> The Wool we Weave
>  by Lambs Prey
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Happy to Help! - 1007 A.C.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




~Year 1007 A.C. Equestria

------[[[]]]------

"Hello there!"

The laden pegasus missed a wing beat, craning around in the air to see who'd shouted out to him mid-flight.

"Who-?"

The pegasus's eyes narrowed. Wariness. Without replying further, he dipped a wing and wheeled away.

"Have a nice day!" He cheerfully shouted over the wind after the departing stallion.

A little later, as his wings carried him higher up the side of Mount Canter, he passed close by enough another pegasus coming the other way to shout out another greeting.

This time it was a pinkish mare, with a sweatband keeping her mane out of her eyes.

"Hello! I like your mane!"

Broken from focusing on her exercise, she looked over. Panic, quickly hidden under anger.

"Freakin' creep!" She shot back, and quickly beat harder to fly away.

Okay, that hadn't been very friendly, but that was her choice, not his. And he chose not to let it affect his cheer.

A positive attitude was a healthy attitude.

He climbed higher through the mid-afternoon sky, periodically passing by the neat lines of train-tracks, which wound up the side of the mountain towards the capital city above.

"Good afternoon, great day to fly!"

"Hello! That's a really nice shirt."

"Hi there, have a lovely day!"

And in the end, he even got somepony to wave back. Briefly, before they fully realised who he was and caught themselves, but he was still counting it.


---


Canterlot. The awesome, towering majesty which made you feel small simply be being in its presence, as you tilted your head back and back, mouth agape, as you tried to take it all in.

The city was so bright and wonderful, so full of emotion and life. The pony mountain capital was simply, utterly, and completely amazing. He'd only seen it once before, from a distance.

Mayflower loved it just as much this second time as on first-sight.

He could fully appreciate it this time too, wasn't he lucky? He hadn't thought he'd ever get to go inside Canterlot himself. Or be allowed to. But the few of them who had been in, had of course excitedly told the rest of them all about it. 

He'd been rather envious of them, but that wasn't a nice emotion, so he'd pushed it away, and instead listened with rapt attention as they shared all of the strange and wonderful things they'd seen inside.

About funny houses and strange colours, of things called street lamps, hanging baskets, statue fountains, and clock towers.
Ponies were so interesting! It was humbling to hear about how far ahead ponies were with their culture, but also inspiring too. Everything ponies did was so new, so different, so exciting to hear about. And so very different to what they used to be told about ponies.

At the time of course, those privileged few picked to go inside as part of the king's delegation hadn't felt very privileged. The treaty hadn't yet been signed, and they didn't know if they'd be trotting themselves right into an open prison cell.

It was silly in hindsight, but they'd all been new. They didn't know that wasn't how ponies operated yet. Mayflower was still new, actually. He was one of the youngest.

But now here he was, getting to go into Canterlot, unescorted, finally, as part of his employment.

Profession. Employment of profession. Having a profession was important. The King had said so.

Because they were all new, and could do and be anything they wanted.

Free choice, self direction, and self determination. Things Mayflower hadn't even realised he was being denied back then. But now, he was free to be whomever and whatever he wanted. To try one thing, to maybe decide he didn't like it, and to switch to something else.

The sheer freedom was a heady rush!

"Free to be a tinker, tailor, baker, or candle maker~" He hummed, then laughed to himself, just because he could and because it was a pony rhyme.

Rhymes. Little memorisation tricks for foals! Those too were another new thing, one of a thousand new experiences, ideas, and little freedoms.

And the profession he'd chosen to try out?

Mayflower had chosen, at an inspired idea of one of his fellows, to try out becoming a therapist!

Because therapists helped ponies, and although Mayflower knew he had a lot about the world to learn, helping somepony was never a bad thing.

And because a changeling therapist who could empathise with what a patient was really feeling had to be a great idea, right?

Mayflower was optimistic. He'd chosen to be optimistic.

Because that too was something he was now free to do, too.


---


"A therapist."

"An amateur volunteer therapist, to be precise." Mayflower politely corrected the Royal Guard.

Scepticism, and dislike wafted off of the armoured unicorn. It made for a acrid, bitter-dry taste on the back of Mayflower's tongue. He kept smiling though.

Happiness was an active state of mind, and he chose to be happy.

He tried not to stare too hard into the Guard's eyes, because that was apparently rude and weird, no matter how fascinating pony eyes were, with all their different colours and pupils which dilated, unlike changelings who only had one solid colour and eye shields. Transforming and looking in a mirror wasn't the same, and he wasn't skilled in it like an infiltrator, or ex-infiltrator, was. The active emotion in a ponies eyes, the tiny nuanced facets that couldn't actually be mirrored-

"I don't believe you."

"What? Why ever not? I'm telling the truth."

"A hundred reasons. But forget all of them, here's just one. You have to go to university and get properly qualified to be a therapist. You new changelings only crawled out three months ago. It's impossible that you've gotten qualified in only three months." The Guard accused, stance aggressive.

The lower ranking Royal Guard who'd first stared, and then run to summon his superior officer when Mayflwoer had turned up at the gates, nodded emphatically alongside his boss.

That was a surprisingly knowledgeable challenge by the, uh, sargent? Lieutenant? Mayflower didn't understand pony rankings. But in the hive, there'd only been queen, then infiltrators, then every drone else. Now, there was only king, and everyling else.

Mayflower smiled wider, happy to help explain to the maybe Sargent unicorn, "You're absolutely right about that, sir! You have to get a proper pony licence to be a qualified therapist."

The suspicion coming off of the Guard increased at how cheerfully Mayflower had said that, and a sour streak hostility of started up as well.

Mayflower hurried on quickly; "But I'm not a therapist, no sir-ee. I'm a volunteer therapist. We checked in your law books, well somepony helped me check, but don't worry. I'm not charging anypony for my services, I'm volunteering, so I don't count as employed. And that means, as long as somepony agrees, I can try to help them as an amateur therapist."

Mayflower held his beaming smile in the face of the negative emotions he was tasting. After a moment, he helpfully offered, being completely earnest, "If you want, I'd be happy to try being a therapist for either of you fine sirs."

He tried not to let his wings or mandibles droop at the instant and immediate wave of distrust-revulsion he received. The other Guard even made a gagging motion. 

At least the officer pony stayed outwardly professional, and it was wrong to try and force anypony to feel anything but their true emotions internally, so that's what Mayflower would respond to.

"Fine. You can enter Canterlot. That is, if you follow the rules. You do know the new laws, right?" The stallion challenged, eyes narrowed.

"The Twilight Changeling Reformation reforms? Yep, I know them all by heart!"

The reforms in question were the brand new laws to help reformed changelings. That was why King Thorax and the delegation had come into Canterlot in the first place, to sign the official agreement. Why, Princess Twilight had tried to push for even more reforms, but King Thorax'd had to gently dissuade her, saying; "Thank you princess, but you've done enough for us already. We don't want to force anypony to accept us before they're ready."

Princess Twilight was amazing and she always meant the best, (Mayflower had even shaken her hoof once!) but the new changelings didn't believe in anything more strongly than free will, and the right of everypony and every king to choose for themselves. They'd been slaves and not even known it for too long for it to be otherwise.

"Then you'll have no problem following them will you, changeling?"

"Oh, I'm Mayflower, it's nice to meet you. And nope, no problem at all. No transformation allowed inside Canterlot. No taking on a pony form, original or not. No approaching or talking to any foals without their parents express permission. No approaching any mage towers or mage tower employees. No entering any bars, banks, schools, or stadiums, public or otherwise, although libraries are permitted. No participating in any public sporting events. No flying to Cloudsdale. No entering the Palace Grounds unless invited and escorted. Oh, and no feeding off of anyponys emotions ever, but that's obvious of course."

The second Guard's jaw clenched and he started forwards, "Oh it's obvious is it?! Then why-"

"Private! Control yourself."

He snapped to attention, "Yes sir."

The officer turned his gaze back on Mayflower, Tsk'ing and mouth turning down. Disdain.

"Pull that out of your hivemind to recite, did you?"

"Ah, no, you see, we don't have a hivemind. Well, at least not anymore. I wasn't hatched yet, but the last hivemind was five years ago-"

"That was rhetorical."

Mayflower shut his mouth and closed his mandibles tightly over his lips in a display of submissiveness. He'd slipped, he hadn't meant it to be a reference to the wedding invasion five years ago, but that was how the unicorn had taken it, if the shot of salty disgust which was splashed all over the disdain was anything to go by.

"Forget it. The sooner we're done here, the sooner you're out of my sight. You know the last rule don't you, changeling?"

"Of course. And it's Mayflower. All visiting changelings for the duration of their stay within any pony city have to-"

"That was also rhetorical."


---


The weight of the 'last rule' knocked lightly against Mayflower's carapace, locked just above his hoof, as he finally trotted into Canterlot.

That last rule that the nice pony officer had been talking about, (Mayflower called him nice because thinking the best of somepony was also a choice) being; All changelings shall wear a guard approved tracking band at all times and not remove it for the duration of their stay.

So Mayflower had a hinged metal ring locked around his lower foreleg. He could transform his leg and shift out of it at any time, of course, but then he'd be breaking the law and get arrested, so he wouldn't do that.

Besides, Mayflower decided it didn't look quite so bad against the olive green sheen of his pristine shell. Kind of like a big, if bulky, bracelet.

And since it meant he finally got to enter Canterlot, it was a small price to pay! Canterlot, with its funny paving stones instead of dirt, ponies wearing clothes, hundreds of new smells he didn't recognize, and everything so utterly different to the hive.

And the emotions! They were everywhere, a rich, riotous, complex, ever swirling layer of emotions wherever he turned, because wherever he turned there were ponies. Coming, going, standing, talking, laughing, trotting, fetching, carrying, hugging, jostling, pointing, whispering, moving away, falling back...

Mayflower put on his best smile and waved energetically to everypony who was staring at him, the hoof with the metal tracking band to prove he was wearing one.

"Hello! Good afternoon."

The cloud of emotions around him began to curdle, ripples spreading outwards with him at its center.

For a moment, Mayflower knew nervousness, but he chose not to dwell on it, and embrace optimism instead. Because this was Canterlot, and these were ponies. It was ponies who'd reformed the changelings with King Thorax's help, showing them what they could be.

And indeed, to prove it, nopony started screaming or running away in panic. Although some were leaving, but they weren't running. And others were glaring, but they weren't shouting. And they didn't want to look at him, but they weren't hiding. And yes, the cauldron of negative emotions was threatening to overwhelm him, but nopony was actually acting on any of-

*Spfflat*

-And at least it wasn't stones they were throwing.

Mayflower scraped the shattered egg off of his back plate with magic. Good thing he had a carapace and not fur!

"Thank you!" He called out brightly to which ever pony had thrown it. And then ate the raw, goopy mess in one gulp, shell and all. It tasted good.

Annnnd now everypony was really avoiding him if there weren't already before. His mandibles turned down in a disappointed changeling frown. He'd made another social mistake.

"Silly. Ponies don't eat raw eggs." He chided himself. The noxious cocktail of negative emotions coming from all around him was starting to make his stomach hurt, just a bit.

Mayflower decided it was best if he hurried along. He did have an appointment to keep, after all.

He opened his shell to let his wings out, and with a loud buzz lifted off straight up, and then away.

And if three angry tasting, young adult pegasi took it upon themselves to follow him from a distance and watch him like hawks, then it was only out of concern for their fellow ponies, which was an admirable trait.


------


"Hello, that's a very nice shirt. Can you please point me in the direction of-No? No. Okay then."

"Excuse me ma'am, do you know where-? O-okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm going."

"Good afternoon sir, I'm new here, can you please tell me where-? Sir? Sir?"

Mayflower was not stupid. However he'd recently learnt what the word 'naïve' meant, and he was increasingly suspecting he might be that instead. But he didn't think of himself as stupid.

He definitely hoped he wasn't stupid. Because he didn't like feeling stupid. It was unpleasant, like he had mud coating his carapace that only he couldn't see.

But dwelling on negative feelings was a choice, and he was choosing to be positive instead. So he let the feeling of stupidity slide away and went back to being positive. 

He was just... young. New to being a reformed changeling. And he wasn't stupid just because he hadn't learnt how to read properly yet.

'Reading', 'writing', those concepts hadn't existed in Chrysalis's hive back then, they'd been a 'weak-minded pony invention'. The meaning of pony letters was available through the hivemind if an infiltrator needed them while under cover, but the hive hadn't needed a written language themselves. The hivemind already held all their history. 

Now though, everyling was only just beginning to learn their letters in Thorax's new hive, and with no hivemind any more, learning to read was hard!

Mayflower wasn't stupid just because he was still learning how. He just hadn't realised all pony directions were written down on things called 'street signs', but that didn't make him stupid for not knowing something he'd never heard of existed before today.

But perhaps he was naïve for supposing he could get by just fine by asking ponies for for directions instead...?

"...Nah. It'll be fine. I'm sure I'll get there in the end."

And he would! Choose to be positive. So he would! He'd just be a bit late, that was all.

Eventually, some nice pony would have to give him directions if he just persevered and asked enough.

Maybe that unicorn couple over there at that table, with the scent of contentment hanging between them, would finally be the ones to help?

The couples ears swivelled as their heads turned in confused alarm, trying to locate the giant buzzing bee. Then the looked up.

"Hello!"


---


Okay. So, lessons learned. Apparently it was socially rude if you were a flyer to fly so close over those who couldn't. You were supposed to land and walk over first if you wanted to talk to them.

It really shouldn't have taken so long to put two and two together. It was so obvious in hindsight.

But Mayflower knew better now, and armed with his new knowledge, he could set about asking for directions properly this time.

Except that mare, because she had a foal with her, and he wasn't allowed near foals, but that next one past her would surely be happy to help, right?

"Hello miss. I'm sorry to be a bother but c-?"


---


Mayflower absently rubbed his chest as he tried another street. It hurt, just a bit. Not because of sadness or anything, but because that mare had kicked him in the chest.

He was sure it had been an accident on her part, and not on purpose. She'd screamed, spun around, wildly kicked, and then galloped away. The galloping away was how he knew it'd been an accident. She was probably feeling very silly wherever she was right now.

Besides, being forgiving was part of friendship. Princess Twilight had lectured at length about always forgiving accidents during her visit to the new hive. She'd come to give an intense three-day course on the properties of friendship, and teach them all how it worked.

And anyway, Mayflower had barely felt it, the kick had only clipped him, and his carapace was nice, strong, and healthy. In fact, a changelings' chestplate was one of the strongest areas of their carapace. 

The only real harm done was actually to the mare, she'd been the one who'd scared after all. The sharp taste of fear was not a pleasant one.

Forgive and forget. No harm done. Mayflower chose a street that looked promising, and set off.

"I can't wait to learn how to read." This would all be so much easier the next time he came to Canterlot, once he could read what the arrows and street signs meant. Number 17 Dawnbringer Street, here he came.


---


It wasn't down that street. Or the next one. Or the one after that, now matter how promising each new street looked.

Mayflower knew he was now well and truly late for his appointment. His carapace was feeling heavy on his shoulders. He'd really wanted to give a good first impression, especially since the lessons had emphasised how important trust was for a therapist.

"Wait..." He said out loud, and stopped. He turned to look at the latest street signs' indecipherable squiggles. Then he turned to look at the first house in the row.

He could read the numbers, the pony numerals 0 to 9 was thankfully something he'd learnt, but that didn't help him if he still didn't know what street he was on.

"Oh maggots."

He really had been stupid, not just naïve, but stupid!

He'd been going through street by street, thinking he must get there eventually, but unless he knew what street he was on, knowing the house was number '17' meant nothing. He didn't even know what the house was supposed to look like! Did it have a garden? What colour was the door? One story or two? Three even?

"No, it's okay. I've got this. I've got this! I just really do have to get somepony to give me directions, that's all. Yeah, easy."

With fresh determination burning in his chest, Mayflower turned back to the busier main street. This time some kind pony would surely take pity on him.

"Hello hello! I'm Mayflower, could you please help me find-? Wait, please wait. Just one minute, ten seconds even!"


---


No pony would talk to him. They wouldn't get close to him. They wouldn't even look at him for longer than two seconds. They all parted around him like minnows around a pike. He was left isolated and alone in his own pocket of clear space the middle of the street.

Mayflower was trying to be positive, but it was getting harder. He knew many ponies here had been hurt during the wedding invasion, and that they had a good reason for their feelings, but having to taste those feelings of distrust, fear, and anger weren't making it easy. It made Mayflower desperately want to wash out his mouth in a futile attempt to get rid of the ingrained taste.

He only needed one pony to give him directions. Just one. That wasn't asking too much, was it?

No, no it wasn't. There had to be at least one pony who would. Yes, somepony would. That's right, he just had to find that one right pony.

Yeah, this was another thing covered in Princess Twilight's important friendship lessons; patience and perseverance! Mayflower could be both of those things. He would be both of those things.

A positive mindset was a choice, and he chose to make that choice. He just had to keep trying. Never give up! Where would he and the rest of the changelings be if King Thorax had given up at the first tinee-tiny hurdle? Still rotting under Chrysalis's hoof, as the unworthy queen slipped deeper and deeper into insanity with every passing moon, that's where.

Chrysalis had terrified Mayflower. Not scared, terrified.

But she was gone now, and he didn't have to think about her or those bad times ever again if he didn't want to. And he didn't want to, so there! They had King Thorax now.

"Move along, bug, or I'll fine you for obstructing traffic."

Mayflower jumped, turning to the gruff voice. There was a Royal Guard duo standing behind him, but keeping their distance.

And behind the golden armoured pair, further back, he spotted the pegasus trio from earlier glaring.

Mayflower tasted confrontational emotions. "I..."

He paused, eye shields blinking rapidly.

Wait. They were guards, Royal Guards. Their whole job was to help ponies. Why hadn't he thought of that before? He could just ask them!

His mandibles spread wide in his beaming smile, "Hello sir! And other sir! I still have my tracking band on, see? Am I glad to see you."

Confusion. Suspicion. 

"You are?"

"Thank you, really, thank you. I need directions."

More suspicion. Strong reluctance.

The Guards gritted their teeth, "Directions to where, exactly?"


---


Finally Mayflower was here. Finally finally finally! Unfortunately late, but wasn't 'better late than never' a pony phrase?
Or at least, he was mostly confident this was 17 Dawnbringer Street. He hadn't tasted any dishonest emotions from the two nice Guards when they'd given him directions, merely negative ones, but nothing intentionally deceitful. Although, he supposed they could just have been mistaken.

Well, this house before him definitely said 'No. 17' in brass letters on the door, even if he couldn't read if the street sign said 'Dawnbringer'. That meant the chances were fifty-fifty, right? Those were good odds!

He was only hesitating from trotting up to the door right then and there to knock because he was double-checking. And because the house was, somehow, a bit off. Weird.

Mayflower was standing in a cul-de-sac. Dawnbringer Street, (a very nice street admittedly, no sharp rocks at all), was just one double row of houses leading up to an abrupt end.

Number 17 sat right at this far end, in the middle looking down the whole length of Dawnbringer Street. It alone was detached, not terraced like the rest. Leading up and down either side of the rest of the street, the rest of the houses were neatly paired off against a matching opposite partner, but 17 was the odd one out.

The day was getting late into the afternoon by now, and because of it's position at the very end, the front of Number 17 was cast in shadow. 

But hey, some house had to sit right at the end of the street, why shouldn't it be Number 17? He heard a door open, and turned to wave at a poofy-maned pony who'd just stepped out of one of the other houses.

"Hello there. Is this Dawnbringer Stree-?"

The pony stepped right back into their house and shut the door, and took their interesting looking poofy-mane with them.

Mayflower sighed, "Oh well."

Number 17 waited for him. It looked bigger as he got closer. 

There was a small front garden. It was utterly bursting with heavily pollen laden flowers, the virtual carpet of thick colour almost completely swallowing the choked path. Fresh, sharp planty scents filled Mayflower's nose. 

The mash of colours was very pretty, but the flowers heads were all bent and closed, the sun having passed.

Mayflower reached for the gate, and ended up blinking his eye shields in surprise. The gate was also bolted, but from the outside. Why? Shouldn't the bolt be on the inside? Sure, you could easily reach over from the inside and undo it, but wasn't that just a little bit extra inconvenient?

Well it was a very nice garden whatever the reason was. (Oh, and probably a very nice pony made bolt too, although Mayflower didn't know how you were supposed to judge but he could learn if somepony would teach him how). In fact, he should start a garden like this one in their new hive, he was sure Katydid and Bluefly would love to help, and they could learn about growing stuff together!

He entered, politely re-bolted the gate, and went up to the front door. The heavy flower heads tapped and brushed against the smooth carapace of his legs with every step. 

The cloying scent of so many flowers was so strong it made his head swim.

He reached the front door almost without realising it. The brass numbers 1 and 7 were dull under the afternoon shadow, instead of bright and reflective. 

Before he could grow nervous, he knocked.

The door was thicker than it seemed. His hoof striking the wood barely made a muffled tap. He knocked again harder to be heard.

Silence. He angled his ear fins, trying to catch anything coming from inside.

Was somepony coming? He couldn't hear anypony. Should he knock again? Or would that be rude? Was there a limit about the number of times you were allowed to knock?

Movement behind the little window of frosted glass in the door, and an eye was abrubtly peering out at him.

Unless they were transformed, a changeling's face couldn't wince, or at least not like ponies did, their immobile face plates wouldn't allow it. Instead, they conveyed such things through other movements instead, like the position of their mandibles, their jaw, their wings, and how they stood.

So Mayflower tried not to move react as instant, intense distrust flooded out from behind the locked door. Instead he put on the best smile he could manage to clearly show he meant no harm.

The pony beyond the door seemed to wrangle their emotions, and the acute intensity of the distrust dropped, although it still remained.

The thick door opened a few inches, and then stopped as it was caught by some sort of short metal chain.

A deep brown pony eye, set in a lighter brown furred face, peered out at Mayflower from behind a circle of wireframed glass.

Glasses! Or spectacles, those were what they were called. Ponies wore them to improve their vision.

And there was definitely something wrong about the eye, and it wasn't anything to do with how watchful it was. Just watchful, not as open, expressive, and ever so fascinatingly alive like other ponies eyes were.

"Yes?" 

Just one word. Cool. Not saying anything. But Mayflower could taste the mounting suspicion.

"Hi!"

The pony mostly hidden behind the door stayed silent, waiting.

Mayflower hurriedly introduced himself, tilting his mandibles up to try to help accentuate his 'I'm-friendly' smile:

"Hi, I'm Mayflower, very very sorry I'm late, I'm a reformed changeling. Oh, quick check, this is Dawnbringer Street right? Gosh I hope so, or I'm in completely the wrong place. Right, sorry, anyway. I'm Mayflower, your volunteer therapist, once again, I'm very sorry for being late, but better late than never!"

Silence. The bespectacled eye didn't even blink.

"Who?"

"Uh, Mayflower? I did introduce myself, didn't I?"

"Mayflower." The hidden stallion repeated. Mayflower did not like the taste of the emotions he was getting, not one bit.

"Um, yes?" He tried, shifting nervously on the step.

"Mayflower."

"Uh, I mean, um, yes. I'm Mayflower. Reformed changeling? Therapist?"

Finally, the brown eye in the door's crack blinked for the first time. It seemed clearer when it reopened, focusing on Mayflower.

"Mayflower. Why are you on my doorstep?"

"Oh, I'm your new therapist. Well, technically, I'm a amateur volunteer therapist. Wait, I said that already-"

"No,why are you here?"

Mayflower quickly glanced at the brass door numbers to double check that, yep, this was still Number 17. "Because, because you put in a request? For a therapist, I mean. A changeling one."

"I did not request a therapist. I requested a willing reformed changeling for a single visit."

"But you said it was for therapy reasons in your letter, right? That's more or less the same thing, right?"

Budding anger. "No. I mean, why are you here, on my door step, right now, in the middle of dinner?"

"Ah, well, I got lost, so I'm late, but I'm here to do our first therapy session. For you and your wife, right?"

The single eye regarded him coolly, "We weren't expecting you. In fact, were weren't expecting anypony. Because nopony told us you were coming."

Mayflower froze, "...Ah."

It only now, and very suddenly, occurred to Mayflower that he'd neglected to inform anypony in Canterlot he was accepting the request which'd arrived in the mail to the hive two weeks ago. As far as anypony in Canterlot knew, the strange, one-off, out of place request had been completely ignored.

"...oh."


---


"Stupid."

*dink*

"Stupid."

*dink*

"Stupid naïve stupid."

*dink*

"Naively stupid."

*dink*

"Stupidly naïve."

*dink*

Mayflower thunked the end of his muzzle into the letter box situated at the entrance into the cul-de-sac. He'd heard banging your nose against a wall or lamp post was a way of ponies showing self-recrimination. He didn't know if he was doing it right, however it certainly felt like he was doing it right.

He felt like a fool. It was a feeling which squirmed in his stomach. He'd overlooked the blindingly obvious. Even a grub not out of their first molt would've known better.

Now he'd wasted everypony and everylings time, messed this up, and ruined one of the few precious opportunities the new hive had received to reach out in friendship to ponies.

King Thorax had made sure everyling was aware of how important it was to prove to everypony that the changelings had turned over a new leaf, how vitally important it was to true, real, freely given pony co-operation, and that every chance that came into their hooves was precious.

And he'd gone and mucked it up.

"Positive. Be positive." He mumbled to himself. Being positive was a choice.

...He was finding it a tad bit difficult to manage at the moment, though.

"Right. Right, think. It's not the end of the hive. What can I do?" He shut his eye shields and tried to think. What could he do to fix this? What would the King do if he was here in Mayflower's place?

"Now what are you doing?"

Mayflower's eye's snicked open and he spun around at the call.

Back down at the other end of the cul-de-sac, standing behind the gate into his flower stuffed garden, the earth pony from Number 17 was standing. It was him who'd called out.

He was steeped in the late afternoon shadow his own house cast over him, but Mayflower still got his first full view of the pony who'd put out the request.

An average build, and average height earth pony, his fur light brown speckled with big splotches of dark brown. There was nothing special about his mane or tail cut, and the only thing he wore were those wire rimmed glasses.

Mayflower fumbled for words, "I, I was just, just..."

His mandibles opened and shut over his hanging open mouth. His hunt for words was coming up empty hooved.

"...Just, just uuuuh, just nothing. Nothing! I'm sorry, was I making too much noise? I'll be going."

The earth pony let out a huge sigh, large enough that even from down the street Mayflower saw clearly his shoulders rise and fall.

"This is not what I had in mind at all. You, turning up out of the blue, when the day's already done, but I suppose I'll have to take what I can get."

"Wait, you mean...?"

With visible reluctance, the other stallion beckoned, "Yes. Come inside. Carton's putting the foal to bed, then we can start this. Just don't do anything..."

Scenic Paint paused, slowly sweeping his gaze from the top of Mayflower's jagged horn to the tips of his insect-like clawed hooves:

"...'ill-advised'." He finally settled on. Which Mayflower thought was an odd way of telling somepony to behave, but he was going to be on his best behaviour anyway!

He'd thought he'd messed everything up, but the kind Scenic Paint was giving him a second change to be a good therapist.
He nodded vigorously, "Oh yeah, I will! No problem! Thank you lots. By the way, I love your garden, its amazing."

Scenic paused in walking up the flower chocked path, looking back over his shoulder. Mayflower faltered at the considering look he was getting. He tasted hints of what might've been worry. Or might not have been.

"... Thank you, but I can't claim credit. This is all my dear wife's work. And you haven't even seen the real garden out back. It's part of her job. She keeps bee hives. Is that strange to you?"

Mayflower tilted his head, closing the garden's gate behind him for the third time today, "No? Should it be? I'm new to Canterlot, sorry."

"I suppose not, no. Kind of obvious, but it's a silly question now I think about it. Never mind it, then."

Scenic opened his front door and held it aside, "This way to the living room. We'll discuss this properly inside with my better half."


---


Mayflower almost walked into a wall as he stared around, trying to see everything as he trooped along behind his host. This was his first time being inside a pony dwelling himself, not just hearing about it second hoof. Everything was so new, so different! The proportions, the space, the sharp right angles, the colours, and different materials instead of having to use stone for everything!

His mandibles hung as wide open as his mouth. What was this soft, turf-like thing underhoof? It was a mat! What was that metal ticking thing with tiny fake bees on it? Oh, it was a clock! How about all those resin stops covering all the sharp corners of tables and cabinets? Actually, Mayflower hadn't a clue what those were for.

This. Was. So. Cool. 

'Cool' was pony slang for 'great, or 'wonderful', he'd been told.

All of the walls above a certain height, (above foal height he realised), were hung with a patchwork of paintings of every size, all slotted together wherever there was free space. Strangely, there was also a large painting on the far wall, right in the centre, but it was hidden under a dust cloth. It was only strange because none of the other paintings were. Maybe it just wasn't finished yet?

There was also an overabundance of bee ornaments everywhere, yellow-and-black stripes, and hexagonal honeycomb patterns.

"Here we are. You can sit there Mayf...Mayflower."

"Thank you!" Mayflower chirped, laying down on the indicated yellow sofa, more like a raised mattress really.

He got his hooves under himself, making sure to watch his immobile hoof-claws, tracker band out of the way, and tried to sit patiently and not to buzz with excitement.

He was finally here, finally doing this! His very first chance as a volunteer therapist, and representative of the new hive!

The taste of fear. Nervousness. Dread.

And then Scenic's wife slowly, reluctantly, ears back, shuffled her way into the living room. Forgetting it was rude, Mayflower stared up at her. She was a giant!

Her fur was orange, tied back mane brownish, but she was huge! Tall! Big! She must be nearly as tall as the King, even!
But the scared emotions coming off of her were very different to her intimidating size. Mayflower felt a shooting pang inside.

Scenic didn't spare Mayflower a second glance. With her entering, he only had attention for his wife. He was at her side, encouragingly leaning his head into where he came up to on her shoulder. He gave her a small smile.

"You can do this." He told her simply.

Carton, that was her name Mayflower belatedly recalled, the muscles beneath her fur that he could actually see tensed up, and then... relaxed.

She smiled wobblily back down at her supportive husband, "I, yes. O-okay. Okay."

The taste of familiar, well-worn love that flowed beneath the mare's fear made Mayflower beam with happiness of his own. Scenic took Carton over to the couch opposite Mayflower's, this one cream coloured, and they lay down together.

Well, actually Carton laid down on her side, Scenic sat up on his haunches alert, supporting Carton's broad back where she lightly leaned up against him.

They looked at each other across the coffee table in the middle of the cosy living room. The bee clock ticked. Oh, was this where he was supposed to jump in and introduce himself to Scenic Paint's wife?

"Hi miss! I'm Mayflower, the volunteer therapist you wrote for, and it's wonderful to meet you both. Thank you for inviting me into your home. It's a lovely home too."

Mayflower smiled. Carton averted her eyes to the floor. Scenic didn't.

"Perhaps..." Scenic cleared his throat, "...It would be best for everypony present if I laid out a few things first." 

"Oh, please, sure, go right ahead." Mayflower had to again rein in his excitement from overflowing.

"First off, I am here to support Carton. That's my priority, my first priority, and my only priority." 

Carton shifted, giving Scenic a nudge and reproachful look.

"I know dear, I know. But my problems are less important than yours and can wait."

Carton started to sit up, "Yours problems aren't less important-"

"Less pressing, I meant less pressing." Scenic amended.

Placated, Carton dropped back down fully with a huff of air.

Scenic waited a beat, then continued. Mayflower noted again that there was something wrong with Scenic's face, especially around and under his eyes. The flesh looked puckered and scoured in places, the fur too patchy and thin. Then Mayflower noticed he was only noticing this because of how Scenic was meeting his eyes instead of looking away.

In the one afternoon that Mayflower had been in Canterlot, he'd already noticed that there was this certain face, or rather an expression, that ponies made, before averting their gaze if they could help it. Usually, it was accompanied by the uncomfortable taste of varying levels of revulsion.

Scenic however didn't avert his eyes, which Mayflower took as both interesting and encouraging. And speaking of encouraging...

"Yes? Please go on Mrs. Carton."

"The letter you received asking for a willing changeling participant, we wrote and sent it together, Carton and me. After the official announcements, about the changelings reformation I mean, well I, we, thought this might be a chance."

"A chance for what?"

Carton tensed. Scenic gave Mayflower a steady look, "To face past traumas and old fears. And yes, I am talking about the Wedding Invasion."

Mayflower looked away. This was what it nearly always came back to in the end. For nearly every single pony, their first introduction to the changelings had been the terrible disaster of the Royal Wedding. In the aftermath of that event, fear and paranoia had flooded Equestria immediately after, as terror and paranoia of loosing their loved ones sweeping the nation. 

And understandably so. It must have been terrifying to suddenly be unable to trust anypony anymore, as suddenly you weren't trusted in turn. Everypony was left standing alone surrounded by a sea of potential enemies. There had been too many pitiful, heart breaking cases where mobs of ponies attacked previous trusted neighbours out of misguided suspicion. Sometimes even in the same family. Mothers turning on fathers, sons on daughters.

The invasion may have happened under the hive's old queen, as the old changelings, and not under King Thorax as the reformed changelings, but that did little to reassure ponies, now did it?

The invasion had deeply scarred many, many ponies. Physically for some, and emotionally and mentally for the rest. And those scars ran deep to this day. Mayflower and the new hive were uniquely aware of that last, horrible fact. They tasted it every time they met a pony undisguised. Here and now, the reminder made him wish he could shrink in shame on the cushion and vanish, just like it always did.

Even Discord's escape wasn't anywhere so bad as the Wedding Invasion in hindsight. At least back then, everything and everypony had been fixed within the day! Fixed for the ponies, that is. Or at least, so Mayflower had been told. He hadn't actually been hatched yet.

That said however.... he'd also been told that something had happened to the last hive mind after Discord. Something bad, although no changeling really seemed to know what exactly. Details were vague, and the survivors didn't discuss it at all with anypony. Which was completely fair in Mayflower's book. Since he hadn't been hatched at the time of Discord's escape, he couldn't really judge. He was instead one of the Invasion generation, one of the many hundreds of eggs laid en-mass in preparation for Chrysalis's planned war. 

The invasion which had hurt so many victims, two of whom he was in front of right now, who'd invited him into their home, and were even now showing remarkable tolerance and self control.

The couple were being very brave today, and that was a good thing. A positive mindset!

Mayflower took a deep breath, "I'd like to say again sorry on behalf of all changelings about the invasion, and Queen Chrysalis."

Scenic made a non-committal, dismissive noise, "How many times have you repeated that exact same sentence?"

"Every time," Mayflower said seriously, "And I will say sorry again every time in the future too."

There was a pause, hanging heavy in the air as Scenic seemed to think over that. All the paintings filling the walls made the room seem larger and more empty than it really was.

"Maybe. Maybe not. You at least seem genuine. This would usually be the part where my wife would say it wasn't your fault, it was your Queen's, but, that's part of why you're here in the first place. To help Carton understand that."

"I know it, but I don't feel it." Carton spoke up quietly, quiltily looking down into her huge forehooves.

Scenic automatically leaned over to gave his larger wife a quick, half-hug, "It wasn't his fault. It wasn't your fault, right? M-Mayflower?"

Mayflower froze. "Ah, um. No."

Scenic looked at him, brown eyes shrewd behind the wire-rimmed lenses, "So you were part of the invasion." He stated.

A shot of spiking fear, instinctive and immediate. It came off of Carton. Scenic's reaction was a more complicated mix, but not with any surprise in it.

"I will say it again, I am deeply, deeply sorry for the invasion. I was on the outside of Prince Shining Armour's shield, I never actually set hoof inside, but that's not an excuse. I was still there. This is... this is my first time setting hoof in Canterlot though. You have a wonderful city."

"It's not perfect. Every city has its problems, Canterlot is no exception." Scenic disagreed.

Mayflower tried to smile, "It doesn't seem that way to me. It's beautiful. And filled with so much love and friendship. I hope my hive can become like this one day."

For the second time, Scenic was given pause as he seemed to digest that, "I see. I hadn't really thought about that. About what it must have been like living out in a desert wilderness lead by somepony like Queen Chrysalis... but that's not what we were talking about."

Scenic shook himself, refocusing on Mayflower's face, staring him dead in the eye, "If you never actually set hoof in the city, I don't think you can really count as part of the Wedding Invasion. Which is a good thing for everypony."

Again, the complicated tasting mix of emotions swelled up from the brown speckled earth pony. Then it was quickly muted, as Scenic caught himself. He frowned:

"Wait, you can feel our emotions. You can tell exactly what we're feeling." He stated, accusing.

"Taste them, yes. Sorry." Mayflower apologised.

Scenic snorted, tail flicked restlessly across the couch behind him, "So there's no point trying to keep secrets." He mumbled.

"No no! I swear I don't use it for that, and I won't pry into anything I do taste, that's not how it really works-"

Scenic waved him off, the irritation Mayflower could taste more self directed than at him, "No, look. It's not, I understand it's not intentional, but-"

"I think we're getting off topic again, dear." Carton softly interjected.

Scenic blinked, then blinked again, "Oh yeah, we are, aren't we? Okay, right. Staying focused now."

He took a deep breath, ears rising back to a neutral slant with a nod  at Mayflower, "Although you weren't really part of the invasion, you're still here today because of the invasion. Specifically because-"

"-Because I need to face my fears." Carton Juice spoke up. She seemed to be gathering her courage. Scenic patted her shoulder and let her speak at her own pace.

She fidgeted. Mayflower tasted shame, "I a-always was pushing Scenic to get better, face his own fears, y'know? N-not to do with the Wedding Invasion, something completely different but-but I never realised, never knew..."

"Yes?" Mayflower prompted hesitantly, hoping that was what he was supposed to do.

"... Never realised how difficult it was. What I was pushing Scenic to do. I didn't understand how rude I was being to him. And now the horseshoe's on the other hoof and I'm feeling like a big, fat, hypocrite."

Mayflower hurriedly shot a look to Scenic, but the stallion wasn't immediately leaping to reassure his wife, to tell her it was fine and that she was forgiven. Instead, he just kept patiently patting her on the back.

Carton heaved a breath, "Well, now it's my turn to do this. It'll be his turn again later, but right now it's mine to pony up."

Mayflower felt distinctly like he was in over his head. His two-week therapy course hadn't said anything about this. "That's, that's wonderful. Er, how am I supposed to help? I'll help in anyway I can, of course! But, how?"

Scenic resumed being the speaker again, "During the invasion, I was at home, looking after our foal. He was only a month old back then, and Carton desperately needed a break. I insisted that she at least take the day of the wedding off to attend the public celebrations with her mare friends." His lips quirked in a pony smile. Mayflower tasted no humour.

"Some holiday that turned out to be, huh? Anyway, the long of the short of it was, Carton was caught outside in the first wave of the invasion. Caught, as in, the changelings caught her."

"I tried to hide. But I'm big. They found me right away." Carton said in a small voice.

"I don't think it would've mattered where you hid, dear. They can track ponies by emotions, remember?" Scenic soothed her, "But without going into detail, that's the long and the short of it. I was at home, and she was out and got attacked."

Anger, then. An old, tried swirl of it, like the taste of bitter charcoal.

"And you?" Mayflower found his mouth asking, even if he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, "Did we-did they come to this home and capture you to?"

"We weren't in this house at the time, this is new. Well the house isn't new, we're new-Never mind, not relevant. No, me and the baby were 'protected'. We weren't captured and buried alive in one of those cocoon things."

Again, that complicated blend of emotions, "... But Carton was." Scenic finished.

"Again, I can only say how deeply, deeply sorry I am and that I wished none of that had ever happened."

"Thank you." Carton managed.

"I mean it. Really." Mayflower insisted.

"And that's why you're here. Because of the Wedding Invasion, Carton was left, ah..." Scenic hesitated.

"A mess. To put it lightly." Carton supplied, and even managed a weak giggle.

"That. 'A mess'. She's better than she was, but-"

"-But it's been years and I'm just. Not. Getting. Any. Better."

The taste of her frustration was like rotten sour grapes in the back of Mayflower's throat.

Carton calmed herself, "But then, three months ago, I saw my chance." 

Three months ago? That could only be- 

"King Thorax and our reformation!" Mayflower exclaimed, grasping ahold of the positive topic change. Then he cringed, hastily pulling back and dipping his curved horn, "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"We would've had to have been deaf and blind to miss royal announcement about the new changeling hive and reformation. The official declaration was also on every front page by royal order for a week afterwards." Scenic observed dryly.

