

When Princess Celestia noticed his spellbook, his heart stopped from fear she might take it.

“Clover the Clever’s self-instructing spellbook… I can’t believe this survived. This… this used to be mine at one time. I had to share it.” Though the princess smiled, her eyes were sad. “Have you read it? What have you learned from it?”

As he had done so many times already, he nodded.

“Good,” she replied. “You keep it. The enchantment is such that, when you gain understanding and power, it will reveal to you new spells. Back then, magic instruction was hard to come by. Rather than complain about it, Clover did something about it. These books are very precious… I know that you will take very good care of it, won’t you? No, don’t nod, you’ll get a cramp in your neck.”

Before he realised what he was doing, Broken Oak smiled, put at ease by the princess’ humour.

“Walk with me,” she commanded, “for you are ideal company for this place.”

“It is really quite remarkable that you survive here,” Princess Celestia said as they walked together through a ruined courtyard. “What life did you have before coming here, I wonder? Why did you come here, to Ponyville? And of all the places you might have settled, how did you end up here, in this castle?”

Broken Oak wondered if Celestia understood the futility of asking a mute so many questions. Looking up at her, he had questions. Why was she so sad? Young though he was, he could sense her regret, the air was heavy with it, like that suffocating feeling just before a thunderstorm. Yet for all of her regret, for all of her seeming grief, there was something about her, something warm, a sense of optimism, perhaps.

He knew words, even if he couldn’t write them and could barely read them. As a mute, he loved words the same way a parched pony loved water. His longing was such that he spent a lot of time listening for new words, to pluck them out of a conversation, so that he might learn them, puzzle out their context, and so that he could squirrel them away.

Several of his most precious, most treasured words could be used to describe the princess. She was loquacious; if ever this word applied to a pony, it applied to Princess Celestia. Rarity described Pinkie Pie as loquacious—it was one of the big words that Rarity had learned to make her sound more affluent, more like a Canterlot pony, and less like a Ponyville pony.

“So, just what are you doing here, anyhow?” The towering bastion of poise and grace paused, one foreleg raised in a regal pose, and her gentle gaze was focused on Broken Oak. “For you to even reach this castle is remarkable. The Everfree is one of the most dangerous of places in all of Equestria. Yet, here you are, and other than a few too many ribs showing, you seem to be thriving. By the way, you need to eat more. If you keep using magic and don’t get enough nutrition, you will waste away.”

The colt with scabby knees didn’t know what to do. Nodding wasn’t enough; no, he felt strangely compelled to attempt to converse with the princess. But how? How could he explain something so thoroughly complex as his motivations for staying here? For surviving in the Everfree? What actions might he take that would express his desire to become an adequate and adaptive wizard? The demands of such complexity seemed impossible to overcome.

Rising up to stand on his two hind legs, he launched himself into an impressive act of pantomime, perhaps his greatest performance ever. Using a complex series of actions, motions, and wild gesticulations, he tried to convey a series of explosions, because that was the medium in which a wizard worked. He flashed his horn—he flickered like a stuttering firefly with a bioluminescent speech impediment—all while waving his forelegs around in an attempt to recreate the acts of impressive wizardry.

Almost breathless, he went still and waited for a response from the princess.

“Explosive allergies! You have explosive allergies and that is what brought you out here. Or maybe an allergy to explosions, I can’t really tell. Either that, or you sat on a pinecone and the experience was such that it turned you into a budding hermit. Which I totally understand, because once, when I was a filly, I sat on a pinecone, and I became quite the antisocial miscreant. Oh, I was unbearable!”

Broken Oak stared up at the princess with wide-eyed exasperation.

“Do not take offense to the title of hermit, little one. Is that not what you are?”

For her to be so sad and so silly at the same time—impossible.

“Say, you’re rather good at standing on two legs. I try to practice myself, but I keep smacking my head against the ceiling. Or maybe ceilings smack themselves against me. I can never quite tell. One thousand years of moving the sun and moon all by one’s self tends to set one’s perspectives askew. By the way, when you stand like that, your epidermis is showing.”

