> Our Eminence
>  by Kegisak
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Act 1, Part 1: Of Bats and Beginnings
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Of Bats and Beginnings


        The moon hung low over Equestria, almost dangerously so. The night in the countryside was still and silent, shrinking away from the cruel glare of The Mare in the Moon. Her eyes beat down upon the world with a cold, steely hatred that, even one thousand years later, struck an instinctive and chilling fear into the hearts of ponies. The countryside had no defense from this chill, and so the ponies had all long since retreated into their homes.
        The towns fared better; their streetlamps warmed the ponies' hearts, staving off the chill of her glare, and so instead she was forced to reach out with cold autumn winds. They swept through the streets, cutting straight to the bone through fur and flesh. The winds caught up dead leaves, litter, and dust, funneling them through the narrow streets of Canterlot City like a long, grasping hoof. Reaching, searching, yearning through the streets and the squares, finally finding its way to a young couple in a mighty park.
It was the largest park in all of the Upper Quarter – all of Canterlot, really, which given the caliber of the city's greenery, was nothing to turn one's nose up at. In the daytime it was filled with high-class families, idling their days away by the many ponds and gardens, or playing games. At night, though, the true majesty of the place came alive. The open stretches, illuminated as much by fireflies as by streetlamps, suddenly seemed so small compared to the mighty forests that surrounded them, stretching on for what seemed like forever. Nopony dared venture far into them for fear of becoming lost, or running astray of some wild animal – at least as far as any animal in Canterlot could be truly wild.
The young couple trotted eagerly along the path, tucked close against each others’ bodies for warmth. Their breath puffed out into the darkness, and as the clouds of mist danced above their heads it seemed, for a time, as though there were two sets of lovers in the park that night.
        “Look, Goldie!” the mare, a faint pink unicorn with a powder blue mane, said, holding out a hoof for a firefly to land on. Its light illuminated her smiling face. “Isn't it pretty?”
        “Mhmm!” The unicorn stallion called Goldie leaned in to get a closer look, but the firefly took off, buzzing Lazily away. The pair giggled and fell silent, watching the fireflies buzz. Their eyes settled on a nearby bug, imagining that it was the one who had landed upon the mare's hoof, and not merely some random insect. They tucked close to each other, watching it drift through the sky like some glowing early snowflake, swinging towards the treeline.
        “It's beautiful,” Misty said.
        “Hm?”
        “Oh, I don't know... everything. I mean... the firefly... the night... the... the...” She blinked idly, squinting into the darkness.
        “Something wrong?” Goldie looked back and forth between her and the bushes, concern creeping across his face. He shivered as a gust of wind cut through him.
        “No, I... do you see that?” Misty took a step towards the bush, the stallion following her closely.
        “See what?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. “It's probably just more fireflies.”
        “I don't think so... it looks different.”
        Another gust blew through the park, howling like a ghost and rustling the bushes. Suddenly, for just a moment, two pools of light shone out.
        “Wh-what was that?” Goldie asked. The mare tucked close to him.
        “I... think it was an animal?” she said. “I think those were its eyes...”
        “Couldn't be.” Goldie swallowed, his voice trembling as though he were trying to convince himself more than the mare. “An animal's eyes wouldn't... glow like that. Do fireflies have colonies?”
        “It was low to the ground,” Misty said. She inched closer to the bush, unaware of the chill in her bones or the stallion glancing over his shoulder again. “Maybe it's a cat?”
        “Out here?” For some strange reason, he gazed up at the moon, shivering again – and not because of the cold.
        “Might have run away from home. Poor thing... it's probably lost and cold... I should take it home. At least for tonight, until I can find it's owner.”
        “I don't... think that's a good idea,” Goldie said. “I think we should get out of here.”
        “Don't be silly,” the mare chided over her shoulder. “It's just a kitty... see, it's even purring.” Goldie blinked, inching closer. Sure enough, he heard the low rumbling emanating from the bushes. The sound only make his skin crawl more.
        “Hhhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...”
        “I grew up with cats,” he said. “That's not what purring sounds like.”
        “Oh, shush.” Misty giggled. “Don't be such a scaredy-cat.” She turned back to the bush, creeping in closer. “Here, kitty kitty kitty...”
        “Hhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, h-hrrrrrrrrrrrr...”
        “There there... I'm not gonna hurt you, I just wanna.... wanna...”
Misty was inches away from the eyes now, and she could see them all too clearly. Behind that cold glow were two fiery orange irises, each cut down the centre by a long, tight feline iris. Unblinking, unmoving... they did not belong to a cat. No cat had eyes this big.
        “Hrrrrrr-heh-hrrrrrrrrrrrr, heh-hrrrrrrrrr...”
        “N-nice kitty,” she said, her voice trembling.
        “Easy,” goldie instructed. “Just... back out of there slowly. Don't say anything, don't make any noises.
        “R-right,” Misty said, scooting back. “I-I'll just...”
Another pair of eyes opened above her.

        Beneath the cruel gaze of The Mare in the Moon, the autumn winds blew. They ran through the narrow streets all at once, as though racing to their destination. Racing to slice, to bite, to seize, they came in, grasping like some terrible claw. A scream rang out in the night, and for just an instant The Mare in the Moon seemed to smile.
        In that instant there was silence and stillness. Time stood still, as though in shock. The eyes flashed, and with a savage roar, a stallion erupted from the bushes. His coat was a deep blue-gray, his mane a shade of midnight so deep it was lost against the night sky. Thick muscles bulged beneath his coat, twisting and pounding as he landed with raw, wild strength. His ears pinned down against his neck as he lowered his head, teeth bared. He snarled, sounding like something from a nightmare: monstrous, yet all too familiar. A hiss, a growl, both at once. The nightmarish image was only compounded by his jaws, filled to the brim with glistening, needle-sharp fangs. Strangest of all were his wings: huge, leathery and black as pitch, like those of a bat.
        Another stallion leapt from the bushes as well, every inch the twin of the first, curling around in front of his predecessor. He did not snarl, nor bear his teeth, but he did eye the young couple with a beady, vicious glare. He slammed his forehooves against the ground and shook his head, his wild mane falling in front of his glowing eyes. The first stallion moved back into view, his wings flared and beating dangerously.
        “Nu... nu... ouf nu,” he grunted, the sounds savage, guttural and dangerous.

        The young couple was in shock, scrambling back over themselves at the approach of the beastly ponies. Goldie managed to place himself between Misty and the beasts in a meager show of valiance and pawed nervously at the dirt.
        “S-stay back!” he shouted, his eyes darting back and forth between the stallions, who had begun to fan out. “D-don't come any closer! I'll use my magic!”
        His horn began to glow faintly, the soft green light illuminating the park, and casting a sickly hue over his already sick-looking expression. One of the stallions tilted his head quizzically. He beat his wings and taking a sharp step towards the panicked unicorn.
        “I said get away!” Goldie shouted. A nearby stone began to glow, launching itself at the closest beast. It bounced off the creature's thick, convex muzzle with a hollow thud, and it shook its head. A small trickle of blood ran across his nose, running down his flared nostril.
        The strange bat pony howled then: a screaming, hissing roar, the wail of some abominable orgy of monsters. It beat his wings, stomped, snarled and screamed. It galloped at the couple, side-stepping another thrown rock with a barely noticeable twitch and rounded on them to attack from the side. Its companion did the same, attacking from the other side. Together they bore down on the poor couple, driving them together with the sheer speed of their approach, covering meters in seconds.
        The wounded bat pony was the first to reach them, blood streaked across its muzzle like war paint and head held low like a battering ram. It ploughed into the couple, rearing its head with a mad fervour. Misty was sent flying by the sheer force of the blow, launched up into the air.