"That's great! That absolutely everypony heard about it and knows we're good now, I mean." Mayflower smiled.

Scenic didn't return the smile, "Everypony heard about it, yes. We certainly did. But that's not the same thing as believing it."

"Seeing is believing. Those are the exact words I thought at the time, 'I'll believe it when I see it, and not before'." Carton told him seriously.

"That's... fair. I understand. Especially with the 'seeing' bit, because we're changelings, and we can disguise ourselves as-You already know that, I'll stop."

Scenic reached up and re-adjusted his glasses, "But that's exactly what you're here for, Mayf-flower-"

Again, that half stutter. 

"-Seeing is believing. Carton wanted to see, and talk to you, and face her old fears."

Carton braced herself, and finally looked directly at Mayflower. She flinched, darted her head away, but then resolutely stopped and turned back. She took a deep breath, "I want, I want to face them. One of the old changelings. I want to see what I've been so afraid of, and, and not run away this time."

"Wait, you mean...?"

"Yes. She wants you to transform back to look like one of the changelings from the invasion." Scenic stated bluntly.

Mayflower winced, the plates on his back opening as his wings sought to buzz in agitation, "That's is not, I mean I could, but I don't-"

"We obviously can't force you to, but please consider it. For Carton's sake." Scenic pressed.

Mayflower did not want to. He didn't want to return to being like that, when he was just a drone, ever again. Even if it was only externally, and only for a few minutes. He really didn't want to. But, if it would help somepony who'd been hurt by changelings, what right did he have to refuse? Then he remembered the laws of Canterlot.

He felt relieved that the choice was taken out of his hooves, "I'm sorry, I can't. It's against the law. I'm not allowed to transform at all while I'm in Canterlot."

But Scenic didn't even miss a beat on hearing it was illegal, "We won't make any report to the Guards. Besides, I know them."

Mayflower was flabbergasted, "B-b-b-but, it's the law! You aren't allowed to break the law. And I can't risk things for hive brothers and sisters."

"We won't tell anypony, I swear. It's just to help Carton." Scenic pressed.

Mayflower held up his hooves, shaking the one with the bulky tracker band on it for them to see, "It's, it's against the law. Princess Twilight Sparkle made those herself, we-I can't just break them. I could get us all into so much trouble."

Mayflower was not prepared for the non-reaction he got from Scenic Paint after invoking Princess Twilight's name. Princess Twilight has the greatest, even King Thorax said so! Carton seemed to get it, but Scenic was just, indifferent to her name.  And now he was glaring:

"I've seen those things before. I didn't like of them then, and I don't like them now. They're degrading. Like you're a disobedient dog that needs a collar." 

Mayflower realised Scenic was glaring at the metal tracker band, not at him. Which was certainly better, but still...

"I don't want to get anypony into trouble." Mayflower insisted, "I'm very sorry."

Carton put a large hoof over Scenic's own, stopping him. She caught his eye when he looked over, and shook her head.

He huffed, "Alright. Alright, fine. We can't force you. Thank you for coming out all this way, even if we weren't expecting you, but-"

"I want to try something else, dear. I don't want to give up just yet." Carton interrupted.

"Are you sure? You don't have to-"

"It's okay dear, I'm sure."

Scenic didn't look anywhere near so sure as his wife insisted she was.

"It's fine, my Paint Spot. I want to at least give this a go." She craned her neck around to briefly rub her cheek against Scenic fondly, "And aren't you saying goodbye to the, to our guest a little soon?"

"I am?"

"He is?"

"Yes darling. He's also here to help you come to terms with what happened, remember?" She chided him.

Scenic's mouth set into a line, "I don't think that's going to happen any longer. But you do you, dear. Don't let me hold you back."

Disappointment came off of Carton, but she didn't say anything. Mayflower took that as his queue hurriedly jumped in:

"Please, I'd love to help if I can Mr. Scenic. That's why I'm here, to help. It's why I wanted to be a volunteer therapist. Whatever it is, I'm sure we could just give it a try, maybe?"

"You're happy to help, but not if it means transforming into an old changeling even to help my wife." Scenic said flatly.

"Dear."

Mayflower's mandibles and mouth gaped, "I, I, I don't mean it like that, b-but it's the law, and I can't just, I could get in so much trouble."

"No, I understand where you're coming from. I get it. But get where I'm coming from that I'm not prepared to open up to somepony who, from my point of view, sticks to a racist law. Even if they're the one it's racist against. Besides," He snorted, and added in an undertone to himself, "Not with a name like that anyway."

Tangy confusion from Carton; "What d'you mean? A name like...? Oh. Ohhhh. Mayflower. Oh I never even realised, I completely blanked on that. I just, because I was so nervous, I'm sorry dear, I didn't even think about it."

"Umm..." Mayflower dared to raise his hoof, as if asking for permission, "I don't want to case a fuss, or offend anypony, but what about my name? It's not a secret pony insult is it!?" He asked in sudden alarm.

"It's nothing." Scenic dismissed too quickly.

Carton gave her husband a nudge. He looked at her sideways, but stayed silent.

She gave him another nudge. He scowled, the warped skin under his eyes making the expression look much more fierce than it actually was.

Carton sighed, "I know, I know. This was exactly the pushy behaviour I was apologising for earlier. But, please dear."

Scenic gave in reluctantly, "Mayflower is... an unfortunate name. Some very bad things happened to me at a place called Mayflower. And I was one of the lucky ones."

Scenic's tone wasn't more than merely despondent and uncomfortable, but that wasn't what his emotions said. Mayflower took a deep breath and then gagged, coughing into his hoof as he tried to get the burning taste he'd just inhaled out. 

"Gaha! Ffleugh! Ack, ack, aack!"

The look Scenic shot him was poisonous. Mayflower threw up his hooves, "I'm sorry I'm sorry! Really, it's wasn't that bad-just, I wasn't expecting-I wasn't prepared. That was... horrible."

"What was?" Carton asked, confused. Then she caught on, "Oh. The emotions."

"Yes, well." Scenic said stiffly.

"I'm really, really, really sorry I made you feel that way." Mayflower apologised.

That fierce scowl returned, "You did not make me feel any way. What happened back then had nothing to do with you."

"But my name's the same, and I didn't know, so I'm very sorry, I didn't mean for it to be the same."

"So what if it's the same place as your name? It's just a coincidence. Drop it." Scenic snapped.

"But I tasted it how you felt. Another changeling could have come, but I did. I didn't know, or else I promise I wouldn't have introduced myself as Mayflower. I feel so guilty now."

"I said drop it. It's just bad luck. And nearly nopony speaks about that place anymore anyway. Just the older Night Guards, and us few."

"But I didn't know," Mayflower stressed, "It was an accident, and I'm very sorry about it."

"Yes, I know you didn't know. We've established that." Scenic rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"But I'm going to fix it. I can at least do that much!" Mayflower stated as firmly as he could manage.

"Fix it?" "What?" Carton and Scenic both echoed in baffled unison.

Mayflower nodded in firm decision, "It's easy. I'll just change my name."

"What."

"I'll change my name. I don't want a name the same as something so bad as Mayflower, not after I've tasted it. So I'm changing my name to something else."

Both earth ponies stared at him. Incomprehension tasted flat, and he was getting as flat as a stone taste off of them right now.

Surprisingly, it was Carton who found her words first, "But, it's your name. You can't just change your name. Can you?"

He blinked his eye shields, "I can't? Why not? I mean, it's my name isn't it?"

"But it's your name. A name isn't-You shouldn't change it just because somepony tells you to."

"But you're not telling me to. I want to." He assured them.

"What about documents, bank accounts, registration? What about all of those?" Scenic protested.

Not-Mayflower tilted his head, "Those are pony things. The hive doesn't have any of those. We're just who we are."

"You don't? No census, no registration, no anything in the hive? Surely that can't be right."

Now he was the confused one, "Why would we? We're changelings. We know who every otherling is. Any changeling can sense another changeling if they're standing close to them, and everyling is different. A name is just what we call each other out loud. I chose Mayflower because I liked it. But now I've got a good reason not to. So I'm going to choose a new, better name."

It finally clicked for Scenic Paint and Carton Juice. The flat taste of confusion gave way, and in its place came the almost spicy tang of realisation.

For all the similarities, the spoken words, even the changeling's own interests, they weren't equine. And that didn't just mean in body. For all that many ponies still accused changelings of being monsters, they were operating on a misconception to begin with, because they weren't equines to being with. Ponies accused them of being monsters, meaning 'monstrous'. But they could have accused them of being 'un-equine' and they would've been much closer to the truth. Changelings weren't ponies. They spoke, they thought, they felt, but that didn't make them ponies. 

Changelings were only the same right up until the point they weren't, and then the jarring unexpectedness of the diversion caught you off guard.

Changelings were their own unique race. Not merely 'fake ponies' as many screamed. Griffins weren't ponies. Minotaurs weren't ponies. Diamond dogs weren't ponies.

Changelings weren't ponies either. They were a newly reformed race, not even out of infancy, and fumbling around to cement their own culture. But despite what Princess Twilight Sparkle and King Thorax had done, changelings weren't ponies.

In this room, filled with pony effects, from the furniture to the floorboards to the painting lined walls, Scenic and Carton were sitting across from a changeling.

The hint had been in the name all along; changeling. Change. Mutability, fluidness, adaptation. 

The disconnect was sudden and sharp. Like a snow laden branch finally snapping off.

It disquieted Carton, as well as shamed her. The realisation actually calmed Scenic's emotions somewhat. He nodded in slow acceptance:

"Alright. Okay. That makes as much sense as anything. So you're not Mayflower anymore. Who are you now then?"

The changeling looked up at the ceiling, tapping a hoof claw on their chin with a 'click' of chitin.

"I'm Mayfair." Mayfair declared, and just like that, breaking apart and re-forging her own internal self-image.

"Mayfair. Can I ask why?" Scenic questioned.

"Of course! Well, see, I chose Mayflower originally because it was so similar to what my older clutch brother chose, Mayfly. So I chose Mayflower to be like him, but now I'm Mayfair. Mayfair, Mayfair, Mayfair. Yes, I really like Mayfair."

"Huh." Scenic sat back. He thought on that for a minute as Mayfair repeated her name to herself in delight.

"Mayfair's sort of a mares name." Carton blurted, then almost tripped over herself hurrying to add, "But then so was Mayflower, and it's not like you're a pony, you can call yourself whatever you want, you've no reason to conform to pony naming conventions."

"Mayflower was a mare's name? Huh, nopony never told me. That's a bit embarrassing, I would've corrected it if I'd known. But thanks, I do know Mayfair's a mare's name." 

There was a sudden pause, the same as before. Understanding being taken apart and put back together finally in the correct pattern.

"So when you say 'corrected', and that you know Mayfair is a feminine name..." Scenic trailed off leadingly.

And so it was, that in the house of Number 17 Dawnbringer Street, sitting in the living room while their foal slept in the bedroom, that Scenic and Carton learnt an as of yet, undocumented fact of changeling society. Even Twilight Sparkle, who'd insisted vehemently on studying King Thorax and his reformed changelings, had either missed or overlooked that little fact of changeling hives.

Changeling's could change form. Utterly and completely. Infiltrators were just as skilled at impersonating a mare or a stallion in their task to harvest love in the past, they'd had to be. 

In the not so very distant past, when the there had still been a hive mind, and before 'The Crash', as the new Mayfair told them a lot of new changelings were now informally calling to the muddle and confusion referring to the loss of the hivemind and the complete breakdown of the old hive it had caused. But before the great Crash, back in those dark times, most Changelings hadn't had their own minds, only the hivemind. They'd just been drones. Sterile, asexual drones. And also back before the purges. But no ling spoke about that. 

"Yeah, I'm glad I was only hatched after The Crash. Really, it sounded awful back then, imagine not being able to think for yourself? Or, well, I suppose you wouldn't be able to imagine it if you couldn't think. That's sad." Mayfair finished sombrely.


Scenic though had a question, "What about Mayfly, that's your older brother you said. But you said 'brother', what if he was to suddenly change?"

Mayfair didn't understand the question, "Uhhh, then he'd still be him?"

"But you're saying 'him'. Not her. Or why not just by name, instead of a pronoun?"

"What's a pronoun?"

"Him, her, he, she, how you refer to someone." Carton helped.

"Oh, I get what you mean. I don't mean him him, I'm just saying him because that's what you're supposed to say in Equish. I, hmm... I don't know how to explain this. Remember how I said any changeling knows another changeling if they're next to each other?"

They both nodded.

"It's like that."

"What's like that?"

Mayfair concentrated hard, trying to find the best words to explain what she meant, "Like, like we all just know. Like how names are just for saying out loud. We don't actually need them, but having names is so much nicer, don't you think?"

She, who-was-not-physically-a-she-or-a-he, waved a hoof, "Like, like my brother isn't really my brother. Well, I mean he's my clutch sibling, definitely, but he doesn't have to be my brother. Or a he. Or a she either. I'm not a she really, or a he either. I'm a changeling. But don't worry, ponies can call us either, we don't mind! It just makes speaking Equish much easier."

"Oh. Oh that makes so much more sense. It's because of the pony language, Equish. Changeling is a pony name too, not actually your own. What do you call yourselves in your own language?" Scenic asked, almost all wariness and coldness gone.

Mayfair opened her mandibles and gave short, a chirping buzz in answer.

"That. That's our real, actual name."

Scenic blinked, and then he abruptly, and unexpectedly, laughed. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm physically capable of saying that."

"Don't worry, don't worry! Please, really, it's fine I assure you." Mayfair reassured him seriously, in case he really was worried, "Anyway, Equish is so much more eloquent. 'Eloquent', see? That's a word we don't have. Or rose. Or daisy. Or orchid. Just red or blue or white flower. Oh, you've got a very nice flower garden outside by the way, Mrs. Carton."

"Thank you." Carton said faintly. She looked at Scenic, then back to Mayfair, and then all around the room.

"I feel like I've been clubbed over the head with this new revelation. And I haven't a clue what to do with it."

"Sorry." Mayfair hastily apologised.

"No no, it's just... all just very new and different, that's all."

Scenic took off his glasses, the frame adhering to a touch of his hoof with must have been a small enchantment. He massaged his closed eyes with a foreleg.

"Mayfair," He addressed her, eyes still shut, "In light of... stuff, I am willing to, very hesitantly, at least speak to you about what my wife wants me to."

Huh? What had brought about this sudden change of heart Mayfair wondered?

Scenic finally put his glasses back on, and turned to give Carton a look which conveyed a lot. Mayfair fleetingly tasted again that complicated mix of emotions, but this time all overlaid with resignation, "About the Wedding Invasion, but that's it. Nothing more." He told her.

"I know dear, I know. I promised not to push. But thank you anyway." She murmured, and gave him a brief encouraging rub with her shoulder. Which ended up almost unbalanced the smaller earth pony.

Carton gave him one more smile, then turned back to Mayfair. Her smile faltered, and hear ears went back, but she gulped and pressed on, "I do have one last question Mayfair, before we move on. If it's not rude, that is."

"I'm here to help with anything. Well, anything I can help with, and, you know, not break the law. Ask away."

"It's not actually important in the long run I suppose, but, does that mean Queen Chrysalis wasn't actually a queen? Or could King Thorax also be Queen Thorax? It's just, I'm interested."

"What? Oh, no, definitely not. That'd just be silly." Mayfair chuckled at the mere thought, "A changeling Queen is always a Queen, and a King can only be a King."

"... I don't get it."

"Well, it's like this, see? Chrysalis was the Queen, and Thorax is now the King. Simple see?"

"Um, not really." Carton admitted.

"Hm, I don't think I can explain this. A Queen and a King aren't like us other changelings. A Queen is a she, and a King is a he. Always. I suppose the King could change his name, but he'll always still be a King."

The earth ponies exchanged looks and raised eyebrows.

"I think we'll just have to chalk this up to something we can't understand as ponies, and move on." Scenic shrugged philosophically.

Mayfair blinked, but let it go. She thought it made perfect sense, but she was probably explaining something wrong. Oh well. "So! Now we can... uhhhhh... What were we going to do next again? I forgot." She sheepishly turned up her mandibles.

Mayfair hadn't meant to cause it, but just like that, any lingering bitter-sweet amusement coming off Scenic vanished.
"Now? That's between you and Carton. She's the only one who can decide what would help her best facing her fears."

Resurging panic from Carton, as her eyes widened and she was broken from the brief distraction about where she was and what she was doing. Her oh-so-mobile pony ears went flat, and she swallowed twice.

"I wanted, I want to prove to myself that I can be brave. I want to recreate what it was like. Sort of. If, if you won't transform to an old changeling, we can still do the rest." She braced herself, both physically and in her emotions:

"I want to stand here on my own, with just you Mayfair, right up in my face, and I want to make myself not breakdown or, or run away."

"That... that doesn't sound like something a good therapist should do." Mayfair hesitated.

"I want to at least try it. It's dumb, cliché, but I feel inside that it will help. Probably." Carton insisted.

"But, but that's... but!" Mayfair shot an agonizing look to Scenic, however Carton's husband didn't step in.

"This isn't about me, this is about what Carton feels is best for herself. I will support her choice."

"Please? Can we at least try it just once?" Carton asked her.

Mayfair was out of her depth. She had no idea if it was the right thing to say, either as a therapist or as a representative of the new hive, but... "Alright. Let's do this."


------


"Are you sure about this?" Mayfair hesitated.

'No' was what Carton's emotions clearly stated.

"Yes." She was what said out loud.

"...Are you sure you're sure?"

"As s-sure as I'm going t-to get." Carton managed.

"Ooooooh-kay. If you're sure you're sure you're sure, then open you're eyes whenever you're ready. I'm standing right in front of you now."

The big mare, standing nearly have as tall again over Mayfair, trembled with her eyes squeezed tight shut, "I know. I can h-hear you."

"Of course you can, of course you can," Mayfair soothed, "And when you're ready, you can open your eyes."

This was the idea Carton Juice had envisioned to try overcoming her fears. It was simple and blunt, Scenic would step out, despite his reluctance, and leave her alone in the room with Mayfair, who'd stand right in front of her and much closer than she was comfortable with. Carton had even suggested Mayfair could try to be intimidating, or to hiss and snarl, but Mayfair didn't want to do that even in acting. So she'd deflected with; "Let's see how it goes normally first." Which she was quite proud of herself for her forward thinking on-the-spot.

But then Carton had to go and press, saying; "I know this isn't the real deal, so unless you at least try to be intimidating, I don't think it will be enough. I've seen scary fangs and eyes aplenty before."

Which brought them to their positions right now. Scenic was waiting just on the other side of the door outside, leaving Carton and Mayfair alone in here. The only other ponies here to bare witness were those in the paintings looking on. 

Carton was standing in the middle of their living room, tensed up, eyes closed, and ears back. Mayfair had positioned herself right in front of the larger earth pony, and was psyching herself up to 'be scary' when Carton opened her eyes.

Which would be any second now.

Any second now.... Aaaaaaaany second....

Mayfair really wasn't liking being this up-close-and-personal to a source of fear, it was downright nasty. Fear wasn't what the reformed changelings of the new hive wanted, it was the opposite.

But since she was doing it to help Carton, that made it a positive action, even if it was negative, and Carton had given her permission, a very important point like Princess Twilight had stressed-

Carton opened her eyes before Mayfair was ready.

There was a moment of staring into each others wide eyes.

Mayfair finally remembered and snapped back into her role, "RRRaahhH!" *Hissss*

Big green pony eyes shrunk into black dots.

"Er, was that too much-?"

Carton took a deep, deliberate breath, opened her mouth, and screamed.

"AAAAAAAAAAIIIIEEEEE!"


------


Mayfair gingerly rubbed at her ear holes. Carton had a set of lungs which were a match for her stature. Big, strong, and healthy.

Somewhere in the rear of the house, Mayfair could hear the sounds of the foal being shushed back to sleep by the couple.
Unsurprisingly, his mother's scream had both awoken and terrified the poor infant colt.

Ponies didn't hatch, and didn't molt from grubs. It was one of the few things changelings were actually superior in. Ponies took decades to grow up! A changeling only took half a year, if they had enough food and love of course. Otherwise, they grew up like the drones in the old hive had. Simple. Basic. Empty.

Mayfair tried not to dwell on how poorly this had all gone. It felt like from start to finish it had just been one thing after another. She searched around for something positive to hold her attention instead.

Luckily this was a pony home, and there was so much in this room alone for Mayfair to examine, although she made sure not to touch. You needed permission first for that.

Like a mug of pencils, a golden Celestia figurine, a funny white hat with mesh, and a toybox filled with stuffed cuddly animals, all so neatly sown with little button eyes and ribbons.

And of course, all the paintings in every different size and shade filling the walls, all hung above tiny hoof grabbing height. With a glance towards the door to check if the couple were coming back any time soon, Mayfair approached one of the laden walls to get a closer look.

She appreciated the trust she was being shown, being left alone in here while being a stranger. And a changeling. That must be a good, strong sign of budding friendship and trust.

These were some really nice paintings. No ling in the hive was this good at painting yet. But it had only been three and a half months since they'd become free to be artistic in the first place. Everyling was still experimenting on what their individual hobby should be. Princess Twilight had insisted that everpony had to have at least one hobby doing something they enjoyed. Also, your hobby wasn't allowed to be your job, that was apparently very important.

Mayfair leaned in really close to a painting of a cloudy mountain slope. It was amazing, because it looked exactly like a craggy mountainside, but had only been made with a few broad brush strokes. Grey, white, and black, and then with a single streak of blue to make up a sky. The lone splash of blue between the grey clouds vividly drew the eye, defiant and lonely.

There were a lot of landscape paintings, Mayfair realised, and not really that many of ponies. It was mostly all scenes and places, like sheer hillsides, sunny days, a split oak tree, a cloudy night, a mossy stone wall, and fields of wheat.

The few paintings depicting ponies weren't of anypony famous that Mayfair could recognize at any rate. Not that she was fortunate enough to know many yet, but there were none of the four princesses anyway.

It only served to make her wonder though... what was the painting behind the dust sheet?

It was the only painting covered up, and it was a big one too. Why thought? Was it damaged or not finished yet?

Actually, now she really wanted to know. What was special about this one painting? She approached the hidden painting, drawn.

She could almost-sort-of make out vague-maybe impressions through the thin sheet, but not enough. Mayfair wanted to know what made this one painting in the whole house extra special.

The house had gone quiet. Mayflower snatched back her reaching hoof and spun around just as Scenic came back in through the door.

He slowed on spying Mayfair up and not where he'd left her.

"I was looking at your paintings. They're really nice!" She quickly got in before he could ask.

"Thank you. But I hope you didn't touch any, did you?"

Mayfair's hoof tingled, but she hadn't actually touched anything, "Nope. Promise!"

"Carton's mostly calm again, but she's going to sit the rest of this out with the foal."

Mayfair awkwardly pursed her mandibles, "I, uh, I'm really sorry about that. The screaming and, yeah." She added belatedly.

"Don't worry about it. It's what I thought would happen." Scenic sighed heavily.

Mayfair felt bad that Scenic's pessimistic prediction had been proved right, and that she hadn't somehow done more. "I'm really sorry. I should have said no more firmly. Now it's just made everything worse than before."

Surprisingly Scenic disagreed, "No, you really shouldn't. She wanted this, and that's what's important. It was good for her, even if it doesn't look that way. She took the first step, and next time, she'll take another."

"Are you sure? It didn't sound or feel like this was a step forwards. She tasted uh, very scared." Mayfair winced with her body and averted her eyes.

Scenic stepped back fully into the living room and quietly shut the door behind him with a skilful hook of his rear hoof. "I love my wife, really I do. But only one of us has ever been to therapy before. She wanted to defeat her past trauma today, get it over and done with in one go. But that's not how it works, that's never how it works. Therapy doesn't happen in leaps and bounds, it's done in slow, painful, crawling inches."

Mayfair stared. She had no idea what to say to that. So she picked out something else.

"You've uh, um, been to therapy before? A proper qualified pony therapist?"

Scenic paused, and gave Mayfair a long look, "Yes." He kept looking at her, waiting.

Mayfair almost, almost almost, asked for what. The words were literally on the tip of her tongue, but by some miracle, her body moved faster than her brain and snapped her mandibles shut over her mouth in the nick of time.

"Umm, uuh, err, you don't need to, uh, go reassure your neighbours or something do you?"

"Our neighbours? Why?"

Mayfair vaguely waved an olive-green insectile hoof, "About, you know, the screaming. And um, that I'm not an evil changeling sucking out all your love or something?"

"Oh that. Don't worry about it."

"I um, I kind of am. Sort of."

"It's fine, they won't have heard. First we're detached, and second, we got this house enchanted with one-way sound blocking. Among a few other enchantments."

"Oh." Mayfair knew very little about the applications of unicorn magic outside of blast, shield, and telekinesis, and next to nothing about enchantments aside from that they existed.

Changelings had nowhere near the magical talent, strength, or reserves of an average unicorn, outside of one field; self-transformation. Emotional sensing and manipulation wasn't strictly magic, it was racial.

"Uh, that's cool?" She offered.

"It was necessary. For my peace of mind."

"So, uhhh..." Mayfair trailed off, not sure how to say this. She glanced out the window, at the darkening Canterlot skyline.

"What?" Scenic prompted.

"Should, should I go now then? You know, since the idea failed, and Carton doesn't want to continue, and you don't really like me, and it's getting late..."

Scenic spared a glance for the waning light outside his window too, "Do you have some sort of curfew?"

"What does curfew mean?"

"Is there a time you have to legally be out of the city by?"

Mayfair quickly thought back and reviewed the rules in her head, "Technically, no. I'm not allowed in the city unescorted after dark, but if I'm inside or with you, then I'm being escorted right?"

"Hn." Scenic waved Mayfair to sit back down on the couch. She only noticed once she'd done so, that Scenic himself didn't make retake his own seat until she had.

Actually, only now that she was thinking about it, did Mayfair realise Scenic had been keeping a full body's length between them at all times if possible, staying out of reach.

Scenic was obviously reluctant and uncomfortable talking to her alone, so why was he letting her stay? Hopefully, it was because he was trying to extend the hoof of friendship!

Scenic broke the silence in the living room just as it was starting to stretch out, "About Carton... I think it's going to take ten or fifteen times at least before Carton will be able to do it. Therapy is a slow, gradual process, with many set backs. Mayfl-Mayfair, is this something you can commit to?"

"Wait, what? You want me to come back?"

"Yes. As I said, this'll take time. If you can't or won't, please tell me now-"

"Yes! I mean, yes of course I'll help, I'd love to." Mayfair beamed, mandibles all the way up in happiness. This was wonderful, for her and for the hive!

So why was Scenic's emotions gradually sinking further and further?

"Was I... should I have said no?" She hesitantly probed.

"What do you-? Oh, emotion reading again." He spat, "I really don't like you doing that."

Mayfair cringed, "I'm sorry, I can't help it, no changeling can."

"I know. Forget it, mark it down as a failing on my behalf, not yours. It's one of my many hang ups."

"I'd love to keep coming if it helps, but if me being here is only going to make you unhappy, maybe I shouldn't."

Scenic cocked an eyebrow and looked at her. It wasn't a glare, but it was a 'look', "Did you know, you use very tame words for bad concepts, and lots of excitable ones for good stuff."

"I do. It's a conscious choice. Because having a positive mindset is also a choice." She nodded firmly.

"That's foalish." He stated.

Mayfair had to reluctantly nod to that too, "I don't think I'm stupid, but I do think I'm probably naïve."

"Have-", Scenic stopped himself. His emotions calmed back down, "Fair. That's fair. And a more realistic self-assessment than I made back then. I've been stupid and naive in the past too, and I'm older than you."

"How'd you get better at it? Can I do it too?"

"No, sorry. Experience is the only remedy, I'm afraid."

"Phooey."

They lapsed into silence. Outside, dusk continued to fall. Scenic glanced again to the gathering dark beyond the window.

"Moving on. You know how my wife wants me to speak with you too, yes?" He asked, still watching the window.

"Yes, but you don't have to if you don't want to. A therapist isn't supposed to make their patients uncomfortable."

"I don't want to at all," Scenic said bluntly, "But if she's trying her best then I've got to at least try too."

He took a deep breath. Again that strange mix of emotions bubbled up. This time, Mayfair finally got a good taste of the underlying foundation of them all; guilt.

"We've talked about what happened to Carton during your invasion already. Now, do you know what I was doing during your invasion?" Scenic asked pleasantly.

"You said you were at home, looking after your new grub, didn't you?"

"Foal, or baby, yes. Not this house, my old one. We'd sold Carton's old place and were still saving up to buy this one. So I was at home, with the foal in his crib, when the Prince's shield fell and your invasion began."

Mayfair winced, "I, I get that's it's true, but could you please not say it like that? 'Your invasion'. It was Queen Chrysalis's invasion."

Scenic didn't even glance away from the window, "I'm being fair. Your fault or not, it was still your invasion, and you were part of the disaster. Own it. Your invasion, your people. And your deaths."

"I knew somepo... someone once, in the past. I don't remember them, though. But they were a friend. A good friend. Not a nice friend, though. Good to me and mine, but not nice. I don't remember any of that, of course, but Crimson didn't paint them in a very flattering light, that's how I know it's true. He wouldn't have lied."

"I, I don't follow? Um, who's Crimson?" Mayfair asked, uneasily.

"Our friend. Maybe you'll meet him since you're going to be visiting again," Scenic swallowed, "Actually, I shouldn't have said that. Look, don't ask Crimson if you ever meet him, I shouldn't have let slip his name. It's private."

Mayfair shifted, rubbing her forehooves together nervously, "Should, should you be telling me this then?"

"What I'm telling you is only private to me, not to him. And I won't give specific details. Anyway, I had this good, but not nice, friend in the past. But because of some magic, I can't remember them."

"That's awful!" 

Scenic's emotions twisted, a tangled knot of unpleasant tastes, "I... yes, awful. But I don't remember them to miss them. I know I should, but since I can't, I don't. Which isn't fair to anypony, but that's how it is. Life isn't fair. I don't remember them, but I know they must've taught me that, because they were there. With me, and Crimson, and Sargent G-"

Scenic bit off the name, stopping himself from giving details. It took a moment for him to resume, "This friend of mine, I keep saying they weren't very nice. They weren't. And neither was I. I was... a selfish coward. This is back before the Wedding Invasion happened, you understand? Oh, I should probably explain this, but, we were all in the Guard together."

"You were a Royal Guard?" Mayfair exclaimed, surprised.

"No, well yes, very briefly in the Royal Guard, but also no. I was a Night Guard. We all were, actually. At the time we'd just survived a... some bad stuff. We were recovering. And then Discord happened. Do you changelings remember Discords escape? I don't know if you were around at the time."

"I wasn't, no, but some... a few others were. They don't like to talk about it."

"Hmph. Maybe because they actually remember it accurately unlike everypony else." Scenic muttered.

"Huh?"

"It's not... actually I suppose it is relevant. Look, go out and ask any ten ponies about Discord's escape. Nine of them will only vaguely remember it, or have blanked it out. They think, 'oh well the Elements of Harmony fixed everything'. Well, I'm the tenth pony, and I do remember what it was really like. And it was bad."

Scenic worked his jaw, "I saw my then next door neighbour running around turned inside out. The street outside turned into lava pool. A literal pool. There was a diving board, even. I didn't see anypony dive off, thank Celestia, but... You see where I'm coming from, right? That it wasn't all just a 'harmless prank'."

"So, anyway, in the aftermath of Discord, I apparently went and asked this friend for help like a dumbass. And they said yes. I forgot who it came from at the time, obviously, but they gave me a box. But when Discord didn't escape again, and nothing else bad happened, I must've put it from my mind, or else I was made to forget it. I don't know how else to explain why I stuck it in a back room and never checked on it again, especially after I went to such lengths to ask for it in the first place."

He turned away from the darkening window. His tone was calm, his ears still up. His emotions even tasted calm. Calm, in the same way a graveyard was calm. Mayfair flinched.

"Do you know how many changelings died in my old house because of that box?"

Mayfair stared, frozen. She jerkily shook her head.

"Would you like to know?"

She shook her head harder.

"Fair enough. Fair eee-nough. Ignorance is bliss is actually a true saying. I certainly wish I didn't know."

Scenic sat, lost in memory.

"What was... what was in the box?" Mayfair finally asked, a buzz in her words from how tight her throat was.

"The jack-in-the-box. Didn't I say it was a jack-? Oh, no I didn't. Yeah, a big jack-in-the-box." He vaguely spread his forehooves to indicate the size, gaze still distant.

"But, huh? Isn't that a foal's toy?"

"Yes. Yes they are. This one wasn't, isn't. I don't remember, but my friend had a sick sense of humour it seems. Especially what with this being right after Discord and all... and it killed changelings."

Mayfair recoiled. That was sick, just like Scenic said it was. Furthermore, he just didn't understand. A foals toy had killed changelings? How? That made no sense. It was a toy, even a big one. It was a wind up spring in a box! And a box couldn't move, or fly, or fight. Maybe if it had exploded, but that wasn't what Scenic was talking about.

It sounded like the kind of twisted ingenuity poured into making something harmless able to hurt that the old Queen would have approved of. The kind of sick monster who cut the feet off of birds, so as to watch them fly but never be able to land again, until they plummeted out of the sky from exhaustion and died. That willingness to go beyond, to not stop, and keep hurting, to defile or sacrifice anything or anyling in pursuit of a goal. That had been Chrysalis's way.

Those bad times were behind them, and now King Thorax was here to make sure they never happened again. But the memories of suffering were fresh in every reformed changelings mind, and it was why Mayfair cherished so much the new hive now.

But this, what Scenic had just told her? Mayfair had no words. What did you say even to a confession that? That changeling soldiers had died in Scenic's old home? She was a changeling too. 

'It could have been me. I could have been one of them.'

If she'd been in the first or second wave during the invasion instead of being held back as reinforcements... Mayfair could easily have been one of them to attack Scenic's house on that day.

Changeling's and ponies had both died during the invasion, Mayfair had known that. But it was a nasty realisation to know that you really truly could have been one of those.

It was real. It had happened. It wasn't just impersonal words, of a tragedy happening to a stranger you'd never met. Because Scenic wasn't a stranger, and he was talking to Mayfair, and he'd been one half, so couldn't Mayfair have maybe been the other unfortunate half if she'd been there?

She shivered convulsively, a crawling touch under her chitin.

"That's..."

"Yes. To whatever you were about to say. Yes, it is." Scenic muttered uncomfortably. His eyes flicked away guiltily.

That's what all the guilt she'd been tasting was about, the changeling's who'd died. Scenic felt responsible, and this was his own way of confessing.

She should say it was okay, shouldn't she? As a therapist, and a reformed changeling, she should tell him that it was alright, shouldn't she?

It wasn't Scenic's fault, not really. Was it? No, it was this friend of Scenic's fault, theirs and Queen Chrysalis's alone.

Mayfair sucked in a slow breath between her fangs. Again, she tasted the guilt. For a moment, it hung in the balance as she wavered.

But she chose to be positive. She chose to see the best in a pony, to forgive and forget, to believe in always extending the hoof of friendship above all.

"I'm very sorry that happened to you, Mr. Scenic. And to them. And to everypony and everyling in that invasion. But none of it was your fault. It was self defence of yourself and your foal." Mayfair felt immediately lighter for having said that.

Nopony had won in the invasion. Everypong had lost. There had been too many victims on both sides. But it could also be a chance for ponies and changelings both to come together afterwards. Just like now.

Except the taste of guilt tainting the air didn't cease.

"No, no, no No! No you don't understand. It's not that, it's not about self defence, it's, it's-!"

Scenic's words stopped. His mouth stayed open, working, breathing hard, and angry. He whipped off his glasses, glaring; "It's-!"

"It's not your fault." Mayfair repeated, and meant it.

"It's not about. Who's fault. It was." Scenic ground out, now glaring at a point past her shoulder.

Mayfair faltered in her newfound forgiveness, "It's not?"

The taste of guilt was growing heavier, sour enough to fill up Mayfair's throat.

"Of bucking course it isn't! I was a Night Guard. Even if I was too cowardly to do it myself, I understand what self defence means. I couldn't kill a pony even to save myself, but I was so glad to be alive afterwards when somepony else did it for me." Scenic gritted out, somehow keeping his voice down to avoid disturbing Carton and the foal.

"Um, if it's not that, then what is it really about?" Mayfair asked meekly.

Scenic's chest rose and fell as he breathed heavily. He grimaced, emotions a confused jumble of uncertainty.

Finally though, he had to reach a decision, and he did. If anything though, it only made his grimace grow worse. Scenic slipped his glasses back onto his muzzle. To Mayfair, his emotional state abruptly became muted, tired.

"It's not misplaced guilt over what happened during the Wedding Invasion. Our new-born foal was at risk. That changed everything for me. My only regret is that Carton didn't stay home that day, and so would've been spared her own trauma. Although maybe she would've gotten different trauma instead. But no, it's..." Still Scenic hesitated.

"I guess I invited a changeling here today to apologise for what happened to them, even if I think I was justified. Because-"

"You don't have to apologise. It was Queen Chrysalis's fault for everything. She foalnapped Princess Cadance, she ordered the invasion, she attacked first. We were, we were just following orders." Mayfair said.

"-Because..." Scenic quietly finished, "I kept the jack-in-the-box. Just in case. It's here, in this house, right now. Because if an invasion ever happens again, I know what will happen. That's why I'm sorry."

"..Oh."

'Oh.'

Oh. Well. Now what did you say to that?

Mayfair's throat was very dry. She sat very still on the couch cushion.

I could have been one of them, she'd thought earlier.

'I could still be one of them.'

Very slowly she moved, just her eyes. No box in any of the room's corners. No box beside the sofas. No box under the curtains. 

"Where is this jack-in-the-box?" She croaked.

"Inside the house," Scenic said instead of answering, "But you're safe. You're not in danger. You're fine right now, aren't you?"

"That's not-"

That's not fair, that's not nice, that's not very friendly. Mayfair had come here to try to help in good faith, and Scenic hadn't warned her at all.

Bu-bu-but, but this wasn't how ponies were supposed to do things. Ponies were supposed to be nicer, kinder, better than changelings! She felt hurt, betrayed.

"That's not very nice, Mr. Scenic." She told him.

He looked away, "I know. That's why I'm saying sorry. I not trying to make a threat or anything, I can't control the jack-in-the-box at all or anything. I didn't set it on those changelings that day. It just does... just does."

That helped, but only a little bit, "Well, you- It's still not nice at all. And I don't like it!"

"Of course not, I don't expect you to. I'm just apologising. That doesn't mean you have to accept my appology or forgive me." Scenic shrugged philosophically.

Mayfair jerked, "What? No! That's not how friendship works, Princess Twilight said so. You have to forgive ponies when they say sorry."

Scenic stared at her flatly, "That is utter horseapples." He said with contempt.

"It's not! Princess Twilight is the Princess of friendship, and she said you need to forgive-"

"No, you don't. You really don't. You're under no obligation to accept or forgive anything from me if you don't want to Mayfair."

"I, I, no. I'm a reformed changeling, I've chosen to love and forgive..."

Scenic took a shallow breath, "Princess Twilight is a wonderful pony, she really is. I've heard her speeches and read the papers, and anypony can tell she's completely genuine. However I know lots of other wonderful ponies. Princess Celestia and Luna run the whole of Equestria, and that's something I could never, ever manage, so I respect whatever they decide is best for this country. But Princess Twilight? She's the Princess of Friendship, and I don't need her advice or permission on how I make friends."

"Princess Twilight has saved Equestria!"

"Yes? I never said she hasn't. What's that got to do with anything? I know Night Guards who've helped save Equestria too."

"She saved Equestria with Friendship," Mayfair stressed, "Nopony is better at friendship than her."

"W-what?" Scenic choked, coughing, "Do you honestly-? You do. You believe that. Okay, wow. I should have put two and two together. You're new to life, you would think that it's that simple."

"I'm not a foal or stupid." Mayfair buzzed in anger. Then she caught herself and tried to calm down.

Sudden melancholy wafted off of Scenic, "You're less than five years old. Full grown doesn't mean grown up. Tartarus, it took me years after I was an adult to actually grow up."

"I said I'm not a foal."

Scenic blew out his breath, twisting his head away. He examined a painting instead, "I... I guess I'm not a changeling and so don't have a right to judge on that. Just, maybe try not to be star blinded."

"What?"