Embarrassed, Broken Oak dropped down on all fours and then stood there in mute chagrin, humiliated beyond measure. The princess had seen his epidermis—whatever that was. He wasn’t sure of the meaning, but he had a pretty good idea, and for the princess to have seen it, why, the very idea left him thoroughly mortified. Thankfully, there were no witnesses to be found out in this isolated place, and this would not the be the juicy gossip of choice in Ponyville.

“Equestria’s last great hope lies hidden within these ruins,” said Princess Celestia while Broken Oak stood cringing with his hind legs pressed tight together. “When she comes, and she will come, this is the time of her coming, she will come here, to this place, the place of her defeat, and she will attempt to subvert this hope before it is brought to bear against her once more. You cannot stay here, Broken Oak. When she comes, if she finds you, she will either corrupt you to do her bidding, or, if you resist her, she will kill you. The Mare in the Moon has no mercy, and she does not suffer those who would deny her.”

Icy terror left frost along Broken Oak’s spine and his embarrassment was now forgotten.

“I would bring you home with me if I could, but I already have a student.” The princess sighed, creating a wistful torrent of wind, and her eyes rolled skyward. “Life doesn’t feel very fair sometimes. I’m a princess, but I get lectured if I bring home strays. That’s number three on the list of things that Princess Celestia can’t do.”

Broken Oak had no means of asking about the list and what might be found on it.

“Maybe you can join the Guard—”

He gave his head a vigorous shake from side to side.

“—no?” Her eyes, the subtle hues of dawn, held equal parts sadness and mirth. “Yes, I see what you mean. After learning how to survive the dangers of the Everfree, life in the Guard would be boring. The dangers of a cold breakfast after sleeping in a bit too late are nothing compared to the excitement of a manticore desperately trying to have a nibble of your tenderloin. Though, I fear that’s all about to change. We have known peace for far too long.”

For reasons that left him baffled, the conversation with Princess Celestia didn’t feel one-sided. Broken Oak dared to look up at her and as he studied her, he tried to determine why she was different. In the span of just a little while, she had thrown him off guard, turned his world topsy-turvy, thoroughly subverted each and every one of his expectations about her as a princess and a pony, and she had evicted him from his home. He bore no particular malice for that last one; in fact, he admired her all the more, though he could not figure out why.

“Where did you come from?” she asked while shaking her head. “You being here represents a failure of my authority. I mean, sure, I’m aware that there are orphans running about, but those are statistics, numbers, facts, and figures in a report that I read while I drink orange juice and have breakfast. Meeting a free-roaming orphan pony-to-pony is quite disconcerting. Meeting you here, of all places, that bothers me more than I care to admit to myself. It seems that my ability to rule is slipping. Equestria has grown far too large, and I am but one pony.”

Broken Oak sat down on a flat stone and settled in to listen.

“This castle is a place where I once ruled.” She made a broad sweeping gesture with her wings. “Everything you see… this castle and the Everfree. Ruling back then was different. Easier. It was just this castle… and the Everfree. I vowed that this land would remain ever free from the forces of darkness, and that I would champion its defense.” When she paused, she made a pained gasp. “But look at it now. Just look at it. Look at the monument to my failure. My worst failure. And now, she returns… she returns to this place, the place where everything went wrong, the place where everything started. How can you bear living in the monument to my failure? Can you not feel the ghosts? Do you not feel the oppressive atmosphere of shame?”

After a moment, she added, “I can barely stand to be here. On top of everything else, I am a coward. Rather than clean up my own mess, I am sending my faithful student to act in my stead, for I cannot bear what surely must be done. While I am confident of my student’s success, I still fear the outcome. Of what might be. At best, everything is restored. At worst, the night shall rule eternal. But the middle… those middle outcomes… I have spent the last one-hundred years or so fretting about those middle outcomes.”