        The second bat pony arrived, leathery wings unfurling and beating powerfully, a loud clap in the quiet of the night. Time seemed to slow as it took to the air, its gleaming eyes set dead on the mare. Its jaw opened, teeth glinting white in the moonlight, the eyes of The Mare in the Moon reflected in his maw. Misty’s foreleg strayed into the bat pony's path. Its head lashed. Its jaw snapped. The scent of blood flooded the air. The red droplets splashed across the bat pony's muzzle, staining its fur and teeth as it dragged Misty down, ripping along her foreleg. She slammed into the ground, screaming in pain, her mind paralyzed with the fear of death.
        
        “Let go of that mare this instant!”

        All heads turned to the source of the noise. On the outskirts of the fray stood a young unicorn stallion, his slate-grey coat accented by the brilliant golden armour of the Royal Guard. He stomped a hoof, holding himself straight and tall for the onlookers.
        “I don't know who you ponies are or what you're doing at this time of night, but if you don't step away from that mare then as a member of the Royal Guard I will exercise my right to –”
        The bat-ponies were not listening. They were frenzied, maddened by the hunt and the scent of blood in the air. Even if they understood the noises this strange thing-like-them was uttering, they would not have cared. The bat pony who had been struck by the stone howled again, flaring his wings wide above his head and digging his hooves into the earth.
        “Aksh!” it snarled, gnashing his teeth together.
        It charged on the guardspony, the savage beating of his hooves tearing up the turf beneath him, him twin matching him pace for pace. The guard scarcely had time to react before the bat-ponies were upon him, the heavy hooves knocking him back. He grunted, kicking one bat pony off of himself just in time to avoid its snapping jaws, only for the hooves of the next to buffet him. The wounded bat pony stomped at the ground, snarling and roaring at the guard, who dodged and scrambled away from the earth-shaking strikes.
        “Auuh un! Auu! Ouf nu! Auu Aksh!”
        The wounded bat pony screamed, rearing up to give one last powerful stomp, and the guard made his move.
        He scrambled to his hooves, his horn coming alight as the second beast rounded on him for another charge. His horn’s light burst before the bat pony could touch him, though, covering the strange beast in tiny golden motes, like a thousand fireflies. The bat pony staggered towards him a few times, then dropped.
        The wounded bat pony stopped his assault for just a moment, staring dumbly at the body of his companion, before setting his teeth. His shoulders shook and his wings curled in, his entire body going taught, and he roared: a mindless, savage sound full of bile and spite. Then, he lunged
        The guard's horn burst again. A strange thickness came over the wounded bat pony as the lights washed over him, like a deep sheet of snow was packed around his limbs. He felt suddenly numb, his mind clouded by a strange fog. His dash turned to a stumble, and he shook his head, blinking. His vision began to blur as he closed in on the guard, and his body felt heavy, as though his skin had been replaced with lead. His legs shook as he took one step, then two, snapping his jaws at the guard’s throat, mere inches away from him. He fell to the ground, darkness creeping into his mind and pulling him down, into the strange embrace of magically induced sleep.

***



        The world was quiet when the bat pony woke. The only sound that reached his ears was the soft, steady drip-drip-dripping of water nearby. The stallion's ears twitched, swiveling towards the source of the sound. His mouth was dry and tasted foul, like he had been chewing on dirt.
        He got slowly to his hooves, eyes still shut tight. His head felt like it was stuffed full of rocks, bulging behind his skull and threatening to burst his head. Even the cut on his nose, little more than a stinging before, now threatened to split open at any moment. He grunted and groaned miserably as he shuffled forward, tottering this way and that as he moved towards the water. Only when his nose struck something cold and hard did he finally opened his eyes.
        Something tall and grey stood before him, stretching straight up and down like the most peculiar sort of tree. It was accompanied by dozens of its kind, surrounding him on all sides. He pressed his head against it, trying to shove it out of the way so he could take his drink, but it would not budge. He snorted, shaking his head and setting his hooves. He butted his head hard against the pole and merely received an even worse headache for his troubles. The pole had not moved an inch.
        He sat down heavily, rubbing his head with his forehooves and pinning his ears back, swishing his tail back and forth as he groaned. He leaned forward, snorting on the bar.
        “Howph?” he grunted. He snorted again, irritably this time as he apparently failed to find any satisfactory answer. He got to his hooves again, deciding this time to look past the poles that barred his path, reasoning that out there something might at least tell him where he was.
        He tilted his head, squinting into the darkness. The world beyond the bars was dark. It was a strange sort of darkness, though. He had never had trouble seeing in the dark in his life before, but now he found himself struggling to see.
        He breathed deeply, the scent of stone and dank filling his nostrils. As he managed to make out more of the place, he came to realize it seemed like a cave. It was indeed a place of stone, but strangely the stones were not one, but separate: Smashed into tiny square rocks and stacked atop one another. Why, he could not fathom. Stranger still, looping vines of the same material as the boles that caged him in hung along the walls, and more poles were set in front of tiny gaps. Wherever he was, it was unlike anything he had ever seen. A thought that made him deeply uncomfortable. He growled faintly, feeling out beside him with a wing.
        He paused, blinking. His wing groped at the air, as though searching for something. All at once he whirled around, a sudden fear settling in his gut as he realized he had not seen his companion since he awoke.
        “Uhn!” he said sharply, his ears spinning like radio dishes, and he howled softly.
        “Un Auu? Un Auu!?”
        He continued to whip his head left and right, spinning in a circle, until he spotted the glint of another cage in the darkness. He dashed over to it, inasmuch as the narrow space allowed him a true dash, nearly butting his head against the poles again.
        “Auu!”
        “Auu un.”
        The second bat pony lay on his side in the gloom, facing away from his companion. He yawned loudly, stretching out his wings and his limbs, rolling himself onto his back. As he did the scarred stallion could see there was still a faint trace of blood on his muzzle, though it had caked in and dried black around his companion's lips, rather than the crimson red they had been the previous evening.
        The stained stallion clambered slowly to his hooves, trotting over to the wall of his own cage and rubbing up against it. He shivered as the ice-cold poles touched his fur, but shook his head and kept rubbing. “Auu un, auu un. Umf clopclop.”
        The scarred pony chuckled: a deep, throaty noise that sounded almost like a growl in itself, and pressed his head against the bars. “Umf clopclop. Clak.” He smiled at his companion, flaring his nostrils. “Auu nunu, owowr. Auu nunu, umf Aksh.”
        The bloodied stallion snorted, turning his back on his companion and taking a seat heavily on the ground. Still, he pressed his back up against the bars as he sulked. The scarred pony stuck his nose through the space between the bars, snuffling cheerfully at his companion's back, who merely waved his wing slowly back and forth, grunting.
        The scarred pony shook his head, settling down himself and pressing his own back up against the bars. He yawned, laying his head down on his hooves and staring out at the dark world beyond his bars. He still felt like his head was full of rocks, but they had at least shrunk enough that they no longer threatened to burst out his ears. He sighed, raising his head and dropping it against the floor. A soft ringing sounded, and he paused. Bit by bit, inch by inch, a smile crept into his lips. He lifted his head, dropping it again and producing yet another ringing. His smile widened and he chuckled, lifting his head and dropping it several times until his chin began to grow sore. Then he began lifting his hooves, dropping them against the ground, one after the other in a steady beat.
        “What in Equestria is that noise?”
        The scarred pony jumped as the noise came, scrambling to his hooves. His companion looked over his shoulder to the source of the sound as well, his ears tilting back and his eyes narrowing. The stallions shared a snort, and the scarred pony trotted carefully towards the source of the outcry.