"Star-blinded. With stars filling up your eyes, so you can't see clearly. I didn't realise, but it happens to lots of ponies, especially in Canterlot. You see big, famous, impressive ponies, like nobles, the Wonderbolts, archmages, or right at the top the Princesses, and you fixate on just them. They're so inspiring, but don't forget, they're only equine too. Don't forget about the rest of us commoners. There's thousands more normal, honest, good ponies in Equestria besides them, you know. Like my Carton Juice."

"I'm not star blinded or what have you. I'm just choosing to see the best in everypony, there's a difference." Mayfair firmly put her hoof down. She'd lived as a nameless, faceless drone under Queen Chrysalis, so she knew a ruler wasn't necessarily good. But because of the old mad Queen, Mayfair also now knew how good the Princesses of Equestria were.

There was nothing wrong with taking advise from a pony much wiser than you in their field of expertise, especially since the new hive was too new to have any real expertise of their own yet, and who knew better than a Princess? They literally embodied their field of expertise. Love, day, night, and friendship! 

"What I'm trying to say is..." Scenic paused, getting his words in order, "What I'm trying to say is that; friendship doesn't work as advertised on all those friendship posters. Well, sometimes it does, for normal ponies I guess. But there's a lot of abnormal ponies out there, you know? And that means they have abnormal friendships too. Do you think that means they're friendship is wrong or fake?"

"No." Mayfair stated what should have been obvious. Of course friendship was never wrong.

"Okay, good. So, why should you, personally I mean, have to do friendship the 'normal' way?"

Mayfair struggled for a second in frustration, trying to put her own logic into words of Equish, "Because that's the way most ponies do it. And I want to be friends with them. And because ponies have been doing friendship much longer than changelings have and are better at it."

"So it's about fitting in. I guess that's really important to you guys, huh? I mean obvious before, yes, but now you're the new, reformed changelings. You don't have to blend in anymore as a matter of survival."

"No ling liked living like that, you know. What we have now is a dream come true." Mayfair said more stiffly than she'd meant to, but reproach clear. But that wasn't a very nice, friendly emotion. So she took a deep, buzzing inhale and let the feeling go with the exhale.

She sat up straighter, and tried to think of a way to make this less confrontational, because negative emotions just hurt everypony involved. She was a changeling, she'd know. She needed to try a different approach here.

Mayfair swallowed, and asked"Mr. Scenic, do you hate changelings? It's fine if you say yes, it's fair, but I don't think you do. Do you?"

"I definitely don't hate you."

"Thank you, that's very-Hey wait, I said changelings. Do you hate all of us, not just not hate me?"

Scenic shook his head tiredly, "No to that, too. Dislike, maybe, but not after I had time to sit down and cool off after the Royal Wedding. But to be fair if you had, no, if Queen Chrysalis had won, I bet I'd be singing a different tune."

"Thank Celestia she didn't," Mayfair echoed with feeling. Scenic twitched his ear in surprise at her chosen exclamation, but she paid it no mind, "What I'm trying to say is, if you don't hate us, why did you keep that horrible jack-in-the-box-thing?"

He grimaced, ashamed but resolute about his path, "I already said, but in case something like that happened again. Because I choose my wife and son over any invaders lives." 

"But, but we not bad anylonger. We're reformed, we're good guys now! It's not healthy to hold onto fear. As a therapist, I must encourage you to let go of those negative memories. How about this, if I forgive you, can you forgive changelings? Get rid of the jack-in-the-box, let go, and forgive. Please? That's fair, isn't it?"

Mayfair tried to put every once of encouragement and sincerity inside her into her words. It was harder that it should have been. She couldn't forget that she could have been one of those dead changelings, but she felt a pressure lift off her chest as she said the words, and found she meant then whole heartedly. 

Forgive, and be forgiven. Let go, and offer your hoof for the other pony to take.

"That's not how it works. And I said you don't have to accept my apology if you don't want to."

"But I do want to. I do want to forgive. I want everypony to forgive."

Scenic's grimace was pained, eyes behind his glasses darting away, "You don't have to forgive me, but I don't have to forgive changelings either, even if I'm now over it. Although I do I wish I had even half the positivity you seem to."

"You don't have to wish, you can be. You can forgive and let go. Anypony at all can!"

Scenic shook his head to himself, "You really do practice what you preach. That's... that's some real strong conviction you have. I wish more ponies were like you. You're a better pony than me." He sounded surprised.

"I'm not trying to be a better pony than anypony else. I can only try to be the very best pony I can be."

"Best changeling, you mean. The very best changeling." Scenic corrected.

"Hey now, I'm trying. All of us lings are." She defended King Thorax and the new hive.

Mayfair got a confused, disconnected blink in return, "Huh? What? That's...? Oh, oh no that isn't what I meant. I only meant, you're not a pony, so why should you have to pretend to be one? We're really not as great as we make ourselves out to be. This is something my friends had to hammer into me, but there's a lot of other pon-people, a lot of other people out there in the world, you know? Griffins, diamond dogs, zebras, dragons, all kinds. You don't have to be a 'pony' when you can be yourself."

"Oh, and deer, deer too. I can't forget about the deer holts." Scenic added on.

Mayfair didn't think she really agreed with that. Ponies were the greatest, they were the ones so full of love that they'd managed to reformed the changelings, after all. And why else would the old Queen have been so obsessed with replacing them? But Mayfair was making the choice not to disagree. So she let herself be distracted by something else he'd said, not that it took much doing.

"Deer? I've never met any, or met anypony or ling who's met any deer either. Are they nice?" Belatedly, she remembered that as a therapist, she was also supposed to have been respecting boundaries and not pushing in the first place. Oops. Maybe she should have tried to get more therapist training before volunteering?

"They are. The deer certainly seem to have it all figured out, they're much happier than most ponies I know, not worrying about the rat race and living with nature instead."

"Rat racing?"

But Scenic didn't seem to hear that, his head cocked in memory, "Yeah, both times I met a deer holt, that was the impression I got. Or would have gotten, if not for the reaper... ehm. Yes. The deer are reclusive, but also open, if that makes sense. They're content with their lot in life. I wish there were more of them in Equestria."

"How many different deer clans have you met?" Mayfair was intrigued.

"Holts. They don't really have clans, only holts, which are more like big extended families they live and travel in. And, twice. I've met two deer holts. Which really isn't a lot, now that I think about it. That second deer holt I met, later that is, and I got much a better picture of their normal lives without some danger constantly hanging over our heads..."

She tasted melancholy then, and wistfulness. Scenic shook himself where he sat on the couch, "You'd have to meet and live with a deer holt for a week to really get it. I'm not sure how Crimson even knew they were in that area, but next thing I knew, I'd already bought a train ticket and was riding out to the border. I just had to go and see to confirm if I hadn't imagined that feeling of freeness the first time, you know? For myself. To know what our first meeting could've been, if things had been different."

"Sure? Maybe. Okay, no I don't really get it, but if it was good then I'm happy for you. Maybe one day I'll get to visit a deer holt myself. I hope so, since you say they're so nice."

"They are. They're a bit like you, actually. Up front, a bit blunt, but completely honest in not meaning anything by it. Also unfailingly polite. They take guest rites very seriously." Scenic recalled.

"Why not live like them, then? It sounds like you loved it."

He sighed, "Because I'm too 'civilized'. I'm pampered and soft. I couldn't rough it like they do, having to fetch and carry my own water, gather my own food, carry my own bed. The deer live in tandum with the very real danger of real predators, too. I stayed with that second holt for a week, but, I guess it was more like a once in a life time camping trip of self discovery. Plus Carton wouldn't want to, either. And what about our foal? No, he needs to grow up with other ponies his own age. And what if he go sick out there in the middle of nowhere, what then? No, I couldn't live like the deer do." Scenic shook his head.

"Don't you think that you could try to become more like them, though? Just a bit, not the whole way, but maybe some of it?"

"Like what?"

"Like, maybe trying to be more like the deer themselves? Maybe get rid of the jack-in-the-box and live freer instead?"

Scenic's face closed, but Mayfair had to try, she couldn't just ignore something which killed changelings. "Wait wait, just hear me out! That box isn't good, you know it's not good, you're feeling guilty and apologising for it. You're unhappy, upset, this horrible jack-in-the-box thing isn't helping you, it's hurting you."

"My family's safety comes before my guilt. Sorry. But they're always going to be my priority."

Mayfair tried to think of something that would get through to Scenic, that would convince him. If only King Thorax were here. She was just a volunteer, amateur therapist.

"...It's, but, that thing's illegal." She finally tried. It was the wrong thing to say, but come on, surely this should have been obvious already?

"I don't care. Or rather, I don't care about that more than I care about my family. Besides..." Scenic hesitated, then obviously decided it didn't matter.

"Besides, it just comes back on it's own."

"Huh?" Mayfair asked intelligently.

"After the first-After the Royal Wedding, when they were doing the clean up and investigating, the Guards seized the jack-in-the-box. They returned it two weeks later saying there was nothing in it, and fined me for wasting Guard time. They gave me back the empty box, it was definitely the same box, but it was empty. I thought it'd all been used up or something, but when I went into the spare room, there was another jack-in-the-box. Exactly the same, just a tiny bit smaller. It fitted perfectly inside the bigger empty box. So perfectly I couldn't get it back out or even see the seam. And then I had only the one jack-in-the-box again."

That was really not what Mayfair had wanted to hear. Especially not here, and not now, in this very house, with the sun gone and darkness here.

She looked around the living room with all it's paintings, afraid that at any moment she might see... she wasn't sure exactly what. Not a box, she wasn't scared of a box. But what was inside the jack-in-the-box? What did it look like? She vaguely knew it was supposed to be attached to some coil or something, but what if it could somehow climb out, and walk around? How would she know what she was even supposed to be looking out for?

"You don't have to stay here, you can leave whenever you want. I'm sorry for scaring you. You don't have to stay." Scenic said. Oops again. He'd caught her looking at the door. He read of guilty concern to Mayfair's taste.

And strangely, bizarrely, conversely, his guilty concern abruptly smothered Mayfair's need to get out of here.

For a moment, she'd forgotten she wasn't trapped here, and that she was free to leave whenever she wanted. It had only taken being reminded of her freedom to banish her building fears. Because why was she here today, or tonight, in Canterlot?

She was here to help ponies.

"Well, have you tried to get rid of the box yourself?"

"No. Weren't you listening? I don't want to get rid of it, even if I don't like it." Scenic sighed tiredly.

"Well, there we go then. That's your next step. Trying for yourself." Mayfair announced.

Scenic stared at her. He glanced around the otherwise empty room at a loss, and then back to her, "I just, I literally just said-It protects me and my family. I don't want to get rid of it."

"I know," Mayfair chirped, "That's why I said it's your next step. Improvement is all about setting yourself goals. So that can be your goal for next time."

Scenic rubbed hard at his ear, "Next time-? Are you not hearing me? Or are you just not understanding? I don't want to get rid of it."

"But you know you should." Mayfair didn't miss a beat, "It's bad, you know it is. It hurts ponies, and that makes you unhappy because you know its bad."

"But I won't, because the alternative is worse if something does ever happen again." The earth pony insisted.

"If the alternative is worse, then just find a alternative to that alternative." She would not be deterred!

"For b-" Scenic cut himself off from whatever he'd been going to say next and rubbed his forehead with his fetlock, "This is going round in circles and nowhere fast." He muttered.

"It doesn't have to, you can change that at any time you want." Mayfair assured him, with all the encouragement she could muster, which was quite a considerable amount.

Scenic rolled his head around on his neck bonelessly, ending up staring up at the ceiling, "No, it's not going to suddenly change, you and me are in complete disagreement."

"That can also change."

"Yeah, it could. You could stop asking for what isn't going to happen."

"It's not impossible. Nothing is impossible if we just work together."

Scenic swivelled an eye down from the ceiling to give her a disbelieving look, "No."

"Please?"

Another heavy, expresive sigh, and Scenic went back to staring up at the ceiling, "I won't be nagged. Stop it."

"Well, how about instead-oh wow, you painted your ceiling too?" Mayfair got distracted as she finally looked up.

Well obviously, the ceiling was painted, but Mayfair meant painted like the pictures filling the room. She just hadn't noticed until now because she hadn't looked at the ceiling in any great detail, and because the painting was very subtle. The ceiling was already a washed white, and the painted picture was only made up of similar subtle shades, like creams, ghostly pale blues, and the lightest of greys. As a result, you could easily miss the picture unless you were looking straight up at it.

But Mayfair was now looking, and she saw it.

It was a sky of falling snow.

It was a gentle, silent scene. It gave the impression of depth, staring up into a white sky, snow flakes drifting down on every side of you.

The longer Mayfair stared up into it, the more depth the painting seemed to gain. You just had to relax, and one by one, the impressions slowly revealed themselves to you. White... silence... muffled... drifting... cold... snow...

She had only ever seen snow on distant mountain peaks within Equestria's borders, when the pony weather teams brought winter around. There had never been any snow in the barren, sun scorched Badlands, no matter how bitterly cold it got at night.

Mayfair had never seen a snow fall, but this, this felt like seeing snow. As if she flew up, she would be able to feel the cold bite of snowflakes melting on her carapace.

She kept looking up, because it was the gradual, building kind of fascinating you could lose yourself in. If she just let herself imagine, she could almost hear the near silent shush of wind, feel it swirling around her hooves, the crisp, ice-cold air on her tongue.

The subtlest brush stokes of grey could become the impression of a dozen different things the longer you watched. They danced and swirled into new shapes whenever you weren't directly looking, only visible out of the corner of a relaxed eye. A swirl of snow in the air, then a cloud, then a billow of ice, or a distant blizzard, or a hidden figure, nearly anything.

Mayfair was captivated. It was so realistic, she could even imagine herself growing cold. Or her breath frosting. Her extremities slowly cooling. Her wings buzzing with a rattling shiver.

"It's beautiful." She let out a long breath of contentment as she stared up. Her breath blew away in a billow of white.

Mayfair's heart missed a beat. She went cross-eyed. Very slowly, she huffed out a tiny, nervous breath.

The wisp of white, frozen breath blew away.

"I don't like to blow my own trumpet, but I do think it's beautiful too, thank you." Scenic's voice was very loud in the muffled snowfield of silence.

Mayfair jerked her head down and away from the snow painting. Abruptly, it felt like she'd surfaced from a film of water.

She gasped in a breath, the air suddenly almost hot after the winters numbing cold.

"Wha-? Who-? No, why? How?" She spluttered, glancing back and forth between Scenic and the ceiling.

Scenic shrugged self-consciously, but Mayfair tasted an undertone of quiet pride, "It's a magical painting. It's my job. A stallion needs to be willing and able to support his family."

"Bu-bu-but!" She pointed at him, up, back down, at everything, "But how!? That's, wow, impossible, how?"

"Magic of course, that's how. A memory magically painted into the painting. I'm no unicorn, but that doesn't mean I can use magic of a different kind. Or sort of guide it, at least. But it's really, really, really hard to do. It took months to paint this ceiling, you know."

"It's amazing." Mayfair finally settled on.

Scenic smiled for the first time, looking up at his hoof work, "Thanks."

"How did you discover this?"

"I just woke up one day and the idea was in my head, to try to paint a memory. It... seemed to come almost naturally when I finally put brush to canvas." He gave a modest shrug.

"I've never seen anything like it. Are you a really famous artist? Who else can do this?" 

"Nopony else can. Well, no pony else in Canterlot, at least. And, sorta famous? But I don't sign my name on my paintings, but they go for quite a lot at auctions. Quite a few rich ponies just seem to love them. Not all of them, but quite enough to corner my own little slice of the pie. However some ponies just don't like the effect. Don't know why."

He vaguely waved a hoof, "Say that it feels creepy to them. 'S'probably why they only sell for good money, not stupid rich money. Still, I've got a budding circle of collectors amongst the nobility who snap them up whenever I sell a new one. As long as there's a market for them, I'm good."

"I like them. You should sign your name, it's amazing." She gasped, looking around at all the other paintings on the walls, but none of them moved, "How may more have you done? Can I see them?"

Scenic looked over sharply, "Don't go around telling everypony. I purposefully sell them anonymously for a reason. It takes a long time and a tonne of work to paint even one memory. I don't want hoyti-toiti self-stylized art critic collectors bugging me or my family. I don't owe anypony any more of my time or talent than I'm willing to sell. I do it to support my family, they're who I want to really spend my time with. Understand?"

Mayfair held her hoof up to her green chest plate, "I Pinkie promise I won't."

"You what promise?"

"Pinkie promise? Princess Twilight says its the best and only promise to use between friends. And if you break it then you can't be friends anymore."

Scenic narrowed his scarred eyes behind his glasses, "That's stupid. Ponies argue and make up all the time. That's how life works-You know what, forget that, it's not important. Do you promise to keep this to yourself? I really don't want my free time with my family getting affected."

"Yep, I promise I will keep it secret."

Mayfair felt Scenic's nervous tension partly dissipate, "Thank you. And yeah, not to toot my own trumpet, but it is rather special. I've tried to teach a few other close friends how to paint with memory and magic, but nopony else can do it. So far, anyways." He looked back up at the snow sky.

"Well it's very lovely, whatever the reason is." Mayfair too looked up again. The magic of the snow sky painting didn't immediately suck her back in. It was slow, gradual, and now that she was aware of it, she needed to want to be drawn into the effect. She wanted to touch the cold flakes, feel that quite cold.

"So cool." She repeated quietly, just to herself.

It really was incredibly cool. Yet even so, now knowing she could experience the snowy effect whenever she wanted just by looking up, she couldn't help but wonder what else Scenic had painted? What other scenes and landscapes?

Mayfair stole a hungry glance at the covered big painting under it's cloth. Was it too another magical painting? It was big enough at least, so it must be special. What could it be of? A sunny beach? A breezy meadow? A blooming woodland?
She didn't want to be rude, but she also really really wanted to see.

Temptation snuck up her horn, coalescing into a sheen of green telekinesis magic that wanted to reach out and pull the cloth aside.

Scenic was an artist, he wouldn't mind showing off his work now would he? This whole room was hung with his normal works in every size, after all. It was a near thing. Mayfair only just managed to stop herself by instead asking for permission. Permission first, then she could look:

"Is that big one there another magical painting? Can I see it? Please pretty please?"

Scenic looked behind himself to follow her pointing chitin armoured foreleg. When he realised which one she was asking about, a momentary spike of intense suspicion and defensiveness lashed invisibly out. It was just an instinctive reaction, there and gone, but for that one second, it had been there.

"Oh, ah, never mind. Forget I asked." Mayfair hastily lowered her pointing hoof.

"That painting's not for... it's not ready yet. Not finished. You wouldn't want to look at it anyways." Scenic said evasively.

So why was it hanging in the middle of the living room, then? If it was still being worked on, shouldn't it be on an easel waiting for brushes to apply paint instead? Or something similar. Mayfair didn't know how different 'painting magic' was to 'mundane painting', after all.

"Oh? What's it going to be of when it's finished?" She felt she had to ask.

"It's a who, not what." The answer seemed to have slipped out of Scenic without meaning to, because sour tasting annoyance immediately followed it.

After a comment like that, curiosity didn't so much as get the better of Mayfair, rather that it held her mouth hostage and demanded she asked. Her solid blue eyes practically sparkled as she just had to know; "You can magically paint real ponies too?! What are they like? Can they talk? Are they like the real pony or are they-?"

The baleful glare Scenic was giving her was very effective for stomping her curiosity back into line. Ponies glared very differently to changelings, and frankly, Mayfair thought they were rubbish at it, glaring just didn't suit their fuzzy faces, but by some quirk, Scenic's glare somehow still was.

"-Shutting up and not asking anymore questions." Mayfair shut her mandibles over her mouth contritely.

Scenic glare kept up for a long minute. Mayfair ducked her head, glancing away and fidgeting on the cushions. Finally though, he relented.

Scenic slumped and sighed. He rubbed clumsily at the bridge of his muzzle, glasses riding up, "You're exactly what I imagine Taffy was like as a foal to a 't'."

"Who's Taffy? Is she nice?"

"My point exactly," Scenic resettled his glasses and opened his tired brown eyes, "I think we should call it a day here. It's late, and I doubt either of us is going to convince the other. You came here to help Carton with her fear, and thank you for that, but she's done for the day, and I'm not personally interested in your therapist services any further. 

Scenic stood from his couch, brushing off where he'd been laying with a parting flick of his tail over the cushion, "Thank you for coming out, but we're done for the day."

Mayfair's heart fell. They were done. She hadn't succeeded. She drooped, "Oh. Okay."

Dejectedly, Mayfair got off of her own couch, vaguely clawed hooves not so much solidly 'clopping' on the floorboards like a ponies did, as much as 'clacking'.

"What's with the sudden reversal of attitude?" Scenic questioned.

"I was just trying to help." Mayfair mumbled, looking down.

"I said we're done for the day. Not that we're done forever."

Mayfair looked up, "We're not? But, but you said..."

"If you recall, I said real therapy takes time. Carton isn't going to overcome her fears with only one session. If she still wants to do this now, it will take repeat visits."

He paused, blinking in consideration, "Ah, only if you want to come back, that is. This isn't an obligation. Or if any changeling wants to take your place. I get it if you don't want to come again, that's only fair."

Mayfair almost immediately blurted out that she'd love to come back, but if today had taught her nothing else, it had at least taught her to spend longer thinking before she spoke. So she stopped and actually thought about the question properly first. Today had not all been happy, and Scenic and Carton were not what she'd been expecting. Would she really be happy to come back?

And the answer she found after looking inside was; "Yes. Yes I will come again. I want to be a therapist, because I want to help."

"You don't have to, and you're allowed to change your mind," Scenic cautioned, "In your place, I probably wouldn't want to set hoof inside my house again. But you could just be braver than me. If you do come again, please let us know in advance this time, alright?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. It just, it just didn't even occur to me."

Scenic eyed her, looking her changeling physiology up and down without a flinch, "Thank you. If you do change your mind though, can you please see if another of your brothers? Sisters? Another changeling would be willing to come in your place. I'll pay for their time either way, which reminds me, how much do I owe you for today?"

"No no no, I'm a volunteer therapist, I don't get paid." Mayfair protested.

Scenic frowned, "You guys, you do understand commerce and money, right? You've been taught about all of that, right?"

"Oh yeah, Princess Twilight taught us allllll about that to, she had loads of blackboards and everything. You ponies do things weirdly, we don't use money in the hive, but we do have a bunch of gold bits for pony stuff." Mayfair relayed proudly.

"That's... kind of interesting. Another time, maybe. But I'm still paying you, if you're employed in a profession, ponies need to pay you to perform it."

Mayfair reared up and crossed her forelegs in an 'X' of negation. It was a pose she'd seen a pony do before and she'd really wanted to try it out for herself, "Nope nope nope, you can't pay me. Really! As in, it's the law. I'm not a fully qualified therapist, that means, I can only volunteer as one if I don't get paid for it."

"So you're basically an intern, then?"

"What's an intern?"

"Unpaid slave labour," Scenic muttered to the floor, and then at normal volume, "It's somepony who agrees to forego a wage in return for job experience."

"That sounds right. That's me then, I'm a volunteer intern therapist!" She declared

"...Right. Well, I can just pay you and you not tell anypony."

Mayfair shook her head, still holding the pose, "No. That would be against the law."

"Of course. And you take the law very, very seriously at all times. Alright, I won't press then." Scenic sighed.

Why was he sighing? She hadn't really offended him, had she? Mayfair had thought ponies tried to hold onto their little circular gold bits as tightly as possible, but Scenic seemed really keen on paying her.

But at least he'd finally let it drop now, because Mayfair wasn't going to break the law, even a small law, because keeping all of the laws was vitally important for getting ponies to trust changelings again. King Thorax had said so, so she was absolutely going to stick to all the laws.

Abruptly Scenic said, "I don't really know you well enough yet, but I think you're probably a good po-person. Person."

Embarrassed warmth rose in Mayfair's chest, "Daww, thank you, but it's nothing."

Scenic shrugged, "It's not nothing, and it's also why I'm prepared to have you back."

He said it so simply, but Mayfair thought that if it had not been the case, she would never have been welcomed back into this house. And she deeply wanted to return again. Both to experience the magical snow painting again, and to help.
It made the warmth in her chest spread even further, rising high enough to even enter her voice as a happy buzz:

"I will be back, I promise! And I also promise to try my very best to help Carton Juice."

"If you're offering, then I'll hold you to that." Scenic nodded, and gestured Mayfair after him, leading the way to the front door.

Outside, night had truly fallen, but it wasn't actually that dark. All the ambient light in Canterlot, (even here in this more isolated cul-de-sac with only one street lamp), meant there was enough to see by. Also, changelings had decent night vision.

But despite the not too-dark night, Mayfair was a bit surprised that Scenic did not step out onto his porch, not setting a single hoof out past the pool of light spilling from his open door.

Mayfair turned around, standing on the porch. She looked at Scenic. Scenic looked at her. The moment stretched on into uncomfortable.

"So, uh, thank you for coming." Scenic coughed.

"Thank you for having me. Again. And I'll come back. Again."

"Yes. Well, that's the plan."

She kept looking expectantly at Scenic. Scenic looked back at her. 

Scenic cleared his throat, "You know your way back in the dark?" He asked.

"Yep. I'll just fly up, and follow the city edge until I get back to the main gate. I need to return this to the Guards and tell them I've left." Mayfair nodded, wiggling her forehoof with the tracker band locked around it.

"Ah. Of course. Just fly, much easier."

"Yep yep." Mayfair agreed again. She kept standing there on the porch. 

Why were they just standing here staring at each other? She was missing something here, she was sure of it. What could it be?

"So. Goodbye?" Scenic finally suggested.

Oh, of course! It was a proper farewell, that's what she was forgetting.

Mayfair stood to attention, puffing out her chest, and enthusiastically listed out all the pony goodbyes she knew, "Farewell, good night, sweet dreams, goodbye, until next time, tata, sleep well, so long, Celestia bless you, and adios!"

Scenic slowly blinked. He half raised one brown furred foreleg, then lowered it. She tasted faint bemusement.

"Yes. Goodbye Mayfair." He finally settled upon.

"I'll be back next week, I promise-Oh? Who's this?" Mayfair tilted her mandibles up in surprise. She rose onto her hoof-claw tips and craned her neck to see over Scenic's head.

Scenic spun around in the doorway to look behind. His ears went up in surprise on his head:

"What're you still doing up? It's well past your bedtime, young stallion."

Out of one of the dark doors at the end of the corridor, a small colt was peeking. No, peeking was not the right word, peeking implied shyness. The grey furred colt was 'peering' out at them, making no move to duck and hide now that he'd been spotted.

"Didn't your mother put you to bed?" Scenic asked, relaxing.

The silent colt nodded solemnly.

Scenic sighed, "Okay, where is she? Did she forget to read you a story?"

A small foreleg was levelled with all the authority of the Princesses at the other closed door, never breaking eye contact.

"She put you to bed, and then went to bed," Scenic sighed regretfully, "Tonight's meeting really took it out of her."

There hadn't been any question in there, and the colt didn't give any answer, instead continuing his intense scrutiny. Specifically, of Mayfair herself.

It must be his first time ever seeing a reformed changeling in his young life. And he wasn't bursting into tears or screaming! Thrilled delight nearly set her jigging in place, but no, she forced herself to stay still in case she startled the colt like she might some small cute furry animal. Pony foals were just so very different from changeling grubs!

Scenic noticed the direction of his young son's gaze too. For half a second, all the muscles in his back tensed, but then he relaxed and moved aside, "Did you hear us talking? Did you want to see who our guest was, is that it?"

Another solemn nod from the grey colt in the bedroom doorway.

"Well..." Scenic hesitated, "...Well if you're still awake anyway, why don't you come say hello? But it's straight off to bed afterwards, understand?"

"Yes, papa." The colt spoke carefully, shaping each word in full, but even so, they couldn't prevent a high, childish lisp. Mayfair only kept from squealing through an effort of supreme will.

She was practically vibrating in place as the little colt stepped out of their bedroom door and trotted up. The law said changelings weren't allowed to approach any foals without the parents permission, but Scenic had given his permission, and the colt was approaching her, not the other way around!

It was only then though, as the greyish white colt stepped into the hallway's light, that Mayfair noticed it. Or rather them. Two of them.

A pair of wings. Small, folded feathered wings adorning the young colts sides. The tiny feathers were a paler shade of soft grey, all aside from the very ends, which were all tipped in black.

Mayfair's traitorous mouth spoke before she could stop it, "Oh, so you adopted-?"

*Smack* With great alacrity, but not enough, her hoof tried to cover her jaws, hard carapace smacking on carapace.

"I'm so sorry." She tried to get out around her blocking hoof, insectile eyes wide. How could she have blurted that?! What if Scenic and Carton couldn't have foals of their own? What if the foal didn't know he was adopted? What about any number of other things?

"Nah. Everypony asks, but no. It's really rare, but sometimes it happens if you've got a pegasus in your family tree. Carton's great grandfather was a pegasus it turns out," Scenic chuckled, "Heh, we're both not looking forwards to when his wings are strong enough that he starts flying everywhere. I've heard it's hard enough for pegasi parents. Luckily, we've got a good pegasus family friend who's promised to help."

"Ah, ah-ha-ha." Mayfair laughed, relieved. She crouched down to get closer to the colt's head height.

"Hello there buddy, I'm Mayfair. I'm a reformed changeling, and it's wonderful to meet you." She smiled widely at him.

And just like his dad didn't he did not flinch or look away from her mandibles and teeth. Mayfair thought that he was cute, of course he was, all foals and grubs were cute and special, but the colts grey eyes solemnly studying her in a grey face, with a grey mane and tail, and mostly grey wings, well... it was a bit unfortunate on the poor colt. Grey on grey, not even a hint of brown or speckles like his two parents. It meant his eyes looked sort of flat and dull, for all the young intelligence in them. And he couldn't change his appearance like a changeling could.

"What do we say in return?" Scenic prompted his colt.

"Hello, Mayfair." The colt carefully lisped up at her, still carefully studying her.

His emotions were very calm for a foals, very balanced. As she smiled and stared back into those oh-so expressive pony eyes, no matter their youth, Mayfair thought she saw something. 

"It's nice to meet you." She told him.

He considered, then nodded just once back up at her, "Nice to meet you too."

"Mayfair came to try to help mama and papa today. She's going to be coming around again in the future, maybe you can ask her questions then, alight?" Scenic gently nudged his small son's shoulder, "But now, it really is past your bed time. Off you go."

Another careful bob of the colt's head, "Yes papa. Night watch over you." He lisped.

Mayfair had not heard that pony form of good night before. He must have picked it up from his parents, because Scenic repeated it right back, "Night watch over you. Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite."

Mayfair waved happily after the departing pegasus foal. Now she had another good reason to look forwards to coming back next week.

"You have a lovely colt." She told Scenic.

"We do. Me and Carton couldn't be luckier."

"What's his name?"

Scenic blinked, surprised. Then he smiled. It was crooked.

"Gloom. In memory of an old, lost friend."


---I---

> 2. Good Business Transactions - 1004 A.C.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Year 1004 A.C.

---[[[]]]---

The floating key dropped out of the unicorn's silvery aura into her nervously waiting talons.

"The second floor you may use as your personal living quarters. You may bring in personal affects. You may not paint, nail up any pictures, or otherwise damage the walls. You may rearrange any furniture inside the flat. You may not rearrange any furniture on the ground floor inside the office. You may retire to the second floor during your lunch work hours. You may not take any documents to work on out of the ground office. You must be available in the office during the hours of eight until five every day."

"Yes, Miss." Yevetta made sure she was remembering all of the rules as her new boss, a pony, flatly laid out the rules. Yevetta needed this job, this place, this opportunity.

"You may bring in a cloud to use as a bed if you wish. You must clean up any leaks or water damage. Broken windows, furniture, or other damage you cause will be deducted from your wage. You will not be held responsible for damage caused by external factors. You may not bring around friends, family, or guests. You may not have a pet. You may not discuss private business information outside of work."

"Yes, miss." Yevetta said again, nodding along to prove she was paying close attention.

Her boss and landlord did not pause or halt in their dispassionate recital. There was something off about the thin pink mare. Something flat, uncaring. It showed in her eyes. Blank, and cold.

Yevetta was in absolutely no position to be picky. No matter what happened, she was going to have to bite her beak, hunker down, and do whatever it took to keep this job.

This wasn't Griffonia, this was Equestria. The only direction left was down for a griffin like her if this didn't work out. 

Her pride flared at the thought of acting so meek. If this had been a month ago, she might even have listened to her stung pride. But that was back before it had gotten so bad. Now, the harsh necessity of reality yanked pride back by the tail, and clubbed it over the head. Harsh necessity, and one other good reason stayed her tongue and kept her eyes lowered, as ponies disliked griffin eye contact.

"You may make, and are expected to, offer suggestions relating to the running of the business. You may not make business purchases without prior permission. You are expected to work to the best of your ability. You may not slack. You may leave early on work days if you are taking cheques or bits to be banked. You may not steal or keep any for yourself."

Yevetta did not squawk or flare her wings at the insinuation, because she had the impression her new boss would've said the exact same thing to any pony employee too.

"Yes, Miss Lemon Pink."

And that other last good reason? The thin pink pony was genuinely intimidating. 

A griffin, being intimidated by a pony! Yevetta was ashamed.

But pride didn't put food on the table here in Equestria, where hunting was illegal, where meat was taboo, where it was even more expensive to come by, and where stealing would swiftly get her deported. This was just a business transaction.

As they said back in the Southern Kingdom; "Needs must when the winter gales drive".


---


Griffonia was, at present, hostile to Equestria. That was a fact. Just ask anyone with a modicum of political awareness.

Griffonia had closed its borders and ejected all non-native born ponies a year ago. That also was a fact.

The real reason why though, if indeed there was just one reason, was a mystery though. Equestrian and Griffonian official statements both said many different and contradictory things, and everyone had their own personal pet theory.

Another fact though? Almost nopony in Equestria cared one whit. What happened outside the borders of Equestria, could stay outside the border of Equestria, and good riddance.

And the ones who were suffering the most from cutting off trade with the wealthiest trade nation on the known planet? It was Griffonia. Fact.

It was into this rapidly plummeting griffin economy that Yevetta had come of age, looked around, and realised yet another fact. She had no prospects in Griffonia.

As one of an ever increasing flock of unemployed young adults, all competing for the same dwindling pool of underpaid jobs, as the oldest of four of her struggling, recently widowed mother, Yevetta had to do something drastic if she wanted to survive. Those were just the facts.

Things might be different over here, but back home, when a griffin reached of age, they were expected to go out and find employment. Fact. Here, young ponies might be allowed and even encouraged to flitter about like ditzy bees, trying whatever caught their fancy in the all important quest to find their 'One-true-special-talent', but in Griffonia, it was very culturally accepted to be earning money and supporting yourself the moment you were able. 

And the sad fact was, that no matter how much it would make other griffins call her a traitor alicorn-worshipper, was that the rich, golden sun-kissed lands of Equestria looked a lot better than any of the alternatives to gain employment.

Yevetta had graduated in the top of her Equestrian language class, she knew all of their numbers and letters, had passed the basic years accountancy training she'd opted into after school before the border had closed. And Griffonia was freely letting griffins come and go. Just not ponies. Factually speaking, it was her best option.

So Yevetta took it. 


---


There were just a few facts that Yevetta had failed to properly consider before her inglorious arrival, in the company of a talonful of other griffins who'd braved the stigma and had the same idea. They'd all arrived, and wings aching from days of flying, and been escorted by a pair of pegasus Border Guards to an immigration processing office.

It really should have clicked before she spent that first fruitless day job hunting, that maybe a lone griffin in pony lands would be just as unpopular as a pony in griffin lands.

And secondly, just how utterly alone she would be. Nobody and nothing familiar to cling to. Nothing from home. 

Her surroundings here were all different. The customs were different, and nobody would explain what she was doing wrong. The trees, plants, and land were all different too. The weather was different and not how it should be. The language was different, and not at all like what she'd learnt in school because of the accents. She had so much trouble understanding the ponies when they both spoke too fast and their accent twisted the words, and they in turn didn't understand her warped accent and laughed at her behind raised forehooves.

Equestria was also more expensive, her kingdom coins were worth less, and nopony was looking to hire a job experienceless pony, let alone an experienceless griffon, not even on probation.

And meat, such a basic and accepted necessity of life back home in Griffonia that it hadn't even crossed her mind how it would not be readily available in Equestria. It had first angered her, and then frightened her when the realisation had fully sunken in.

That she was going to end up going hungry very soon when her coin ran out. It was a horrible, humiliating feeling which she couldn't get out of her chest.

The only meat trade which really existed within Equestria was the small time raising of pigs and chickens, which were then shipped off via rail to Griffonia. And Griffonia had now shut its borders against Equestrian trade. So what few butchers existed within Equestria to provide to the nations minority carnivorous residents, like griffins, were raising their prices to make up for their losses. 

Was she going to have to resort to begging on the street? No, no she couldn't. She wouldn't.

There was fishing all the way out on the coast, but again, that too was only to trade with Griffonia. And Yevetta didn't know how to fish beyond sticking a worm on a hook.

That had been the state of things a month ago, when Yevetta had arrived fresh from the immigration office.

Her dire situation had only steadily declined from there.


---


What were the chances that she ended up somehow ended up employed by one of the rare few meat producers in the whole of Equestria? The winds of fate must really have been blowing in her favour that day.

Yevetta hadn't the foggiest how her new boss had found her, or known that she was desperately searching for a job, or even that she had basic accountancy training. Because Lemon Pink certainly hadn't asked for any of that information from Yevetta herself.

The thin, cold eyed unicorn with her curved horn had simply appeared out of seemingly nowhere on the street, dressed in a tightly clasped travelling cloak she seemed to wear everywhere, and without asking a single question first, had offered Yevetta a probationary place in her new business.

Yevetta had of course immediately smelled a trap, but just as immediately pounced upon the offer, because she was desperate and didn't have any other options.

She'd been working for Lemon Pink for one week now, and no trap had yet been sprung.

So maybe there wasn't a trap at all? Ponies didn't seem the sort to go in for traps. And if worst came to worst, Yevetta was a griffin, she could take care of herself in a pinch.

A week spent in the technically new, small but neat office building. Technically, because it had recently been renovated. The base itself though was probably nearly as old as Canterlot was. The ground floor made up the actual office and occasionally used reception, and the second floor was Yevetta's personal accommodation. It was quite literally a live in job.

The office front was a bland, non-descript wood and glass window affair, which didn't actually give any hint to the business's actual profession. That 'profession' being meat. Because ponies didn't want to know about meat, or even acknowledge the quiet trade pig farmers ran. All the sign beside the plain front door said was; 'Eggs n' Benedict Co.'

Eggs n' Benedict Co. dealt in pork, poultry, and eggs, only the latter of which was actually advertised, the first two being too offensive for delicate pony sensibilities.

The small business mainly acted as an intermediary. They run any farms themselves, they simply bought up the produce from all the actual individual farms and then sold on in bulk without ever actually having to handle the goods themselves. Or at least the business used to, before the whole thing with the Griffonian border happened.

Only one week in, and Yevetta was already losing sleep privately panicking over if Eggs n' Benedict was going to go under. She'd only just taken over the books, but already she'd seen how they were making a steady loss each month as a result of the loss of trade with Griffonia. Not a big loss, they still had the egg trade, but it was still a loss! And it'd been going on for months.

Eggs n' Benedict Co. was a small time business. How could it keep manage to survive like this?

And yet, from the books records, every month the boss would make a deposit into the business to put the ledgers back into the green.

Yevetta pushed the ledger away and slumped back in her seat. She raked her talon's through her head feathers in worry and frustration as she sat there, a numbers induced headache coming on. She was only a new accountant, and what with having to translate everything from Equestrian in her head first, she was struggling. It was hard.

To her disgust, her talon came back with loose under-feathers in it. Was she literally losing her feathers with stress over her situation? But she was too young for that!

"Doesn't make sense. Just doesn't. How? Why isn't she cutting her losses and shutting it down?" She asked the empty office. And the question she didn't dare ask out-loud; 'How long can she afford to keep employing me?'

Was Lemon Pink secretly some entrepreneur? How could she keep affording to invest more? Was she secretly rich?

Well, maybe actually. Yevetta didn't know anything about her boss, she realised. The mare was very secretive. She could be rich or something.

Yevetta decided it would not be a good decision for her continuing state of employment to ask her boss.

Temptation, and the memory of her so recent desperation made Yevetta consider if she could get away with skimming from the business. She wrote the books and dealt with the money. She could do it if she wanted to, the opportunity was there.

But this wasn't Griffonia. The expectations were different here. And for some reason she couldn't pin down, Yevetta shied strongly away from the thought of stealing from her boss.