She whirled around and drew close to Broken Oak with unexpected suddenness. He recoiled, almost falling over when she pressed her snoot against his. Such fiery intensity could be seen in her eyes, and the heat—the oppressive heat she radiated threatened to render him down. He gazed into the majestic countenance of one who could have been a terrific tyrant—but chose something else instead.

“You… you are an excellent pony to converse with. Not because you are mute, but because you listen. Little ponies are too busy worshiping me, grovelling at my hooves and prostrating themselves to listen to a word I have to say. Most of my conversations feel woefully one-sided. But you… were I allowed, I would keep you just for the chance to converse.”

Never in his short life had Broken Oak ever felt so flattered.

“Who hurt you, Broken Oak?”

He tried to shy away, but she remained far too close for him to evade her.

“I know hurt when I see it. A thousand years of looking into the mirror, and I still flinch, I still turn away from the pony staring back at me. The hurt in her eyes is unbearable. Who hurt you? Who did this to you, that you hide in this place, and refuse all kindness from those who seek only your well-being? Tell me, who did this, so that I might find them and have a word with them?”

When he tried to scramble away, she grabbed him, and once more, he was lifted up into the air so that she might have a better look at him. What terrible depths existed just past her eyes, just beyond the windows to her soul. Such melancholy fires burned within those depths, fueled by pain, remorse, and regret.

“For those we love that hurt us, the pain is far too much to bear, isn’t it, Broken Oak?”

Without meaning to do so, he revealed more of himself than he was willing when he nodded, and was immediately overcome with regret. He. Did. Not. Want. To. Remember. When he tried to close his eyes, he found that he could not. Transfixed by the roaring infernos found within Princess Celestia’s eyes, he consigned himself to the flames, for burning was better than facing the past.

“To what end do these regrets consume us?”

Mute frustration threatened to overwhelm him; the inability to converse was almost his undoing. For a moment, it seemed as though it would blossom into rage, unspeakable rage, the worst kind, the kind he could give no voice to, the kind that could not be expressed. But then, something shifted, like a log settling into a fire, and he felt something blaze within him. Something pure, but unknown.

Staring into Princess Celestia’s eyes, something awakened.

“Rule number four,” she said, almost whispering. “Rule number three is non-negotiable.”

It was impossible to understand this mare. She was a conundrum, an enigma, a mystery, and everything about her perplexed him, such as the love he felt for her. He hardly knew her, more by story than by familiarity, and yet here he was, nose to nose with her, and he could not deny the fierce love he now felt. The love that confused him and made him want to crawl into a hidey-hole so that he might sort it out.

Then, he heard it; a shrill brassy note that started low and ended high, as if somepony had blown a horn to celebrate whatever had just blazed to life within him. Princess Celestia heard it too, and her ears pivoted around in an attempt to home in on the sound. Too much had happened in too short a span of time, and Broken Oak could make sense of nothing.

“What wind through yonder window breaks?”

Broken Oak was set down and then pushed aside by one downy wing. Princess Celestia’s long legs gave her remarkable stride, and she crossed the ruined courtyard with relative ease. Something squealed, a panicked animal perhaps, and Broken Oak began thinking firefly thoughts to activate his bioluminescence.

“We have a dropper of eaves!” Princess Celestia bellowed as she pulled something profoundly purple through a crack in the ruined wall.

Shrinking Violet sat on the ground, her hind legs splayed out, her exceptionally long ears drooping, and it appeared as though she was melting in the light of Princess Celestia’s radiance. The panicked purple pegasus, panting, closed her eyes and went as still as possible. She didn’t look like a young mare, or an adolescent filly, no… she had somehow reverted back to being a foal again, and appeared to be on the verge of blubbering.

“I was having a very private conversation with Broken Oak.” The princess folded her wings against her sides, let out a huff, and then pranced in place. “He’s mute, so I said things I would not normally say. I revealed parts of myself that, in hindsight, I should not have. Not only that, but I revealed far too much of what is to come. He can say nothing… but you…”

Whimpering, Shrinking Violet covered up her face with her front hooves.