        It had come from a gap in the rock, filled by a thick plank of wood. A small sliver of light shone out from beneath it, cut by long shadows cast by two sets of hooves, apparently doing some sort of dance on the other side of the door. Muffled grunts and shouts that the stallion couldn't understand came through, echoing faintly about the room.
        “I said, what was that noise?”
        “What exactly makes you think that that noise has anything to do with you, Mr...?”
        “Mr. Jewel. Doesn't it?”
        “It doesn't matter. Civilians aren't allowed into the cells unless they've been arrested or are posting bail for another pony.”
        “Well then perhaps I wish to post bail. What then?”
        “For whom?”
        “Perhaps it is for those creatures I have heard are being kept here?”
        “What makes you think that they're even up for bail?”
        There was a silence, as though the voices had reached an impasse, or at the very least one was taking the time to glower at the other. Indeed, so potent was the spite that it seemed to radiate through the door. the shadows loomed and trembled, as though tittering amongst themselves in excitement for what was to come. When the voices returned one had turned soft, but not the sort of soft that puts one at ease. Rather, it was the sort of softness that makes one cringe, that makes one prefer loudness.
        “Nothing, of course... Which is good. Believe it or not, my good stallion, I'm here to help you.”
        “Right. Well I've got a lot of paperwork to do with these things, so unless you'd like to help me with that, then I suggest –”
        “In fact, I'm here to help you avoid a lot more paperwork.”
        There was another silence, more pondering this time. The air of spite seemed to have receded, replaced by an air of cautiousness. “Avoid paperwork?”
        “Oh yes. A good deal of hassle, as well. Lawsuits are always such a bother for everypony involved, especially for the losing party...”
        “Alright, back up. What lawsuit? Why would I be involved in a lawsuit?”
        “Well, a mare was injured because the Royal Guard failed to act in time. From what I understand, she's none too pleased about it. Of course it's frivolous, but it can stick if the judge believes that the creatures aren't being taken care of properly... It would look terrible for the Royal Guard. Absolutely damning for whoever was liable in the suit, as well.”
        “And... you think this mare wants to sue m – the Royal Guards?”
        “I am a lawyer, my good stallion... why else would I be here? But I am not a shark. I have a heart. If I can prove that you're taking care of these things properly, then this whole issue will just disappear, no trouble to you at all. Of course, I need to see them to ensure it.”
        There was another silence, the caution slipping even further away and into the realm of fear, so potent the scarred pony could smell it. He leaned down, putting his head against the floor of his cage and craning his head, trying to get a view beneath the door across the room. The shadows of hooves began to move, coming to stand in front of the door. There was a thick, heavy clunk, and the door began to swing open.
        The speakers stepped through: a pair of stallions. Leading them was a slate grey pony, a vest of chainmail draped around his shoulders and a gold-plated helmet hovering by his side. His face had a sunken, weary look to it, as though he had spent every moment of the past day and night running hither and thither over this errand and that, run ragged by the demands of events he had never before seen. Clearly, the conversation had not improved his disposition; concern played at his brows, blending into a slight furrow of frustration in the picture of sullenness. The stained bat pony's ears pinned back as the guard approached, and a soft growl rolled out of his throat. The scarred pony stared at the guard as well, and though he did not growl, he could not find himself blaming his companion. A fire boiled in his own belly as he saw the guard, smelled him. Even the timbre of the armoured pony's voice brought memories back. It was he, in their home, who had stepped in to protect the trespassers the bat-ponies had fought to chase off. It was he who had put the scarred bat pony and his companion to sleep.
        The guard grunted, hardly bothering to recognize the presence of the bat-ponies. The furrow of his brow deepened however, just slightly, and he stood aside for the stallion who trailed behind: tall, slender and standing stock upright, he seemed to glide across the floor. His coat was a glossy silver hue, his mane a pristine alabaster to complement. It was tied back in a tight, looping ponytail. His expression was calm, almost serene, spoiled only by the hint of a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes drifted slowly from the guard to the walls of the room, and finally to the two bat-ponies, in their cages, in the centre of the room. His smile faded.
        His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, gazing back and forth between the bat-ponies in a cold, watchful glance. He surveyed them calculatingly, only his ears twitching as he stood, straight and tall as any of the bars that made up the bat ponies cages. He raised an eyebrow.
        “So,” he said, lingering on the word like an epithet, some ugly curse, “these are the... 'bat-ponies'.” His had been the soft voice, there was no doubt. That same dangerous softness was present now. The hackles rose up on the scarred pony's neck, hearing a warning clear as day.
        “I suppose,” the guard said, rubbing his neck and rolling his shoulders slowly. “I'm not sure I'd called them anything-ponies. They seem a lot closer to animals than ponies, least in terms of how they act.”
        “Oh?” the silver stallion asked. “Please, do go on. This may be important for the suit.”
        The guard shrugged. “Well, first thing I did when I got to the scene was tell the things to stand down – we're legally obligated to give them the chance to comply before we resort to force. They didn't act like they even understood, though. The moment they saw me they... screamed, I guess. I don't know what else to call it. Then they charged me, so I put them out with a sleeping spell. I think one of them was going for my throat...” He shook his head, sighing. “Didn't move like anypony I've ever seen, anyhow. Ran a heck of a lot faster than any guard I've seen run, and that's saying something. Closer to flying, but they never left ground.”
        “I see,” Jewel said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He began to walk around the cages, weaving in and out between them in a figure eight, inspecting the scarred pony first, then the stained pony, then the scarred pony again. “So you believe they're animals, then?”
        “Possible,” the guard said. “Course, they could have always just been strung up on something. One way or another, just the look of them...”
        “Indeed,” the silver stallion responded. “They don't look like any sort of pegasus I've ever seen. One would presume that after standing and listening to us talk all this time if they could understand us, they'd have thrown in their two bits.” He stopped, leaning up to one of the cages. “You... stallion. Can you understand me?”
        The scarred pony, to whom he had spoken, simply blinked. Not only did he not understand any of the noises this strange thing-like-him was making, he barely even understood what it was. He tilted his head, snorting at the creature. Jewel sneered, turning sharply away from the cage.
        “Nothing,” he scoffed. “Probably not a single thought in those heads of theirs. Gods only know why they look like ponies, but they certainly aren't. So!” He turned sharply to the guard, causing the weary stallion to jump, shaking his head. “What exactly are you planning on doing about these things?”
        “I... well, that's just what I was trying to figure out when you arrived. If they're ponies then we need to find out if the mare wants to press charges – stallion as well. Assault is an offense, but if she wasn't seriously injured then it comes down to them, really. If they aren't, then... well, that's a bit more complicated.” He sat down, sighing wearily and rubbing his eyes.
        “Conventional wisdom says set 'em back in the woods where they came from, but they already snuck out once and we all know how that went. We could relocate them to a different habitat, but I'm not sure we know what their habitat is. Same goes for sticking them in a zoo. Not to mention just me taking these things back here has apparently kicked up such a fuss I'm nearly drowning in media reports. I've been getting calls all morning from tinfoil hat-wearing nutjobs telling me that these things are aliens from another planet, or time travelers, or mutants!” He scoffed, sighing heavily. “Truth of the matter is, I haven't got any clue what I'm going to do with these –”
        “Kill them.”
        The guard blinked slowly, turning to stare at Jewel. The silver stallion's face had been growing steadily darker and darker as the guard had spoken, very nearly literally. His expression was foul and dire, not a hint of humour in his features. The scarred pony sat up. Though he could not understand the words, he could feel the fury and bile that Jewel was exuding in waves.
        “Kill them,” Jewel repeated. “What does it matter? They're just animals, it won't matter if they're gone. Look at the things, do you honestly believe that anypony will be missing them?”
        “Well,” the guard said softly, “maybe not, but even still, we can't just kill them.”