Not because of being intimidated, because street rats stole still from bigger and stronger griffons that they were also scared of. It was how high she judged the risk of getting caught.

Lemon Pink would catch her if she tried to steal. Fact. That was what Yevetta's instincts told her. The pink unicorn would somehow know, and then she'd be well and truly plucked.

No, she needed this job so badly. She wasn't going to ruin everything. She was going to keep her beak down, her claws clean, and be the honest, hardworking employee who survived.

"Your work has been acceptable. Here is your pay cheque."

"SKREEE! Mother of-!"

The ruler and pencil went flying across the office, and her stool hit the floor with a loud clatter.

Yevetta's boss stood inside of the shut front door which she hadn't seen, heard, nor noticed open or close.

Unmoving face framed by that razor straight mane, indigo eyes empty, and without a single twitch in her ears to indicate any sort of normal healthy emotion, Lemon Pink seemed to be nothing more than the unnerving mannequin she so resembled in that moment.

She didn't even raise an eyebrow at Yevetta's outburst for Four Winds sake!

Yevetta put a talon over her pounding heart, splayed feather's and fur all standing on end like a cat's.

"Bei den vier winden." She muttered, trying to regain control of her pulse.

"Your work has been acceptable. Here is your pay cheque." Lemon Pink repeated.

Still trying to get her painfully thudding heart back under control, Yevetta finally noticed the brown envelope levitating in her boss's inoffensive, pale silver magic. It was levitating right there in her periphery. And she hadn't noticed when it'd gotten there either.

Gingerly she plucked the envelope out of the air, avoiding the corner holding it by the silvery glow, and with a talon slit the paper flap open.

It was only after she'd suspiciously scanned to the bottom of the unfamiliar pony cheque layout, and confirmed that, yes, it matched her promised pay, that it occurred to Yevetta it might've been rude by pony standards to be doing so in front of her employer. And that she was also expected to say thankyou.

Hastily she shoved the cheque under a wing, secretly thrilled inside to have received her first pay day after so long in Equestria, and tried to get out a coherent thank you.

"Thanks, er, is much appreciated. I mean, boss. Yeah, Mrs. boss Lemon Pink miss." She snapped her beak shut.

There was a too long moment of stilted quiet, filling the dusty empty office between them.

Yevetta didn't like it. The dragged out moment of enforced quiet was stifling, like cobwebs settling over her face.

Just as she became uncomfortable enough to re-open her beak-

"You haven't attempted to skim or steal so far. Well done." 

Yevetta gaped, then bristled, anger flashing through her from nowhere. Her talons curled, digging up fine lines of sawdust out of the floor, "I. Didn't. Steal. Anything."

"Yes. I am aware. I just said so." Lemon did not appear the slightest bit intimidated.

Yevetta belatedly recalled the pay cheque under her wing, and also how badly she needed this job, and hurriedly modulated her tone and fervently hoping the grooves she'd clawed into the floorboards had gone unnoticed, "I, yes well, actually how would you even know? I could've for all you know. I haven't, but how would you know? Uh, boss." She added.

"I double checked."

"You... you double checked?" Yevetta stared. When had-? How? When had the weird unicorn had the time to double-check the books? Or access for that matter? Lemon had never stopped by the office for more than ten minutes during the day, just to look in.

The nasty thought that the silent mare had slipped in and back out of the office during the dead of night, while she'd slept on oblivious overhead, made itself known.

"Uh... yeah, well I didn't steal nothing." Yevetta finished weakly, neck feathers prickling.

"Yes. Your competence is also acceptable, as evidenced by your work. Improvement will come with experience as your Equestrian improves. Again, also acceptable." Lemon stated, and then just stopped talking and let the words hang. The stifling silence descended again.

Yet again, Yevetta was just about to open her beak to say anything to cut the silence and was too slow.

"If you intend to remain in my employee long term, you will require further training. You may decline this option, but you will be more dispensable and easier to replace if you do."

The blunt, unfeeling words were like a slab upside the head. The way Lemon just straight up stated them, all the while looking coldly bored, it was... And those words, "trained", "dispensable", it put Yevetta in mind of a hound.

But no, she needed this job, she needed this room and pay. And rationally, she knew her boss must mean 'business' training.

Yevetta swallowed her unease, and then her pride next with a harder swallow, and carefully asked; "What kind of training are we talking here?"

Lemon Pink didn't even blink. Actually, when had she last blinked? "One working day a week, I will send you to college to study for an accountancy degree. This will be during normal work hours, and no longer. Your pay will not be affected. The course fees will be covered." 

Yevetta only had to think about it for a few seconds before coming to the conclusion she really didn't want to be the lone griffin in a classroom surrounded by staring ponies. It also only took a few seconds to realise that for the sake of her continued employment, she likewise had to continue doing what the boss wanted.

And the boss wanted her to get a pony degree.

So she nailed a griffish grin onto her beak, and answered; "Sure thing boss. You just tell me when and where."

Holding the grin became a stain as an oppressive silence stretched out between them. Like there were invisible audience of unblinking eyes hiding in the corners of the office, staring, watching.

"Very well. You will be informed nearer to the time, then." Lemon finally broke it.

Yevetta wasn't sure how she expected the unicorn to leave, but simply walking out of the door was not it. But that's what happened, the door opening and shutting behind her boss's tail without barely a whisper. Lemon Pink had seemingly appeared from nowhere, why shouldn't she disappear similarly too? Powerful horned ponies could teleport, Yevetta knew. Was Lemon Pink not actually powerful?

Physical power or mastery mattered a fair amount to griffins. It was a metric you judged both yourself and other griffins by. You had to take pride in your power, as well as defend it. You weren't allowed to falsely brag though, it had to be the truth. Only teenagers and chicks falsely bragged.

But... that thought didn't fit Yevetta's feeling on Lemon Pink. She realised that despite now living in Equestria, she in reality knew almost nothing for a fact about pony magic. Just what she'd observed day-to-day, and what she'd been told.

'If she didn't teleport in, then how'd she get inside without me noticing at all?' She thought. Her tail arched and stood on end. She found she disliked that possibility even more somehow.

Yevetta didn't manage to get to sleep that night until she'd tied strings of tins and cutlery as a makeshift alarm to the insides of her door's handle and window latches.





Yavetta had been working here in Eggs n' Benedict's out of the way office for a month, and she'd just about settled into the daily work routine. 

Just last week for example, she'd finally managed to get the bank to agree to give her an overnight deposited box, so she could drop off the daily earnings without having to actually go into the bank and queue. She was really sick and tired of the bank teller ponies asking her the full list of the same security questions each and every time, simply because she wasn't a native.

Like, she came in every other day. After the first few times, they knew perfectly well who she was. Besides, why did they even care when she was giving them money, not taking it out?

As a griffin, Yevetta had stood her ground and loudly demanded to know why right there infront of the teller's counter. She wasn't going to take passive abuse from nobody! But the stuck up manager who'd come over to deal with her had looked down his punchable pony muzzle at her citing, "Rules" and "Moving with the times".

Anyway, the point was, Yevetta was just starting to relax, just starting to get comfortable that she was not going to be forced back out onto the street because of something stupid. Lemon Pink didn't care if she was a griffin or a pony, because the pink mare seemed to disdain everyone equally, regardless of race.

And then a month in, her boss appeared out of nowhere, (as always), making her nearly die of a heart attack, (as always), and threw her previous routine out the window with both of its wings broken.

Yevetta had been working behind the desk on balancing off a customers credit account at the time. She'd looked up, and found her boss standing on the other side of the table.

"SKRE-! B-boss lady."

Lemon Pink had on her near omni-present short travelling cloak, as well as a completely plain sunhat pushed back and hanging by a string. It was sunny outside, because it was always sunny outside in the capital. Canterlot made it so.

Lemon Pink had stepped around the desk, coming up next to Yevetta. She scooted away on her seat from the pink mare before she could stop herself.

She wasn't in Yevetta's personal space, but... if she dared to reach out and lay her palm against the mare's nearly unhealthily slender neck, there above the cloaks' thick collar and that silver choker, would the close-cropped pink fur actually be warm? Or cold like a snakes?

A jolt had gone through Yevetta, and she had to hastily stop her wings from giving her away as she'd caught a glimpse of a very nasty looking twisted scar on her boss's neck, mostly hidden by mane.

"Your pass, induction booklet, and student ID." Lemon said blandly, lightly slapping down a brown paper packet. It was a very precise slap. It didn't touch any of the things Yevetta already had on the desk.

Yevetta had hesitated, then picked up the packet and shook out the contents. A sheaf of documents, a brightly coloured poster declaring 'Welcome!', and a rectangular badge on a lanyard with her name stencilled on it slid out.

"Your accountancy course starts tomorrow at nine a.m. sharp. Be there early by half-eight. Take a note book and pencils. A packed lunch is optional. You are excused from your normal work duties. Put up the closed sign when you leave in the morning." Lemon Pink had blinked her cold, lifeless eyes down at the seated Yevetta, "Don't be late."

The suddenness of finding out you were enrolled to start a course the very next morning wasn't what had destroyed Yevetta's routine, although it had played a part.

What had really done it though was turning up at the academy's address the next morning, and discovering just where she'd been enrolled.

It was in Upper Canterlot.

On a full on, expansive campus.

With prestigious educational awards.

Full of upper-class unicorns.


---


Utterly out of place, with a buffer ring of empty seats on her every side, Yevetta sat at her desk in her first class of 'Tax Law and Higher Business Studies', surrounded by staring unicorns on every side.

The classroom was big, bright, white, and sunny. Every person in here, rather every pony in here, was her age or older. She was likely the youngest here. 

And absolutely, positively, and very, very, very conspicuously, she was the only bird-lion in the whole place.

Yevetta's wings were stiff against her sides, and she was having to sit on the end of her tail to keep it from trashing around. All the multi-coloured horn-heads would just Not. Stop. Staring. Or. Muttering!

'I'm not gonna take this.' Yevetta decided. She wasn't going to sit here like some freak show exhibit. She was a griffin!
Either she did something about this right here and now, or else she'd be treated as weak by these ponies every time she came back here.

Yevetta deliberately slammed her notebook shut and stood up to her full height, head feathers up and wings half-flared to make herself look bigger. She panned her glare around the classroom until one blue unicorn in a very stiff collared shirt made the mistake of not looking away in time.

She stalked over to him, the blue unicorn's maybe-friends on the desk's beside him leaning away, leaving him on his own. The whole classroom was watching.

He opened his mouth. Yevetta beat him to it:

"What're you here for?" She demanded.

"The- For the Tax and Higher Business course?"

"That a question or an answer?" She shot back.

His eyes darted around the classroom furiously, as if to reassure himself he was indeed in the right place.

"This is the Tax and Higher Business course. I'm here to take it."

"What a coincidence. I'm here to take that exact same course. Is that going to create a problem?" She asked loudly.

The stallion's throat bobbed against his still collar, "Everypony's here for the course. Why would there be any problem?" He managed.

Yevetta raised her voice for the whole class, "Great. So there isn't going to be a problem. Right? Right?"

She waited for five seconds to see if anyone was going to answer her challenge, still standing over the blue unicorn. Nobody did. Predictable. They didn't do head on challenges like real griffins. Ponies just all banded together behind your back and whispered.

Yevetta wheeled around with a snort and stalked back to her seat. She tried to lounge casually in her chair. She wasn't sure if she managed it. Why was her heart beating so hard?

A greenish mare in an even greener dress two rows ahead of Yevetta's seat, also a horn-head since all the ponies in here were, turned in her seat to give her a look that was probably supposed to be disapproval.

"War nicht nötig." She said in poor, badly accented Griffish. '<That was not necessary>'.

Yevetta blinked, and then rolled her eyes. So the mare could speak Griffish? Good for her. Guess what? Yevetta could also speak a foreign language. And her Equish was much better than the green mare's Griffish was.

"Du musst an deiner aussprache arbeiten." She dismissed the pony, turning back to the front, '<You need to work on your pronunciation>'.

Luckily just then, before anybody could say anything further, the door opened and their unicorn professor entered, magically dragging a chalkboard on wheels with them.

Then Yevetta was too busy frying her brain with garlic, struggling to keep up and understand the Equestrian business concepts, to focus on anything else.

It was challenging and mentally exhausting, and by the end of the day, she barely felt like she had the energy left to fly herself back to the office and her flat.


------


"You confronted and challenged your entire class of peers on your very first day."

Yevetta choked on her heart as it sought to leap out of her throat.

What, how? How?! How had the pink unicorn even found out? By the Four Winds, could she turn invisible? Was she watching Yevetta's every move?

"B-boss lady, you-that's not-You don't..."

She felt like a hatchling again, caught red-taloned trying to pilfer jerky from the neighbour's smoke shack, along with that same irrational childish terror she was about to suffer some disproportionately violent punishment.

She was... afraid of Lemon Pink. She was afraid of Lemon Pink? She was afraid of Lemon Pink.

But-but Yevetta was a griffin, she wasn't supposed to be afraid! She was larger, faster, with claws and talons, she was a predator. Yevetta's pride shrieked in shrill outrage at her. Lemon Pink wasn't a predator or even some sort of trained guard!

Yet she was shrinking behind the office desk, as if the flimsy wooden barrier would shield her. Lemon hadn't come any closer though, she was just standing there, staring at Yevetta with that face of stone, waiting for her to answer and condemn herself.

On a hunch, or maybe she was just grasping at straws and taking hope where there was none, Yevetta steeled her voice and tried to look her boss in the eye.

"I did. Do you care?"

She held her breath. It was a shot in the dark. All she knew was what she thought she knew, which could be horribly off target.

Lemon Pink's face never so much as twitched, "About your classmates? No. About whether you will be able to study in that environment to complete your degree? Yes."

Yevetta let out the breath shakily. She'd been right, thank the Four Winds. Lemon Pink didn't care so long as Yevetta could keep doing her job.

"I can, I got it, don't worry boss. I can and will pass my class." Yevetta assured with more confidence than she actually felt.

And then, unexpectedly; "If you are being harassed by your fellow classmates, inform me. As your sponsor, I will file a formal complaint with the college faculty." Lemon stated.

Yevetta blinked, beak parted. That did not sound like the boss she knew at all. Rather than reassure though, it unnerved her. Lemon wasn't finished though:

"However do not expect much to change. Your complaints will almost certainly go ignored by the faculty if they are not serious in nature. You have a choice. Either conform to fit in with your class so as to receive study help, or be shunned and have to study alone. What do you choose?"

Yevetta stared, wings slack, dumbstruck. Lemon just said that. She just openly up and said that so bluntly.

Lemon Pink had just openly and blatantly acknowledged the discrimination Yevetta had been receiving ever since she arrived in Equestria. Every other pony denied it or got offended for even suggesting they were racist twats. But Lemon Pink just said it. And she was so unfeelingly matter-of-fact about it too. 

Hearing the blunt truth, it hurt Yevetta a little inside, which made her angry. She already knew this, why did hearing it said out-loud make it worse? She was just being a chick, foolishly hoping.

And anyway, where did Lemon Pink get away with saying that? She was a pony herself!

But then, Lemon Pink was the only one who'd hired her. And Lemon Pink never pretended or put on an act either, she was always exactly like this.

"Well?" Lemon Pink's demand snapped Yevetta out of her turmoil, "What will you choose?"

What would she do at the college? Pretend to apologise and blend in? Or turn her back on them and focus completely on her studies.

Yevetta narrowed her eyes, lion tail starting to lash. Pretend to fit in a make friends? 

'As if!'

"I'll pass the course all by myself. I'll do it. Just wait and see."

Lemon Pink regarded her, still coldly logical and indifferent, "Good. Now get back to work."

It wasn't until later that Yevetta noticed her boss's word choice. 'Good'? Did that mean that was the answer Lemon Pink had wanted to hear? Or was she just imagining it?

Probably just imagining it.


---


Yevetta received her first letter from back home. It did not contain good news.

She'd only sent a few letters back to Griffonia, but this was the first one she'd received back. Before, she hadn't had an address, so her mother hadn't had anywhere to send a letter to. But now she did, and her mother's letter finally arrived.
It was over two weeks old, but unfortunately that was to be expected. With the border situation being what it was, getting anything across into or out of Griffonia was slow and difficult at best. At worst, it never arrived at all.

Times were tough. Her Ma had told her not to try to send them money, because it wouldn't arrive. It would either be stopped at the border or stolen by the mail carriers if it got across.

Yevetta lay on her bed in her flat above the office. The letter lay opened on the rumpled covers in front of her beak.

It was quiet. There was barely any street traffic in this little business section of Lower Canterlot. She didn't like this quiet. Back in Griffonia, their family had shared a four story long house with a dozen other squawking, flapping families, built right on the side of the busy main road.

Yevetta dragged a claw through her crest feathers and forced out a breath. Her mother's letter had been written on the back of Yevetta's own letter, the Griffish letters small and cramped together. Ma had mostly filled the letter with how her three younger siblings were growing, but there was one line which threw the background into a stark light.

"<The council is going to start rationing here in the cities. Might have to try to move to the North Kingdom, heard things are better there.>"

It was hard to accept, but there was nothing she could do about it. Griffonia was too big for anything she, a young griffin hen, could affect, and what precious little she could personally do from here, her mother had warned her not to try. At least she'd not condemned or blamed Yevetta in her letter for joining Equestria. Although she also knew her Ma would never abandon Griffonia herself. Her Ma loved Griffonia.

There was nothing she could do. But she still felt guilty.

It was hard, but Yevetta made a conscious decision to not actively look up news about Griffonia anymore. It just made her angry.





Two weeks. Three weeks. Then a month. Every week Thursday, Yevetta attended her course at the college to struggle and sweat over learning. However, she often found herself having to spend long hours after work the other four week days continuing with self-directed study, that never failed to spill over into the weekends, least she fall behind in her degree.

She resented having to do that, but it wasn't as if she had anything else to spend the hours on. Where would she go? To the pubs and bars? With whom? She had no friends here, no other griffins to talk and joke with. Not even any hobbies.

Yevetta made herself still go out flying, to at least keep in some kind of shape, but it wasn't the same, wasn't right. The temperature and weather were all so different, all sunshine and gentleness. And she had nobody to go flying with. She was tired of all the pegasi staring and flying a wide berth around her.

Apparently, at least according to all the calendars and outbreak of autumn advertisements, the days were getting colder. 
Yevetta couldn't really tell the difference. She wasn't feeling the cold. Equestrian winters were about the equvilent of Griffonian summers.

And as the month end rolled around, Lemon Pink again made a deposit to keep Eggs n' Benedict afloat, in keeping with the previous trend in the business's ledgers Yevvta had observed. Again, she privately wondered where her boss found the gold, or if she was indeed rich.


---


These and other small happenings came and went as the month passed. She continued to work, struggle over studying, and battling with the culture and language. She wasn't going hungry, ate meat, and had enough spare to begin saving some up.
When out in Canterlot, Ponies continued to stare or pretend she wasn't there, Equestria continued to be unaffected by Griffonia's bans, and Lemon Pink continued to be an emotionless, cold, and menacing boss.

It came as an enormous shock when she met the boss's coltfriend.

It had been a day in the quiet office much like any of the rest, approaching five o'clock and closing time, and Yevetta had been beginning to wonder what to have for supper when the unexpected earth pony had come through the door.


---


Yevetta looked up at a very polite knocking coming from the office's front door. There was a speckled chestnut coloured stallion outside the front window. He gave an uncertain smile and little wave.

Hiding a sigh, she straightened behind the front desk and called; "Please come in."

It was really rare that a customer actually came by the office. Mostly, it was done via mail, or, and she was assuming here, by meetings in person with Lemon Pink. Eggs n' Benedict wasn't a shop, it was a contract bulk supplier. It made a few large sales each month, not lots of small individual ones. Not that there was much business to begin with, what with the Griffonian border issue and all.

In fact, during her time here, Yevetta'd only actually had to deal with a few customers coming by the office itself.

The chestnut pony entered and closed the door behind him. He was very average to Yevetta's eyes. Although, she noticed, he seemed to have a fair bit of earth and dust on his hooves and legs. She would've thought he was a stereotypical earth pony farmer, if they weren't in Canterlot up the side of a mountain.

"Good afternoon and welcome to Eggs n' Benedict, sir. May I help you?" Yevetta recited, pretending to be friendly.

Huh. She was expecting a flinch or something. He was looking so meek and polite, but also he wasn't looking like he was about to bolt strangely.

"Hello, Yevenna is it?"

Oh. He knew her name. She wracked her brains, was this stallion a return customer and she'd forgotten? "Almost. It's Yevetta. How can I help you?"

"Oh, I won't take up more than a minute of your time. I'm Randy Pickaxe, by the way. I just popped in to ask if Lemon Pink was here?" He enquired, politely glancing around the office as if the emotionless pink unicorn would suddenly appear. Not an impossibility.

"I'm afraid she's not. The boss has not been at all today. Why, did you have an appointment?"

Randy Pickaxe blinked, then something seemed to click, "Oh! No I'm not here for-I mean, I'm not a customer or anything. I just got off early today at the park, and popped in to maybe see if I could catch Lemon here early."

What did any of that have to do with Yevetta? Nothing, that's what, and apparently he wasn't even a customer. This pony with his non-explanations was both annoying her and raising her suspicions.

"Sorry, but the boss isn't in. Do you want to leave a message with me to give to her? Not much else I can offer, I'm afraid."

"No no, thanks but it's no problem. I'm already meeting with Lemon later. I was just trying to catch up with her early to get dinner first or something." Randy bobbed his head to her, going for the door, "Thanks for your time, enjoy your evening."

"W-wait, hold on a moment." Yevetta squawked, before she could think, but this earth pony had just implied something impossible.

This normal pony was going out on a dinner date? With Lemon Pink? Yevetta's boss, Lemon Pink?

Because just no way.

"Um, yes?" Randy hesitated at the door, unsure about her sudden shout.

Yevetta tried to calm herself, smoothing her wings back to her sides, "Just, just to check, but how'd you know my boss? Er, Lemon Pink."

The brown stallion's face split into a big, stupid grin, "Lemon Pink's my marefriend. I'm a really lucky pony."

Yevetta tried to mentally add the image of Randy Pickaxe and Lemon Pink together and came to the answer: 'What?'

"Lemon Pink. Thin, pink, really straight mane. Always wear's a cloak. Tallish, bent horn. That Lemon Pink?" She checked.

Randy winced a bit, "Her horns nice the way it is." He defended.

"What?"

"What?"

Yevetta waved that confusion away with a talon, "Doesn't matter. Look, pony, you're dating my boss? Are you... is this a new thing?"

"New? No. Well, what do you count as new? We've been together for, ooh, nearly two years now. Our anniversary is coming up soon actually. We're both taking the Friday off and going out of Canterlot for a long weekend." Randy said with a happy smile of fond anticipation.

Lemon Pink. Taking a day off. Going on a mundane, domestic, romantic anniversary trip. No matter the angle she looked at it, it still came out wrong.

It suddenly occurred to Yevetta that she should be being a lot politer to her boss's coltfriend if she wanted to keep her job. She shouldn't push, but this, she just had to know. Like morbid fascination, she just had to poke the dead rat in the gutters to see what happened.

She coughed into a closed talon, "Ehem, Mr. Pickaxe, was it-Did the boss tell you about me? Is that why you know my name?"

"Why yes, Lemon tells me about some of her work and businesses. She said she'd found a new griffin employee."

Businesses, as in, more than one. Well that answered one of her questions. Now a more worrying one, "Did, uh, did the boss say anything about me?" She asked nervously.

"Uh, I think she thinks you're a good worker?" Randy offered encouragingly.

Yevetta stared, "She said that?"

Randy sheepishly glanced away, "Well, Lemon did mentioned you by name. And she didn't say she didn't like you. So for Lemon, that more or less means she likes you. Kinda'?"

Yevetta supposed she could see that, if she squinted. Through the bottom of a beer glass. It seemed they both had very different experiences of Lemon Pink.

"How did you two meet? If it's not personal, Mr. Pickaxe."

"Just Randy is fine, please. I'm not a Mr. or a sir or anything. And we met in the Canterlot park. We'd sit and eat lunch together." Randy smiled, then paused in thought, "Well, technically, only I ate lunch. She was just on lunch."

"The... park." Yevetta echoed, not sure if she was getting the whole story. That sounded just too... 'normal'.

"Yes, I work in the park. I'm one of the Head Park Gardeners," Randy said, bashful, "Well, I wasn't Head back then, just a normal Park Gardener. I've really had a string of good luck recently."

Well that explained the dirt and dust, then. Most ponies in Canterlot that she'd observed seemed to hate the stuff.

"It took a while, but we slowly got to talking, knowing each other a bit, and, well, things just went from there I guess. We went out on a couple of dates, and decided it was working, so we became colt and marefriend. I get that to other ponies, Lemon's a bit, uhh, reclusive. Stand-offish? But really, I swear she's very kind when you get to know her. In her own way. She's very, very clever too. She's studied all kinds of magic, you know. Really complicated stuff, too. Lemon's always studying and reading. She's never happier than when she's got a book in her hooves." Randy smiled, gone all misty-eyed.

"Really? Like what kinds of magic?" She asked, trying not to show her ignorance.

She needn't have worried. Randy was oblivious, "Like university or even mage tower level stuff. Well, she studies it, even if she can't cast it. Probably can't. Anyway, magical research is part of her job, or her other job. But she's got like, a bunch of NDA's she's signed, so she can't tell me the details."

"Secret magic research stuff?" Yevetta echoed. It wasn't that she couldn't see it, it was just, what did any of that have to do with running a failing meat and poultry business like Eggs n' Benedict? 

"Yeah, Lemon has..." Randy slowed, brows drawing together, and seemed to double check what he was about to tell Yevetta first, "...She used to work for a secret boss who ran her ragged, sending her all over Equestria. But she doesn't work for him anymore. Apparently it was really important work, but... hard. Lemon doesn't talk about it. But I think she misses it. Or misses something about it. I'm glad she's retired from that, though. You shouldn't have to put yourself in danger for your job."

In a rare moment of self-introspection, Yevetta caught her instinctive demand to know more before it left her beak, and really thought about it before she spoke. Because this? This was prying into her boss's personal life. An unpleasant tingle went down her tail. What would Lemon Pink do if she found out?

Although, Randy had just provided her a lot of information to believe she didn't need to be so wary of her boss. Tartarus, if Lemon Pink could fall for some ordinary sap like this stallion, she really mustn't be all that tyrannical, no matter that cold mask she wore.

It reassured Yevetta actually, to realise that at least half of Lemon Pink's act was merely a front. In fact, it was a very griffin thing to do. You had to walk the walk on the streets, to look and act tough even if you weren't.

Still, Lemon Pink was her boss, and Yevetta needed to remain in her good graces to keep this job. For that sake, she'd better keep acting the same around Lemon Pink not to let on that she she knew, just like you did around older, bigger griffins too.

"Thank you very much for sharing that, Randy Pickaxe," She grinned at him, and he only flinched a tiny bit, "I hope you and your bird-er, marefriend have a great night."

"Why thanks. It was nice to meet you to, Yevenna. Put a face to the name."

"Yevetta."

"Sorry, sorry. It was nice to meet you Yevetta. I hope you have a nice night too."

Yevetta waved a talon and watched through the window the chestnut stallion trotting off up the street.

Feeling a bit more optimistic, and a little less scared about losing her job for no good reason, she closed up the office for the evening and went up stairs to start supper.


---


That was how Yavetta met her boss's coltfriend, and came away with a fresh pair of eyes. The next time Lemon Pink came into the office, Yevetta looked on their interactions under a fresh light.

It was much nicer to not have to worry if she was doing something wrong all the time, that she could relax a bit. She was even a bit smug, knowing that she was playing along with the act, without her boss realising.

Yevetta thought she understood what was going on, thought she finally knew what was what, and thought had a handle on her new life here in pony lands.

The cruel world bent down from on high to flick the caterpillar climbing up its grass stalk back down into the dirt, an laughed.


---


As a superstition, griffins believed in the number four. Apparently, ponies believed in three, but for griffins, it was four. Good things came in fours. One from each corner of the Four Winds.

Likewise, they believed good and bad came in cycles, good luck following bad, and bad following good.

In Griffonia, Yevetta had suffered bad fortune. Getting hired here in Equestria had marked the end of her run of bad fortune, and the start of the good. But now all of her good fortune was used up, and it was time to pay back the balance.
The first of her four misfortunes seemed to only be a small thing at first. It didn't provide any hint as to the string of bad luck it was preceding, like merely the first falling pebble rattling down the mountain side.

Yevetta caught a cold. It was nothing unusual. It was unpleasant, and made everything in your day that much harder than it needed to be, but it was life. You got sick, suffered through it for a week, then got better, and that was that.

But the cold meant she was missing sleep, tossing and turning, irritable, red-eyed, with a stuffy head and blocked nose, and had a hard time concentrating on the Equestrian letters and numbers while working.

And it was while grumpily suffering the effects of her bad cold, that the second misfortune rolled in. Griffonia, the High and Low Kingdoms both, declared Martial Law as the slowly building civil unrest finally boiled up and overflowed into food riots. The riots weren't in every city, and not where her Ma was living thank the Four Winds, but it was still bad that it happened at all in the first place. The governments of both Low and High Kingdoms took challenges to their authority during this time of already spiralling economical finance very seriously.

Yevetta was not a strong patriot, she'd left Griffonia after all, but she still considered herself first and foremost a Griffonian. But she loved her homeland, if not the two kingdoms. The pine forests, the harsh, beautiful mountains, the misty mores and locks. She still felt guilty about leaving, running away really, in search of better prospects.

This was not some small political posturing like the Low and High Kingdoms usually did. It was big, it was shocking, and the knock on effect was more than likely going to ruin the lives of the few griffins she really cared about back in Griffonia. That being her Ma, and her three younger siblings.

Yevetta had not felt like a traitor before. She'd merely been looking out for number one. But now... 

Now she had a twisting in her gut, and a weight on her neck, and it had nothing to do with her head cold. Which just made her angry. Which in turn, made her all the more confused, frustrated, and sad.

The bad news affected her in things she didn't expect it to, in little ways she hadn't foreseen. Her already restless nights became all the more so. She caught herself just staring at her breakfast, not eating. Or flying into a rage and cursing with truly foul language at the kitchen sink when it played up again even slightly. She made stupid bookkeeping mistakes one after the next, and had to spend painstaking hours struggling to concentrate going over her own work to find and correct them. Yevetta hated this, the way the news was infecting her whole new life with its taint.

She was so incredibly homesick. The whiney emotion violently hitting her all at once for the first time. Before, she'd been fine and hadn't cared. But now that she was sick and worried for her mum and family, she couldn't shake the pining.

And then hot on this second misfortune's tail, ploughing right in before she'd even begun to fully process it, came the third.
Cruel and spiteful in form, the third misfortune waited until her back was turned, before it struck.

She was trying to manage to stay on top of her business studies, while suffering cold and being constantly distracted worrying over what was going to happen back home in Griffonia, when they were served up with a group project.

A group project with her pony classmates. The ones she'd already rejected.  

What was more, it was a mandatory project, worth one fifth of her overall passing grade. She didn't have a choice if she wanted to pass her course, she had to complete the project.

The kick in the beak though was that the groups weren't assigned. You had to form them yourselves. 

In the scramble that followed, Yevetta was left alone at her desk, the outsider and with no partner. Every group pretended they didn't see her yellow glare when she looked around the classroom,

Yevetta even approached the professor after the day finished to ask if she could instead do the project solo, no matter how difficult that would be.

The unicorn professor had sniffed, and with rather too much glee, informed her that the minimum group size was three.

"Business is a cut-throat business. If you're not a go-getter, perhaps you're on the wrong course." He'd sniffed at her, and then told her to leave as class was finished and he was busy.

Which was just more horseapples, as the professor always had extra time for his normal pony students.

Yevetta was plucked. She literally could not pass the course without joining a group. And no group would let her join.

She'd flapped home to the apartment with its temperamental plumbing, coughing, nose running, and shivering the whole way, with a half-baked plan to blackmail the professor into letting her work alone once she could just think clearly without fever and tiredness muddying her thoughts.

However when she finally fumbled the key into the lock and stumbled inside, all she really cared about was her nest bed and getting some sleep.

She pulled the blankets over her head, and lay lightly shivering and coughing until sleep reluctantly came.


---


Did she wake?

'Is this awake?'

Stiflingly hot. Sweating. The air against her face felt like a sticky oven.

If this was awake, it sure didn't feel like it. Too hazy. Too black. Her grainy eyelids too heavy to lift.

It was too hot, and her throat was too dry. Painfully so. Her head was pounding, but in a dull, far off way.

She didn't like it. She didn't like this... This. This blackness, this wet, panting heat.

Was this awake? Yevetta opened her eyes.

Then realised they'd already been open, and staring into the impenetrable darkness. But with the thudding in her skull, she wasn't sure of anything right now. 

So she tried opening her eyes again.

If anything, the cloying blackness pressed in even closer, sticking to her sweat dampened feathers.

This was her room, right? Wasn't it? She tried to focus through the pounding, fumbling blindly for the answer.

It was slow in coming. '...Yes.'

Yes, that's right. The apartment. Her nest bed. It was the dead of night.

Her throat was dry, her head was hurting, and she couldn't make out the pillow her head was lying on.

That realisation finally broke through her slowly boiling mind; She couldn't see her pillow it was so black. Her limp feathers stood up.

'Can't see. Blind? I'm so sick I've gone blind!'

Yevetta jerked bolt upright, the suddenly smothering blanket sliding off her back. She jerked her head around wildly in the dark. But nothing. No room, no walls, no nothing. She was floating in a sea of black. She couldn't even see her own beak on her face.

She tried to breathe evenly. But her throat was cracking with dryness. Her head was thumping. And it was so stiflingly hot. So hot she might suffocate if she didn't get the window open. She couldn't see it, but it had to be over that way.

Yevetta didn't move. She didn't dare extend a single talon out from the safe island of the mattress.

She couldn't see the floor. Maybe because there wasn't a floor any longer. Maybe the floor was gone. Maybe it was now a sucking black ooze.

It was so hot in the darkness. Sticky, panting wet heat. Yet her throat was so painfully dry and sore.

It was black. But it wasn't silent.

There was a noise Yevetta had been hearing. Was it really a noise? She couldn't place it though, it was so very, very faint.

Like, like the softest tapping...? Or maybe more like flicking? Muffled behind cloth, maybe. Yes, yes that was it. The softest *thwip* of a light flick against cloth.

*thwip-tap...* *thwiiip-tap...*

Where was it coming from? The horrible thought that it was coming from somewhere on the bed sized her.

Yevetta hurled the blanket away in a frenzy and flung it off the bed, certain whatever giant spider or thing that was on the blanket would be hurled off too.

She didn't hear the blanket land. The pressing blackness just swallowed it whole.

The light rhythmic tapping kept on going. Yevetta breathed out, her chest tight. 

Good. That was good. The noise hadn't been interrupted by her throw. That meant it was probably coming from somewhere outside.

'Or from downstairs.' The unwanted thought crept in. 

All her relief strangled as her too-tight chest sized up again.

*thwiiip-tap...* *thwip-tap...*

Yevetta struggled to think. Her head ached, her throat ached, her neck ached, her eyes ached, even her tail ached. Thinking was a struggle through hot molasse.

'Lemon Pink...?' Was that it, her boss, downstairs for a midnight visit? It had to be.

Yes, it had to be. She tried to say the name out loud, to make it real.

Her beak moved. Just a silent whisper came out.

She choked down a dry swallow, tried again.

"....  ..'ink."

Her throat was too dry. She didn't want to disturb the darkness. Didn't want to draw attention to herself crouched on the bed.

Ridiculous. She knew that. There was nothing in here with her. Everyone knew that there was no monster under the bed, just as everyone knew it was all in your head.

She knew she was alone in the black bedroom. She hoped.

*thwiiip-tap...* *thwip-tap...*

'It's Lemon Pink downstairs. Come to secretly check the books again. That noise is her turning pages. Pages. That's all.'

And the blackness and fever hot room, that was just because she was sick and exhausted.

It was just Lemon Pink. Yevetta was just sick. It was just a lingering nightmare.

A bad dream. Illness. An overactive imagination. That was all.

*thwip-tap...* *thwiiip-tap...* *thwip-tap...* 

All of a sudden, Yevetta remembered the candle lamp on the bedside table. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was there. Light and safety. With clumsy haste, she reached out in the dark.

And snatched her talons back at the last second, biting down a whimper.

Lean out over the bed? Stick her talons out into the empty blackness, passed the safety boundary of the bed? No. She couldn't.

Wet breath on her leathery palm, like the hot darkness was waiting with stretched wide open jaws trembling with eagerness for her arm.

But the lamp was just there. If she could just make herself reach it-!

Before she could fully process what she was doing, Yevetta shot her claw out to where the low bedside table was. Where? Where?! She fumbled about, swinging her talons around and-

-And knocked the lamp onto the floor.

Yevetta let out a chocked keening, snatching back her talons.

She huddled there on the bed, blind, afraid, sweating and shivering in the grips of the fever.

Now what? Now what? Rattling around and around in her pounding head. Now what?

And still that soft, muffled tappity-tap-tapping sliding along the very edge of her hearing.

Now what? Now what? Now what now what-now-what-now-what?

It was so, so stiflingly, chokingly hot. Too dry to swallow. Too dark to see. Too afraid to leave.

Now what?! 

'Matches!'

The matches meant to light the candle. Those were there too, also on the bedside table.

Slowly, shakingly, she stretched out her claw, flinching and prepared to snatch it back, panicked that she'd destroy her last chance for light.

Thin wood. Hard table top. Fumbling her claws blindly over its surface. The corner, an edge, too far, go back. Feel around. Please, where was it? Her pinkie-talon scuffed the cardboard box.

Yevetta snatched back her talons, clutching the match box safely to her breast feathers. She was breathing too hard, too harshly. Tight, like her head, the band around her chest was painfully tight.

She slid open the match box-It was upside down.

All the matchsticks tumbled onto the bed, lost in the dark. But she could still feel, she could still find them, pinch one up, get the matchbox the right way around, strike it too hard-

*Snap*

The splinter of wood snapped. She dropped it and scrabbled for another one.

Rush, she had to rush. Something invisible in the blackness was counting down. Getting closer. She could feel it!

*Snap*

Yevetta hiccupped. No, no, stop fumbling. Work! Work like talons, not fat pony hooves!

*Ssscratch* *Ssscratch* *Sss-Snap*

Something didn't want her to light a match. Something wasn't letting her.

An awful crawling stole up her neck. It leaned out of the darkness, almost right on top of her now.

Her talons were shaking too much, she couldn't even make a proper strike.

*Ss-Ss-cr-sc-ssc* *Sccc-scrr-craaa-* *S-S-Ss-* *Snap*

'Please. Bitte.'

*Snap*

Somewhere in the blackness, she heard the door opened.

*Snap!*

'Vater der Winde, beschütze dieses jungtier.'

It had stopped. Silent. The ticking-tap had ceased.

Yevetta did not register, did not feel, did not remember raising the next shaking match or striking it. Only realised when it too broke.

*Snap*

The pieces dropped from her nerveless talons. Hot. Hot on her face, hot on her feathers, and burning in her frozen lungs.
She couldn't see what was standing at the foot of the bed. Couldn't see what could see her.

One more match, the last match she would have time for.

Yevetta prayed. She prayed with all her heart. She couldn't even put words or a name to what she prayed for. She just prayed, and struck the match.

*snap*

The matchbox was abruptly pulled from her talons.

Something in the darkness at the foot of her bed began to strike a match. Unhurried, methodical.

*Ssscratch.*

*Ssscratch.*

*Ssscratch.*

Yevetta had prayed so desperately for a spark of light. Now she prayed for anything but. Please, don't let it light. Please, don't let the match light.

*Ssscratch.*

*Ssscratch.*

*Sss-Fwuush!*

Flare. 

Pain shooting into her eyes. A spark, a flame of light. The rearing shadows suddenly given terrible solid blackness and definition.

You're not afraid of being alone in the dark. You're afraid you aren't.

Yevetta didn't want to see. She didn't want to seeDidn'tWantToSeeDidn'tSeeDidn'tSee!

It was Lemon Pink. It was her thin face. Her curved spiral horn. Her faint silvery telekinetic aura, her pink fur, and her razor straight waterfall mane.

The air whoosed into Yevetta's lungs in a collapsing gasp. And then it caught and froze in a choke, the single instant of fainting relief peeling away like a second skin.