“What are you doing here?” Princess Celestia asked, her tone now gentle once more.

“I came to find Broken Oak,” the almost sobbing filly replied. “I followed him, because I wanted to talk to him, but then I saw you and I hid!”

Heaving a sigh, the princess’ feathers unruffled. “You flew into the Everfree just to follow him and to what… find out where he lives?”

The filly nodded.

“Are you crazy?” Princess Celestia whipped out one wing and began to rub her chin. “No, not crazy. Something worse. You’re lovesick. You… what is your name?”

“Shrinking Violet.”

“Well, Shrinking Violet, a pegasus pony is little more than a delightful meal of wings and drumsticks for a manticore or the awful things that lurk in the wood.” Clucking her tongue, the princess struck a thoughtful, majestic pose. “You look like you’re having a rough day, young Miss. Do you wish to talk about it?”

Alarmed, confused, Shrinking Violet uncovered her face and looked up.

“Well, it’s only fair,” the princess said to the filly. “You’ve heard my troubles. Now tell me, what are yours?”

Broken Oak, glad that he was no longer the sole target of conversation, sat down on a broken hunk of rubble and made himself comfortable. Shrinking Violet continued her incredulous upwards slack-jawed stare. Something was different about her, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Sitting the way she was, there was something rabbitish about her. It was easy to see why some called her bunny. With her plush backside, elongated ears, and her buck teeth, she did indeed look like a bunny.

But with wings.

“Why is your heart broken, little one?”

Broken Oak could hear the compassion in Princess Celestia’s voice now, the same compassion she had shown him. He studied her face, her eyes, the taut muscles in her neck, and in the midst of all this, he was captivated by her flowing, waving magical princess mane and tail. After a time, he blinked and pulled his eyes away. As fascinating as Princess Celestia was, there was something about Shrinking Violet that was far more appealing.

But he couldn’t just stare at her; at least, not when she was paying attention, anyhow.

“I got a job,” Shrinking Violet said to the princess.

“But that’s a happy thing,” the princess replied in return.

“No”—Shrinking Violet gave her head a sad shake—“it ruined everything.”

Reaching out with her wing, Princess Celestia gingerly touched the distraught filly’s cheek. It was a maternal gesture, something that Broken Oak found himself longing for, but this longing became bitterness and pain in his heart, a dull ache that made his vision blur with tears. Turning away, he listened, but did his best to hide his face.

“Mister Rich hired me to be a procurement agent—a buyer of goods. I still can’t believe that I got the job, because I’m shy, and I just don’t know. But he hired me and he looked me right in the eye in the way that he does, and he told me that he knows that I am the right pony for the job.”

“Do go on,” Princess Celestia commanded.

“I went home to give my parents the news,” the snuffling, weepy-eyed pegasus said, continuing her story. “Barely a reaction. My mom was baking and my father was putting the numbers down in his books. Hardly a reaction at all. Then my mother starts talking about how now that I have a job, it’s time for me to stop being a filly, and then she tells me I need to put foalish things aside, and she tells me that I’m not allowed to see Broken Oak any more, and then she forbade me from going to the Summer Sun Celebration with him, because he’s a smelly vagrant, and he’s holding me back from my true potential.”

“Oh.” Princess Celestia’s lips remained frozen in a round ‘O’ and her ears pinned back.

“That was how the fight started… and my father, he’s not mean, but he’s not nice, either. He’s just… he’s just…”—she had trouble heaving out the words—“he’s just an accountant! It’s all numbers, facts, and figures to him. And he said that Broken Oak represented a negative, a continued subtraction, a loss of net value from my life, and now that I was grown up and had a career, it was time to get responsible, because being an adult is all about gain. Losses are unacceptable.”

Heaving a sigh, Broken Oak sat forlornly upon his broken bit of stone.