        “And why not, pray tell? Those things are savage beasts, we hardly have any obligation to protect them, if they'd be as willing to take a bite out of a pony as look at them. Heck, we'd be doing everypony a favour if we killed them. That's a lifetime worth of work spared some keeper thanks to you putting them down. More time to spend with animals ponies actually like.” His head was hanging lower now, less straight, and his ponytail was hanging over his shoulder. He began to move, stalking around the caged stallions and staring at them, his gaze so cold that frost almost seemed to form on the bars of their cages. “Why does it even matter?” he asked. “They're just animals.”
        The guard rubbed his neck again, getting to his hooves and following Jewel. “Because,” he said. “It isn't right. I mean, it's always a better option to rehabilitate if possible when dealing with criminals. We don't have the death sentence for that very reason.”
        “But these aren't criminals,” Jewel said pointedly, “they're animals. Are we going to enforce our laws on them as well? Press charges on them for assault? And what do we do if the mare decides to press charges after all? Are we going to fine them? Make them do community service?”
        “No... look,” the guard said, shaking his head. “Look, we're working on this, alright? Lawyer or no, lawsuit or no, you're still a civilian. It's not any of your concern what we're doing with these creatures –”
        “They put my cousin in the hospital!” he snapped, turning on the guard. “This is precisely my concern, and I will see justice done to these things, pony or not!”
        “And pony or not we'll ensure that this is taken care of,” the guard said, pumping out his chest and setting his face into a look of determination. “That is the responsibility of the Royal Guard, sir. If you are so concerned about the state of your cousin, then I suggest that you go and see her in the hospital.”
        Jewel snorted, laughing curtly. “The guards do justice,” he said. He leaned in, prodding the guard's chest and smirking like a child with a secret. “Listen, the guards make arrests. The lawyers are the one's who really decide what justice is.” He turned again, stalking up the cage of the bloodied stallion and glowering fiercely at him. The scarred bat pony stood up in his cage, trotting to the bars and eying Jewel carefully. A hint of a growl rose in his throat, the scent of a rival predator in the air.
        “I decide justice,” the silver stallion sneered. “If I see to it, you could live or die...” He leaned in, his eyes narrowing and glimmering with the calculating look of a hunter on the prowl.. “And I intend see you both buried.”
        The scarred pony roared, snarling and snapping behind the bars, trying to scare off the lawyer. He bared his fangs, beat his wings savagely, slammed his hooves against the bars, anything to divert Jewel’s attentions away from his companion. His heart thudded in his chest, a sickly feeling washing over him at the thought of Jewel doing anything to hurt the bloodied pony. He roared again, the sickly feeling turning rapidly to fuel for the burning furnace in his gut, the heat spreading into his shoulders and face. The silver stallion gave his own snarl, his horn coming alive with a golden light.
        All at once the scarred stallion felt his hairs bristle, and they began to glow. His body became almost numb, tingling all over as he felt himself begin to shift. It was as though gravity was changing, his weight becoming meaningless as a great weight pulled him further and further to the side. Suddenly the weight intensified a dozen times over, dragging him bodily through the air and slamming him into the bars of his cage.
        “Don't you snarl at me you animal,” Jewel said through clenched teeth. He breathed out, straightening up and slicking his mane back. “You should both count yourselves lucky there’s still paperwork to file before your noose can be tied...” He paused for a moment, then smirked. He trotted over to the fallen stallion's cage and leaned in, chuckling. “But no, that is not for me to do. I'm going to be on my way soon, and you two will get what's coming to you. And you,” he added, spinning on the guard, “can expect that lawsuit to come en force. You'll be lucky if you can salvage a career as a mall security guard when I'm finished with you.” He spun around, striding for the door and declaring loudly for all to hear: “I'll see the beasts that hurt my cousin dead, and the gods help anypony who should get in my way!”
        The door to the guardhouse swung open, slamming against the wall loudly. “Alright, where are they!?”
        The speaker was a small, gaunt unicorn mare. There were heavy bags beneath her eyes, turning her olive green coat a sickly hue around them, and her muddy brown mane was wild and askew. If it were not for the glint of determination in her eyes, gleaming out from the sunken orbs, she would have looked dreadfully ill. As it was she looked as though she had leapt straight from her bed and made for the guardhouse, only pausing just long enough to hastily pack the saddlebags that she wore. They had been stuffed so full that they nearly covered the large T-shape emblazoned on her flank, loose papers poking out and swaying two and fro in the breeze that came in from the street, keeping time with the pen she still clutched between her teeth like a sword.
        The guard groaned loudly, cantering around the still-furious lawyer to greet the mare, who was currently striding through the mess that was the front lobby, apparently uncaring of the state of the place. In fact, she did not seem to notice. She continued to stride onwards as the guard stepped into her path.
        “Do you have business here, ma'am?” he asked.
        “Yes,” she replied curtly, hardly pausing.
        “And that is?”
        “None of your business.” She set her eyes upon the door at the back of the lobby, changing her trajectory for it. The guard faltered slightly, but puffed out his chest weakly, and stood in her way.
        “Do you have permission to go back there, ma'am?”
        “No.” The mare barely broke stride, stepping around him with such vitriol that one could almost hear the unspoken “you idiot”. The guard blinked silently, staring into the place where she no longer was, before turning around slowly.
        “Ma'am –”
        “Look,” the mare turned sharply on her back hoof, “do you know who I am?”
        “Um, no, but –”
        “Erinaceidae. And no, you haven’t heard of me, so don’t lie. You’d remember my name.” Her horn lit up, floating a large, thick book with her name emblazoned across the top out of her saddlebags and dumping it on the desk, marching up to the guard and jabbing him in the chest with her hoof. “I am the foremost zoological scholar in Canterlot, and I do not need your permission to do my job. Quite frankly you should have come to me first. I shouldn't have had to hear about this from some stallion in the gutter, but I did, and now I'm going to see them before some idiot decides they're best dead!”
        The guard groaned loudly, dropping his face against a nearby desk in exhaustion. “I'm afraid you're too late, ma'am.”
        “What!?” Erin shouted, her already irritable expression slipping into one of outright fury. “Who's the moron that –”
        The guard jerked his hoof in the direction of the cells, sending the tiny unicorn storming furiously inside, muttering oaths and epithets under her breath. As she stepped inside the cells, however, she paused. Her expression because almost venomous.
        “Oh,” she said. “It's you. What are you doing here, Jewel?”
        The stallion in question raised an eyebrow, his glower falling away even as Erin's grew. “I might ask the same of you, Miss Smiles,” he said.
        “Don't call me that,” Erin said tartly. “Answer the question. What the hell are you doing here?” She paused, rolling her eyes. “Oh, wait, don't tell me: you're the one who thinks that these creatures should be dead, aren't you?”
        “Still using the quaint nom-de-plume I see,” Jewel replied, flicking his head to centre his ponytail once again. “To answer your question, yes: they should be, and they will be,”
Erin sighed sourly, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, of course,” she said, “This is exactly what you'd do. So how rich was the victim, then? How much is she paying you to do all this?”
        “The victim was my cousin, Summer,” Jewel said. Erin paused, blinking.
        “Misty?” she asked. Jewel nodded. Erin sighed, shaking her head. Her expression softened, a look of sadness and concern overcoming her. “Damn. She was the only one of you morons who was decent. Is she alright?”
        “Seven stitches in her foreleg. The doctor says that she'll be fine, but that doesn't change the fact that she was attacked by two wild animals.”
        “And that,” Erin said, her sour expression returning just as fast as it had left, “Doesn't mean you have any right to kill the animals that did it.”
        “Don't have the right?” Jewel asked, scoffing. “How do I not have the right? That's what you do with wild animals that hurt ponies, you put them down!”