The tiny match flame didn't banish the dark. It just made it all the more solid. The wavering sphere of light only stretched wide enough to reveal Lemon Pink's head. Just the head.

Awful certainty sunk its claws into Yevetta's chest, about the rest of the shadowed body her watering eyes couldn't see. It was Lemon Pink's head. It was the same sallow cheeks covered by light, pink fur. It was her same blank, limpet-like indigo eyes. But that was it. Just the head.

The cold lips parted, and Yevetta was too terrified to even scream as she cringed in anticipation of the dead tongue to spill out, of rotting grave breath, of darkness or tendrils or teeth.

"Unfortunate. You should not be awake tonight." 

Lemon's words weren't cold. They weren't flat. They were just the reiteration of a fact.

Not-Lemon Pink wasn't looking at Yevetta. She was looking straight through Yevetta, "Stay in your bed. Don't come down the stairs. For your own good."

Lemon's eyes swivelled all the way to the side in her skull, looking towards something Yevetta couldn't see.

"I have an important guest I'm entertaining. Don't disturb us." She blew out the match, and the darkness rushed back in.

"N-!" Too late.

Frozen there inside the pounding blackness in her own skull, the wafting of sour smoke lightly touched her. Invisible, it languidly crept across her face, featherlight and smothering.

Lemon's voice, if it ever really had been Lemon standing there at the foot of her bed, was a soft. The sing-song tone of someone trying not to wake a sleeping chick:

"~Now sow up your beak, and go to sleep. You need your rest."

Yevetta stared blindly into the waiting darkness.

Because she hadn't heard the door close. Because she hadn't heard Lemon Pink leave. Because she was afraid she hadn't returned to being alone.

Somewhere, the soft, flickering tap-tap-tapping crept back in.

"Bitte..." Her beak silently mouthed into the dark. '<Please>'. "Bitte bitte bitte bitte bitte bitte bitte-"





Yevetta woke up. 

She was lying on her front, lion tail curled up around her tucked in hind paws.

There was light coming in under the drawn curtains. She could actually see. There were no blinding shadows.

Her snotty cold hadn't left, and her throat was so painfully dry she didn't dare to swallow, but the head-pounding fever had finally  broken. She felt wrung out and yet also strangely clear.

The blanket was half spread over her back. Yevetta turned her head back and stared uncomprehendingly. Jerkily, painfully, she turned her head to the little bedside table.

The stubby wax candle set in its little lamp holder sat on the bedside table as if it always had been.

Her chest heaved in and out. Confusion, relief. And fear that this was all a horrible trap.

But that's what nightmares did. Exhausted, sick, and riding a high fever, her traitorous mind could have conjured it all up. Had any of it been real?

Relief turned her muscles to jelly. Her head dropped back into the sweaty pillow with a groan. She felt like she could sleep for another entire day.

Something small and sharp poked her, stuck in her breast feathers. Yevetta wormed a paw between her chest and the mattress, and combed around with her talons until she managed to snag it. She brought whatever it was up into her eyeline, resting on the pillow.

It was the broken half of a splintered match.

Yevetta pushed herself upright onto her haunches so fast her vision darkened and swam. She flapped, casting the blanket off her back, scrabbling around on the mattress.

The scattered remains of a clawful of snapped and broken matches lay beneath her.

She wheezed as her chest constricted, beak clenched as her face muscles went ridged.

No. Wait wait wait. Pause, think about this logically first.

This was just more evidence of it having been a half dream. That was the only thing that made sense. Delirious, fevered, she must've been unconsciously imitating the actions undertaken while in her nightmare. That of striking matches. In fact, she was very, very lucky that in her addled state, she hadn't managed to actually strike a light in the end. She could've set the whole building on fire!

Yevetta started breathing shakily yet again. She couldn't take another one of these heart attacks.

She stayed crouched on the bed for a long time, just taking deep, calming breaths and revelling in the sunlight.

The previous bouts of misfortune suddenly didn't seem so bad, in retrospect. She was still alive, wasn't she?

After she finally got up, Yevetta bundled up the sweat soaked sheets to wash and hang up later. Even that light effort left her tired. She didn't have any appetite either, picking listlessly at her breakfast, but forced the whole bowl down her beak, because she knew she'd need her strength.

Then, at opening time, Yevetta shuffled downstairs to open the office.

She ended up standing in the open doorway, eyes closed and face tilted up into the morning sun, the brisk morning air pleasantly ruffling her head feathers.

The wonderful bright sun. Yevetta hadn't ever considered it deeply before, but it suddenly made sense to her why so many ponies in Canterlot worshipped Princess Celestia and her light. And also why they didn't like Princess Luna's night and the darkness it brought.


---


Daylight couldn't quite banish all of her feverish memories, however.

It might just have been a particularly vivid nightmare, but no matter how she repeated that, a part of it still lingered. And that part was the exact same height, breadth, and depth and her boss. Lemon Pink.

It had just been a nightmare, and indeed the Lemon Pink in her nightmare hadn't even actually done anything in the end, but...

But...

But now Lemon Pink was back to occupying the place in her head from before she'd spoken to Randy Pickaxe, with Yevetta jumping every time the thin, pink mare opened her mouth.

Yevetta couldn't quite shake it. She couldn't stop momentarily tensing every single time her boss looked over, or internally cringing every time she heard that flat, emotionless tone.

It was the little thoughts, the worming whispers, the silent ponderings in the back of your mind while the rest of your brain was occupied. They were the rare second thoughts which watched your first thoughts.

Thoughts like; 'It wasn't real, but if it was, what sort of 'guest' could Lemon Pink've been entertaining?' Or, 'It was pitch black. How did she see in the dark?', Or worse, 'If that was the case, how did she even know I was awake in the first place?'

But since it hadn't been real, she was just being a scaredy-cat. It rankled Yevetta that she couldn't just get over the stupid nightmare immediately. She was a strong, independent griffin! Adults weren't scared of make-belief dangers, there were plenty of real-world one's to worry about instead. Like having a roof over your head, or where your next meal was coming from.

'So you had a fright. Big whoop. Grow some feathers and get over it, pussy-cat.'

But much to Yevetta's frustration and private shame, it was going to take time to shake out the lingering roots of this fear.


---


Yevetta swallowed her pride in the end, and wrote a letter to the college faculty about not being allowed to pass the business course without a group, but not having any group to join.

Going above her teacher's head felt like snitching, and as the saying went on the streets back in Griffonia; "Snitches get stitches."

Here though in Equestria, it worked, and the faculty made her stuffy unicorn teacher assign her to one of the already formed groups, albeit grudgingly and with poor grace.

There was nothing Yevetta could do about the deteriorating economic situation back in Griffonia, though. It was too large a problem for her to even comprehend.

Her Ma's latest letter told her not to come back. She wrote that Yevetta had gotten out just in time, and to make something of herself over in Equestria with the golden opportunities she'd been given.

On the crumpled, cheap letter paper, she'd written; "This isn't your fault, and not your responsibility." 

Yevetta struggled to put words to paper in her letter back. What were you supposed to say to any of that? When your mother told you not to come home because it wasn't safe? It made her feel like even more of a traitor, which was so much worse than being a mere snitch.

The problem of her nasty cold passed as colds did, you unfortunately just had to endure though them.

However the lingering effects of the last, fourth misfortune she'd suffered, Yevetta wasn't quite so swift to shake off. It wasn't that she did not want to, it was that she didn't seem able to. The immediate fear which came after that feverish nightmare had faded, but she couldn't shake her new fear of Lemon Pink. Or was it the same old original discomfort of her boss, just now established?

Yevetta didn't want to go back to flinching and being scared of a pony again. She shouldn't have to be scared, she was a griffin. A griffin flew above their fears.

Especially when it was an irrational fear! Why, when she'd been a chick, she'd had a dumb fear about pulling water from their street's well in case she fell in. It came to a head when she refused to complete her daily chores when it was her turn to fetch the water. Her Ma had sat her down, explained it, tied a rope around her middle to be safe, and then pushed her into the well.

And what did you know? The well wasn't nearly as deep as it looked from above. What was more, it wasn't some bottomless hole, she could actually touch the bottom if she ducked her head. And lastly, that even if she couldn't spread her wings to fly out, finding purchase with her talons and claws to climb back out was relatively easy. Once out, she'd shaken herself off, and felt silly.

Of course, the other griffin families on their street had been less than pleased about a fledgling polluting their daily water. Now that was a much more rational fear.

So Yevetta decided to stop sitting on her tail and be proactive in defeating her newest irrational fear.


---


The Eggs n' Benedict office was only open for a few hours in the morning on Saturdays. So after closing up and locking the front door, she took herself off to Canterlot park in search of answers.

Which really meant in search of the earth pony, Randy Pickaxe.

Because someone seemingly so scary as Lemon Pink couldn't have a stallion so inoffensive and normal as Randy Pickaxe as a coltfriend, and it was that very realisation which'd dissolved her fears about Lemon Pink the first time around. So now, she aimed to repeat that feat a second time.

When he'd come to the office that day, Randy had said he was employed as a gardener at the park. So that's where Yevetta went, beating her wings against the very slight wind towards the park. Here in Equestria, there was barely ever any strong weather which wasn't intentional. A slight head wind was about the extent of what Cloudsdale's weather teams were prepared to permit without their express permission.

From up in the sky, finding the park was always easy. The big flat sprawling patch of green and trees stood out from the rest of Canterlot's roads and roofs in a way that only fliers with an arial view could appreciate.

She went into a long, swooping dive to land in the park, ignoring the pegasi who got far, far out of her way.

The park's lush grass was all cut in neat rows, the path edges all just as cleanly squared away. Yevetta looked around as she folded her wings, and realised the park was much bigger and more sprawling than she'd thought.

There were flowerbeds and sparkling ponds, benches and picnic areas, meandering tree shaded pathways, and an open playground area for foals.

Yevetta scowled in irritation. Great. Now she was going to have to trek all over the park looking for Randy Pickaxe, who might not even be working today for all she knew.

She started stalking down the closest path, yellow eagle eyes peeled for any park gardeners in uniform. Even if they weren't Randy Pickaxe, she could still demand to know if he was here this morning or not.


---


As luck would have it, Randy Pickaxe was here today.

He recognised her first though, not the other way around, and he cantered over.

Well, she was one of the few griffins in Canterlot, so maybe it wasn't surprising now that she thought about it for a second.
Still didn't explain why, then, that he wasn't all nervous and jumpy around her like the rest of the stuck-up pony population. Randy was wearing the earth stained, green and brown park gardener's overalls, with a bucket half-filled with dirt encrusted trowels, forks, and shears balanced on his back.

"Hello there, miss Yevetta. Nice to see you're enjoying the park." He greeted her cheerily.

He at least got her name right this time. "Aren't you supposed to be working?" She asked reflexively.

Randy grinned sheepishly, "Ah, I can spare five minutes? But I see you're busy, so I'll not disturb your walk, miss. Have a good morning-"

"Hold on!" She quickly called him back, "I was just saying, are you allowed to just stop working and talk to people?"

"We're here to manage the park, and also help all of the park users. That means if anypony needs help or just wants to talk, we're happy to help." He turned back, seemingly unperturbed by her brusqueness.

Yevetta paused and reminded herself why she was here. She wanted answers about Lemon from Randy. That meant being polite and not making him suspicious by rushing into questioning.

"Ah, got it. I did not know you worked today. Or that you worked at this park." She added, as she belatedly remembered that Canterlot had more than one public park. This one just happened to be the largest.

"Yep, I've been a park gardener for going on nearly four years now. It's a great job, and I'm lucky to have it."

"Yes, I think you said something about that last time. You said you met Lemon Pink here in the park too, yes?" Not her smoothest transition, but if it worked, it worked.

"Oh yes. I can show you the very bench, actually. It's just down this path over here."

Yevetta briefly pretended to care and followed his pointing dirt scuffed hoof, "That's nice. Say, since you have five minutes, I have a few questions about my boss actually."

Randy's brows drew together briefly speculatively, but then he was all open earnestness once again, "Sure, as long as it's, uh, nothing embarrassing, I'll try my best."

She caught her tail before it could swish in satisfaction. So far, so good. Hopefully this would continue going so easily. There was one question Yevetta absolutely wanted to get a definite answer on, but she should ease into that one a bit more first. For now, she'd let Randy ramble for a bit. Yeah, that sounded like a smart plan.

She settled her wings more comfortably at her sides, "Okay then. Like, what is Lemon Pink's favourite colour?"


---


As it turned out, the answer to that inane question wasn't pink. It was white. A very sterile and inexpressive choice.

"It used to be midnight blue, but she changed her mind." Randy had told her. Which didn't signify anything to Yevetta.

Randy Pickaxe's favourite colour was, to her non-existent surprise, brown. And when he'd politely asked her in turn what hers' was, she answered red.

Other questions and answers followed. You could pick up a lot of gossip from a chatty pony in a very short space of time, and Randy Pickaxe was no exception to the rule. He, like ponies everywhere, loved to talk about his life.

And his life seemed to be Lemon Pink. Or at least a lot of it was.

Which was fine, because that's what Yevetta had come to learn about, after all.

Such as the fact that her boss was an orphan. Yevetta had already gotten the feeling that Lemon Pink didn't have any family, but Randy had confirmed it. What Yevetta hadn't thought about though, was what it meant. As in, Lemon Pink's family hadn't tragically died recently, she'd never even known them at all. She'd grown up from a young foal in a pony orphanage, never knowing any parents or grandparents.

For some reason, Yevetta felt that explained quite a few things.

Yevetta also found herself learning a lot of useless trivia about her pink boss; such as that Lemon had a love for spicy food, just like Randy apparently did too.

Or that she religiously kept and tended to a large window garden collection of potted-plants and herbs every morning. "Some of them are from all over the world. Why, she's got this one funny plant from Zebrican that snaps at your hoof if you poke it." Randy had said.

He'd also said that Lemon enjoyed violin music, but hated dancing. She found the idea of taking a day off weird, and was apparently unbeatable at monopoly.

"What about you? What music do you like?" Randy had asked her.

"Oh, this and that. Nothing in particular." She'd deflected, and turned the conversation back to learning more of what she could about Lemon Pink:

"How about other friends? Is there anyone who she'd invite around as a guest, for example?"

Randy had blinked at her, nonplussed, "Uhh, me?" He suggested.

"You of course, of course. But how about anyone else? Any other guests?" She emphasized. 

The park gardener had rubbed a dusty hoof under his chin, not minding the dirt he left behind, "Well, yes I suppose. There's a couple of ponies..." He'd hedged.

When Yevetta had tried to press him for a name though, Randy had grown uncomfortable and tried to deflect.

She'd been about to press him harder, before remembering she needed to stay on her boss's coltfriend's good side, and reigned back her impulse, reluctantly letting Randy change the topic.

"She's just now taken up a fascination with painting, actually. I like it, it means we get to try out painting picture's together. Neither of us are very good yet." Randy confessed wryly, "Although, Lemon could probably be better at it than me, but she's insisting on painting with her magic."

"So?" Yevetta had asked, not understanding.

"Like, painting with her magic aura. Not with a brush at all, actually holding the paint in her magic. Something about trying to imbue the magic into the final picture? But hey, it's just for fun." Randy had shrugged, and proceeded to tell her unprompted about the time he'd taken his marefriend to the Summer Sun Celebration here in Canterlot.

Lemon had ended up getting them so deeply into playing the fair stands, that they'd missed the actual grand event, and not even gotten to see Princess Celestia.

"Lemon was taking it slow, taking her time each game. Then there was this hoop toss game, you know, with a big stuffed animal toy prize. Lemon just sort of stopped and stared at it, which was weird, but so I asked her if she wanted it. Of course, she said 'No', but I thought she really did. After all, isn't that what mare and colt friends do at fairground stalls? She pretends no, he thinks that this is his chance to be a true gentlecolt, and proves he's incompetent by wasting all his bits on tickets on a rigged game instead." Randy had laughed, sounding genuinely delighted.

"And? Did you win?" Yevetta asked, momentarily drawn despite herself.

"Of course not. I'm pretty sure the game was rigged, remember?" Randy grinned, not sounding overly put out over being cheated.

She'd raised her feathered brows, "So then why...?"

"Because it was so, so, so funny. There I was missing every shot, laughing so hard I couldn't even throw straight, because I was the exact stereotype like in every story ever, and Lemon had this disbelieving look on her face, and just the whole thing was so un-serious, and then the sun had risen and we, or I, had been laughing so hard we'd missed it, and the whole thing was just the dumbest."

"Huh. What was the stuffed animal?" Yevetta asked, unable to think of any other question.

"For the life of me, I can't remember now actually. What was it? I think, maybe, hmm, a white fluffy dog? No, wait, a white kitty-cat. No, that's not right either." Randy had trailed off into thought, frowning, but hadn't been able to recall what the stuffed prize which had started the whole frankly stupid sounding affair in the first place.

Well, she'd asked, but she didn't actually really care about the answer. She'd just been being polite.

Randy sounded happy and secure in his relationship with Lemon Pink though, which was surprising to Yevetta. It just wasn't she'd envisioned. There was none of the nervous tension in Randy that she personally felt whenever Lemon Pink's cold eyes fell on her.

But wasn't this exactly what she was hoping for? To be reassured and convinced again that Lemon Pink was really a normal pony underneath it all, and not some kind of psycho? Yet  there was still just this disconnect between Randy's Lemon Pink, and her boss Lemon Pink. She couldn't fit the two halves together no matter how she turned the pieces over in her head.

But it was something at least. No one as oblivious and dense as Randy could be the coltfriend of someone who truly didn't have a heart.

She'd flown to the park to get some reassurance, and she'd gotten some. So, mission accomplished.

Now that she'd got her answer, she just had to complete the difficult task of disentangling herself from a conversation with an enthusiastic sharing pony where she'd initiated. An undertaking even harder than it sounded.


---


Yevetta banged her head on the underside of the sink, dropped the wrench, jerked back, swore, got water in her eyes, swore again, and then spent a minute clutching her talons to her head, trying to breathe evenly while repeatedly reminding herself that she was a big griffin, and wasn't allowed to whimper or cry.

She was in the apartment, her apartment really, struggling around with the pipes in the dusty gloom of the too small cupboard beneath the sink. She was tired of fighting with the buildings water pressure. It was always a dice roll whenever you turned on the tap whether you'd get a normal water flow, a bare trickle, or a high powered blast which left you with a face full of wet feathers.

That wasn't a too big of an ask, was it? This was Canterlot, center of learning and wisdom, right? She just wanted reliable running hot water.

Yevetta had thought it'd be a simple task of maybe tightening some gaskets or something, which was why she'd decided she could do it herself.

She now regretted ever picking up the hateful wrench. 

The tool she should've gone for was the hammer, so as to turn the tin sink into the pile of scrap it rightfully deserved to be.

Coming from somewhere from deep within the pipes, the sink belched out a gurgle at her efforts. A long, drawn out *sloooooop-suck*

Yevetta threw up her talons, wet feathers bristling, "Pluck it! I'm done. Done! Vier Winde können es saugen!"

At her back, the sink let out another sucking gurgle, louder this time. *Sllloooop-SUK* Like talons drawn over slate, it got an entirely instinctive shiver of disgust out of Yevetta. She whipped back around to eye the sink warily:

"If you explode, I swear to the Four Winds-!"

*Sllloooop-SSUUKKKK*

Yevetta backed up before she caught herself. She glared at the inanimate tin sink. It was empty, no black gunk bubbling out, but that had been far too loud for her peace of mind.

Mentioning her mind... There was a thought flapping around in the back of it, trying to get her attention. 

She was not any sort of expert, but the sloshing sucking noise had sounded almost like something moving in the pipes, pushing the water before it. Yevetta's eyes narrowed into slits, thinking hard. Were there... snakes in Canterlot?

She didn't think so, or at least not many. Not up here at the top of a mountain. Not when ponies so tightly clamped down on pests.

Yevetta couldn't help herself. Morbid fascination made her lean over the dark plug hole, trying to see anything down there. She wasn't stupid, she kept her head craned back as high as she could, ready to dart back, but she just had to look.

Anti-climatically, nothing shot out to grab her beak, and it was too black to see anything down the pipe. Just a wet glistening of cold water around the ring, the shadow of the pipe, and black. Then the black squirmed into something rubbery and long.

Yevetta ran out of the door, leaving claw gouges in the floorboards and bristling wings nearly getting caught on the doorframe.

She came back half and hour later, and poured the entire bottle of bleach she'd bought down the sink.

That should kill it. Whatever it was. She hoped.

Yevetta fervently promised herself to hammer home the plug before she went to bed every night from now on. She giggled, sounding a bit unhinged even in her own ears.

"Of course my flat would be haunted, of course it would! Why not, right? Hah hah."

Yevetta didn't really believe that, ghost stories were just that, stories. It'd almost certainly been something completely logical such as... nothing was coming to mind. But something logical! Not... some horrible sewer pipe monster, or what have you.

So she told herself repeatedly. Yevetta already had enough sleepless nights of worry, and she was barely out of her teenage years. It wasn't right. She shouldn't have to go to sleep scared.





"Debit the corporate tax account... carry the five over... then credit the income account..."

Yevettta muttered out loud to help keep track as she bent over the page. She had a slow building headache from concentrating so hard for so long, blooming behind her eyes.

"Then make double sure... mark as received, add the cheque to the bag... file the remittance..."

Yevatta worked until it was finally finished, dropping the quill and slumping back with an explosive sigh.

"Please remain seated and quiet until everypony else has finished their own test." The examiner told her coolly, not impressed.

Yevetta didn't reply, just linking her talons together and stretching them above her head until they popped. She let out a sigh of relief.

Done. Finally done! She'd been staying up late cramming every night for the last fortnight just for this test, worrying over if she'd be able to remember all the correct Equestrian terms and rules on the day.

Yevetta was... 'reasonably' confident she'd passed. Unless the pony examiner decided to be a racist chicken and fail her on purpose, she should pass.

'Just one more of these exams to sit at the end of the year, and then I'm done.' Yevetta encouraged herself. Really, she hadn't expected this business course to be quite so hard when she'd told Lemon Pink she'd go. Hard yes, she was a griffin in a pony school speaking a second language after all, but not this hard.

Her chest warmed at the thought of sticking it to all those stuck up goodie-goodie two-shoe pony teachers who'd thought she couldn't manage it. Take that!

She'd made her own place here in Equestria, taken it with her own talons, and ain't nobody was going to taker it back from her. Maybe she'd even be able to get a raise once she passed this course? Maybe. That would involve asking Lemon Pink for one though...

Yevetta hesitated at the thought. But she'd never get anywhere if she didn't stand up for herself. She was a griffin, it came with the territory. Yet even so... Lemon Pink.

She was back to being wary of her thin, severe boss. Not scared any longer, but not back to being fully comfortable with either. Because it was Lemon Pink, and Lemon Pink was Lemon Pink.

Yevetta promised herself she'd think more about asking for that raise when she actually passed the course. She could delay thinking about it until then. She hadn't actually been seeing much of the boss lately. Or even less than usual, that is. 

Yevetta pondered about that as she sat at her exam desk, since she had nothing better to do until the examiner allowed them to leave. Randy Pickaxe had said his marefriend was into a number of businesses and research, so Lemon was probably busy with one of those. Yevetta wondered which poor shmuck Lemon Pink had doing those business's books, since it wasn't Yevetta. Or what those businesses might even be?

More to do with meat and poultry supply maybe? But no, Lemon Pink was making money somehow, and with Griffonia shutting Equestria out, that made turning over a profit impossible, as evidenced by Eggs n' Benedict's own losses each month which Lemon Pink had to cover. She had to be getting that money from somewhere else, somewhere more successful.

This wasn't the first time Yevetta had wondered what else Lemon Pink did when she wasn't appearing out of nowhere in the office, but just like those times before, Yevetta had to bite her beak and resign herself to the unknown.

'I could see her working as some sort of high court judge or something, actually. She never smiles, and is as grim as death all the time, she'd fit right in.' Yevetta stifled a chuckle to herself.

She continued daydreaming until the big clock on the wall finally ticked over onto the hour, and the unicorn examiner finally called out; "Quills down", and they were allowed to file out.

Back out on the street, Yevetta stretched, ignoring the other examinee's who parted around her, and gave her wings a few flaps to warm them up.

Yevetta couldn't help but take an extra few seconds before take of though eyeing the shield in the sky.

Translucent, a pale purple-pinkish, and so high up it was like a paper film viewed from this distance. It was so wide, so all encompassing, that the shield's curve almost appeared straight it was so gradual. Yevetta had spied shimmering ripples, like water droplets onto a ponds surface, as the distant specks of birds flew into the pinkish magical barrier and rebounded.

And it encircled the entire city. The literal entirety of Canterlot!

It had been up for four days now, and Yevetta was still just as boggled by the sheer size as day one. How many teams of unicorns were they having to use to keep this shield up? Hundreds, surely. Or maybe it was just Princess Celestia doing it herself. Or her lesser sister, Yevetta supposed.

Yevetta also didn't know what the giant shield was for, and that made her nervous. Defence against a dragon maybe? What else would be the point of such a massive shield?

Because she knew the barrier wasn't to keep anyone specific out, ponies were still coming in and going out via the trains and main gates. That was the first thing Yevetta had checked when she'd woken up and seen the giant magical dome encircling Canterlot, and locking the sky down for all fliers. Fliers like her. She may have panicked a little, until she'd known she was still able to leave whenever she wanted.

Yeah there were Royal Guards in their fancy gold armour checking every pony coming in, but hoof traffic was still as busy as ever. More so, even. There were many disgruntled and complaining pegasi in the line. Yevetta had stayed and watched for a while, just to be sure, and the Guards hadn't denied entry or exit to anybody, but they hadn't.

So what was the big idea? Yevetta didn't have a clue, and doubted anypony important would unbend their stiff neck long enough to tell her or any of the other common folk anything.

She was just going to have to resign herself to never knowing what the secret reason was, much like with Lemon Pink. But, like, on a much different scale of importance.

"You are blocking the entrance. Kindly remove yourself." The haughty voice of the examiner from earlier came from behind her.

Yevetta restrained herself from saying something that would make him fail her, and took a running start to take off.


---


Down below in the wide marble streets she flew over, Yevetta saw pink, blue, and white everywhere. 

Pink for the bride. Blue for the groom. And white because of Princess Celestia, who as the ruler of Equestria, was symbolically part of every wedding and matrimonial union in the land.

Pink heart encrusted posters, declaring the open public wedding reception that would be held. Blue lines of bright hanging flags. And white streamers, ribbons, and garlands interwoven into the rest.

It was all for the Royal Wedding. The Royal Wedding. The wedding of the century, or at least all the newspapers, billboards, and colourful bunting on every street corner declared it to be so. And Yevetta meant literally on every street corner. There had been ponies dispatched on behalf of the Palace who'd gone around with carts of the stuff, making sure every intersection and street was suitably bedecked.

Yevetta turned up her beak in a scoff as she saw below, on a private veranda, a stallion getting down on his knees to propose to his besotted marefriend, who immediately burst into tears. It was soppy, ridiculous, and completely overblown. Maybe Yevetta was getting jaded, but this must've been the tenth such proposal she'd witnessed this week. Moreover, the tenth such proposal she'd seen made in public. How many more ponies were getting married behind closed doors?

The Royal Wedding was spreading like a disease. Ponies were catching it left, right, and center! 

She disdained all of these copy-cat wedding ponies. Either they had no self control and were jumping on the band wagon, or they had no self confidence, and could only work up the courage to propose now because everybody else was doing it too. Pathetic. A proper griffin needed to know what she wanted, when she wanted, and to go get it herself.

Just from all the hype and pre-celebrations, Yevetta was willing to bet good bits on exactly the kind of pony the alicorn of love was in person. She knew the type. There'd been a few similar instances of griffon nobles getting married back home in Griffonia, who had made an enormous production out of their 'big day'. They wanted to biggest bouquet, the grandest dress, the largest reception, the best music, and the choicest cuts of meat for their wedding.

This Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, she probably didn't care half so much about her husband-to-be as about the wedding itself. A completely unrealistic vision built up from foalhood of a big romanticised, rose-tinted special day, where for that one day, the entire world would revolve around and adore her. Rich folk were all the same like that in Yevetta's humble opinion.

It was strange thing, though. As a result of the upcoming Royal Wedding, or at least Yevetta thought it was because of the Royal Wedding, the pony citizens of Canterlot weren't panicking about the city-wide shield. She'd been kinda' expecting stampedes in the streets, if she were honest.

Yevetta banked as she flew over the lip of Upper Canterlot, the sudden drop down to Middle Canterlot was mirrored by the just as sudden drop in air pressure as the previous updrafts rising off the roofs and roads likewise dropped. 

A lot like swimming out over a rock shelf in the sea, the water temperature fell and the currents intensified. It was the same with the sky.

Yevetta wasn't some fledgling still learning how to preen her own feathers properly, she'd flown in the lower mountain slopes back in Griffonia with real wild weather, so she didn't even miss a wingbeat as she flew out of Upper Canterlot. Pah! She'd seen inattentive pegasi go into flapping, panicking messes crossing the divide. Amatures. That was merely wasted effort. You just had to ride it out, let yourself drop down until you hit the updrafts coming off of Middle Canterlot, and you'd equalize back out at a new cruising height.

She used the opportunity of the drop in height to go into a long glide, angling towards the business district where the office was, rather than pointlessly working to hold onto her altitude. She'd have to shed it sooner or later when she came in to land anyways.

She came nice and gradual, unhurriedly flapping down the length of the street leading to the office. After sitting that exam earlier, she still had a half-day left of work to clock in. Here too same as in Upper Canterlot, the intersection turn into the street was strung with bright pink, blue, and white streamers.

Just as Yevetta was about to start flaring her wings to brake, a fast moving pegasus came skimming past her the other way, casually twisting around her mid-air in a high-speed aerial move.

Startled, then ticked-off, Yevetta flapped in place so she could turn back and screech after the departing red pegasus, "<Did your Ma never teach you to fly?!>"

The red stallion rolled in the air, so for a moment, he was on his back and could clearly face her looking back. Stunned at the stunt worthy aerial maneuver, it took her a second or two to actually process that the pegasus answered.

"No. My father did."

He'd understood her Griffish, and answered. And what was he doing taking off right where she was about to land anyways? By the time Yevetta regathered her wits to counter-respond, the pegasus was out of earshot and a rapidly dwindling silhouette.

"<Why you...!>", Yevetta searched for something negative to shout back to the pegasus, although he was already long gone.
Wait, that stallion had been wearing a blue ribbon in his mane. Vindication! He was just another pasty-wedding-band-wagon-sucker, and not even as a mare either.

"<You pansy!>" She shouted to the now empty Canterlot sky.

Satisfied that she'd gotten the last word, even if only in her own head, she finished descending to the street and landed.

Pulling out the office keys from her haversack as she walked up to the door, she stopped as she found it already unlocked. Hesitating, she pushed the door open and pocked her head in.

"Come in, Yevetta." Said Lemon Pink's voice from right beside her ear.

"SKRAAAaa-Ahh ha ha. Ha. Boss, y-you startled me."

"So I see. I apologize." Lemon stated, voice as flat as frozen lake. What was the travelling-cloaked unicorn even doing waiting there right beside the door frame? If Yevetta weren't certain Lemon Pink didn't give two hoots, she would've been convinced her boss kept doing this on purpose just to scare the feathers of her crest.

Getting her heart back under control, Yevetta slipped around Lemon Pink at a wide berth. And Lemon Pink? She just stood there, eye's following Yevetta as the griffin slunk passed.

Yevetta was just taking off her haversack to sit down at her desk, trying to pretend Lemon standing there in dead silence wasn't incredibly awkward, when Lemon spoke again in that uninterested, bored tone of hers:

"You are aware of how the upcoming Royal Wedding has been declared a public holiday."

It wasn't technically a question, but it sounded like one. Yevetta stopped and looked up, "Yes. What about it, boss?"

"I have decided to give you up until the wedding as additional time off, too."

"Uh...Wow, thanks boss."

Lemon Pink's head fractionally turned, cold eyes looking at something out of the front window only she could see, "Do not expect to see me again before then. I am going to be very busy. Something important has come up."

"Yes boss." Yevetta nodded along like she understood.

Lemon's curved horn faintly glowed, and her aura pulled the door open. She paused to give Yevetta one last piercing look up and down.

"Attend the wedding. Or don't. Or take a day trip out to the countryside, perhaps. Stay safe, and don't trust strangers."

"...Sure thing, boss."

Lemon Pink left, shutting the door.

Yevetta slowly sat down at the desk, reaching for the quill and inkwell. She paused, looking down at the quill between her talons.

'Hang on, when she said I had the rest of the time up until the wedding off too... does it also include the rest of today or not?'

Four Winds take it, she should've thought to ask!


---


With her sudden boon of unexpected free time, Yevetta was left at a bit of a loss about what to do with it all.

Canterlots streets were filled with constant preparations and gossip about the Royal Wedding on never ending repeat. She couldn't escape it, it was everywhere she turned.

When picking up groceries, the cashier spent ages gossiping with the pony in front of her about what the dress would be like. When she went to get some bits from the bank, they were busy sticking up wedding posters everywhere. Even when she tried going for a flight, she passed by clouds sculpted into puffy white love hearts.

Yevetta didn't have any friends she could go hang out with here, a fact that was abruptly hammered home to her.

She'd been so busy before, what with work during the day and studying like crazy after hours so as to pass her course, and still struggling to adjust to Equestrian life and language, that she hadn't had the time to fully appreciate her lack of social life.

Now she did realise though, and the emptiness of not having any of her old griffin street pals to turn to stung much more than she was expecting. So to salve the sting, Yevetta threw herself into enjoying her unexpected time-off. She couldn't focus on being homesick if she was too busy enjoying herself, after all.

Yevetta took a long walk, and then a long flight, in Canterlot's park. She brought along a packed lunch, and made a day of it, skimming the green tree tops, napping in the sun stretched on the soft, manicured grass, and ignoring the city shield. She didn't encounter Randy Pickaxe again, though.

Then, in the evening, she decided to go do something she hadn't done in a long time, six months at least, and also something she'd promised herself never again. Just like the time before that. And the time before that. Yevetta headed out to a bar to get drunk. Not just to have a mug or two, but with the aim to actually get drunk.

A hazy night of warmth, artificial cheer, squawking at things she could only half recall, fumbling with the door key in the dark, and then crashing out in a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Oh Winds..." Yevetta retched into the toilet the morning after, "Oh Winds..."

So it was that Yevetta spent the most of her second day off slowly recovering in the bathroom, wishing she were dead, or that past-Yevetta who'd decided to get drunk was dead.

Eventually after an eternity of suffering, by the time dinner rolled around she at least felt solid enough to risk eating a light meal of just toast. Then she guzzled what felt like twenty gallons of water from the bathroom sink's tap, not the kitchen sink, she didn't trust that thing anymore, before collapsing miserably onto her mattress.

'Never again. Never ever never again. It's just not worth it...' Had been her last coherent thought that day.

Feeling mostly better the next day, if still tender and delicate, Yevetta finally managed to get into the shower to wash the stink of booze off her feathers. The steaming hot water was bliss. Then, feeling ravenous but not wanting to cook, she set out into the bright morning sun in the hunt of a large, hot, greasy breakfast.

Her grand hunt ended in glorious success, and that morning Yevetta dined upon the spoils of potato wedges, beans, and eggs until she was stuffed to bursting. Indeed, she'd felt so fat and lethargic afterwards, that she'd waddled back to the flat rather than fly.

It was amazing how swiftly you could become accustomed to something. In the background, the pinkish city-wide shield still stood, and nobody was making a fuss anymore. Yevetta was not guiltless of this attitude either. Already, she wasn't giving the massive translucent dome more than a second glance. It was just there, in the background, not doing anything.

It was a bit like all the statues, Yevetta reflected. Statues and shields. Back in Griffonia, their cities had very few statues or sculptures. Yevetta recalled how when she had first arrived here in Canterlot, how she'd gawked at the hundreds of statues of Princess Celestia everywhere, but nobody else on the streets had thought it at all odd. To them, it was normal. Now this, the shield, was rapidly becoming normal too.

That said, the Royal Wedding hype was also only ratcheting higher and higher every day too. It was a palpable buzzing in the air on the streets, an ever rising sense of nervous excitement. Each hour passed was but one hour closer to the grand event.

No matter which direction you looked, you'd be looking at preparation for the wedding. It had far exceeded just Canterlot's upper class, those closest in terms of social standing to the happy couple, the wedding had firmly worked its way into even the lowest earth pony worker's home in Lower Canterlot.

"Fresh of the press, 'Guard to Groom to Gold'!" A newspaper pony hawker was enthusiastically calling as Yevetta strolled passed, "The rise of Shining Armour right here!"

For a moment Yevetta thought about doing just that, to get some idea what all the fuss was about. Then she saw eager ponies converging to read the latest gossip, and haughtily turned up her beak at their behaviour.

She could behave better than a bunch of gossiping hens at the fish market! Or ponies, in this case. And lacking the fish. Yevetta wouldn't mind some fish later. It had been so long since she'd had a piece of salmon. She thought longingly of her Ma's salmon back home, baked in the coals. But you couldn't get salmon anymore in Equestria, not unless you went out to the mountain streams where they met the sea, and caught the salmon yourself.

Daydreaming about tastes from home, Yevetta wandered back to the office and her flat.


---


The bells, the wedding bells.


---{O}---


Yevetta had seen an avalanche once. Back in Griffonia, when she was fourteen, during the winter months.

It had been snowing hard for an entire week, and then out of the blue, a brilliantly clear blue day, where the sun shone so strong you got sunburn even though you were freezing your tail off.

It had happened out from the city, on one of the higher mountain slopes. A sheet of glaring white, spotted with the green tops of pines.

It had been a controlled avalanche, triggered on purpose by a team of griffins before it could reach critical mass. Yevetta and a bunch of other bored street griffins with nothing better to do, had flown up to watch the avalanche from the air.

It had just been a low rumble. Then, spread out below them, the mountainside of white just snapped off and fell.

A sweeping wave of rushing white, the driving spray of powdered snow travelling before it like the sea foam at the crest of a wave.

It had been something awesome to witness. The roaring rumble, vibrating in her ears even all the way up in the air, the seemingly slow but impossibly fast speed of it. Witnessing the avalanche's power had filled her with excitement. The thrill! The rush! Get the blood pumping.

Yevetta had whooped and hollered along with the rest of them, exclamations escaping as white puffs from their beaks.

Then, thinking that the avalanche had settled, they'd swooped down to land on the flow, to laugh and point at just the tips of the pines left poking out of the churned up snow, like tiny new trees. They hadn't heard the griffin team still up the mountain shouting and waving for them to get off.

A rumbling vibration through the snow under her talons. What was that rushing-? Some griffin shrieked. Yevetta had looked up-

-And beheld the second wall of obliterating white bearing down on her.

From the air, it had been so exciting to watch. From the ground, it was a very, very different experience. The heart pounding inrush of horror, as you realised it was now happening to you, that it was very real, and that this was ground zero.

No longer was she a spectator. Now, she was a participant.

That was what had stuck with her afterwards, burned forever into her memory. Things were very different when you were the one it was happening to down on the ground.

She and all her friends had managed to take off in time, flapping like mad, but they'd all made it before the second avalanche hit. They hadn't been laughing and joking anymore though, as they hovered pale-faced and shaky, looking down on at the wake of the second snow avalanche.

Ma had still tanned her tail for being so stupid when she'd gotten back home, but she'd learnt her lesson.


---{O}---


The bells, they were wedding bells no longer.


---{O}---


It was completely different when you were a participant. When you were the one the disaster was happening to. When the world grabbed you from your safe comfy seat on the sidelines and threw you into the ring, it didn't matter if you thought you'd only been a spectator, because now it was you. You were the spectacle.

And the world loved to laugh at the tragedies it created front and center stage.


---{O}---


The bells, they were alarm bells.


---{O}---


Yevetta was on the ground. She was there. Standing frozen in a herd of likewise frozen ponies, all looking up.

She couldn't blink. Her wide eyes hurt. Her blood was a cold, a leaden weight in her veins.

The city shield broke, disintegrating away.

And the avalanche of howling black came thundering down to wipe her out.


---


The roaring buzz of a thousand giant wasp wings drowned Yevetta, so loud she couldn't even hear herself screech.

Black insect monsters, so many they darkened Canterlot's sky, swarming everywhere, and cutting off escape to the air. Yevetta still tried. She couldn't help it. Her instincts screamed to get off the ground and into the safe sky.