“And my mother, she tries to make me feel better, and she tells me that its cute to have pet projects when you’re young, but being an adult means knowing when to put those pet projects aside so that real work can be done. After that, the shouting started, and my mother, she slapped me, so I slapped her back, and then my father says that I now represented a net loss, and it was time for me to go, and then he starts shouting, and my father, he never shouts, because he’s kind of shy like me… and… everything just went wrong.”

Shrinking Violet transformed from a pegasus into a purple stormcloud as a deluge of tears ran down her cheeks. She rose, trembling on wobbly legs, and then she ran away, flapping her wings, and howling out her heartbreak. Princess Celestia watched her go, and did nothing to stop her. When she reached a distant corner, Shrinking Violet pressed her face into the stones, sat down, and blubbered all by herself.

Broken Oak felt feathers, and Princess Celestia’s wing was wrapped around him. Her pull was irresistible—it was a force of nature that could not be denied, and he found himself drawn close to her, so close that they were now touching. The princess’ muzzle touched his ear for a moment, and the unexpected tickle gave him the shivers.

He heard her whisper, “If you go over there, right now, and comfort her, she will spend the rest of her life trying to show you her gratitude. You will never have a better chance than this moment to do the right thing. This is your moment, this is your time… every pony gets at least one moment in their life to prove their greatness. Some are blessed with more. But right now, you have a chance to do something extraordinary. Now get to it!”

Broken Oak was given a hard shove that almost sent him sprawling on his face. It took him a moment to recover, and he stood, stiff-legged, uncertain, only to be be shoved again. Princess Celestia planted one golden-shod hoof upon his backside, and with a grunt, she gifted him the motivation that he lacked. Now, he stumbled, almost tripped more than once, and it was a mighty struggle to remain upright as he staggered off in Shrinking Violet’s direction.

There was an awful awareness that Princess Celestia was watching him.

Mute as he was, he didn’t know how to comfort Shrinking Violet. She was beyond distraught, she was devastated, and her current state of distress was brought about because of him. As he crept closer, he was uncertain if he was deserving of a love such as this. He had been cold, he had been distant, but today, today of all things, things had changed—profoundly.

His eyes had changed somehow, at some point. Perhaps when he was transfigured by Princess Celestia’s soul piercing gaze. For now, when he looked at Shrinking Violet, he saw things he’d never noticed before—such as her lagomorphic appeal. With those long ears and that rounded backside, he could not help but think of rabbits—and the things that rabbits did.

Overcome by what he saw, he froze.

“No! No! Keep going! Don’t stop now!”

Putting one hoof in front of the other, he somehow made his way forward, crossing the border into this undiscovered country. With each step, he thought of the mares that he had encountered this day, their ways, their actions, the things they had taught him. Each of them were extraordinary in their own way, and Ponyville was fortunate to have them. They made him—and others—strive to be better ponies. They were the champions of the community, and he thought of them now as he made his way to comfort Shrinking Violet.

Something about those mares brought out the best of the ponies of Ponyville.

The last few steps were the hardest. Broken Oak saw a pegasus that he hardly knew. One he thought he knew. She was shy, vulnerable. Right now, she was hurt. How could he comfort her? Was it okay to touch her? Were there rules? She was hiding her face in the corner. Her wings hitched with each sob, and he tried to think of happier times, when she was overcome with her peculiar whistling laughter.

Was it safe to touch her?

Was that allowed?

It seemed to be the only way.

She certainly wasn’t shy about touching him.

He thought of all those times she had descended upon him like a whistling bomb. In contrast, he thought of how other ponies saw her, how shy she was. Did he bring out the best in her? How could he possibly bring out her confidence? What did she see in him that was worth getting into a fight with her parents?

Reaching out, he prodded her with his hoof, and immediately wished he hadn’t. That didn’t seem particularly comforting. He sat down in the grass and stones beside her, lowered his head, and after summoning up every bit of courage he had, he nosed her neck. When she pulled away, he was overwhelmed by a wave of confusion, because he had been told by so many that it was wrong to push yourself onto a filly that wanted nothing to do with you.