        “Not if I have anything to say about it you don't,” Erin snapped at him. “And besides, these aren't just animals, Jewel. Do you know what kind of animals these are?”
        “No,” Jewel said, rolling his eyes. “Please, madam, enlighten me with your mighty mind.”
        “Exactly!” Erin said, stomping and ignoring the stallion's biting sarcasm. “If there was any documented species of animal that looked this similar to a pony, you'd know about it! But you don't – because these are a new species of animal, one that's hidden under our noses for who knows how long! We have no guarantee that we can find another example of the species. We need to study them!”
        “We need to get rid of them, you silly mare!” Jewel said, laughing the choked, confused laugh that can only be bred by indignation. “These things are a danger to everypony around them!”
        “Oh really?” she asked, an edge that could carve through the densest skulls to her voice, “Is that why they're in cages loaned to the guards from the Canterlot Zoo? The ones designed for transporting lions and tigers? Why we’ve apparently taken every precaution to make them as not dangerous as possible?”
        Jewel grunted, leaning in. His voice took on that same soft, dangerous quality, though the hardness did not fade from his expression at all. “Spare me your attempts at being clever, Miss Smiles. Regardless of your opinions on the matter, I am well within my rights to lobby for these animals to be killed, and I intend to do so. As I was saying before you so rudely barged in on us, I will see justice done, and anypony who should stand in my way shall rue doing so.”
        The two ponies glared at one another for ages, the spite and fury charging the air between them, crackling with electricity and heat. It was Erin who broke the glare first, turning on her heel and trotting through the door to the lobby. Jewel followed after her, a smug grin on his face as he prepared to bid her adieu, but he instead came into the lobby to see Erin standing before the guard.
        “You!” she declared, jabbing her hoof accusingly at the weary stallion, who barely looked up.
        “What,” the guard asked.
        “What are you planning on doing with those creatures?” Erin demanded, jabbing her hoof again. The guard groaned so loud it was nearly a scream, slamming his hooves down on the desk before him.
        “I don't gods-damned know!” he shouted, surprising Erin and Jewel both with his ferocity. His eyes burned with a weary madness, the fury that only a pony deprived of his bed for far too long understands. His shoulders heaved as he lay into the mare.
        “I have been working on figuring out something to do with these damned things all damned night, and the last thing I need is a pair of civilians arguing about what I should be doing with these things for me! Maybe I'll give them to the zoo! Maybe I'll set them back in the forest! Maybe I'll give them up to the university to dissect them!”
        “If you give those creatures to the zoo or the university then they'll just come to me to study them,” Erin declared, recovering from her shock. “So cut out the middle stallion. Give those ponies to me!”
        “To you?” the guard asked, leaning back in his chair and running his hoof through his mane. “You're a civilian! I'd be flayed alive if I gave them over to you!”
        “I am not a civilian!” Erin said sharply, “I am a scientist! I have all the necessary licenses to house exotic animals, I can take perfect care of these things, then you don't have to worry a bit about what happens to them anymore!”
        “No!” The guard groaned, burying his face in his hooves. “Gods dammit, no, I cannot do that! Honestly, I've half a mind now to just kill them like the lawyer wants to get rid of them for good!”
        “You can't kill them!” Erin shouted, her voice breaking sharply as she threw her hooves up on the desk. Her eyes had gone wide, her mane falling even further askew as her breathing quickened. “They're still – do you have ANY idea how valuable these things could be!?”
The guard threw up his forelegs. “No, I don't!” he shouted back, slamming his hoof on the desk, “And gods' sake, I don't care! I don't care why all you ponies seem to want these things so damned bad. But if I give them over to you, and they get out, or you get hurt, then guess who gets the blame!?”
        “Then sign ownership over to me!” Erin shouted. “Or whatever the hell you do! If they're my property, then they're my problem, right? I get the blame for whatever happens with them, none of it goes to you. You don't decide if they live or die anymore, I do! Come one, there has to be something!”
        “Oh, great, so give me MORE blasted paperwork to do! Fantastic!”
        “I'll do all the paperwork,” Erin insisted. She threw off her saddlebags, discarding the pen, and leaned over the desk until her nose was inches away from the guard's. “All of it! Every last paper! Look, I'll do anything! They're... you have no idea what we could lose if you kill them now! You cannot! Kill! These! Ponies!”
        A mighty hoof swung down, crashing into the desk with such resounding force that the varnish of the wood flew up in chips, causing Erin to jump back.
        “FIFTEEN!” the guard roared, the force of his voice nearly toppling the tiny mare. She blinked, staring at him.
        “W-what?”
        “Fifteen,” the stallion repeated. He spoke through clenched teeth, slowly lifting up his quivering hoof to tap the desktop. “I have spent all damn morning dealing with this whole stupid incident, and you are not the first pony to come in here telling me what I should be doing with these things, and quite frankly? I do not give a damn what happens to them anymore. So you have fifteen words. Fifteen words to convince me to give them to you, then you get the hell out of my office. Got it?”
        For the briefest of moments a look of fear flashed across Erin's face before being replaced by one of distaste and frustration, and she glared at the stallion. She tapped her hoof rapidly against the floor as she looked back and forth for a moment, shifting her jaw as though she had forgotten that the pen was no longer there to waggle back and forth, and she groaned.
        “You'll receive credit for the discovery,” she said.
        “Don't care about that,” he grunted, leaning back in his chair. “You've got nine words left.”
        “I'll do the paperwork!”
        “Already offered that. Liabilities waived. Five words.”
        Erin jumped back up on the desk, screaming in the guard's face. “For fucking science!”
        “I don't give two shits for science!” he roared back. “Try harder! Two words!”
        “BLANK CHECK!”
        The two were silent. Erin fumed, her shoulders heaving as she breathed through clenched teeth. Her eyes were squeezed shut, awaiting the stallion's final word to shoo her out of the office. It never came. She slowly opened her eyes, peeking out at the guard, who was staring back with a cocked eyebrow.
        “What?” he asked.
        “I... I said blank check,” Erin repeated. She paused for a moment, breathing heavily, before her horn lit up. A checkbook came flying out of her saddlebags, plopping itself on the desk as she looked around the room for her discarded check.”I-I'll pay for them. Name your price.” She levitated the recovered pen over the checkbook, staring dead into the guard's eyes. “I pay, we do the paperwork, exchange legally. They aren't your problem, the department gets a boost in bits – which you get the credit for. Gimme a number.”
        The guard peered at her, his eyes slowly drifting down to the open checkbook.
        “... 2,000 bits,” he said. “Each.”
        “Done,” Erin answered hurriedly, but the guard raised his hoof.
        “3,000 each,” he said slowly. Erin growled, her shoulders shaking with frustration, but she nodded tightly.
        “Final offer?” she asked.
        “Final offer,” the guard agreed. Erin nodded sharply, scrawling the number hastily on the top check and tearing it off.
        “3,000 bits apiece,” she said as she slid the check across the desk. “Made out to the royal guards.” She sighed happily, lowering herself onto her elbows and letting her mane drape over the desk, hiding her mad grin. “You made the right decision. Science will thank you.”
        “You still gonna credit me?” He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound.
        “Fuck you,” Erin said, laughing weakly. “You'll get your credit.”
        The guard laughed just as weakly. “Hurray,” he said sarcastically. “At least I've finally got these things out of my mane.”
        The little scientist leaned back in her chair, sighing weakly, an enormous grin splayed across her face. She relaxed so much is seemed as though she were going to melt through the chair – at least until Jewel approached her. He had apparently spent the duration of Erin's argument with the guard tidying himself up, as he had returned to the image of a perfect lawyer: Prim, tidy, and upright, his coat and mane pristine and impossibly arranged.