She didn't even clear the roof tops before she had to dive back down, shrilling in terror she couldn't hear all the way as snapping armoured black monsters followed her.

Her talon's skidded for purchase on the street, and a galloping pony slammed into her side.

Yevetta slipped and went down, wings all akimbo. A hoof stamped on her tail, some pony else kicked her wing, tripping all over her.

She screamed at them to get off. The roaring buzz drowned hers' and everyone else's screams out.

Get up, she had to get up! Get away, run, fly!

She clawed a pony, desperate, forcing them to get off her. The insect monster ponies, they were almost upon her!

Yevetta turned and blindly ran. She had no plan, no thought, no destination. She just ran with all the rest. Right then, she was just another face in the herd, become one of them, ruled by primal instinct. Run.

A flood of black spined bodies poured out of the sky like a waterfall, blocking the road ahead.

If any of the ponies heard Yevetta's scream of warning over the buzz, they didn't stop. They couldn't stop. The herd couldn't stop or turn, it could only stampede straight ahead, and locked in the crush of bodies Yevetta could only do the same.

A solid wall of insect mandibles, huge fangs, black spines and armour-!

The stampede hit the wall. It parted without resistance, splitting to either side to let the galloping, wild-eyed ponies charge past.

She didn't realise until they were out the other side that half of the herd was gone. Grabbed, snatched away by the many grasping fangs and clawed hooves as they passed, stripped like a branch of leaves and bark.

If she hadn't been running in the middle of the herd, if she hadn't been shielded in the middle-!

"<Four Winds, of Four Winds!>" She had to get away, had to get free of the crush, she didn't want to get stripped away next!

Buildings, the street, trampled flowers, pink banners, the stink of fear, rolling eyes, roaring buzzing. Yevetta's head spun, adrenaline swimming. Terror was in the skies, a massing swarm of buzzing hungry mouths. 

If she couldn't go into the skies, she had to find somewhere to hide instead!

Yevetta tried to slow her pace, tried to break out of the press, but she couldn't, the momentum of the herd was too strong, and she was terrified if she stopped she'd be dragged under and trampled.

Yevetta saw struggling, bucking and kicking ponies in al the colours of the rainbow being carried off into the air by groups of the black plated invaders.

"<Oh Four Winds!>"

There was a mother try to stand infront of her pram and screaming foal. She got pounced on by a dozen of the snarling insects, her and the foal both vanishing underneath the mass.

There was a trio of desperate unicorns, back to back, flinging half-formed spells. It was no good, they were surrounded. Yevetta lost sight of what happened to them, but the chasing hoard didn't divert, hot on their tails.

Yevetta screamed and put on a burst of speed seeing the snapping, hissing tide of hunger racing up the street after them and gaining!

Hide, where to hide?! Why were there no guards saving them?!

Pony! Pony at the wide open doors of a hall building. They were shouting and waving, frantically gesturing them to run into the building and safety.

Safety, there were walls and safety just beyond those doors! The herd blindly turned and rushed in, and then Yevetta was getting crushed on every side, fighting to shove through the doors.

The buzzing roar was insect wings was almost on top of them! Yevetta screamed with effort and shoved with everything she had.

The wedge of stuck ponies jamming the doors fell inwards, rolling and flailing.

Yevetta nearly sobbed. Walls, barricaded windows, piled tables and cabinets, safety!

And she could finally think, finally hear, the roaring buzz cut in half by the walls. So she could actually hear for someone screaming to; "Shut the door!"

Yevetta didn't get it. She staggered upright, turning in confusion. Shut the...?

The open doors!

The same pony from before was just standing there beside the still wide open doors, staring in frozen in fear at the oncoming hoard.

Yevetta lunged for them and the doors, trying to slam them shut.

The pony spun and hissed in her face. A face of one of the monsters, plastered over the pony's. Giant spider mandibles, beetle black carapace, snapping and snarling right infront of her beak.

She reared and fell over backwards, feathers flying, scrabbling backwards and away from the false pony. It chittered horribly at her, and then stood aside.

Through the open doorway, there was nothing to block her view of the swarm. Like a wave just about to break over the entire building, their shadow blocked out the light.

The open doors, the monster wearing pony skin, the bait of safety, all the blocked up windows. Too late. 'Too late!' Her mind screamed. It had been a trap all along.

Luck.

It was pure luck and chance that Yevetta caught the glow of a unicorn charging up some kind of big spell just to her left.
She thought it was a shield, or an attack, it didn't matter which. On instinct Yevetta grabbed the ridged unicorn, aiming to push them in front of herself to cast their spell.

*CRACK* Flash.

Yevetta's stomach heaved, light blinded her, and she staggered. Her ears popped, and suddenly the buzzing had roared back to its full, terrible volume.

The unicorn which had teleported them outside, barely ten hoof lengths from where they'd been but still outside beyond the walls, fainted dead away in magical exhaustion of having brought along an unexpected passenger.

Not even one in ten adult unicorns could teleport, and of those, few could jump anything farther than a hundred yards, and even fewer reliably so.

Luck. Pure chance and luck.

Yevetta stood there stupidly for a precious second, staring down in dumb incomprehension at the fainted unicorn at her talons.

'What th-?'
She looked up, and turned and blindly fled. She left her unwitting saviour behind without conscious thought.

There was no time for thought, no space for anything else in her head. Just self-preservation.

Run, get away, get just a minute to hide. She just had to hide, just had to find somewhere to hide! Away from the buzzing, chasing, hissing, slavering-

'Hide. Somewhere to hide. Just hide. Hide.'

Her head spun. A broken storefront window ahead. If she could reach it-Breath sawing, she put on all the speed she had, giving it everything.

She leapt, skidded on the outdoor table top, and leapt again through the shattered storefront's window.

Tumbled pony manaquins in tangled wedding bunting, broken glass shards on trampled cloth.

Panting, she tripped and scrambled over upturned racks. The back door, the 'Staff Only' store rooms. She could hear them, they were right behind her!

Yevetta burst through, only half took in shelves of neat boxes and racks, and the fire exit door.

She slammed the fire door open, dug in her talons and juked back inside, diving behind a shelf just in time.

The store room door slammed open for a second time, cracking into the wall, and one of the horrible, skeletal black insect monsters raced in. 

The thing saw the open fire door, clearly saw it still swinging shut, and completely ignored it.

Unerringly, its jagged horn and fanged head swivelled to her shelf, and through the shelf with terrible focus to the griffon cowering behind it.

Her trick had failed, and now suddenly trapped, the monster was between her and the doors, it wasn't courage that flipped Yevetta's desperation on its head.

Snap. From desperate to escape, to desperate to fight. From one to the next in a single breath and rush of every single emotion at once.

The only way out was through. Fight! Fight to live. Fight through!

Yevetta came out screeching like her highland warrior ancestors of old.

Fur and feathers all on end, she rushed it beak and talons first. If she could just overwhelm it first, if she could just bite and claw it first-!

It lunged right back at her, jagged mandibles snapping for her face. They slammed into each other, hard chitin bruising into her chest. Yevetta screamed as the mandibles snapped shut a feather's breadth from her face. She shoved at it's upper body, desperate to keep the fanged head away from hers.

For a moment they strained against each other, both reared up on their hind legs. She pushed, it pushed back. Yevetta dug in her hind claws and pushed! It dug in the spurs on its own hindlegs and pushed back. For all it was lighter, skeletal, and whip thin, the black monster matched her.

"Gggggrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnnnng-!" She strained, blood rushing to her head.

They shoved and jostled, reared up, trying to throw, trying to kick-! Yevetta's larger mass finally overcame the pony insects'. It tipped over backwards, Yevetta coming down on top of it screeching in victory. 

She grabbed it's neck, to claw and throttle it, but the carapace wouldn't bend or break, and she was loosing her grip as it thrashed like a wild animal-

The air was driven from her lungs in a painful whoosh as it's hind legs got inside and planted themselves in her guts. She was kicked off, hacking spittle, hot pain in her stomach. She rolled over and scrabbled back to her feet, clutching at her stomach.

Opposite, her opponent did the same, snarling horribly all the way as it got up. Yevetta flinched as she felt hot sharp stinging, and creeping wetness across her belly fur. She looked down in alarm, lifting her claw away. Scored lines of bleeding red seeped from where the giant insect's spur like spines had cut into her when she got kicked.

Mistake. She shouldn't have looked down for even a second. 

She was still looking down when she was slammed into. They crashed into a shelf, clothing boxes burying them both. Yevetta couldn't see, boxes piled atop her head, spilled packing paper in her mouth. She flailed about blindly, somehow landed a hit, and got her talons kicked with stinging force in instant retaliation.

Get off, get off! She needed to see, she couldn't fight if she couldn't see the-Oh, there it was. Face to face, monster and griffin stared in surprise at each other as they both came up out of the box pile to find themselves right next to each other.

It bit for her face in a flash of black mandibles. Yevetta instinctively bobbed and struck.

In unison, both of them screamed and hissed in eye-clenching pain. Blindly, eyes streaming, Yevetta kicked and stumbled her way out of the pile. She swung her wings around clumsily, blindly swiping. Her head! It bit her in the head!

That wasn't tears in her eyes, it was blood, running from the gash in her forehead. Frantically, she mopped at it, knowing she was about to get blind-sided again any moment. She got one eye clear, wings stretched out defensively, and managed to spot the insect monster.

Yevetta had got off lucky. A barbed mandible had only torn a gash on her forehead. The monster had not gotten off so lucky. One of it's solid, reflective blue eyes was now also filled with blood. But blood from the ruined orb, not from a cut. Green, stinking blood stained it's spined forehoof as it shakily lifted its limb away from the injury.

It was keening in buzzing pain. It looked with its one good eye at its ichor stained forehoof, then looked up at Yevetta. Only now did she belatedly realise there was a horrid, burning taste like lemons in her beak. She backed up at the full-body hiss of pure fury that tore out of the monster's jaws.

Yevetta was shaking, panting. She was exhausted, feeling like she might fold at any moment. Fighting for her life had hit her like nothing else she'd ever experienced. Twenty seconds of mortal combat had reduced her to this. She was bleeding. The wounds on her belly hurt enough to scare her terribly. Now she was exhausted and afraid. So instead, she made herself take a step forwards.

"You *pant* wanna' go again?" She growled, flaring her wings to appear as large as possible.

It did want to go again, oh how it wanted to hurt her in return, she could taste it. It wanted revenge for its eye. Its wasp wings buzzed lowly with fury, and its mandibles were opening and shutting like they were already gnashing on her flesh.

Yevetta bluffed and held her ground. She was a paper tiger filled with nothing but hot air. She'd deflate at the slightest poke. But still she held her ground.

Her wounded opponent stalked one step towards her, just one, but even that caused its ruptured eye pain. It staggered, hissing like a choked kettle. Yevetta stared the monster down as it painfully reassessed the situation.

'Just go away, just go away. Just go away.'

Not turning its back on her, the half-blind monster slunk away. Blood dripping from her forehead and into her eyes, it was all Yevetta could do to remain standing pretending to be strong as it fumbled for the back door's handle, hissing hatefully at her the entire way.

It was running away!

She'd done it, she'd won, she was still alive. The realisation was exquisite, the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted. The rush of victory and relief over surviving was like a second wind of healing. Sudden energy. Yevetta stood straighter, spread her wings even wider, and screeched from the bottom of her chest in a threat display.

"SkkkkkrrrrrrRRRRRAAHH! <If I ever, ever see you again, you're dead!>"

Still not looking away from her, the oversized insect finally fumbled the push-bar handle down, and opened it.

Half-a-dozen more waiting monsters filled the open door, their wings a vicious buzz.

"No. No please no, no this isn't fair..."


---<<</\/\/\/\/\>>>---


.... Muffled. Afar-off hazy... Hazy something... Tired.

...Bumping. Movement. Definite movement.... where...?

Fading out again into....


---<<</\/\/\/\/\>>>---


...Jostled. Woken.

...Something more... Something less... Sound echoing underwater...

...A bright shining... Shining pink light...


---<<</\/\/\/\/\>>>---


Heavy. Her eyes were so very heavy. Her whole body was heavy. Terribly so. And weak.

Yevetta felt as if she'd been reverted to a trembling fledgling, weak winged and struggling against a spring breeze. It was a nasty, empty weakness, like coming down with a fever.

Yevetta lay there, or hung there, or wherever here was, just... Just lethargically existing. Thinking. Thinking was hard. There was a cloud in her head. Fog, fog was the correct word, not cloud.

It would be easier to go back to sleep. To give into the exhausting fog. But, but... But that was scary. Deep down, there was an alarm ringing. Something had been very wrong. Bad. But what...?

...What had it been? She couldn't for the life of her struggle through. But the deep-seated alarm of distress was rising ever higher. It was bad bad bad whatever it was.

All at once, a blood freezing deluge of memory. A snow avalanche, into a black buzzing avalanche. Chasing spines, fangs, mandibles, then stinking green blood. Wedding. Canterlot. Shield. Swarm. Fleeing. Monsters.

Yevetta summoned up everything she had and thrashed. Out out out get out! Get out! Get out of these sticky, clinging bindings. She was going to be eaten, they'd wrapped her up to eat like a spider with a fly.

Rubbery, stretching, darkness. She struggled harder. Her weak muscles strained, shook, and failed. Yevetta panicked.

"MMmmpPHh! MmmPH! Nnnghpphhhh!"

Her beak was glued shut, covered. Her jaws felt like they'd crack she strained so hard to break free, the scabbed over gashes on her stomach flaring in stinging pain, but the solidified rubber just. Would not. Break.

"MMMMMPPPHHH!"

She screamed as loudly as she could for help. All she got was the smothered mewling of a desperate animal. She couldn't get her beak free, couldn't see anything in the shadows and blackness, couldn't flap her too-tightly bound wings, couldn't flex free her claws in heavy mitts of the hard rubber, couldn't anything.

"MmmMPPHH! MmNnnNNGGHH!"

Exhausted from her efforts, she hung there weakly, only able to breathe through her nose. She was stuck to some sort of stone wall. A cellar. She could vaguely feel the flat, square edges of heavy cut stone bricks through where her back was glued against the wall.

She was trapped here, in some cellar, like a cut of meat hanging in a cold room, helplessly waiting for the insect monsters to decide when they wanted griffin for dinner. They were going to bite her and suck out her insides like giant spiders.

Yevetta cried in the darkness of the cellar.


---


Nearly all fliers have claustrophobia, fearing having their wings trapped and not being able to use them. Yevetta was no different. But worse was the silence and the dark.

People aren't meant to be alone in the dark. It does something to them, warps time and their mind. Isolation and sensory deprivation is a certified kind of non-invasive torture. Any way to keep track of time like a clock or sunlight is removed. Moreover, it's a kind of torture that works every time. No matter how resilient the victim, no matter how strong their will, no matter how strong they think they are, being trapped in isolation and darkness breaks even the strongest in the end. All that varies is the time it takes to break.

Being trapped alone in the darkness, waiting in utter dread of the certain and very horrible death which lay at the end of the waiting... It was worse in every conceivable way.

Yevetta wasn't old, she didn't have a wealth of experience. She was barely a young adult, only recently left Griffonia and home. The concept of her own mortality had not yet sunk its inexorable claws into her like it did the middle-aged and old. 

Yevetta didn't want to die. She didn't want to die horribly, she didn't want to die to monsters, she didn't want to die trapped, she didn't want to die in the dark.

Waiting.... waiting.... waiting...

Waiting.... waiting.... waiting...

Waiting.... waiting.... waiting...

Waiting.... waiting.... waiting...


---


Yevetta had no way to keep track of time, and didn't know how long she'd already been trapped down here unconscious to begin with. There were no sunbeams coming through cracks from above, no discernible lightening or darkening of the shadows, not even any dripping of water.

Hours, certainly. Ten. A dozen? More? Or was it just the fear warping her panicked breathing, stretching reality out into one long, eternal torture.

Counting didn't work, didn't help, just made it worse as she panicked and lost track over and over again. Five-hundred, or six-hundred seconds, and she'd lose count and have to start again. And she was counting the seconds too fast, she was sure of it, but couldn't still the frantic racing pace of her mind.

Thirst. It came slowly at first. Then settled in. Then started clawing at her throat with earnest.

Thirst meant hours. Thirst meant the passing of time, steadily growing worse and worse.

And still none of the insectile monsters came back.


---


*c'op* *...'trop clop* *tap*

Hooves. Those were faint hoof steps. Yevetta snapped back to awareness.

She'd spent months in Canterlot, she'd know a hoof step muffled by a floor somewhere overhead anywhere! 

Hooves, meaning ponies, not the wasp buzzing of the black monsters!

"MmmmpphHHH!" Yevetta shouted into the gagging resin, dry throat cracking she tried so hard.

The scuffing of hooves somewhere above kept going, moving away.

*Trop* *....crop* *...'rop*

"MMMMPPPHH! MMMPH MMNNPH NNNPH!"

The hoof steps and their owner left, and didn't come back.


---


It was dark. Still dark, that is. Was it really dark? Or were her eyes no longer working properly. She kept seeing flashes of swimming colour, like ripples in the edges of her vision.

There were no hoof steps. They hadn't come back. Why? Why couldn't they realise that she was right underneath... underneath...

Yevetta jerked out of her exhausted doze and realised it had been the black colours of her shut eyes. She wished she hadn't woken, because it meant she was now painfully aware again of her thirst. Hungry too, a cold hollow pit inside, but the thirst was by far the worst.

*click* *Rattle* Right in front of her very eyes, the cellar door she'd been unable to see in the pitch darkness opened.

Yevetta flinched reactively, then stared. And stared. She was hallucinating, she had to be, there'd been no hoof steps or warning, but the painful brightness of a crystal lantern said otherwise.

A dream, then. A painful dream. Because in her desperate, addled, dehydrated state, Yevetta couldn't comprehend it being anything else but a waking dream.

Because how else was she supposed to rationalize her unicorn boss standing there?

In her omni-present traveling cloak, wearing that sliver choker, levitating a glowing white crystal lantern, and a wide brimmed sunhat of all unexplainable things hanging off the back of her head, there was just no way it was really be her boss. It was a trick, it had to be, one of the monsters in magical disguise.

It certainly sounded like her boss, though:

"Yevetta. About time." And it was said in the exact same flat, bored tone of voice too.

'Lemon Pink...?'  Was it... was it really her? Could it really be?

The painfully bright lantern floated into the room, making Yevetta squint, and illuminating the bare stone walls of the abandoned cellar that was her prison. Cobwebs and dust sat thick in the corners.

The light stung her watering eyes fiercely, but Yevetta was transfixed, she couldn't look away as it banished the darkness. It was beautiful. And, she realised, not gripped in the usual sparkling silvery aura of Lemon Pink's magic. It instead followed Lemon Pink into the cellar, bobbing along like an obedient pet on an invisible leash. Staring at that, she barely noticed what Lemon tucked away what she was levitating, a seemingly blank cut-out of metal, under her cloak.

Yevetta did notice however what Lemon Pink pulled out instead. Yevetta went very still at the dagger Lemon casually pulled out.

She didn't dare to even blink as the dagger zipped up and came to a halt, floating just under her beak. Close up, the metal was cold, oiled and deadly sharp, and the handle unadorned. It was a dagger distilled down to be what a dagger was, completely practical and nothing more.

"Hold still." Lemon Pink ordered, completely unnecessarily. Yevetta was already holding her breath, not daring to breathe.

The blade parted the black rubbery resin binding her beak shut with barely the slightest catch. Yevetta had not been able to break free of the stuff, either around her beak or gluing her limbs to the wall no matter how hard she'd struggled, but just like that, Lemon's dagger slid through it. The horrible stuff must have been very weak to cutting, that was all Yevetta could think.

Up one side of her beak, around the tip, then down the other the dagger went. 

The moment Lemon lifted the sharp metal away, Yevetta gasped for the first time in so long, parched dry mouth sucking in air, able to finally fill her lungs without struggle. She greedily sucked air in and out, the heavy weight of the resin still glued to her beak and face, but she could open her beak. 

It was simple, but so wonderful. She was never going to take being able to open her beak for granted again.

The levitating blade dipped down and came to a stop over the black mess sticking her bound left foreclaw to the wall.

"Are your claws splayed out, or in a fist before I start cutting?" Lemon enquired.

"...'crk-" *HackCough Cough*

Yevetta tried to answer, and immedidetly descended into dry coughing. She was parched.

"I will get you down. Then you may drink." Lemon informed her, "Now, nod or shake. Are your claws splayed or clenched? Nod once or twice."

Yevetta nodded weakly once.

"This will take longer then. Hold still."

With care, but not enough care for Yevetta's nerves considering how easily the dagger cut through the hardened resin, Lemon Pink began cutting an outline around her claws.

When Lemon was done, Yevetta pulled hard, and with a jerk, the last thin threads of stretchy resin snapped and her left claw was free. Still heavily encrusted with the heavy black gunk, but free. She flexed it open and closed, whimpering through the cramps.

Lemon Pink though had already started on her right claw, repeating the outline she'd cut, before levitating the knife down to do Yevetta's hind paws and tail last. Which still left Yevetta with her wings glued to the wall.

"Here. Do your own wings." Lemon flicked the knife around and offered it hilt first in her magic.

"...'y?" Yevetta croaked.

"They're your wings. If you cut wrong, it'll be your fault, not mine." Lemon answered bluntly.

Yevetta protectively tried to draw her wings in, but of course, they were stuck to the wall and all she accomplished was pulling out a couple of feathers somewhere under the resin. She winced and swallowed painfully.

"...'wa'er?" She croaked out hopefully, miming drinking.

Without otherwise shifting, Lemon withdrew the proffered dagger and levitated out a water-skin, one of the old fashion ones, from somewhere under her cloak instead.

Yevetta greedily drank, choked, drank some more. *Glup, glug, glug, glug*

She almost drained the water-skin by the time she was done, breathing heavily. She felt almost immediately better, clarity coming back to her mind. With her free claw, she carefully touched at the scabs on her belly. They seemed okay, at least. Same too for the cut on her forehead. With a start, she recalled her rescuer, who was still just standing there like a pink, cloaked statue. Guiltily, she held the water skin back out to Lemon and cleared her throat: 

"Thank you. For coming. And the water too, but, I meant for coming for me. Really, thank you boss."

Lemon blinked as she telekinetically offered the dagger again, "Interesting. You've a more realistic mindset as a griffin, it seems."

Yevetta hesitated in gingerly testing the edge of the dagger, "Er, I'm sorry?"

"The first thing you said was thank you. Some ponies are so ungrateful to be rescued."

"What? But why wouldn't they be...?"

"Because they're angry not to be saved sooner." Lemon Pink shrugged, as if it was as simple as the sky being blue, and water being wet.

Yevetta decided to concentrate on cutting her wings free. Who knows how much time she had? None of the insect monsters had returned yet, but if they were going to, she didn't want to be here when they did. The dagger was incredibly, terrifyingly sharp, unnaturally so. As she twisted to cut away the resin on her wings, she suspected if she pushed too hard, the blade would cut through the stone bricks beneath just as easily.

Perhaps unwisely considering what a moments distraction and a slip might cost her as she worked, but she had to know, she asked Lemon:

"The monsters, are they...? Are they...?"

"Changelings." 

"Change-? What? The monsters? How do you know-?"

"The whole of Equestria knows by this point. Their leader announced who and what they were for all of Canterlot to hear." Lemon Pink explained, tone still bored.

"How long has it been? How long have I been down here?" Yevetta asked the next question.

"It has been one day and eighteen hours since the Royal Wedding." Lemon promptly supplied.

The way Lemon said that... "Wait, 'since the Royal Wedding'? You say that like the wedding still went ahead."

"Indeed. It still went ahead, yes. Nearly the moment after the changelings were banished."

Yevetta almost slipped. She stopped cutting to gape at the pink mare. Here she was, starving, hurt, still covered in resin, having been kidnapped to be eaten or worse, and the ponies had still gone ahead with their pink alicorn's wedding?!

She couldn't process that, she just couldn't. She could hear the words but they just didn't add up in her head. Feverishly, she grabbed ahold of the other half of what Lemon Pink had said with both metaphorical claws.

"Banished? We won?" She eagerly asked, holding her breath.

Lemon unhurriedly nodded, "Yes. With a giant kinetic forcefield of love."

"They're gone? All of them?"

"Most of them. Ninety-nine percent. Some have no doubt snuck back into the city since."

'Snuck back in?' But how would they get passed the guards-? Green fire. That monster wearing a pony's face to trick them into a trap.

"How do I know you're really my boss Lemon Pink...?" She asked slowly, tightly gripping the dagger in her talons.

Lemon didn't seem to care, "You personally can't, at least not with absolute certainty."

Yevetta thought fast, "W-when we first met, when you offered me a job, what diner did you find me in?"

Lemon Pink nodded approvingly, "You weren't. I approached you outside on the street."

Yevetta slumped in relief, still half glued to the cellar wall. She didn't think she could take it if this had been some horrible trick, to dangle freedom in front of her beak just to snatch it away in a flash of vile green flames.

A nasty thought occurred to her, a flash of a future where nobody could trust the person infront of them wasn't a shape changing monster. After all, how could you prove you weren't a monster if someone accused you? Nobody would ever admit to being a monster. What if some people decided to strike first in pre-emptive self defence?

"Uh, how do you even know I'm really Yevetta?"

Again, Lemon gave her an approving nod, "Magic."

"There's a way you can check with magic?" Yevetta asked with relief.

Lemon studied her for a long second, "If you mean a spell, no. At least not yet. There will be one invented soon though, no doubt. With other magic though, yes."

"What other magic?"

"Other magic." Lemon repeated unhelpfully. Yevetta dropped that line of enquiry, and went back to freeing her wings from the wall.

Yet after only a dozen seconds, she found more words tumbling from her beak. She couldn't seem to hold her tongue, she was too jittery to stop. After the isolation and darkness, she couldn't help herself.

"I was, I was waiting. I woke up down here like this, didn't know how long it'd been or what'd happened, but-I was running. With, with everyone else. Did you hear it? The buzzing, I couldn't hear, it was so loud. Nobody came. I was waiting, but nobody came. I mean, some ponies came into the house, I heard their hooves above, but they didn't hear me, and they didn't come down. Why? Aren't, weren't they searching? Aren't they searching out there? Isn't everybody? Why didn't anybody come except for you?"

"Simple. Because the Guard are out searching for missing ponies. Not griffins." Lemon said.

"What?!"

Lemon didn't flinch, not even at the shrill noise in the enclosed cellar, "In the interest of fairness though, it is simple incompetence, not deliberate. There is a spell, very close range, which can detect pony magic. The Royal Guard are going building to building, making everyone go outside, then casting the spell to see if there are any hidden or trapped ponies left inside."

She made a considering noise, shrugging, "It's even worked. The Guard has pulled other ponies likewise trapped as you were from hidden rooms and holes."

Yevetta felt the anger bubble. The Royal Guard wasn't searching for griffins, only ponies. She didn't care if they had the right spell or not, or how busy they were, they could've still could've taken the thirty seconds it took to come downstairs and actually check the cellar! If not for her boss, she'd never have been found. They were going to pay. She didn't know how or when, but somebody somewhere was going to pay for that.

With a lot of effort, Yevetta pushed the anger away and relaxed her clenched talon's on the dagger. Later. She couldn't do anything about it now, so later.

"Bastards! Didn't want to put in the effort. You still found me in the end, so why couldn't they?" Yevetta growled.

Lemon Pink didn't comment.

After a moment of breathing hard, Yevetta went back to carefully cutting her feathers free, "Thanks again for coming to find me then. Erm, how did you find me? Is there a different spell for finding griffins?"

"Not as such. I simply used a... 'different' source of magic."

"Really? How many different kinds of magic can there be?"

"Many."

"Many huh? Like what?"

Eventually when Lemon didn't answer, Yevetta glanced up. Lemon was still just standing there, but studying Yevetta in a way she disliked, like a monger critically examining the gasping fish on their cutting board.

"Curiosity. That is the second time you have asked after strange magic. Perhaps you'll learn of some of the other sources of magic one day. Maybe not. But either way, it is not relevant to you today."

Yevetta ducked her head, mouth feeling numb, and got back to work. She was almost done freeing her first wing before she asked again:

"I am not ungrateful, but how come it took so long to find me? The monsters, the changelings, you said they were beaten two days ago. Why so long?"

"I was busy," Lemon stated bluntly, "There were three others on my list who came first."

There was absolutely no apology in Lemon's tone or posture, no regret for leaving Yevetta hanging for so long. Somewhere behind her cold, limpet eyes, Lemon Pink had a list of her priorities, and Yevetta's place on it was set. No higher, and no lower.

Yevetta opened her beak, then shut it. What could she say in the face of Lemon's cold, unapologetic logic? At least Lemon was completely upfront and honest about it. Somehow, that was more palatable than the Royal Guards, who'd simply been incompetent.

Wordlessly, she finished freeing her first resin laden wing, and started on her second, trying not to think about what damage getting the solid filth out was going to do to her feathers. She was going to be grounded for a solid week at the very least when all of this was over, until enough new feathers grew in.

Who were the three, even? Randy Pickaxe certainly, but the rest? Yevetta hadn't the faintest clue. She hadn't realised Lemon even cared about that many people in the whole world.

Unexpectedly, it was Lemon took the initiative to break the silence which had fallen on the cellar.

The thin mare, still with that pushed back sunhat which Yevetta kept overlooking, made a little motion with her curved horn, and the bobbing crystal lamp floated closer so as to better illuminate Yevetta as she worked.

"You've held yourself together remarkably well..." Lemon mused, "Two days in darkness. No food, no water, no help, no company. But you did not break. I can see it in your eyes, I would know if you had broken. You kept up enough hope to hold on."

Lemon took a step closer, "You've at least some strength of character. Useful. I could use that. Perhaps a test. Yes. Yevetta, how would you like the opportunity to undertake a test?"

"What for?" Yevetta asked warily, trying to hide her nervousness. She drew her one freed wing closer to herself protectively.

"For a potential promotion to undertake some of my lighter 'other' lines of work."

"A promo-? Now? Right now?! That's what's important now?" Yevetta gawked.

"Yes. Are you interested?"

"Sure. Why the hells not? A promotion interview. Makes perfect sense. Might as well, right?" Yevetta almost laughed, equal parts frustration at her boss's skewed priorities, and relief at something so mundane after all this danger and tension. It was like the world was saying; 'This disaster is over, and normal life is resuming'.

With one wing free, and now able to better turn her body, Yevetta finished cutting her second wing free of the changelings resin in half the time. Lemon Pink magically plucked the dagger from her talons before Yevetta could reflexively tighten her grip, the incredibly sharp implement flying back to vanish somewhere beneath the unicorn's travelling cloak.

"Come."

Yevetta did not need to be told twice. She hobbled for the cellar's stairs as fast as her stiff limbs would allow, hot on Lemon's tail, the floating lantern likewise following.

Fresh air, light! The opening at the top of the stairs was a warm portal beckoning her up. She never wanted to ever see this cellar again, never so much as wanted to fly over whatever neighbourhood this was, didn't want-

There was a stink in the air, acidic. Like a sharp memory on her tongue.

Yevetta stepped out into the room behind Lemon. A large kitchen waited. A cluttered, shattered mess. Torn blinds half drawn over frosted panes.

The stink, it was cooling green ichor. There were three skeletal changeling corpses slumped in the trashed kitchen.

Yevetta stopped. There was a far away high pitched whine in the back of her head, a single unbroken note going on and on.
There were three corpses right there. Stark, real, in her face. Lying and sitting in stinking pools of their green blood.

Each insectile corpse was the same. Green, sticky blood, spilling down their faces and drenching their necks. Out of their their noses, squeezed out of the corners of their solid blue eyes, even out of their ear holes, and pooling out of their grossly distended, unhinged fanged maws.

No fight. The changelings hadn't died standing and fighting back. As if they'd each just slumped down and bled out on the floor.

Yevetta couldn't seem to look away. Three faces hidden behind masks of spilled green, dripping down their drenched fronts, and into those stinking pools of it. It was horrible and almost hypnotic. 

Lemon Pink was saying something. She couldn't hear her over the high pitched whining.

And Lemon was just standing there, as if nothing was wrong, without so much as a second glance at the grisly corpses.

Lemon Pink. Her scary boss Lemon Pink. her cold, unfeeling, merciless boss Lemon Pink. Who she'd been first wary of, then thought she understood. Then frightened, then reassured. Yevetta had thought she was finally understanding.

And then this.

There wasn't a mark on Lemon, not so much as a green splash on her cloak's hem. Yet there wasn't a single doubt in Yevetta's heart of whom had killed these three changelings.

Yevetta remembered her life and death struggle, how she'd barely held off one changeling. Lemon was just standing there, as unbothered as she ever was, acting like she had no trouble breathing the stink filled air. 

Her instincts had been right on the money about the pink unicorn the first time. 

That feverish night and dark nightmare... It no longer felt like it had only been an awful nightmare. 

Part of it had been real. Maybe even all of it. What had the dark Lemon Pink hummed as she blew out Yevetta's last match?
"Sow up your beak and go to sleep."

Yevetta could never tell anyone ever about what'd happened here today. Never ever Ever.

Her beak finally creaked open like a rusty hinge, thick tongue fumbling the words out.

"<You said all the changelings were banished.>"

"<Not all of them. Only ninety-nine percent.>" Lemon answered back in accented Griffish.

Yevetta was too shocked for any more shock to register. It was too much. It had all morphed into this one big numb ball of acceptance.

'Oh. I guess this is just the way things are going to be now.'

Lemon had killed these changelings, how she didn't know, on her way downstairs to free Yevetta. That was good for her chances, right? Lemon wouldn't rescue her only to silence her, right?

And changelings were monsters. They'd just invaded Canterlot, they were the enemy. Lemon didn't have to worry about getting into trouble over, over self-defence. She'd just claim self-defence, and that would be that, right?

Yevetta was glad these changelings were dead. They'd attacked her, hurt her, been going to eat her. But they'd been monsters, rabid beasts.

But now she had the sinking feeling she was standing in a room with a wholly different kind of monster, and it wasn't the obvious kind.

Oh right. Lemon Pink was speaking. Yevetta should definitely be paying very close attention.

"...open the back windows. Keep the curtains shut. Don't be seen. We will exit by the back door only." Lemon repeated patiently.

Yevetta didn't understand. Did it matter? Was she going to disobey Lemon Pink? Tartarus no to the second, which made the answer no to the first too.

"Got it. Will do. No problem."

Yevetta's legs carried her in a daze into the house's front room. There was a table, sofas, and scattered floor cushions. For the life of her, Yevetta couldn't focus long enough to even count them.

The windows. Open the windows, close the curtains, and don't be seen doing it. Right, do that, then go back into the stinking, disgusting kitchen to use the back door. 

'Right. Yes. Do that.'

Yevetta did that. Then her legs carried her on autopilot back to the kitchen.

Lemon Pink was... was doing something. Levitating little short sticks of wood in all the corners of the room, and one underneath each of the... of the... of the three bodies.

"Um. I'm done. Now what?" She asked, voice faint.

Lemon didn't look up from her work. She was setting something up in the middle of the floor, focusing hard on whatever it was.

"Did you do the same upstairs too?"

Upstairs? There was an upstairs? Yevetta hadn't even looked.

"Oh. Right. Of course. I'd better get on that."


---


When Yevetta's resin encrusted claws carried her back into the kitchen the next time, Lemon Pink was done, and standing waiting by the back door. Her cold indigo eyes swept Yevetta up and down, assessing her state.

"Put this on. Do not take it off until I tell you to." Lemon ordered, magically holding out her sunhat.

Yevetta blinked stupidly at the proffered hat. Of course. The sunhat that Lemon had been wearing. She wasn't focusing at the moment.

'Wait, what good is a hat going to do?'

"Of course. Sure. Whatever you say, boss."

She put on the sunhat. It fit snugly atop her crest. She had no idea why, and felt silly.

"Follow me closely. Do not make eye contact with anyone. Do not speak to anyone. Do not respond to anyone. Do not take the sunhat off until I say. Understand?"

Yevetta nodded dumbly, feeling lost and disconnected from where she was and what she was doing. What was she even doing? Not just here, but in the world? Why was she here, and not back in Griffonia? The more she thought about it, the less sense it made.

Dumbly, Yevetta trooped out the back door after Lemon. Behind her, there was a quiet fizz, then *Woomph* of displaced air.

Crackling dry heat bathed Yevetta's hind quarters, instantly crisping her fur and tail tuft.

She couldn't help herself, she looked back.

The kitchen she'd barely exited as a raging fire. Nearly smokeless flames were everywhere, licking higher by the second. So sudden, so fast. The heat dried out her eyes in a single moment. How? Nothing, and then, this glowing furnace-?

The back door slammed firmly shut in Lemon's magic, cutting off Yevetta's view. Even the ravenous crackling of the flames was silenced.

"Don't linger. Follow." Lemon ordered into the sudden quiet.

Yevetta meekly obeyed.


---


Three blocks blocks away and down a tier, in a Canterlot which eerily looked like it hadn't been touched at all by the invasion which had swept its streets, Yevetta looked back.

Ponies rushed passed them, going the other way. Up the rise, on the road gently running up to the next tier of buildings, a house blazed high like a torch. Snapping orange flames raced for the orange evening sky.

Yevetta kept turning to look back, again and again, until they were out of sight.


---


Like the rest of Canterlot, the Eggs n' Benedict office was strangely untouched.

Yevetta sat blankly on her work chair she used everyday, but now not working, just sitting there feeling numb and completely beyond caring about anything. If Princess Celestia walked through the front door right now, and declared Yevetta was to be crowned, Yevetta would likely just shrug 'Okay', and go with it.

Early night was descending outside. There was as-of-yet untouched plate of cold three-day-old fish and potato bake beside her. She was hungry, but not yet.

She just needed, just needed to... needed to sit and think, to stop and absorb everything. Nothing was logical, nothing had made sense since the Royal Wedding was first announced.

Lemon Pink sitting on the other side of the office, flicking through the business's monthly paperwork was not helping the surrealness subside at all.

Paperwork. She'd just returned from killing three changelings and burning down a house, and she was more concerned about catching up on delayed paperwork!

How ice-cold did you have to be to seamlessly transition from one to the other? 

'Sow up your beak and go to sleep.' The memory again passed through Yevetta's head.

She couldn't tell anyone about this. Ever. Not that she would've blabbed to the guards, but now it wasn't even an option. Yevetta was not allowed to talk. 

Tellingly, Lemon had not set back out into the city to search for anyone else. Lemon had said Yevetta was fourth down her list. She had a sullen suspicion fourth was also last place on the list. Fourth. At least she ranked above paperwork in her boss's skewed sense of priorities.

'Oh, she told me to open the windows to feed the fire.' Yevetta belatedly realised as she sat there. 

She was now an arsonist. Okay.

"<Why'd she even burn it in the first place though?>"

Yevetta started and looked around the office. Who'd said that, and in Griffish too? Oh. It had been her. She hadn't meant to.

"Obvious. To dispose of the changeling bodies." Lemon answered, but in standard Equestrian.

Yevetta slowly blinked tired eyes. She didn't understand, "<But, why? Why bother? They were monsters. Who'd care?>"

"There are many who would care if they knew. Now they don't."

Yevetta thought on that, but still only half got it. She focused and switched back to Equestrian, "But burning it, that's so obvious. Everybody's going to know it was on purpose. Um, boss I mean."

"Correct. It will be obvious it was deliberate. But so what? The real evidence is still burned." Lemon said, turning a page.

"But what evidence? They were bad guys, the enemy. What were you, uh, we, even hiding?"

"My methods. How I did it. Keep your secret weapons secret for next time."

'Next time.' Preparing for if she had to secretly kill a room full of changelings again. The next time.

"Huh." 

Yevetta fervently hoped... she didn't know quite what she hoped. 

"Also, it served as your test. Well done. You passed." Lemon added disinterestedly.

"...W-what?"

"That was your promotion test. It wouldn't have been much of a test if you knew it was a test."

That wasn't what Yevetta had meant at all when she'd said yes! She'd thought, she'd meant, a normal promotion for a normal job! But Lemon Pink had completely misunderstood, and now she was in too deep and couldn't take it back, didn't dare even think of taking it back.

'It was just a misunderstanding' Yevetta mentally lamented in a tiny, lost voice.

"So... so the test was...?" She weakly trailed off.

"A test of your professionalism working on the other side of the law. Quiet, quick, obedient, and efficient. These are the professional standards I expect you to maintain both off and on the clock. Don't expect to be introduced to any of my personal work, furthermore do not try to pry into my personal life anymore, so absolutely no seeking out Randy to speak to him regarding any of this, understood? But otherwise, welcome aboard."