Yet, here he was, with Princess Celestia just yards away, and the right thing to do was completely, utterly obscured. If he pulled away now, his moment of greatness would pass, and then what? What came next after that? When he nosed her a second time, she whined, a wordless protest, and then squirmed away.

Twisting his head, he silently sought out Princess Celestia’s advice.

Much to his disgust, she was making exaggerated smoochy faces while waving her wings about. This was the worst, the absolute worst, and he was uncertain if he would survive this. Having only just awoken to the potential of a mare, he wasn’t so sure if he was ready for the bold move of kissing one. Shrinking Violet was sobbing—blubbering—and this seemed like a less than ideal time for a smooch.

Then, he thought about what Rarity had said, about Shrinking Violet trying on dresses, and cold, cruel terror seized his guts. The fear of timber wolves was nothing compared to this, and what little bit of bravery Broken Oak had seemed to have gone into hiding. She was pretty, in her own way, or maybe his vision had changed. The buck teeth weren’t so awful, really. It was just something that set her apart, like her copious ear freckles. She hated her ear freckles, but he suspected that it was only because Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon hated her ear freckles.

As for himself, much to his delight, he discovered that ear freckles had a certain appeal.

There was a raised welt along her jaw, and red skin could be seen amidst the vast plenty of purple hairs. Not a good place to kiss, at least not for a first effort. It appeared painful, throbbing perhaps, and this gave him pause. He was no stranger to parental violence—but this was not something he wanted to think about right now.

And yet, the memory of the torrent of blows was not so easily dismissed.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for the pain, and the memory of the pain, to pass.

His heart was thumping now, not so much from anticipation or terror, but the spectre of a past best left forgotten. The old panic was a living thing, a monster that lurked in the dark shadows of his mind. How formidable that panic was when he first came to Ponyville, how insurmountable. Being mute, he had no way to explain to others that he simply could not trust their kindness, that he couldn’t trust to be brought in. With each passing year, it was a little easier, and the kindness seemed a little more trustworthy.

But the spectre lurked.

Through some means, Princess Celestia saw that spectre; how, he did not know.

Shrinking Violet’s rough and tumble approach to life always made him relive that old violence, but he had no way to tell her, no means to convey his thoughts, his feelings. He couldn’t tell her that sometimes, when she tackled him, she made him remember things he didn’t want to remember. But he was too kind to be angry—and too mute to protest.

Sighing, he knew what had to be done; not just for her sake, but his own. It was time to trust again, to open his heart to another, come what may. Another deep breath, another sigh, and Broken Oak lowered his head just a little bit more. He didn’t pucker up, he didn’t think to do so, but rather, he touched his lips to the soft, welcoming space just beneath her ear, and held himself there.

She stirred; he heard the rustle of feathers, and so he pressed his lips against her just a little bit harder, all while hoping he wasn’t causing her harm. Violet—smelt of lilacs and bubblegum. He took a moment to breathe in her scent, and in doing so, he found himself transformed. She was no longer a pest, but something precious.

In getting a job, she had transformed into something else—an adult, of sorts. So too, did he during this moment. The old hurt faded a bit and he saw his first glimpse of life beyond the spectre’s reach. She stirred beneath his touch, her body shifted, and after a low groan, she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

First, she wiped her eyes with her foreleg, then she spent a bit of time sniffling, and then the dark clouds parted just enough that a ray of sunshine could come lancing through, piercing the darkness. Then, with a silence that matched his own, she threw her forelegs around his neck and squeezed. He did not resist, he saw no need to do so. In fact, he reveled in this moment, to be close, to feel her against him. Every touch caused him to quiver, to jerk, to react.

“Let me take care of you,” she said as she ran her hooves up and down his sides. “We'll start with a room. That’s a good start. I have a job. We can travel together while I’m working. Mister Rich is going to give me an expense account. It’ll just be us, you and I. Would you like that?”

Before he had a chance to think about it, he nodded, much to his own surprise.