        “Miss Smiles,” he said tartly. Erin sighed, throwing her foreleg over her eyes.
        “Oh right, you exist,” she said. “What do you want, Jewel? I'm trying to bask in how amazing I am.”
        Jewel allowed himself a small smirk, reaching up to brush a speck of dust off his shoulder. “Indeed,” he said. “That was clever, officially purchasing them. I had thought the Smiles family was famously tight-pursed, but apparently I was wrong.”
        “Not buying every little trinket you think is pretty tends to build up a savings account,” Erin said, waving flippantly. “We can afford to throw money around when it counts.”
        “And lucky for you,” Jewel said, smiling wider. He chuckled a bit, causing a perplexed Erin to sit up in her chair.
“You’re smiling,” she said. “You’re smiling and laughing. Why are you smiling and laughing? I won.”
“There are no winners in law, Summer,” Jewel said. “Only those who can avoid losing for the longest.” He smirked. “If I were you, I would prepare to be inspected. I believe your home, your exotic animals license and your university degree should cover it, but I think I'll throw in your credit history just for fun.” He paused to let the mare groan savagely, his expression darkening once more. “You've put me off for the moment, Smiles, but you haven't stopped me. In the least. I intend to see justice done to those things.”
        “Yes, yes, rue the day, you've told me once,” Erin said weakly. “Please go away. I'm basking.”
        “Very well,” Jewel said, nodding. He gave a pleasant nod to her and the guardspony and left the guardhouse without another word, leaving Erin behind. She rose weakly from the chair, trotting back into the cells to her newly purchased bat-ponies. The scarred stallion stared at her, tilting his head faintly while his companion growled. Erin sighed, shaking her head.



***


        To call the afternoon long would be an understatement akin to calling the ocean damp. Erin had been made to slog through veritable mountains of paperwork regarding the animals: liability waivers, checks on her license to keep large animals, transferral of ownership (somewhat complicated by the fact that it was first necessary to designate that the bat-ponies actually belonged to the guards in the first place), and many, many more strange process foreign to everypony but the bureaucrats hiding deep within the cockles of the palace.
        Still, the worst of it was over. The bat-ponies had been delivered to her home during the afternoon, awaking to find themselves in a now much larger cage, full of strange, tree-like structures. The scarred pony climbed upon one now, snuffling at the strange material that comprised the branch beneath his hooves, nibbling at the strange, tough leaves.
        He snorted, peering through the boughs and branches out into the strange world beyond: a wide room filled to the brim with dozens of devices he could not begin to comprehend. There, in the centre of it all, was just one more thing he could not comprehend, a thing like him. A tiny creature, with no wings and a spike upon its head, but a thing like him nevertheless. She was slumped weakly into the large, cushy chair in her lab, sagging over the arms as though she were melting. She rubbed her eyes, stretching and sighing as she peered out the window, into the sunset.
        He watched her carefully for a long time, his eyes never once leaving her. She stared into their portion of the room, a strange, knowing sort of smile on her face. Finally, he felt that he could not hide up in the treetops anymore. He had been up there almost since he had awoke, observing in silence, though she still seemed aware of him somehow. In the end, though, he needed to see her closer. There was something about her that compelled him so, something he could not put his hoof on.
        He leaped down from the branch, his wings snapping out to slow his descent as he came upon the ground, landing softly on the large, plush cushion that he had awoken on. His companion was there as well, muzzle cleaned of blood, twitching his ears in acknowledgment as the scarred stallion landed. His eyes somehow managed to be cool and warm at the same time, the faint glow from the reflective film inside them making them glow as he watched the strange mare, unblinking, his eyes never wavering. The scarred pony sat with him, and together they watched her. She yawned widely, stifling it with a hoof, and stared back at the cage.
        The scarred pony continued to stare, locking eyes with the mare as though in a challenge, defying her to scrutinize him as hard as he scrutinized her. Unlike his companion though, he eyed her with great interest. He too yawned, showing off his long fangs, and Erin laughed. She pushed herself out of her chair, plodding across the room. The scarred pony stood as well, trotting over to the bars to get a better look.
        “You guys have probably had a long day too, huh?” she asked, taking a seat in front of the cage. The bat pony tilted his head quizzically, mimicking her. She smiled. “'Course, I guess you could just be waking up now. Nocturnal, and all that. Mmm... you have no idea how much I'm looking forward to being able to get a good look at you...” She smiled, a strangely sweet and earnest smile melting away her blunt exterior. “You two are amazing...”
        The scarred pony tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he tried to understand the noises. The two grey things-like-him had spoken far too fast for him to understand, all the noises blended together. This one, however, spoke much slower, much clearer. The noises meant something, he knew, but he could not understand for the life of him what. The mare giggled.
        “Yes, you,” she said. She yawned again, stretching far enough to crack her back. “Mmm... but tomorrow... tomorrow.” She smiled one last time before trotting away from the cage to the door, turning to look back over her shoulder. “Goodnight, you two,” she said, flicking off the light switch. The scarred pony shook his head as night fell in an instant, the mare disappearing into one last vanishing sliver of light. The night was complete then, the bat ponies left in the darkness to consider her final words.
        The scarred pony took a seat beside his companion, his ears flicking softly. He ran those final sounds through his head over and over, considering what they meant to the mare. He turned to his companion finally, wiggling his ears.
        “Gaow, oan,” he growled, settling down.
        “Gurff,” the other bat pony grunted, laying his head over his hooves and looking away. 


> Act 1, Part 2: Of Music and Mirrors
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 1, Part 2: Of Music and Mirrors


        The sun hung its head in the western sky. The day had been long and hard, and it wore upon the mighty star with a crushing weight, sinking it lower and lower into the horizon. The world sat with baited breath, awaiting at last the moment that the sun's eye would close and the light would die.
        Shadows grew long, straining against their chains to flood the world. The wind swept and howled, cackling laughter at the thought of the chill to come. Leaves skittered across the ground, like tiny creatures seeking shelter from the darkness. Cold air bit at the hide of those few who were left outside. Slowly, ever so slowly, the fading light turned orange, then to blue as the last inches of sun disappeared over the horizon. Then, night.
        The Mare in the Moon rose her head and saw the world. She saw the Upper Quarter in Canterlot, and along the very edge she saw a great, ancient mansion. It was nearly as old as Canterlot itself, and it looked its age: plain white flaking paint, dreary shutters, and wide windows from which one could gaze without being seen. The antiquity seemed an aesthetic choice, however, to judge from the carefully tended lawn and flowerbeds – or perhaps the gardener was merely the last remnant of a once plentiful house staff. Whatever the case, even he could not have contended with the vast, endless expanse of forest in back of the home.
        It was not these things that concerned the gaze of The Mare in the Moon, however. Her eyes peered through the open windows, casting silver moonlight into the home. The lines fell across empty hallways lined with paintings, across dusty candlesticks and unused furniture, and across a lone mare laying in bed.
        A stray breeze blew Erin's windows open with a snap, jolting her awake. She sat bolt upright, her head whipping back and forth for a moment before finally settling on the open window, curtains swaying in the wind. She sighed, brushing her mane out of her face.
        “Mmm,” she hummed, leaning back on her elbows. She stared at the billowing curtains for a time, blinking idly. Eventually she flopped back down, letting her head roll to the side to gaze at the clock beside her bed.
        Eight o'clock. Her alarm was liable to go off if she waited any longer anyways. She reached over, grunting softly as she switched off the waiting alarm, and let the momentum roll her out of bed. She plodded over to the window, shutting it tight and checking to be sure that it was properly locked this time. She only paid to heat as much of the house as was necessary, and she didn't have any intentions of heating that more than necessary either.