There was a question she had to ask, had to know how deep she was in, "But what if I'd said no? What if I didn't agree to the test?"

Lemon's apathetic answer was not the response she'd been expecting; "Then you would not have seen the changelings. and we would simply have left. Since you will be working for me, there is little harm in you knowing that while I am far from a master, I do have some skill in the magical school of illusions."

What? Yevetta wasn't a unicorn, hadn't grown up around unicorns, but surely illusions weren't that common? Or were they? How would she know if they were or weren't?

The thought that the three dead changelings had all been an illusion, part of the test, appealed tempted her. But no, it was best that she treat everything she'd seen as if it had been entirely real. It was better than the alternative of mistakenly thinking something wasn't real when it was. If she started second guessing everything she ever saw...

"Do you have any more questions? Or are you satisfied?" Lemon prompted, all cool professionalism, 

Yevetta looked down at her open talons, still laden with dried sticky resin, then back up at the expectantly waiting pink mare.

"...Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say."





And that was how Yevetta Kreecaw, dutiful eldest daughter of four, immigrant to Equestria, freshly trained business accountant, ended up in the employment of a secret crime boss.

Really, looking back after two months, despite all her silent internal screaming, it wasn't much different from her day job at Eggs n' Benidect. There was less than expected, (meaning none-what-so-ever), armed burglary, skulking in alleyways, or stealing from orphans. Just a different sort of paperwork, and more fetching and carrying sealed parcels.

And when her boss told her to stay in her room at night and not open the door no matter what she heard, well, it was certainly better than not knowing not to open the door. Right? If  Lemon Pink was doing anything truly evil and vicious behind the scenes, Yevetta didn't know, and wasn't interested in finding out. It wasn't her business. 

Furthermore, unless she volunteered to do some 'overtime', Lemon wouldn’t make it into her business either. 

Yevetta wouldn’t be volunteering. She was perfectly happy with her new position and comfortable with her level of responsibility.

Her promotion came with a nice starting bonus, a raise, and increased job security. And 'other' forms of security too.

There was a certain reassurance in knowing if or when the next time monsters came knocking, your boss would knife them without so much as blinking. Reassuring, and terrifying. Because Lemon would faithfully keep her word, as long as Yevetta faithfully kept hers.

Really, it was just good business to keep your word.


---I---

> 3. It 'Aint Sayin' Much - 1003 A.C.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Year - 1003 A.C.



"He don't talk much."

That was pretty much the first thing everypony said if asked about Big Mac.

"Big Mac? Yeah, he don't talk much."

That was usually the start, and also end, of any enquiry regarding Big Mac. Because what more was there to say really? He didn't say much, so likewise, there was not much to say about him.

Besides, he was basically just a moving piece of background on hooves when it came to the Apple family. Applejack was the one who stood front and center whenever anypony looked to the Apple family.

She got all the attention, and also all the responsibility, of being an Element of Harmony. Ponies from out of town were always comin' through, looking to talk to any of the 'gals. Or from in town too, for that matter.

Big Mac. He didn't say much. Words were hard. Ponies spoke to you, an' you had to try and find a response, an' you were taking too long, an' they were staring at you impatiently, and "Nope" and "Eeyup" were all his clumsy tongue could seem to manage.

Eeyup and Nope were simple. Eeyup and Nope got the job done, didn't they? And Eeyup and Nope were all anypony expected of him by now.

Big Mac's secret special-talent seemed to be only thinking up the perfect response half-an-hour after a conversation was over. Not that he told anypony that joke. Because, again, talking.

Big Mac didn't talk much. He heard and saw a lot instead.

Thought all the time, too. Thought and thought, and overthought. Thought and wished he could just turn his darned brain off.

He didn't need ta' be worrying all the time about the new saplings over in the east orchard for example, not when he was working in the west orchard, or when he was washing up, or when he was hauling the cart, or digging out the clogged stream, or trying to control Applebloom. He didn't need to be worrying extra. He was already worried, but was that good enough? Hay naw, course not! His brain had ta' remind him of his worries all the time when it didn't need to be.

What's more, worrying more couldn't do nothing. Like with saplings.  He'd dug, dunged, and watered all the new saplings the very best he could. There ain't no more he could do there.

But his darn brain just wouldn't leave a problem well-enough alone. The saplings were just one example from months ago. He'd known it would be fine, and it was fine, but did that help?

Nope! He just moved on ta' fixate on the next problem he had no control over.

Big Mac didn't talk much. And he didn't talk about his silent, dumb worries.


---O---


Dragging the weed rake through the soft earth, stopping after every five to six stroke to de-weed the rake's teeth into the barrow, Big Mac worried about if he'd get this stretch done one time. And about if he fell behind, about how he'd have to work faster on the stretch after that. And then the one after that. And that one too.


---


Sitting at the table, eating his way through a heaped serving of oats for lunch, he looked at Granny and worried about her age, about how time was catching up, about how nothing terrible had gone wrong health wise yet, and about how much worse t'would make it at some indeterminate time in the future.


---


Laboriously hammering in another fence post stake, sweating lightly in the sun, he worried about Winona one day running off into the Everfree and not ever coming back out. She was a good girl, and always came when called, but what if one day she got too excited chasing a squirrel and didn't hear them hollering?


---


Trotting down the lane to pick up Applebloom from primary school, he worried about if'n she'd be there when he arrived, of if she'd gone haring off with Scoots and Sweetie again, and about the time that would mean wastin' in searching, and about what if, this time, they finally got themselves really hurt?


---


Washing the dust and dirt from his hooves in the outdoor basin, muscles that lethargic aching after a full day of hard work, he worried about if'n the yard pump suddenly packed up. About how that would mean having to take the whole thing apart, and what if he couldn't figure out what was wrong with it? Then what? How much time and effort would it waste getting the pump working again?


---O---


These were the things Big Mac worried about in a day. Pointless things which he had no say-so over.

He worried about his sister Applejack.

She was an Element of Harmony, a defender of Equestria. A national hero! She'd stood up against evil and triumphed at every turn!

Mac lay awake in his bed as the farm house gently creaked in familiar ways, and thought; 'And none of that don't mean she might not come home one day.'

'Jack went out there, to far away places with a big grin on her face, because the other five 'gals needed her, because the Princesses called, and because it was the right thing to do. She weren't the sort to ever say no to anypony in need, no-siree.

"It's ma' duty. I gotta' responsibility to Equestria. If'n I can't step up an' help make the world a more honest place, I couldn't look ma'self in the mirror every mornin'." Those had been the exact words she'd once privately confided in him and Granny.

Big Mac didn't talk much. He didn't have the correct words to express to 'Jack how little that helped, not when she'd just made her stance clear. An' anyway, how did he have a hoof to stand on when she was the one going out there risking her neck and he wasn't?

Except... except... what about them? What about him an' Applebloom and Granny? Or mainly just him and Granny, since Applebloom didn't understand it yet.

Or was it just him? Did Granny have more faith than he did?

Was it just Big Mac who had to wait uselessly in dread of one day an apologetic Royal Messenger coming back, and not his sister instead?

The good of Equestria was supposed to be worth more than the good of one family, right? But that hadn't never soothed the cold voice of selfish worry he kept hidden inside and never voiced.

Big Mac didn't talk much. And he worried about things he had no say over.


---


"An' don't let me forget to put them pumpkins into the shade ah' midday, ya' hear?"

"Yep." Big Mac repeated. For the fifth time.

"Yep you'll let me forget, or yep you'll remind me?"

"Yep." Sixth time.

Applejack firmed her hat further down over her mane, "Good, so don't you be lettin' me forget. Caus' that's why we lost last year, I'm ah' sure of it."

Big Mac didn't sigh. He just said said; "Yep."

"But this year, this 'ere year the Apple family is bringin' home the Pumpkin Cup!"

Since 'Dash would never let his sister hear the end of it if she didn't, (which meant he'd have to hear it all second-hoof) Big Mac sure hoped so. And that would be 'afore Granny got her say in too.

"Yep."

"So from eight ta' eleven, we sun 'em. Eleven ta' three, we shade 'em. From three ta' six, we sun 'em again, and then from six ta'..."

Big Mac let Applejack go on. She didn't need his input, she was just repeating this over and over for herself. Repetition, that was how Applejack did things.

The big Nightmare Night party was a big deal every year in town, and this here year was gonna' be no different. Big Mac wasn't really a huge fan of all the talking and screaming at the festival. Yet he would easily admit, (silently to himself), that he did quite like the rest of the Nightmare Night party stuff.

He liked the cinnamon soup contests, the pumpkin carving, the stringing up the candle lanterns, the myriad different pie-themed contests, the rambunctious foals an' parents chasing all over after them.

That, and big celebrations like Nightmare Night were one of the few things he'd managed to convince himself he didn't need to worry over. Least ways, not worry much over.

Like, if it was 'Bloom's birthday party, he'd worry over that as it was his responsibility ta' get right. But a big festival? Everypony was worrying over getting that right, not just him, so it took the burden off him and sort of shared it around instead.

And if one pony messed up? It was okay, because there were like, a hundred more ponies who didn't mess up, and only one in a hundred was pretty good going.

Picking up some audio que from his ears, Big Mac's hind brain tuned him back in as his sis was wrapping up:

"...watering 'em plenty morn an' even, and come two weeks time we'll have the biggest, best gosh-darned pumpkins Ponyville's ever seen." She declared confidently.

"Yep." Eighth time.

"Why, Twilight's gonna' be sitting in on judging this 'ere year's batch, so it'll be more'n fair. We'll definitely win." 'Jack finished, sounding a lot like 'Dash right then.

Why was Twilight Sparkle was suddenly an expert judge on pumpkins? Probably read a book on it. Somehow, she ended up being the authority on everything in Ponyville.

Applejack nudged his broad shoulder with her smaller own, a remarkably annoying sisterly smirk on her face, "Ma'be she wouldn't mind some help with them judgin'. Sound like a fine idea ta' you, Mac?"

Nope. Nope it did not.

Because he did not like Twilight Sparkle.

He'd never told anypony, and now it was too late and he couldn't ever tell anypony.

He, Big Mac, did not like the Element of Magic, famous Hero of Equestria, Saviour of Ponyville, Royal Emissary, Twilight Sparkle.

By necessity, all of his sis's friends were his friends by extension, or at least acquaintances. With one exception.

'Dash was 'Dash. 'Shy was 'Shy. Pinkie was Pinkie. Rarity was already a nickname, so she was Rarity. But in Big Mac's head 'Twi as his sis called her was always the full 'Twilight Sparkle'. 'Cause even if nopony else knew it, Twilight Sparkle was no friend of his.

Twilight Sparkle was not a bad pony, she didn't mean no harm. That didn't mean she brought no harm.

It was mighty ungrateful, yet as far as he could figure, while half the time Twilight Sparkle might save Equestria, the rest of the time it wouldn't have needed saving if she weren't around ta' cause the need in the first place.

But he wasn't allowed ta' say that, nor supposed to even think it. But he did. The thought rattled round and around in the back of his head when he saw her in town, or giving a speech, or laughing and eating apple pie with his family at their dinner table. An' most especially whenever she teleported in all hurried-like, grabbed Applejack, and vanished again to fight some new danger. And he an' Granny and 'Bloom were left to anxiously wait, not knowing anything, or how long 'Jack was gonna' be gone, or where, or anything.

That was not okay. That was not okay by Big Mac at all. They weren't playing for half-bits in a hoof of cards, they were gambling with pony lives, his Sis's life, sometimes even his life an' the lives of everypony Equestria's. Who decided that was okay? Who gave them permission ta' gamble that? He didn't recall ever agreeing to anything.

And then the 'gals would arrive back, like they always did, with big smiles and tall tales, and act like they'd never been in danger at all, and he was jus' supposed to join in on the pretend-act and not allowed to say anything. "Everthing's ah'right." 'Jack would say.

Couldn't they see? Couldn't they tell? They couldn't keep on getting away without a scratch. One day, one day, things weren't going to all turn out "ah'right".

But Mac seemed ta' be the only pony who worried about that eventuality.

So nope. Big Mac did not like Twilight Sparkle.

Which meant he couldn't say nothing at all to Applejack's teasing question, cause his 'Sis could tell any lie, and would call him out on it. Loudly. But you couldn't lie if you didn't say nothing.

So Big Mac kept silent and didn't respond with even a monosyllable word to Applejack's ribbing.

She just interpreted his silence the other way, and nudged him harder, grinning wider:

"Shucks, you only had ta' ask. I bet'cha I could get ya' on the judging panel, no problem."

"Nope."

"Wha'da ya' mean nope?"

This was safer. He could say nope and not be lying about the reasons why.

Big Mac took a breath and focused on getting the right words out, and in the right order:

"Nope thanks. Don't want ta' judge."

That was the truth, and 'Jack would know it was the truth. And, as predicted, she dropped it.

"Alrighty then, it don' matter. You jus' let me know 'iffen you want ta' give anything like that a try this year. They 's always happy ta' have more hooves to help out. Now, lets get to them pumpkins! Hop to it!"


---


Big Mac was not a pony giving to boastfulness, and not simply because doing so would involve talking, but he had to admit that this year, the Apple family's pumpkins were the largest yet.

Applebloom, still being a foal, was however.

"Cor! Ain't nopony else gonna' even be close to our pumpkins. We're gonna' win blindfolded, hooves down, no contest for sure!" 

"Now now sugar, don't go counting your apples before you've bucked 'em." Applejack chided their younger 'sis, before ruining it by not-so-humbly bragging:

"Ev'n if 'ah do say so ma'self though, them there pumpkins do be masterpieces of good ol' Earth Pony artwork."

She wasn't wrong, though. The orange skinned gourds were ginormous specimens. Heavy, fat, with that perfect orange sheen when the sun hit 'em, each one was so large it would need a whole barrow to itself to get it to the cart. Big Mac was looking forwards to carving a couple of 'em.

"Eeyup."

Of course, the nasty little voice of worry immediately had to speak up in the back of his head. There was still a week until Nightmare Night, what if a worm got into the pumpkin patch in that time? What if all their hard work turned into slimly rot?
That there was very unlikely to happen, but the voice always needed something ta' worry about and make him lose sleep over.

"Dang it, Winona. Winona! No! Bad gal', don't piddle on our new-Winona!"

"Eww, gross. Dibs I ain't carving that one!" 'Bloom yelled.


---


It was three days to Nightmare Night. The late low sun was casting a warm halo over all the apple trees, slowly setting behind the west orchard. The Apple family were eating at the outside table on the porch, on account of it being such a nice evening.

"What'cha?"

"Ah said, it's gonna' be a great Nightmare Night this year Granny."

"What'cha?"

Applejack leaned in; "Ah said, it's gonna' be a great Nightmare Night this year!"

"I ain't deaf, stop hollering!"

Undisturbed, Big Mac chewed on his apple bake and mentally went over todays work in his head to make sure he hadn't forgotten nothing. Or worried about it, more accurately.

Maybe he had forgotten something. Because if'n he couldn't remember because he forgot, how would he know? He'd cleaned out all the hen coups, properly scrubbed them down, and thrown in fresh straw. He'd hitched himself up pulled out that patch of ash saplings before they could properly put down roots and become immovable. He'd carted all twelve cart loads of leaf refuse to the bonfire pile, and he had-

"Mac, hey Mac. Some'ut on your mind?"

Without breaking rhythm in eating, Big Mac scooped up another forkful and shrugged.

"Eh, eeyup."

"Anything important?" Applejack pressed.

"Nope."

"Anyway, as 'ah was saying, Miss Cheerlie's said she's fine 'aving all the school foals for the spooky walk, an'-Applebloom, what're you goin' as again?"

"Ah' wanna' be one of 'em thes'ral vamponies!"

"Weren't you one of those last year?"

"No 'ah wasn't, that was Scoota. This year it's ma' turn to be a vampony!"

Applejack waved her hoof, "Kay, so Cheerlie'll be watchin' Applebloom and the foals for the first half of the evenin' at least. After that, you good to swing by and pick her up Mac?"

Big Mac raised his brows, "Eeeeeyup..." He drew out, giving his sis a questioning look.

"Me and the gals' have got plans." Applejack declared.

"Back in ma' day," Granny loudly jumped in out of nowhere, "We didn' have no glass foals!"

"Wha-? Ah' said class foals Granny. Class, not glass."

"Watch'a yammerin' about? Ah'm talking about glass foals!"

"An' ah' said class, Granny! Like from school!"

"Ah' ain't deaf, stop hollering! Ah know what ah'm talkin' about. Glass foals! Them pansy, softie, crack-as-soon-as-look-at-'em glass foals."

"Pansy's nice-" Applebloom started to speak up, but was completely overridden.

Granny waved her stick around dangerously, nearly knocking the apple-juice pitcher off the table, "Back in ma' day, we didn' need to school filly ta' hold ya' hoof.  Ah' walked ta' school by ma' self 'afore the crack of dawn everyday!"

"Ya' said ya' didn' have a school in Ponyville, Granny." Applejack helpfully reminded her.

"Course we didn'! Ya' think we had time ta' be going ta' school? Course not! We had ta' run this here farm!"

"Wish I didn' have ta' go to school." Applebloom grumbled under her breath.

With surprising sharpness of hearing considering earlier, Granny's ears swivelled to zero in on Applebloom's mumble.

"Ya' gonna' go ta' school and ya' gonna' love it! A filly's education is the most important thing! Why, back in my day, we didn' have school!"

"Yes Granny, we know, you jus' said that-"

"IN MA' DAY, We didn' have no fancy-smanzy Nightmare Night!!"

"A'kay, a'kay, I think maybe it's gettin' late-"

"WE DIDN'T HAVE NO FANCY CANDY, WE ONLY HAD SOUR APPLES!"

"Granny! Don'tcha be saying things like that! Our apples ain't never been sour!"

That's the part she focused on? Big Mac sighed and began quietly clearing the table in the background. He was just as proud of their livelihood as the next Apple, but even he knew they weren't perfect.

Why, if nothing else, crab apples was supposed ta' be sour.

It t'was just another reason why he worried. Applejack never lied, she couldn't ta' save her life, but that didn't mean she always told the truth. Just the truth as she saw it.

She said they never did done grown sour apples. But they did, she just forgot about it in that moment, or she meant they didn't grow no normal apples sour on purpose. Or that they didn't sell sour apples.

Everypony knew that Applejack always spoke true. They all seemed to forget she could still get things wrong. Big Mac worried about things beyond his power, and he worried about 'Jack being wrong whenever she left.

Every time she came back and told them all it was fine, that them 'gals were never in no real danger, that there'd been nothing ta' worry over... Big Mac didn't believe her.

He hated that nasty little voice for ruining an otherwise perfectly pleasant evening.

Big Mac washed up the dishes, Applebloom doing the drying, and turned in early for the night. He didn't get as much sleep as he wanted, though. Laying wide eyed in the dark, on his back staring up at nothing, the nasty voice jus' wouldn't let him be. Only when the voice eventually got distracted by tiredness, was he finally able to sneakily fall asleep a'fore it could rouse itself again.

Or at least, that's what it felt like ta' him. It wasn't much fun, having to fight your own brain just ta' get ta' sleep.


---


"Big Mac my verbose friend, I see this fence you're trying to mend."

Big Mac turned around quickly to find the zebra, Zecora, standing on the other side of the fence. It was off putting, how she always snuck up on everypony.

What with those huge weird golden rings, bangles, and necklaces of hers, Big Mac would've thought she'd clank more. Somehow though, she didn't. Was that cause she had ta' be quiet, living like she did in the dangerous Everfree?

"Eeyup." He politely took of the hammer loop from his hoof, and turned ta' properly face the striped mare.

A stallion was always polite to a mare. Even when it was Twilight Sparkle. Maybe especially when it was Twilight Sparkle.

"A repair you have well in hoof I see, but still I'd offer a helping hoof from me."

For the hundredth-odd time, Big Mac thought how weird it must be in Zebrica, with everypony always having ta' talk in rhymes.

"Nope thanks." He politely declined the offer.

Zecroa gave the fence bar separating them a hard rap with that funny staff of hers, but the fence didn't so much as wobble. "Perhaps a good thing to my mind, skilled craft is best left to the professionals, I find. I'm always willing to help a friend in need, but ruining this fence I wouldn't be much of one indeed."

Big Mac had to take a moment concentrating to parse all of that. Words were hard, especially when Zecora used odd ones out of place jus' so as ta' make her sentences rhyme.

Ahh, okay, Zecora had been making a joke.

"Heh, nope." He replied once he got it.

She poked the fence a couple more times, checking its sturdiness, that weird sticky-up mohawk made of hers making her look taller than she really was. Big Mac noticed, because few ponies were as tall as him, so when anypony else came close, he kinda' noticed by default.

"A fine fence, very solid. A good reason to not be so worried. The forest is not a safe place to roam, not to venture out away from home."

"Eeyup." He agreed, but raised his eyebrows questioningly. They both knew this, why was she making a special point of it today?

"May I enquire, do you know what caused this damage to transpire? Was it some beast which broke through here? That is what I'd like to hear."

"Nope." And then, to clarify he was saying 'nope' to her enquiry and not 'nope' she couldn't hear, he focused hard, worked his jaw, and after a minute's careful thinking added:

"Nope. No beast. Jus'... jus' wear n' tear."

"Good to hear, yes, good to hear..." Zecora trailed off. She looked to be distracted, still tapping on the fence, so Big Mac waited. Long pauses in a conversation were no hardship to him.

The longer, rougher grass on the other side of the fence rustled pleasantly as a breeze blew through the orchard and out, carrying with it the scent of fresh apple leaves. Big Mac idly followed the ripple through the grass it made, tracking its invisible path from the fence and his farm, until just before he could no longer make out the effects of the wind, the grass came to a stop up against the edge of the forest.

The Everfree forest didn't look like no friendly place for a pony, even from all the way back here. Although at least this far out on the edges, it wasn't that dangerous. Still dangerous yes, because anything unpredictable and unnatural like that was always gonna' be dangerous, but the really dangerous critters you could only find if you went in deep. And what kind of idiot would do that? Present zebra company excepted, of course.

"The Sol'jek Kroll will be upon us soon, or the Last Eve..." Zecora abruptly spoke up again. He blinked and quickly turned back to her to show he was paying attention.

"Although here you might call it Nightmare Night I believe."

"Eeyup?"

Zecora's ears were twitching about this way and that restlessly, and the rhythm of her staff tapping on the fence was slowly increasing, "I having nothing concrete to which I can object, nor do I have clear in my mind and suspect. But..."

She turned and fixed Big Mac with a serious stare, "...There is a stranger in my trees, they come at night and go as they please."

"I see and hear them not, yet I can feel them there like a creeping rot. And I have searched, believe you me. Stealthily as I could, from tree to tree. But for all my training as a shaman back home in Zebrica, my tracking efforts haven't even gotten me near."

"Eeeeyup?" Big Mac agreed slowly, unsure why he was being told this. He furtively shot a glance at the distant trees, but didn't suddenly see any shadowy figure or movement. Just the same trees as always.

"Why am I telling you all of this?" Zecroa correctly interpreted, "Because if I didn't I feel it would be remiss. Now I don't want to alarm you... but your farm is very near the forest, it's true."

"Oh." He looked again at the afar-off trees. They were still exactly the same.

Zecroa's tone had taken on a pensive air, staff still tapping in hurried time with her rhythm, "Listening to my common sense, it says there is no evidence. I even resorted to trying one of my most complicated shaman brews, but even that turned up nothing new. While that should mean there truly is nothing to find, it does not give me any peace of mind."

"Oh." He repeated. Then, with some effort and slow, careful pronunciation, "Ah'm sorry ta' hear that."

Zecora blinked, and then shook herself, stripped mohawk waving with the motion. She ceased tapping away on the fence and flipped her staff to rest across her back, "Forgive me Big Mac, I seem to have wandered off-track. I didn't come here to share my worries, so for that you have my apologies."

Then she coughed into a hoof awkwardly, "If it's not too much imposition, it's a favour I favour I actually came to ask. I hurry to assure you, it's not some great big task."

The nasty voice in the back of Big Mac's head immediately began screaming with all kinds of unrealistic worry about what Zecroa could need, but he ignored it and confidently nodded his agreement, "Eeyup."

"Thank you. If you agree, do you have a barn free? You won't even know I'm there, but for Nightmare Night I'd like to make it my lair."

It took a moment before Big Mac fully picked apart that sentence. She wanted to spend Nightmare night, but only Nightmare Night, campin' out in the barn. But, if she was worried, what about the other nights? More pressingly, what about tonight even?

And what was this rubbish about staying in the barn? The Apple's would never make no family friend stay in the barn!

"Eeyup. Nope." No, wait, he wasn't explaining that clearly. He hurriedly shook his head, and tried again.

"Eeyup. Nope ta' barn. Comin' side." There, that was a bit better. And-

-And Zecora was shaking her mohawked head, "You've very kind, but just the barn I do not mind. And before you persist, I'm going to insist. I have a reason, you see. One I'd prefer to keep between you and me."

If she didn't want ta' make a fuss, Big Mac could get that. But bunking in their spare room wasn't making a fuss, it was basic pony curtesy, He was missing somethin' here.

"Eeeeeyup...?" He drew out unsurely.

Zecora shifted her weight on her hooves, "I mean no offense, but your sibling Applejack, she can be more stubborn than a yak. I ask you this, from your point of view; if I told her my nameless suspicions, what would she do?"

Mac winced. Why'd Zecora have ta' ask hard questions? Not the answer, he didn't have to even consider it, what was hard was asking him to speak.

"Jack'll help, o'course."

Zecora nodded seriously, "Exactly that, it is a fact. I do not want her to know, especially on the night of the Nightmare show. The Last Eve is a night which should be spent in bed, kept safe and all well fed."

Big Mac did not raise his eyebrows, but some of his scepticism must've slipped through regardless. All the tales of Nightmare Night you told foals were only tales, no matter if some of 'em scared grown pony's like him still. And what with Princess Luna's return, there really wasn't no Nightmare Moon any longer.

Zecora's lips crooked in wry amusement, "Don't think I'm not aware, you don't need to share. 'Oh, the zebra shaman afraid of the dark. Of what irony, oh what a lark!' And perhaps it really is just superstition, nothing more than old tradition. But..."

The wry amusement faded, and the pensiveness returned as Zecora glanced over her shoulder to the forest, "...But whatever their original meaning... I just can't shake off that crawling, rotting feeling. So if it's all the same to you I'd rather stay the night, and entirely skip any potential fright."

Well that was fine, Big Mac couldn't see any harm in that. Even if it was nothing more than silly superstition, it cost them nothing ta' help a friend.

Him. Cost him nothing. Because Zecora was emphasisin' that she didn't want Applejack ta' know about this.
Which he still wasn't clear on why not yet.

"Eeyup. But... No 'Jack?"

Zecora carefully looked Big Mac up and down, and finally in the eye. In that moment, a spark of understanding passed between them. 

"I don't want to see Applejack gallop headfirst into danger yet again, and as her big brother I think you feel much the same. If I tell Applejack not to go, I'll turn my back and next thing I know, they'll be six brave but misguided mares out there during Last Evening, when it's an issue you can solve by doing the sensible thing and just leaving."

"Besides all of which, those trees and home are mine. I will solve this mystery on my own time."

Well now. All of those were good sentiments Big Mac could get behind.

"Eeyup."


---


"Nightmare Night, Nightmare Fright~! Give me something sweet to bite~"

Costumed foals squealed, laughed, and screamed. They roamed Ponyville's streets in packs, high on sugar and looking to get higher. Indulgent adults laughed at their antics and their costumes, and gladly piled more candy upon them. Not that the adults were behaving much different than the foals were.

Big Mac was dressed up as a wood-cutter. All it really involved was pulling on some overalls, slapping on a ragged straw-hat, and digging out the long-handled old wood-axe. Parading up the lamp-lit streets towards the town square, Big Mac could see dressed-up zomponies, mummies, vamponies, witches, wereponies, wendigos, and more for the monstrous selection. 

Then there were also the ponies who'd decided on more wacky ideas. A giant alarm clock, a palm tree, a bobble-head hydra, a cat, some kind of colourful clown, and yet more.

The early night air was filled with a wild scent mix of cinnamon, roasted nuts, candyfloss, melted chocolate, hot pastries, popcorn, and deep-fried veggies.

It was that mix of smells more than anything else which spoke to Big Mac of Nightmare Night. Every year, the overflowing mix of stalls somehow managed to produce the same heady mix. It was nostalgic, and exciting, and festive all in one.

"MMMM-Haaaaaa! That's the good stuff. Ya' smell that, Mac? That there's the smell of fun."

"Eeyup." He agreed with his 'Sis. Beside him, she was all costumed up as a pirate, with an eye-patch and fake parrot. Apparently, she was competing with 'Dash ta' see who could be the best pirate to absolutely nopony's surprise.

If challenged, his 'Sis and 'Dash would probably compete ta' see who'd get into the grave first.

Celestia, that was morbid. He wished he hadn't thought that.

"You have fun now, ah'm gonna' drop off Applebloom, then ah'm meeting the gals. You have fun, Mac."

"Eeyup." He waved his younger sisters goodbye. The last he heard of them 'afore they were swallowed by the noisy throng was:

"Come along sugar, Cheerlie's a'waiting."

"But 'ah wanna' find Scoots and Sweets first."

The worry-wart voice in his head hissed they were being irresponsible off-loading their baby 'sis like this. He ignored it though, because Cheerlie had volunteered, an' all the other adults were takin' advantage of her kind offer too. This was Nightmare Night. It was a party. He didn't need ta' worry.

So with that thought and a spring in his step, Big Mac turned and merged into the chatterin' stream of noise heading for the town square. Strung from the gutters and slotted over the street lamp heads, coloured lanterns lit the way in multicoloured hues.

The pumpkin' contest, along with the all the other contests being held, weren't 'till later. Which meant, he was free ta' enjoy himself until then.

Along the way to the stall stuffed square, ponies engaged him in conversation. Well, as much of a conversation as he ever was engaged in.

"Happy Nightmare Night, Big Mac!"

"Eeyup."

"Mac, Mac! Down here. You having fun?"

"Eeyup."

"RAWR, I'm a tiger. Did I scare ya'?"

"Eeyup."

"Hi Big Mac. Your sister here tonight? I'm looking for her."

"Eeyup."

"Over that way? Alright, cool. Hey, catch you later."

"Eeyup."

It got harder and harder to hear himself think as the crowd eagerly pressed on to the square, with a steady roar of happy noise rising up to match the delicious aroma's filling the warm night air. Until finally, he was there.

Packed did not do Ponyville's square justice. A suitcase was 'packed'. A train carriage was 'packed'. The square was overflowing, thronging, spilling, and pilied all at once. There was barely a single free inch of hoof space, if ya' wanted to get in, you had to dive in.

Personalised lanterns, spooky food, mask racks, fur painting, ring toss, hot drinks, apple bobbing, lucky dip, prize fishing, dart boards, all of those examples Big Mac could see within a dozen hooves of himself.

Just within this first ten seconds of lookin', he could spy a wack-a-diamond-dog, bell hammer buck, and mystery marbles he wanted ta' try out.

There was even a small band made up of local ponies over in that there one corner, with the surrounding watchers loudly singing along, but because of the noise, they could've been mouthing along for all Mac could tell.

That level of noise was his excuse for why Spike had ta' literally grab and shake his leg a'fore he noticed the little guy.

He blinked down at the little purple dragon, before glancing all around at the crush of ponies and hooves all stampin' around at Spikes height. What they hay was he doing ere by himself?

With a quick step and turning half to the side, Mac used his bulk to provide Spike with a small lee of shelter ta' talk in:

"Eeyup?" He had to raise his voice.

Big Mac wasn't quite sure what Spike's costume was supposed ta' be, but it involved painted silver cardboard armour and a toy crown.

Spike had to more or less shout up to him to make himself heard in the crowd; "Happy Nightmare Night, Big Mac! I'm digging the costume. Can I ask you for a favour?"

"Eeyup."

Spike pointed a blunted, stubby claw up above the heads of the crowd, "Have you seen Twilight or the girls? Twilight sent me to run this errand, and now I can't find them."

Big Mac craned his neck to his full height over the crowded square. It was hard to be sure in the dark, and what with all the multicolour lights, but he didn't spot the famous Element Bearers anywhere. An' if 'Dash or Rarity had been present in costume, they would've gone out of their way ta' make sure they were easy to spot with its over-the-topness.

He shook his head sorry to Spike, "Nope."

"Phooey. Are you sure you can't? Can you, like, have another look?"

Big Mac was already pretty sure, but he checked again anyways. Ponies, costumes, stalls, lights, but no easily recognisable six mares. Or five. Or less. Or even just Twilight Sparkle herself.

"Nope."

Spike scowled down at the street, "Double phooey. I knew, I knew I should've written down myself on her checklist! Amateur mistake, but I keep forgetting it."

Big Mac awkwardly reached out to lightly drape a hoof of the small foal-er, drake's shoulder. He didn't think Spike had the right of it. He didn't know the context, but surely ya' shouldn't have to be on a checklist ta' get remembered?

"Want help?" He offered.

"What, you mean help looking for Twilight?"

Big Mac had really meant any of the 'gals in general, not Twilight Sparkle specifically since she'd apparently forgotten, but close enough.

"Eeyup."

"Sure. Thanks Big Mac." Spike brightened; "Here, hold still a sec."

Without further ado, or waiting for an invitation, Spike proceeded to clamber up up his leg, up his shoulder, and finally sat himself atop Big Mac's back.

"Okay, I'm good to go now. And thanks, by the way." He added belatedly.

Big Mac hadn't offered to carry Spike, but he'd been going to, so it was fine he guessed. An' Spike was just a foal, younger than 'Bloom even.

At least it meant Spike wouldn't end up separated again.

"Eeyup." He agreed, turning back around. All the stalls and games would still be here when he came back.

He wished he'd thought to ask 'Jack just what activity she and the 'gals had been planning for tonight. It hadn't mattered at the time, but now annoyingly it did.


---


They tried Rarity's boutique first, since it was the closest, only two minutes away, but it was all shut up, no Element Bearers in sight.

So Mac turned them around and went for the bakery instead. The building was absolutely teeming, and Big Mac had to fight and shove to even get to the window to peer in. But although they could see the Cakes inside, working a mile a minute, the absence of a pink party pony was conspicuous. 

"On to the library next, I guess." Spike said, leaning around Big Mac's neck to point them on the way. Not that Big Mac didn't already know where the library tree was. Everypony in Ponyville did by now.

It was little acts like that though, which really made Mac remember all over again the little drake's age. It was such a foal thing to do, to helpfully share what everypony already knew, and feel important about helping.

Spike, he was a foal. If his 'Sis shouldn't be going out there risking her life, then by all that was good an' bad in Equestria, a foal never should. But once again, he wasn't allowed to say any of what should'a been common sense to anypony with eyes. 

Mac felt like the lowest of rotten apples, filled with worms whenever that nasty little voice whispered that maybe if something bad finally happened on one of 'Jack's missions to Spike, jus' maybe it would finally be enough to spark public outrage, and forcibly put an end to his 'Sis' missions altogether.

Big Mac really did hate that voice, and what it said about him as a pony for having it.

"Big Mac, Maaaac? Hey, we're gonna' walk past the library?" Spike's voice in his ear brought him back to the present.

The fat library tree was infront of him, but he could already see nopony was home. All the lights were off. Well, there went the last most likely place for the six 'gals. Now he was gonna' hav' to wander around Ponyville, hoping to find them.

"Woah, wait. We're we going? Aren't we even going to knock?" Spike hurriedly protested as he turned to head back into town.

"Nope. Nopony home." He grunted, jerking his chin towards the dark windows. Shouldn't that be obvious? Spike lived here, didn't he?

"Well yeah, but maybe they're telling scary Nightmare stories in the dark? We need to double check. Please?"

"Sure." He shrugged, forgetting Spike was on his shoulders for a moment.

He strode up and knocked loudly, already knowing there was gonna' be no answer. After waiting a minute, he was proved right.

"Aww, phooey." Spike sighed, "Now I've got to look all over Ponyville."

'Don't ya' mean, now we've gotta' look all over Ponyville?' He silenty thought. Again though, it was such a foal-like attitude, it got him right in the heart.

"Eeyup." He agreed instead.

"Hey, Big Mac?"

"Eeyup?"

A pause, "Do you ever feel like..."

"Eeyup?" He slowed his pace.

"...Feel like... like everypony just... nahh, never mind, of course you wouldn't. Forget it."

Another pony would have pushed. Another pony would never have let it rest at that.

But Big Mac was not good at words. He couldn't think of anything to say.

So he didn't. He chewed his lip in silence as he carried them back towards the hubbub and bustle.


---


Twenty or thirty minutes later, the two of them hadn't had any more luck, but Big Mac did now have syrup stains on his costume.

The syrup stains came from the sticky toffee orange Spike had scoffed down. Which had come from Parlour Primrose's stall. Which had come from Big Mac not knowing when ta' say 'Nope'. Which had come from a weakness ta' big puppy eyes and; "Pweeeeeeease?" from Spike.

Mac was vaguely beginning to suspect he might've been played somewhere along the line.

"Oh wait, wait! Stop! Go back, over there!" Spike abruptly exclaimed over the noise of the crowd, excitedly tugging on on Big Mac's mane.

In relieved expectation of finally having found them, Big Mac turned in the tugged direction, his height allowing him ta' see over the rest of the crowd and saw...

... Well, he saw alot of Nightmare Night party stuff, but not the six 'gals. Spike was instead urgently pointing at one of the colourful game stalls, with rows of little wooden toy crossbows ta' shoot.

"They've got fruit-shoot! Fruit-shoot ! Quick, quick, I gotta' try it."

Big Mac turned his head to give his passenger 'a look' from the corner of one eye.

Spike though wasn't deturred, "It's fruit-shoot. We can't just walk past that, it's like, the rules. You have to do fruit-shoot on Nightmare Night, Shining said so!"

Big Mac remained staunchly unimpressed.

Spike kicked his little heels petulantly on Mac's back, "Come oOOooOOooNNnn, 'pwease? I've got my own bits."

Well, he couldn't really disagree with that. He and 'Jack were always trying ta' teach 'Bloom the importance of money and life skills, so he couldn't very well say no. How else were foals gonna' learn?

"A'righ." He gave in, changing direction yet again.

While Spike slid down and rushed up to join the stalls' line, Big Mac took the moment to stretch his neck. He turned his head all the way until it satisfyingly clicked, then all the way to the other side.

Rolling his shoulders, he glanced around to find somewhere out of the way of the other ponies where he could still jeep an eye on Spike. He spotted a bench outside the steady flow of celebrating ponies, in an area between the overlapping pool of two street lamps light, and trotted over.

One of the street lamps had a green filter on it for Nightmare Night, and the other a purple tinted filter, casting the bench in a weird, double half-light sorta' shadow pool. 

It was one of 'em planter-benches too, a newish addition around Ponyville. Basically, the idea was ta' have two big flower boxes as the ends of a bench. Mac quite liked 'em, more greenery around the town was always good. Which ever pony had come up with the novel idea probably got a raise.

Mac took off and leaned the old blunt wood axe against one of the planters, and settled himself on the green splashed light portion of the bench. It looked like he'd be here a little while, from the rate Spike's line for the fruit-shoot was moving.

In mild interest, he leaned over to check what was growing in the flower box at his end of the bench. It was harder to tell in the weird green light and shadows, but he was an Earth pony farmer, and a darned good one, so a deep sniff and a prod was all it took to get his answer.

Clementines, climbing sweet-peas, an' some carnations mixed in there.

"Excuse me. Can I sit, or are you saving this place for somepony?" A brisk mare's voice asked.

"Nope." Big Mac was already waving them to take the other half of the bench before he even looked up from the flower box.

"Thanks." The mare sighed, sitting heavily and with a *tack* of wood on wood.

It took a couple o' seconds in the purple tinted street light, but when he could make out the mare's Nightmare Night costume he raised his eyebrows, 'cause it was a pretty good one. Really realistic at first glance. Too much so, 'nfact. It crossed that line from impressively realistic, to gruesomely realistic. 

Some ponies jus' didn't know where the line was, and took the Nightmare Night thing too far.

It was in the way the crawling roots really seemingly bursting out of her neck and half her face. Like they had real depth which puckered the flesh, really seemed ta' swell and bulge under the skin.

Overall, Big Mac privately thought she'd put way too much effort into her costume. She even had a fake wooden foreleg.