Then, while he was still shocked by what he had just agreed to, she kissed him. It was a real kiss, no mere touch of lips, but a puckered kiss that landed right on the corner of his mouth. What it did to him was unknown, but the bioluminescent blinker protruding from his forehead flashed turquoise light several times. Her tears were hot against his muzzle and salty on his lips.

“I’ll help you pack your things,” she offered, “and then we’ll go home. Wherever home might be.”

Princess Celestia sighed. “In exchange for your promise of silence, I can get you to the edge of town in safety. Long have I waited for this opportunity. A thousand years have come and gone. Go on, gather your things. I have to go and check on the Elements of Harmony. Long have they been dormant.”

“You have my promise,” Shrinking Violet replied. “I give you my word. I’ll be as quiet as Broken Oak about this.”

“Broken Oak”—Princess Celestia’s words seemed to get caught in her throat—“the pain… that pain… you know of which I speak. Can you move past it? Is it possible to move forward? Do you think you can be happy? Can you feel something other than the pain?”

Never in his life was the urge, the desire to speak as strong as it was now. Looking into Princess Celestia’s eyes once more, while clinging to Shrinking Violet, a torrent of words filled his throat, but alas, he had no voice with which to say them. All he could do was nod, which felt inadequate somehow, meaningless.

“Then perhaps I can as well,” the princess said as her heavy gaze fell to the ground.

“Who hurt you, Princess?” Shrinking Violet asked.

“Someone very dear to me.” The words were strained, almost strangled. “I… I hurt her without meaning to do so… and I guess the pain was such that, hurting me was the only hope she had of making me understand what she endured. Pain… pain transforms ponies. When I looked into Broken Oak’s eyes, I saw a pain with endless depths, and it frightened me, because I’ve seen that very thing before. A number of times, actually. I know the outcome.”

Shrinking Violet slipped a stubby wing halfway around Broken Oak and squeezed.

“You’ve both given me hope.” Her regal voice cracking, Princess Celestia lifted her head. “Hope is such a rare and precious thing. Something to be treasured. I have hope that when the darkness comes, that light will prevail. Perhaps old wounds can be mended. I’d very much like to believe that.”

“I have hope,” Shrinking Violet said to the misty-eyed princess. “I hope that my parents come to their senses when they see that I am happy. I hope I am a good enough pony to forgive them… and forget what they’ve done. Even if they’re not perfect, I still love them.”

“The wounds between family seem like the hardest to heal—”

“But not impossible, Princess. Who hurt you, Princess?”

“You stand in the Castle of the Two Sisters. This was my home. Our home. Now, all that is left is a ruin. This is a scab, a thin, easily broken mantle that covers a wound that I fear will never heal. Now, there is only one sister. She showed me her pain… she gave me no chance to say patronising words, to tell her that I understood. That would have been a lie… even now, a thousand years later, and I can only barely comprehend her agony. She made… she made me cut her down, and now I live with a pain of my own. It is not the same pain, but it is one I have come to understand.”

“I’m sorry, Princess.”

At this, the majestic princess seemed surprised. “Why, thank you. That was kind. I’m sorry if I scared you… if I did.”

Shrinking Violet gave Broken Oak another squeeze, pulled him somehow closer, and then said to him, “Don’t shut me out. Let me be good to you. After hearing Princess Celestia talk, I’m scared for you. Give me a chance, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy. All I ask for in return is you. From the first moment I met you, I was smitten. My mother says it’s foalish infatuation, a crush, but I know better.”

“Love is a special magic all its own,” Princess Celestia remarked. For a moment, it seemed as though she might say something else, but she chose cryptic silence.

Shrinking Violet kissed him again, just as before, a chaste quick peck on the corner of his mouth, and Broken Oak found that he didn’t mind. In fact, he had high hopes that she might do it again. Princess Celestia seemed restless, forlorn, sorrowful, and happy all at once. As always, there was so much that he wanted to say, but that was the tragedy of being mute in a world of talking creatures.

A better life awaited, and Broken Oak was determined to make every moment matter.

Afternoon In Ponyville

by kudzuhaiku

Chapter 1