        Which, come to think of it, was becoming more and more necessary these days. The wind blew a chill through her, causing her to shiver violently even after they had been shut. It was the sort of wet cold that clung to a pony’s bones. It would probably rain tonight, she imagined.
        She pulled her blanket off her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders as she trotted out into the hallway. She didn't bother with the lights; she knew her home too well for that. Her hooves had tread it over and over, and even if the pale moonlight didn't filter through the windows she would have been able to navigate blind.
        The house was silent, as it always was. Tucked away in her tiny corner of the huge mansion, nopony living there but her. Nothing but the necessities. A kitchen. A bedroom. A bathroom. Her laboratory.
        Erin sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around her. She peered out the windows as she passed by them, watching the night go by. In the distance, a flock of birds flew away – or was it perhaps a colony of bats? Whatever it was, their shadows flickered across the window for a brief moment, and Erin smiled, continuing her journey down the empty halls, beneath the staring eyes of dozens of portraits of well-to-do ponies in all the fashions of their days. She was oblivious to their judging eyes, however, and moved on, naught but the creaking floor beneath her hooves to hear.
        Her journey was short, though in the stillness and silence of the night it seemed to take far longer than it did. Eventually though, she reached her lab, hidden away behind a set of large double-doors. It had once been home to a great dancing hall, but it had fallen into disuse many years ago. Nopony had danced here for a long, long time.
        Erin's horn lit up, a pale green glow made almost sickly by the dim of the night, and the doorlatch clicked down. The doors swung open slowly, creaking on their hinges as they revealed the darkness behind them, black as pitch. The mare stepped inside and paused.
        She didn't reach for the light switch immediately, as she normally would have. Something stopped her. It was a feeling, vague and half-formed. It sat on her shoulders, gripped at her neck, festered in her stomach. It was a feeling that she had forgotten something, and was struggling to remember, but the memory wouldn't come. She could hear the wind howling outside, and it caused her to shiver almost instinctively, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders.
        “What was it?” she asked the emptiness. Her words echoed, reminding her of the hugeness of the room, even if she couldn't see it. Once it was gone, the silence seemed deafening. Her skin prickled as her coat stood on end, and she felt her gaze begin to flit about the darkness. She looked over her shoulder at the square of light leading out into the hall.
        The silence was broken by the sound of scraping hooves and beating wings.
        She whipped her head around, and her blood froze.
        There, in the blackness, were two pools of light. Bright, orange light, strangely cold. They wavered and moved, but they never went away, always fixated on her as though they were staring. Erin took a sharp step backwards, and her horn came alight, her magic desperately fumbling for the light switch. She felt something that felt close enough, and flipped it madly. There was a flash, and Erin was blind.
        “Geah!”
        “Grrrrrraaaaaaaooooooooowowooooh!”

        The howl had come from the scarred pony, who in spite of the roar’s ferocity, was currently occupied with being debilitated, cringing and clutching at his eyes as the blinding light struck him, thrusting him fully into wakefulness with little more ceremony than a forceful boot to the behind. He blinked painfully, hardly daring to open his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time for how bright it was. He shook his head, flopping his ears back and forth as though he were trying to shake out the light.
        Slowly his eyes began to adapt to the bright light, the blurriness fading and the world coming into focus. He still blinked, snorting loudly as the last of it faded, and he was finally able to see the world that the sudden luminescence revealed.
        He blinked in confusion, for a while. while his vision had begun to clear, his mind was still fuzzy at best, and he stared blank-faced at the odd world of stone and steel before him for some time, taking a particular interest in the mare rubbing her eyes on the other side of the bars. Something clicked in his mind, then, and his ears perked up as he finally recognized the mare, and remembered the place he was in. He got to his hooves, trotting forward with a spring in his step.
        “Princesses,” the mare sighed, putting a hoof to her chest to compose herself. “You scared the piss outta me, you know that?” She giggled and sighed. The scarred pony tilted his head, and was surprised to find himself smiling in kind with the creature, if only to find that it at least laughed like him. He chuckled softly: a deep, throaty noise, like the rumbling earth.
        “Goaw own!” he chimed. His companion, who had previously been asleep on the bed, peeked an eye open and snorted.
        “Goaw own to you too,” the mare said, eliciting an ever wider grin from the scarred pony, his heart fluttering gently. The mare rubbed her eyes again as she trotted across the room, pulling the blanket from around her shoulders. She draped it over the back of her chair, sliding down into the soft, high-backed seat and staring across the room at the strange beasts. “And how are you two doing this evening?” she asked.
        The sleeping bat pony grunted again, and the scarred stallion narrowed his eyes. His ears drooped back in concentration, befuddled as he was by the creature across the room. It seemed to be expecting something of him, though he drew a blank on the sounds that it had made. He began to trot about, a tiny haphazard pace in the space of the cage as he wracked his mind, trying to find a reason – any reason – to the words. He was close to grunting in frustration when he instead found himself yelping in surprise as he had strayed too close to his companion, who had in turn taken the opportunity to bit at his ankles. The scarred pony snorted, his companion snorting back.
        “Gu'f!” the sleepy stallion said. “Snuh!”
        “Snuh,” the scarred pony responded, turning away sharply and back to the thing-like-him, who was smiling softly, her head leaning against her hoof.
        “Honestly, you two,” she said, pushing herself out of her chair. “I'm not sure whether you act more like a married couple, or like brothers.” She shook her head, taking a seat in front of the bars.
        The scarred pony stared at her for a while, eyeing her suspiciously with ears half-drooped. Now that she was so close to him, he was finding it a bit harder to share her apparent enthusiasm. His smile faded, and he found himself taking a small step backwards. The mare continued to smile at him, a strange, half-there look in her eyes. She didn't seem dangerous by far, but even still, the scarred pony found the compulsion he felt around her strange, and unnerving. Everything about her was so familiar, and yet so foreign, and this close he could only see the tiny differences so much clearer. He could smell flowers on her, but no dirt. He could see luster in her mane, but it was not wet. He sat down hard, a meter or so away from the bars, letting the flump of his rump against the ground signal that he wasn't going any further. The thing-like-him giggled again, leaning against the bars.
        “I wouldn't bite, you know,” she said. “Haven't got the teeth for it, not like you... hm.” She tapped at her chin, her eyes flicking up and down the scarred pony. He eyed her back, his wings folding in front of his body protectively. The mare chuckled. “Meadowlark.”
        He blinked, staring at the mare. She nodded sharply, apparently set her mind on something. “Meadowlark,” she said again, more confidently this time. She pointed at him, repeating the strange sound. “Meadowlark. That's you.”
        “Ma'ark?” he echoed, tilting his head. The mare nodded, grinning widely at him. She turned to the sleeping pony then, pointing at him.
        “And you,” she said, acquiring his rather sullen attentions, “will be Nightingale.”
        The bat pony dubbed Nightingale grunted impassively at this, rolling back over and returning to his sleep, leaving the scarred Meadowlark staring in confusion at the thing-like-him, who was now trotting very happily back to her desk, humming a soft tune. He shook his head. So much like him, and yet so different... she was fascinating.
        She sat heavily in her chair once again, this time spinning it around to face the massive beast of a desk that sat behind it, stuffed full of books and papers and other strange tools of her trade. She stayed still for a long while, too long by far for Meadowlark to understand what she was doing, save perhaps for sleeping. Eventually though her horn came alight, and he could only look on in awe as one by one books came alive, drifting off the shelves as the mare muttered their names. Meadowlark's ears twitched, swiveling to listen in.