Well, she was a unicorn, that there was a horn with fake roots wrapped around it on her forehead, so some of it musta' been fancy illusions, but it was too complicated and solid for jus' magic. Half of it was probably carefully applied, (and probably overly expensive), makeup and props.

"Evenin'." Big Mac nodded politely, caus' manners cost nothing.

"Happy Nightmare Night." She returned curtly, absently massaging the shoulder of her pretend fake peg-leg with her good hoof, most of her attention on the bustling crowd.

Mac expected that there ta' be the end of the conversation. Since he didn't recognise her, her gruesome costume not withstanding, it meant she wasn't a local, and so didn't know how he wasn't much one for conversation.

"You waiting on any of yours?" She spoke up, nodding towards a teeming crowd of sugar-hyped foals practically overflowing a game stall.

"Nope."

"Foal sitting for the night instead then?"

"Eeyup. Kinda'."

"For which one? Or ones?" She questioned, scanning the crowd of miniature zomponies, wereponies, mummies, and assorted others.

Her voice was rather... what was the word? 'Strident', Mac decided. Sharp, brisk.

"One." He pointed a large hoof at Spike in line, "That one."

A pause. "The drake?" She asked, mildly surprising Mac by getting' the word right.

"Eeyup."

He was more surprised when she rather sharply followed up with; "Spike Sparkle, of House Sparkle?"

Well, Spike was sorta’ a public figure, what with being attached ta’ the Element Bearers all the time. Kind of, in the back ground. Still, big Mac couldn’t help how he sat up straighter, paying more attention to his bench companion.

That there living root costume really did look more wrong and unpleasant the more he looked at it. So he looked at the mare beneath it instead.

...Nope. Still didn't know her. The green and purple tinted lamp-light certainly didn't help none.

And she him neither, caus' after studying him back, she asked, "What did you say your name was?"

"...Big Mac."

Huh, she knew his name by the way she sat back and an undertone of something he hadn’t noticed uncoiled.

“Ahh. In this weird light and that getup, I couldn’t match you to your pic. Applejack’s older brother, right?”

“…Eeeeyyuup.” He agreed, much more slowly this time.

She waited, nasty root growing head partially cocked, just waitin' for him to ask.

He limbered up his tongue, focused on the correct words, and got out; "An' what might your name be, miss?"

"Lilly Blossom," She answered without pause, "-Night Guard Sargent in the service of Princess Luna, second class."

"Eeyup?"

"Eeyup." She mimicked back at him in confirmation. The good side of her mouth not being grown over by a blackened root turned up wryly, "Not a weird stalker, no."

Big Mac started guiltily, but he hadn't said that, even if he might've been thinkin' it.

"Eh. *Ehem* Eeyup."

Wait, hang on there a gosh darned second, that didn't explain nothing. Jus' because she was officially one of them strange Night Guards nopony ever saw, why did that mean she'd know who he was? Did all them Guards go around memorizing his name?

Well, actually, with how Applejack was the Element of Honesty and a National Hero, they might do. Learnin' the family of VIP's might be mandatory.

He didn't like it. The voice of worry was whispering away the reason the Guards had ta' know his Sis's family was because they might be in danger. Like the target of the next crazy villain which crawled out of the bark cracks.

Big Mac took a few moments to both calm down his breathing, an' also plan out a full sentence:

"Miss Blossom, you here as some sorta’ undercover bodyguard?”

Her retort was derisive, biting, "Me? Me? Do I look like a bucking-? What a stupid question. And even if I was one, would I tell you?"

He raised his forehooves defensively, "Ya' could be. Disguise, disguised like. Lookin', looking what like."

She squinted at him, disfigured face ghoulish in the purple light, as she worked out what his dumb tongue had stumbled through. Once she did, she let out a bark of startled, spontaneous laughter.

"W-haHa! I get it, it's Nightmare Night. Of course you'd think that. I forget, working among the bats who don't look twice, and then I come out here with 'normal' ponies and I forget in entirely a different way. Ha ha, seriously, that's great." She subsided, chuckling to herself.

Big Mac shot a furtive look towards Spike, wondering how much longer he needed to wait here for, but although he was closer to the front, the scaley little drake was still in the queue.

Big Mac usually did well with silences. It was kinda' his whole deal. Usually. But although the immediate area was not quiet by any means with all the ponies and stalls, the silence on this here planter-bench was makin' him uncomfortable. Like he was supposed to be providing information to a superior.

Small wonder, if this unicorn was a Sargent, she must have the attitude down pat for commandin’ ponies. But it made him feel like she was just waitin' for him to mess up, like he should be standing at attention.

"D'ya mind?" He blurted out without even meaning to.

"No." Was her airy response. That wasn't right, you were supposed to ask what you didn't mind. Big Mac was thrown.

"What?"

"No, I don't 'mind'." She repeated.

"Errm..." What could he say to that?

"I've wasted far too much time 'minding' what strangers thought. Family too, even."

"Uhm." Lilly wasn't stickin' to any of the normal conventions of what ta' say and not say ta' strangers.

"Just so you know, I could've been lying about being a Night Guard. You should've asked to see my badge, or some identification."

Big Mac knew he was being led, but he still asked, "Well. Badge then?"

Lilly's "Tsk" of disapproval was loud, "Do you know what a Night Guard's badge is supposed to look like? I could show you anything I'd made up. Well? Do you know the difference?"

He huffed, "Nope."

"Then don't ask. I could be an imposter playing the double con. You're the brother of an Element Bearer, you need to learn a bit more healthy suspicion."

That... that resonated with Big Mac. It was close enough to what he'd been subconsciously thinking all this time. 'Show some healthy suspicion'.

He'd thought it before, but it suddenly seemed much more real all of a sudden. Applejack and the Gals always seemed ta' win. One day though, somepony was going to go after them through him, and 'Bloom, and Granny instead.

He looked back at Lilly Blossom, now with more caution; "Are ya' a Guard?"

"I earned back my post, and I'm damned proud of it," She answered firmly, "But you're wasting your time by asking. Learn to ask questions with answers you can actually prove."

"Like?"

"Easy. Just use your brain. Ask for my rank ID number, and then go find an actual on duty Guard, well Night Guard, and double-check." She answered flippantly.

Big Mac opened his mouth to do just that... and then he looked around. Lots of celebrating ponies in costume, but this was Ponyville. There were no Night Guards, or even Royal Guards, to ask.

Lilly Blossom, if that was really her name, chuckled again, her root disguise twisting up that side of her mouth when she did, "Heh, so you've got a brain between those ears. We'll make a recruit of you yet."

"Nope thanks."

"Saying no to joining up? Brains and the smarts to use them. Officer material, definitely."

Was that a compliment there, or an insult? Was this 'caus she was a Guard, were everpony was much more brash an' rude in causal conversation?

He glanced at Spike's line again, hoping it would hurry up. The drake was bouncing in his knight costume in place in excitement as the queue crept closer.

"Hey though," Lilly spoke, sounding far too casual-like, "You might wanna' mention to your sister that out in the open of your own apple orchard for a romantic moonlit rendezvous isn't anywhere near as great an idea as she obviously thinks it is."

Big Mac stared. Then regretted it because of the grossness of her costume. But just, what? No, with what she'd jus' said about not taking a stranger's word, he was certain she was fooling with him. Ninety-nine percent certain.

He grunted in annoyance at her messing with him on purpose, completely done with this. Unfortunately, Spike was still not done over at his game stall, so Big Mac was still stuck here on this bench.

It didn't occur to him to just get up and walk away. That wasn't how a pony handled civilized social interactions.

So, still trapped into this conversation here on this planter-bench, he forced out; "Why'n you here?"

"Why am I even here tonight? I could answer anything and you'd have no way of checking. Again.

"Here ta' talk in circles, seems like." He spoke each word carefully, but got them all out in order.

“That’s what I’m doing right now, sure. But that’s not what I came to this town tonight for, no.” She dismissed. She didn’t move her fake-pretend leg much, Mac noticed. Kept it all ridged like, like a real peg-leg would’ve been.

“If you must know, I’m here because I’ve got the night off, all the bats are off doing something important somewhere else tonight, clan invite only, so I had nothing else to waste my time on so I said yes when my friend asked and came down on the train with her. She’s doing a Nightmare Night charity appearance gig thing.”

Her words sounded true, he'd picked up a thing or two from 'Jack, but she'd just flat out told him ta' not trust her words, so who could tell? Aside from 'Jack, o'course.

Really, what kinda' pony went around tellin' other ponies not ta' trust their words? It sounded so counter-productive, because what was even the point? He didn't like it, it was confusing.

'Could ya' please hurry it up there Spike?' He thought.

Well that was nice. Assuming it were true, o'course. He was feeling right an' properly paranoid right now. Well, he'd already determined to not act on any information Lilly shared, so it didn't really matter if'n it was true or not.

If 'Jack were here, she'd be throwing a fit over the lack of common pony decency of speakin' the truth to strangers. He wasn't his sis, but he was an Apple and strongly put out by it too.

Her point though... unlike 'Jack would've, he agreed with it deep down.

'If'n I'm agreeing though, that sounds like I've been manipulated.' The paranoid voice of worry in the back of his head immediately second-guessed.

Great. Now he didn't know what ta' think.

Mac became aware that somepony was callin' him over the sound of the crowd.

"Mac? Maa-aac? Yoohoo, Mac?" His ears twitched in their hat slits, and he swivelled ta' see that in his distraction, Spike's line had jumped forwards and the drake was now finished.

"I won! Come pick me up, and we can go." Spike shouted over proudly holding a comically oversized trophy over his head.
Thank Celestia. Freed from his social obligations, Big Mac jumped off the planter-bench, almost forgettin' his wood-axe prop in his haste.

"Nice talkin'." He politely lied ta' Lilly.

She wasn't impressed by the looks of it, but what with the weird light, shadows, and her costume ya' couldn't really tell:

"You're not even a green-fanged bat recruit. You ain't fooling nopony."

Big Mac pretended not to have heard over the crowd as he hastily left. Which meant he really didn't hear what she called after him.

It sounded somethin' like; "Don’t roam at night.” Oh wait no, “Happy Nightmare Night.” That fit.

“Mac, mac, I won! Check out the size of this thing.” Spike proudly brandished his trophy.

“Eeyup.” No prizes for guessin’ who was gonna’ have ta’ carry it.

“Who was that pony you were talking to?” Spike asked, momentarily pausing in his celebration..

Mac worked his jaw around, before honestly answering, “Don’ rightly know.”


---


Mac was startin’ to worry they weren’t going ta’ find the 'gals at all tonight ta' hoof back over his scaley purple charge. A silly worry, since all that would’ve meant was he’d take Spike home ta’ safely stay the night at the farm, something Spike did at sleepovers anyway. But then, squeezing between a spooky-dip an’ a horseshoe ring toss setup, they bumped into the 'gals out of the blue.

Well, one of them. Kinda'. Sorta'.

What actually happened was he heard a too-familiar noisy rush of wings and wind, one which from experience shouted for Mac to dive out of the way because the flying pony causing the sound was comin’ in, and not stopping for anypony, caus’ ponies were supposed to get out of ‘Dash’s way and not the other way ‘round.

Except he couldn’t do that because he had Spike ridin’ on his back, an'-

-And then suddenly, he no longer had Spike ridin’ on his back.

All that remained was 'Dash's rapidly fading voice over the roof tops; "Yo Mac good job finding Spike for me don't worry I've totally got it from here no need to thank me 'kay smell ya' later bye!"

And then she was gone.

Mac stood there for a full minute, non-plussed, blinking slowly. Around him, costumed ponies who'd wisely dived for cover got up grumbling, before promptly gettin' on with their Nightmare Night.

Okay. So. That'd happened. 

Mac wasn't even surprised. There an' gone before you could even see her, that was Ponyville's resident Element of Loyalty and speed maniac.

Least ways, when she wasn't busy being not busy doin' the exact opposite.

Either impatiently blitzin', or apathetically lazin'. There didn't seem to be no in-between with 'Dash. 

At least it meant he didn't need to worry about his impromptu charge no more. Whatever'n the 'gals were doing, which 'Jack hadn't shared, they could now look after Spike.

With one less worry on his shoulders, literally, Mac determined himself to instead enjoy what was left of Nightmare Night.

And enjoy it he did indeed. He took part in the pie-throw, a good laugh for everypony. Then he got ta' sample all the non-thrown pies. Hot-choc mugs a'plenty were passed out all around.

Six-legged races, sack hop, candy-dip, apple-drop, fireworks, bell-buck, and finally the pumpin' carving. 

Laughter, bad jokes, happy chatter.

In passing, he caught the tail-end of a show in the main square as it wound down. He sort-of recognised the name somepony-Swirl being bandied about. A guest mare speaker, or something. 

Finally though, with all the reluctant and yawning foals protesting they weren't tired being packed off ta' bed, it was time for him ta' go pick up 'Bloom and head home himself.

Mrs. Cheerlie was at the school house, smiling an' hoofing off the last of her classes foals back ta' parents and older siblings. Mac thanked her seriously, and he and 'Bloom waved goodbye. Well, 'Bloom was more wavin' to 'Scoots and Sweetie, but close enough.

And by some strange mystery, (which wasn't really mysterious), Mac was carrying a sleeping 'Bloom across his back a'fore they'd even exited the town.

At his rear, the laughter and celebration noise faded away, as did the Ponyville's overspilling glow of lights. He'd brought a small lantern in his costume's side pocket, one of 'em little crystal glow ones, so it was fine. It didn't cast more than a splash of light ta' see by, but the moon was clear and he knew the track well, so the little lantern was all that was needed.

It was quiet on the well-worn track. Just the clop of his hooves on the dirt, and occasional insect chirp. 

Quite pleasant, really. A chance ta' chill off after the noise of the party. Just him, 'Bloom, and the stars.

*Clip-clop*

It was strange how the road back ta' their farm always felt different under-hoof when you were trotting it in the dark. Silly really. It was the same hard-packed dirt as always. But it just felt different. Big Mac mused on that as he trotted, small crystal lantern casting just enough light ta' see by. 

*Clip-clop*

Ya' kinda' forgot, what with all the festivities in Ponyville being so well lit up, (even if in weird colours with lots of shadows to be 'spooky'), but Nightmare Night was Night.

On his back, 'Bloom started ta' snore lightly. It was always funny when he caught her doing that, caus' 'Bloom always denied it vehemently every time they told her she did, even when it was 'Jack doing the telling.

*Clip-clop* *Clip-clop*

Big Mac trotted along unhurriedly, content in companionable silence.

He didn't think it strange he had a companion trotting alongside him in the dark.

Mac didn't notice exactly when they'd joined him. 

He didn't think it strange he didn't know whom they were. Or why. Or from where.

It wasn't important.

Just outside his small pool of lantern light, his shadowed companion matched him stride for stride.

The night was pleasantly cool. The insects had gone silent finally. Just the quiet clop of his shoes on the dirt road. And his companions too.

It wasn't strange. It wasn't important. He was merely going home.

Across his back, 'Bloom continued to doze and occasionally snore.

*clip-clop* *clip-clop*

There was nothing unusual happening. Everything was fine.

*clip-clop* *clip-clop*

They came up to the bend, with the old stump he knew so well. It marked the nearly-start of the Apple's land. Under the moon, the dark stump looked more like a hunched figure. 

Beside him, his shadow took the bend too.

*clip-clop* *clip-clop*

Above, invisible in the vastness of the open starry night, the Night Guard tasked with trailing the brother of the Element Bearer of Honesty did not notice anything wrong either. He was one of Lilly Blossom's task force, and he only saw the distant figure Big Mac carrying his little sister below.

There was no second companion down there. Nothing was wrong.

*clip-clop* *clip-clop*

The inviting glow of the farm house up ahead winked into existence as Mac trotted passed the obscuring line of orchard trees, and came into line of sight. Almost home.

Alongside, his unknown companion matched him step for step towards his home.

The little plank bridge over the tiny trickling brook, really just some thick planks, since the brook was so small.

They crossed it together.

*clip-clop* *clip-clop*

The welcoming glow of the porch light was waiting. He was almost home. They were almost home.

Strangely, Winona wasn't barking up a storm in greeting. Usually, they had ta' shout for her ta' be quiet whenever somepony came a'calling after dark.

It wasn't important. He was almost to the creaky porch steps. They were almost to the steps.

It was fine. Nothing was wrong.

*clip-clop* *clip-clop*

Mindful of 'Bloom on his back, he went up the steps. His companion... didn't. They kept trotting, past Big Mac, past the steps, past the porch, past the house, and on. Behind the farm house, beyond the barn, third orchard, and repaired fence, the lightless Everfree forest squatted.

Above, satisfied of his VIP's safe arrival home, the Night Guard dipped a leathery wing and wheeled away into the night. The occupants of the farm house might not know it, but there were silent wards enchantments surrounding the entire building which rose up at night just as the moon did. Further more, the wards couldn't be found by even a unicorn skilled in the field of enchanting, because Her Majesty had laid them herself, after the manner old Noble Houses used around their ancestral homes. 

What would normally require leylines to sustain, Princess Luna had done with the holy might of an alicorn instead. The Night Guard counted himself deeply privileged to have been there to witness Her Majesty casting them. So he flew back to give his report of "All clear".

He did not see with his night vision the second figure pass the invisible lines of the ward boundaries, and nothing happen. No alarm was activated, no defences raised.

And why should the wards have activated? They were, after all, keyed to the Apple family. Specifically to the Apple family. How? The answer was also the reason.

It was keyed to any Apple descendant by blood.

Which made the method of subversion shockingly simple. Blood magic. A almost entirely forgotten to the faded past of Equestria and forbidden texts from almost a thousand years prior. It made it all too easy to slip passed such ward enchantments to enter Noble Houses to pillage, despoil, or murder in secret. With blood samples stolen from the unawares Apple family, these wards were no different.

The mare in the travelling cloak continued, without candle of light spell, unswervingly down the path into the pitch black Everfree.

Her target had never been the Apple family or the Bearer of Honesty to begin with. Not tonight. They just so happened to have been going the same way out of Ponyville tonight.

As to her being in Ponyville tonight of all nights of the year... what better night to make a discreet delivery unnoticed? But the delivery had only been a detour. A side project. Something to do before the main event of the night truly began.

Everypony had finished their Nightmare Night celebration. But was the night over? Had it even reached halfway?

No. Midnight and that pivotal moment of crux had yet to come.

And the moment of midnight of Nightmare Night itself was a powerful moment indeed.

Somewhere in the trees ahead, the ritual circle awaited, the runes inscribed, the caged blood sacrifices prepared, and the stones laid.

Would it work? The ritual?

No. No, probably not.

But one night, it would.

If not tonight, then the next. Or the next.

Improving. Refining. Deeper and deeper.

One night, it would work. One night. Some night.

Lemon Pink walked into the feared Everfree forest quietly confident in the knowledge that with all her protections, she was the worst thing in these trees tonight.

This was merely the Everfree. This was merely Equestria. Beyond the borders, that was where the Deeper Green lay.





Big Mac slipped 'Bloom off his back into bed, leaving her ta' sleep in her costume for tomorrow, and kissed her forehead goodnight.

After gettin' changed out of his own lumberjack costume, he went ta' give Granny a goodnight kiss too, and finally hit the hay himself.

He slept wonderfully. Come the morning, he didn't recall no companion on his trot back last night.

He did recall Lilly Bloom's words though. He chewed them over at the same time as his breakfast, about whether ta' believe them or not.

He'd thought he'd decided not ta' give them any mind, but still... was there any harm in being extra cautious? It might help shut up the nasty little voice of worry for a bit.

'Sides, there was a way to verify at least some of what Lilly had said at last night's party sitting across the table from him right now, sleepily munching her own apple fritters. It just took him a minute to get the words together in his head, before he asked:

"Erm. 'Jack. It's fine if it's not any of ma' business, but... 'Ya been meeting anypony special in the orchard after dark?"

The sudden way ‘Jack started coughing on her fritters and avoided answering or eye-contact did not fill Mac with confidence.


---I---

> 4. An Unspecified Hearths Warming Eve - XXX A.C.
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sunrise. Sunset.

The year waxed. The year waned.

Spring, into summer, into autumn, into winter.

A bubbly rebirth of life. Into a bright, warm time of plenty. Into a snug, gentle period of winding down. Into a relaxed, laid back season of rest.

Well, at least that was how seasons progressed in Equestria. A comfortable, predictable, well-trotted path round the block, as it were.

The calendar's hanging on ponies walls told them exactly when spring, summer, autumn, and winter began and ended. A thing of great convenience. It made it really easy to plan out seasonal sports and holidays!

And the most iconic and beloved seasonal holiday, (besides the Summer Sun Celebration of course) was without any contest, hooves down, Hearths Warming.

What wasn't there to love about it? No, really, what was there not to love? Even if you were one of those older ponies who'd sprung up in recent years, complaining about the commercialization of Hearths Warming, there was still so much to enjoy.

Like getting to behold the fresh-faced wonder on little colts and fillies faces as pegasi brought in snow for the first time in their young lives.

Or the unmissable feeling of snugness, when you curled up by a frosted window with a steaming mug, a well-worn book, and a crackling fireplace.

Or taking long brisk walks in the park, significant other at your side, laughing about nothing and everything, wrapped up in knitted scarves.

And seeing the woven wreathes studded with bright colours over doors. The strings of twinkling crystal glow-lanterns hung between lamp posts.

Combined with the taste of hot, roast cinnamon buns and the scent of spiced cider. That extra-special crunch when you stepped on a perfect fallen leaf. The jingling of far-off bells and singing.

None of these special experiences required the giving of gifts, even if you were one of those crotchety old ponies who complained about capitalism. 

But assuming you weren't one of those old complaining humbugs, and did get into the Hearths Warming spirit of gift giving, then oh, the whole festive holiday season opened up to you! And what was Hearths Warming without presents? 

Hearths Warming! 'Tis the season of giving!

Without a good, honest exchange of wrapped, multi-coloured gifts, why, it couldn't really be called Hearths Warming now could it? If you love somepony, give them a gift, even if its just a small one. Elsewise, how is everypony else supposed to know you appreciate them? Was there anything more obvious in the world?





The thestral looked down at the bright red wrapped package she'd been given.

She turned it over this way and that, gripped between her wing claws. It was done up with string, tied in a neat pull-knot so the string could be reused afterwards. Practical.

She finally looked up at the thestral opposite who'd given it to her, "What's this for?"

He blinked yellow slitted eyes, "Happy Hearth's Warming, or something."

"Happy Hearths Warming," She returned automatically; "But what's this for?"

He shrugged his wings, "I don't know. Just I overhear everypony talking about giving gifts."

"Why though?"

"I don't really know. But its what they do here in Equestria, and we're supposed to be fitting in."

Now it was her turn to blink, then frown; "Oh. Well. I need to go shopping then."

"It's rather annoying, yes. And weird." He agreed, turning to pull his helmet from the armour rack.

She shook her head in bemusement, looking down at the red wrapped gift, "Compared to everything else they do around here, it's not that weird I guess. Oh, thanks by the way."

"Huh? Oh right, you're welcome." Her patrol partner for the night grunted, distracted closely inspecting his helmet's strap.
She stuck the gift in her locker where they both forgot about it, and went back to getting into her armour. They had much more important duties to attend to.

They were Night Guards of Princess Luna. The seasons might come and go, but the last two loyal thestral clans were determined that this would always remain the same.

They would stand watch for the warning signs to ensure that Endless Winter, nor Eternal Night, ever fell again. And that started by getting on their armour, and getting out on patrol. One night at a time.





Hearths Warming. It was almost synonymous with the word 'snow'. 

Hastily convened weather meetings, and just as hastily rushed through decisions were the norm for Cloudsdale at this time of the year. Pegasi who were tired, yet still somehow jittering with energy, all crammed into the white walled cloud room. Although not much of said walls could be seen.

Papers and schedules pinned up to boards made cork and balsa-wood to be as light as possible, (a necessity to enable the feather-weight enchantments inlaid into gems in the boards corners to function) filled most available surfaces.

It spoke of rushed work-loads, and lots of overtime. Nevertheless, it was a positive sort of work energy, the kind where everypony did their best because they knew everypony else here had their backs. Team work makes the dream work!

The cloud room was a rush of voices and ruffling feathers, and many pegasi pointing at weather maps and scheduled runs all at the same time:

"Those last cloud runs were short."

"I need you to give me at least two more pairs of wings!"

"Them last snow clouds aren't going to keep. Two days, tops, before they break on their own.

"There's four-no, five extra coming in from the North. The winds shifted."

"Great, that almost makes up for the fifteen we're missing from down South." 

"I got a form here, Flower Fields are petitioning for another eight inches of snow on Thursday."

"No way. They already had their allotted snow!"

"Its signed and stamped and everything. They want an extra eight inches."

"We can't do that, they can have..." A pause as a hoof was run down a rumpled list, eyes flicking across the data points, "...Three. Four inches at most. That's all we can spare on Thursday."

"-And schedule in some overtime to cover it. Pencil in Black Thunder's team, they had Hearths Warming off last year. S'only fair."

"...Black...Thunder...Thursday...overtime. Okay, got it. Next, Site 48, they've sent a request in here for...Two whole weeks of weather relief?! Over Hearths Warming? Are they mad?"

"Site 48? Where's that even supposed to be? Why hasn't it got a proper name?"

"Hey, I know that one!" A mane wind-swept co-worker leaned over to chime in, "It's out on the coast by the border. Doesn't have a real town, its just scattered mud farmers everywhere."

"Then tough-cookies for them. Nopony's got the time to fly all the way out there. That's what their local weather tower is supposed to be for, for Celestia's sake."

"There was a reason, says here... Let's see...  Ah, that's one of the sites that was being covered by that weather tower that went down in that freak disaster or something."

"The bureau still hasn't gotten that fixed up yet? It's been, like, a year!."

"It's bad luck for them still. We really don't have anypony to spare this time of year to fly out to the borders. Send a note, tell them we'll be there as soon as we can squeeze it in after Hearths Warming though."

There were no doors in cloud houses, so rather than the door slamming open, the cloud entrance parted as a pegasi stuck his head in, flight goggles still on:

"Hey everypony, look alive! North-easterly has shifted four degrees. Scramble! We need wings in the sky yesterday.

"Let's go go go!", "Move it slowpokes,", "My granny flies faster than you lot!"

Hearths Warming waited for nopony!





Cloudsdale floating above and to the side, puffy and pristine white

Canterlot, built atop and jutting out from Mount Canter, golden and gleaming.

Beneath. Down. Down down, running deep down through the mountain, delving into twisting cracks and past crystal caverns. 

Immovable rock and unyielding stone. Titanic bedrock and lightless caves.

All the way down here, deep beneath Canterlot, right in the belly of the mountain.

Yet in these depths where sunlight had never once touched, there still existed a sickly green light. It came from hardened glowing slime on a stick. Not even an old fashioned torch, just a source of weak illumination to help highlight shadows and edges.

And holding it clamped between its clenched mandibles, a scout crept. A Changeling drone.

It, not a he or a she, had been sent to map this tunnel. Alone. Although not alone. A Changeling was never truly alone. But it was physically alone.

The winding intestines of Mount Canter were more twisting than any maze, more unforgiving than any labyrinth.
There was a reason why this new scout had been sent in alone. And why it was a new scout. That was how all drones were deployed inside Mount Canter now. Alone. One by one.

The losses were much more manageable that way. And when a scout disappeared and their mind cut off, then the Hive knew which direction not to go in their agonizingly slow, halting mapping progress.

Far above, through tones of stone and miles of rock, up in the bright sun, ponies were celebrating Hearths Warming.

The drone did not know what Hearths Warming was.

It did not wonder what Hearths Warming was either.

It did not know it was supposed to wonder. 

It did not know what this mountain was called in the pony tongue.

It did not know why the Queen was taking this route.

It did not know what sunlight looked like in real life.

And it did not wonder about any of this or the joys of Hearths Warming, and why would it?

It was a drone. It wasn't even four months old. Just one of many, hatched on only the thinnest gruel of love. Skeletal, thin, obedient, and dumb.

It was hatched to be a scout. It was laid with the sole value of being replaceable in mind.

The Queen and the Hive no longer had the stock-piles to invest like that.

Above, Canterlot celebrated and prepared for Hearths Warming.

Below, a fallen Queen laid out bitter plans for years to come.





The giving of gifts. The joy of selflessness. Ribbons and bows, fancy wrapping-paper, gift-tags and cards.

Nowadays, gifts were an expectation of Hearths Warming. Everypony gave gifts. The mystery of what you might receive was part of the seasonal excitement.

It was not a character-flaw per-say, but nearly all had forgotten the original meaning behind the giving of gifts. But it had been centuries ago, and the years moved on one by one, traditions and meanings changing.

Gift giving. It came from a different time. It came from a deeper place. It had meant more. Giving a gift to somebody back then. Somebody, not somepony, had been an act of great sacrifice.

It came from a time when you might have almost nothing, a time when you struggled to find enough firewood in the depths of winter, when the ground was frozen and the branches bare, and your own stores were almost gone. Back then, giving a portion of what precious little you had to a neighbour who had nothing meant helping to save a life.

And much, much more meaningful.

That the real meaning behind gift giving had been lost was sad. But that the need for it was lost too was not.

Not having the need to sacrifice what little you had to save someone else was a good thing. It was a very good thing. It meant nobody needed saving in the first place. No not have people freezing or starving to death, it was a wonderful thing.

The times of merciless winter, of vicious blizzards, of pitch black nights, of barren fields, endless snowstorms, they were now nothing but a faded age in the pages of history. And they would not be missed.

And now as a result, the giving of Hearths Warming could remain a light-hearted, innocent, and frivolous affair. Mostly.


---0---


There was a knock of a horseshoe on a non-descript, plain brown door of a single floor house.


---I---


A garden path, lined with sleeping flowerbeds waiting for spring, lead up to a green door with a little coloured glass viewing window. There came a pull on the bell.


---#---


The rapping of a sun-shaped brass knocker sounded out against the a red apartment door, hung with a hoof-made wreathe and a four-clover horseshoe. 


---0---


*Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.*


---I---


*Jinga-lina-ling-ling-ling*


---#---


*Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap*


---0---


The plain brown door opened a crack, caught on the chain. A single eye in a drawn mare's face peered through the crack, "Yeah?"


---I---


"Coming, coming!" A distorted face peered through the coloured glass window for a moment, and then there was a clatter, a latch being lifted, and the heavy green door swung open.


---#---


The red door with its wreath and traditional clover-shaped horseshoe decoration was quickly pulled open, "Hello? How can I help?"


---0---


"Er, does a Mrs. Lilly Blossom live here? I've got a package for her."


---I---


"Happy Hearths Warming, sir! I've got a delivery here for one Scenic Paint."


---#---


"How ya' doing? I've got a delivery if you wouldn't mind signing for it as Randy Pickaxe."


---0---


The mostly hidden mare beyond the door did not unlatch the chain, "Who's it from?" She asked suspiciously.


---I---


The brown spotted earth stallion blinked eyes which didn't look quite right or clear, "A delivery? I wasn't expecting anything. Who's it come from?"


---#---


The chestnut furred stallion beamed, "Sure thing, just let me find a pencil-Oh you've got one, thank you. Oh, who's this from?"


---0---


"Uh, it doesn't say. There's no return address. Look, you are Lilly Blossom right? You just need to sign for it and I'll get out of your mane."


---I---


"Ah, see, it's a mystery package. There's no return address or sender."


---#---


"The sender was withheld. You expecting anything from anypony special perhaps though? Hmm?"


---0---


The single eye visible of Lilly Blossom narrowed, "Leave it on the door step."


---I---


Scenic Paint hesitated, eyeing the brown paper wrapped parcel. Then he shook his head and held out a hoof, "Sure. Thanks for bringing it."


---#---


Randy Pickaxe smiled, "Daww. Lemon, it's gotta' be. She really didn't have to though."


------#I00I#------


There was one more yet though.

There came a rather timid rap of talons against the door, considering the talons belonged to a griffoness.

The quill held in its faint silvery aura of magic did not stop its methodical scratching at the page; "Yes?"

"Uh, boss lady. There's a package for you. It came yesterday. But you weren't in. Uhh."

The quill didn't slow or deviate its methodical pace across the page, "From whom?"

Yevetta shuffled her talons, lion tail twitching, "Don't know. I mean, it didn't say. No return address, yes? So I put it in the special corner though, just like you ordered me to." She quickly tacked on.

Only now did the levitating quill stop mid-word, "Confusing. I did not notice anything in the corner. I should've been alerted."

Yevetta ducked her head, feathered crest lowered, "Sorry boss. I'll tell you straight away next time."

"No. That was not what I meant. You did as asked. I should have been alerted another way."

Yevetta ruffled her feathers in relief, "Oh, good. But what other way?"

The quill flew back to slot into its corresponding inkwell, "You do not need to know that at this time."

"Oh. Part of 'business'. My beak is zipped. Operational security. No more questions. Got it." Yevetta nodded, backing up and leaving hurriedly.

"That was not what I meant either." Lemon Pink flatly declared to the empty air in the wake of the griffoness's departure.

Calmly, Lemon Pink rose from the desk. She briefly checked the silver coloured chocker at her throat, and then magically lifted her travelling cloak off the door hook and pulled it on, despite still being inside.

Then she trotted out into the front office, paying no mind to Yevetta who was back at her desk with her feathered head firmly down, and over to the corner.

There was nothing special visibly about this corner of the office in particular. Only that it had been kept carefully clear. Aside from a smallish, brown paper wrapped package placed all by itself on the floorboards.

It did not look unlike the three parcels she'd sent anonymously via Canterlot's post herself, actually. But she definitely had not sent this one.

Slowly, she walked up to the corner, stopping short at some invisible line, and just looked at the small package.

She didn't move to touch it. She did not extent her magic. She just closed her eyes for a long minute and concentrated.

"Oh." Her thin shoulders underneath the cloak relaxed, "From him, not from him. Hindsight. Obvious."

Because why would he go through the effort of first manifesting, then finding someone to get this on his behalf, then to further post it on his behalf, rather than simply appearing to her directly instead? Actually no, not simple. Never simple, never easy. But simpler, at least.

Unminding and unworried now, she swept up the parcel in her silvery magic and started back for her back-office, "He could've waited. The next marrow delivery was only just after Hearths Warming."

Once her thin pink unicorn boss was gone, Yevetta knuckled herself lightly upside the head in embarrassed self-recrimination; "Dah. She meant actual business, not 'business' business. Marrow, duh."

Eggs n' Benedict dealt in the not very popular, and quietly overlooked, poultry and swine trade after all, one of the few such business in Equestria actually. That made way more sense.

It didn't occur to Yevetta to check if they had any scheduled deliveries for just after Hearths Warming in the diary. Well, if she had, she would've found one for a small shipment via the train towards the border.

Not across the border, because Griffonia's trade borders were still firmly shut, but to just this side of the border, where a number of small griffon refugee towns had sprung up. These towns were being closely monitored by both sides with distaste.

In this instance though, it still wouldn't have been the delivery Lemon Pink meant.


---0---


It was not yet, not that extra special day quite yet, but in not too lone, a mare by the name of Lilly Blossom would open her wrapped box marked with arrows and 'This way Up' with much difficulty and liberal use of expletives to find a tiny bonsai tree in a protective glass aquarium, along with a little pruning kit. 

She would then go on to stare at it for a long, long minute, before starting to laugh so hard she fell over, and so long she couldn't breathe by the end of it.


---I---


On the day, a cautious Scenic Paint would cut off the sealed packaging and unwrap the protective newspaper to reveal his own gift. It was a knife. Short, with a hoof grip for earth pony use. He spent a long while frowning at it in thought. It reminded him of something just on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite work out what it was.

He ended up using it for trimming his paint brushes.


---#---


When Randy Pickaxe's turn would shortly come, he'd eagerly tear off the brown paper packaging early first thing in the morning to discover what lay inside. And turn his head this way and that, trying to figure out just what the wooden thing was he'd been given was. 

In the end, he had to sheepishly go and actually look up what it was. Turned out it was called a T'kamai, from Zebrica, a half instrument, half double-yoyo sort of toy. Randy thought it was great!


------#I00I#------


Lemon Pink opened her parcel with magic, and from a distance. Just to be safe. She levitated up the small card inside and read it, then turned her attention to the actual item. Or items. Two of them.

A rough, uncut crystal, still half embedded in black obsidian, the center cloudy and opaque. The second, an ancient, brittle looking bone. It had been carved by hoof in time long past, that much was clear, but as to what it's original purpose had been was not.

But this would not happen until the day, until Hearths Warming itself. But they were almost, so nearly almost, there.





"~Ooooh, the weather outside is frightful! But the fire inside's delightful!~"

Happy bell jingling mixed with festive singing.

The belly rumbling scent of fresh, hot apple pies and roasting honey nuts drifted out of an open bakery's door, and enticed eager customers in.

"~Deck the halls with boughs of holly! Tra-lalalala-lalalala~"

In a pet store positively bursting at the seams with red, green, and of course gold decorations to honour the sun, amid happy yips, coos, tweets, and squeaks, a beaming couple were fawning over an adorable floppy-eared puppy they were taking home for their darling colt for Hearths Warming next morning. 

The day was almost here. The great anticipation held by all of Canterlot was almost upon them! And this puppy was going to be the best surprise present ever, the unicorn couple could just see in their minds now.

"Eeeee! Look at his ears, his little nose, his little howl!"

"Every colt should have a best buddy to grow up with. Why, my parents swore by it. Said it kept me out of trouble, ha!"

"~Galloping through the snow, pulling a one drawn open sleigh, over the fields we go, laughing all the way~!"

Rolls upon rolls of wrapping paper in every shade, colour, and pattern, the greatest number of all being sun print patterned were still being bought up last minute by everypony. A few enterprising businesses had tried bringing out blue, night-themed wrapping paper to keep up with the times, but as evidenced by the still mostly full shelves, that idea had born little marketing success.

"She knows when you are sleeping, she knows when you're awake~! She's knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for sunshine's sake~!"





It was the night. The night. The last one. Come the morn, and the sun would dawn upon Hearths Warming.
But for now, it was still night. 

The air was cold and crisp. The stars clear and so very far away. And the forest was dark.

Not silent, never silent. A forest is always full of things calling, creeping, crawling, and hunting in the dark. And sometimes, even, the quiet undertone of a voice.

"...She knows when you are sleeping, she knows when you're awake... She's knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for sunshine's sake..."

If anyone had been there to hear, and could've found the tree-house, and could've approached, and could've gotten close enough to listen beneath the single, wood-slat shuttered window cut into the log wall, they might've heard a dull, off-key stallion's voice humming that.

If such a person had been there, they would not have heard the second voice. Because the voice wasn't real, wasn't accepted by the world, and so couldn't be heard. Real? Not real?

This intruder would've not-heard a squeaky, rustling reply, "Could you not? There's too much truth to that little ditty."

The reply, muffled through the wooden walls, but still real unlike the second, high pitched not-voice; "I was thinking much the same. Heard them singing it all day, up in the city. Just, got stuck in my head. They sing the words. They don't think about how real they are."

If one had peeked in interest through the shutters cracks, they would've seen nothing. No light, candle, or burning wick.
It was utterly black inside the log tree-house. Too black. Like pitch. "Thank you. For making it tonight. You've said. I mean, you've said that time isn't the same over there. And that it's... difficult to get out."

The squeaky not-voice. Was it bitter? Resigned? Fatalistic? Resolved? Brave? None of these?

"Hey, I try. I'm always trying. I never stop trying to get out. For as long as I can, whenever I can. Until I get dragged back. And then its back to trying."

The not-voice was none of those things. It held nothing in this world at all:

"I'm always trying."

So very faintly, a soft noise. A sound which put in mind rustling straw. Or maybe stuffed cloth. A feathered pillow.

Ah, that's what the noise was to any with keen ears. They might recognize it as so similar to a pegasi foal squeezing a stuffed teddy-bear in a hug.

Murmured, muffled by a tickly head of wool tucked up under against his chin; " 'hank you."

And equally muffled by the embrace of a feathered wing; "Y'welcome, 'rimson."

There was no listener at the shuttered window, and if there had been, they'd have already perished on the hidden defences. There was no listener, but if there had been, perhaps that would've been the point when they smiled to themselves and quietly pulled away. A perfect time to sneak away. But life isn't perfect, and nobody inside the log cabin was trying to set some picturesque scene. 

"Happy Hearth's Warming Eve."

"Happy? That's subjective. It'd still be Hearth's Warming Eve regardless-"

"Fine. 'Hearths Warming Eve'. Better?"

"Better. Unspecified Hearths Warming Eve to you, too."


---I---