        “We'll start with Order Chiroptera,” she muttered, brushing aside a loose bang. “May as well go with Laurasiatheria while I'm at it. Better to see how far up they go. They've got hooves, after all...” She paused, grunting and scratching her head. “Carnivora? Or Insectivora? Eph... too hard to tell.” She shook her head, and two large books drifted off the shelf, adding themselves to the stack on the desk. She rubbed her chin, then paused. Her eyes lingered across a thick, ancient book bound in dusty leather. Embossed across the back, in golden letters, were the words Equus sapiens-magicae. They rested there for what seemed like hours, so long that the curious bat pony observing her began to grow anxious. What were these tomes, he wondered, and why did they capture her attention so? Were they something to be concerned about? Something good. From his seat in the cage, he could not help but shuffle forward almost instinctively, ears eyes and nose all craning to discover just what it was the mare was so fascinated by. Her horn came alight again, jerking the book roughly off its shelf. She held it above the stack for almost as long as she had spent staring at it.
        “They can fly,” she muttered. “They might have some kind of magic. I should be... thorough.” Still the book stayed in the air, never touching the stack. She sighed, tossing it beside the stack.
        “Feh,” she grunted. Three more books came flying off the shelf, each with the word Equus, followed by other strange phrases printed across their covers, and shoved herself up from her chair. “Research comes later,” she said.
        Meadowlark watched carefully as the mare began roaming through the room, or at least he tried. The mare walked between the rows created by the large, humming machines, performing some strange actions. Meadowlark craned his head to see her amidst the enormous machines, but all he could make out was the sound of clicks and clangs, and still more whirring and humming.
        Once the mare had completed these checks to her satisfaction, she appeared once again, sneaking out from between the rows to gather a crate full of supplies from a nearby shelf, hovering it over to the cage. Meadowlark jerked away from her again, almost landing on his sleeping companion, but stopped. This time, he did not retreat as much. This time, he did not sit down. This time, he sniffed at the air, twitched his ears. She had a crate. No doubt, a crate full of even more strange things. He gazed at the sullen form of the newly dubbed Nightingale once more, then back to the mare.
        “Hello, you,” she said, smirking. He took a slow step forward, tilting his head and imitating her smirk.
        “Oh-oo?” he asked, nosing towards the crate. The mare-like-him giggled, and Meadowlark found himself smiling once again. He took another step forward, more confidently this time.
        “That's right,” the mare said. “You!” Meadowlark flicked his ears, beaming as she set the crate down and looked to Nightingale. He was no longer sleeping, but he hadn't decided to get up just yet, it seemed. He simply lay on the thick cushion, staring out at the mare through one eye, his gaze as cold and unblinking as always.
        “So what about you, huh?” the mare asked. “Not even gonna get up to say hello?” Nightingale merely snorted in response, and the mare rolled her eyes. “Well, you've probably got the right idea anyways,” she said, pulling a pair of glasses and a book out of the crate. She slipped the glasses on, flipping through the pages as she spoke idly. “I hate to do this to you, honestly. I mean, I've probably messed you up enough just by having the light on in here, but we can't all see in the dark. I guess I could buy a lamp, or something. Wonder if I could get one that looks like the moon? Eh... I probably don't need my eyes getting any worse.” She scratched her chin, laying the book down at a heavily dog-eared page.
        “You should probably go lay down too,” she told Meadowlark. He merely tilted his head this way and that at her, leaning down to snuffle at the book through the bars, trying to figure out just what this thing the mare had presented him with actually was. He pressed his nose into the bars, trying to squeeze through and pushing his nose back to reveal his teeth. He snorted softly against the book, staring intently at it.
        “Suit yourself,” the mare said, shrugging. She turned down to stare at the book as well, every bit as intensely. A slow, soft light began to form around her horn, gathering near the tip. For just a moment the light faded, almost going out, before exploding out from her horn in a wave of soft light.
        The wave washed over the room, covering everything but the mare-like-him herself, tiny particles of light clinging to every available surface. Most faded soon enough, those that had touched stone and steel, but those particles of light that fell upon the bat ponies stayed.
        Meadowlark stared down at himself, baffled by the tiny motes of light clinging to his body. He considered snapping at one when it began to sink into his body, and he felt a familiar sensation. It was as though the lights were becoming a heavy sheet of snow, clinging to his limbs in a thick, full coldness. His eyes bulged even as the first wave of tiredness washed over him, and he leaped back. He looked sharply to his companion, who it seemed had already fallen asleep.
        Meadowlark's heart began to race, and he danced in a small circle even as the numbness set in. He desperately tried to shake off the lights, but to no avail. His limbs were heavy now, stone and lead. He staggered, his spinning throwing him off balance in a way he could no longer recover from. He fell heavily onto the bed his companion lay on, and fell just as heavily into sleep.

        Erin waited for a long time, Never moving, never blinking. Her eyes were dead-set on Meadowlark, hardly even drifting an inch. She barely breathed, her breath caught shallow in her throat with each twitch and murmur the stallion made. From the other side of the room, the soft ticking of the clock's hands could be heard. Tick... tick... tick...
        It could not be said that the silence was broken, though it could be said it had been disturbed: a small snore escaped Meadowlark's lips, and Erin sighed quietly, barely exhaling. She lay her hoof on her chest, as though attempting to restart her heart. Even so she was almost supernaturally quiet, as though she didn't dare disturb the bat ponies.
        “Well, I guess that answers question number one,” she said weakly, smiling. “Subjects are susceptible to magic.” She tapped her horn against the cage door, producing a metallic clicking sound, and the door swung open. Lifting her crate alongside her, Erin stepped inside and began her work.
        Her task was not a short one, and certainly not a common one to average eyes. The first object to come out of the crate, and by far the most pedestrian, was a measuring tape and notepad. She wrapped them around every conceivable limb that could be measured – front and back hooves, neck, muzzles, head, and the length of their wings in both directions. She was almost obsessively thorough in her measurements, so much so that one might question if she really needed all the measurements she took.
        With the measurements all taken and carefully noted on individual charts, the measuring tape went away. The next tools out were a series of glass vials and other various implements. Syringes, scissors, scalpels, cotton swabs, and several pairs of rubber gloves.
        “Better safe than sorry,” she muttered as she tugged the gloves on. She worked quickly, her hooves and horn working with practiced precision, and a nervous uncertainty of just how much longer the sleeping spell would work.
        Blood, fur, mane hair, flesh from the wings and body, and saliva. Each quickly taken and carefully stored away in its individual vial, the vials moving to the rack even as the next sample was taken. Erin's face was impassive the entire time save for a barely furrowed brow; the professional gaze was akin to a surgeon at work. Her hooves joined in the effort with her horn, stopping and moving vials automatically. When her work was done, she packed her equipment every bit as quickly, levitating the crate behind her and almost dashing out the door, kicking it shut behind her. The heavy metallic 'thunk' of the door locking drew a breath of relief from her, and she set the crate down.
        “Well,” she said breathlessly, rubbing her eyes, “That's the hard part done. Now for the harder parts.” She stretched her neck, resulting in a loud cracking sound, and did the same for her shoulders. Her horn came alight, and across the room a record player began to play.

        The mare went about her strange work, weaving in and out between the machines. She had retained her spectacles, slipping into a long white lab coat as well, and finally brushing and tying back her wild mane. Quite surprisingly, not only did she not look completely bedraggled, she actually appeared to be rather professional. Indeed, if were not for her location in the bowels of the ancient mansion, or for her haunches eagerly swaying to the beat of the record as she worked, one might actually confuse Erin for a respectable, professional scientist.
        Each machine had its own bizarre combination of tests, its own odd actions and esoteric obsessions to captivate Erin's attention. The moon crept across the night sky as she worked, the ancient mare held within peering through the mansion’s windows. High above Erin's head the top floors were flooded with moonlight, creeping through the walls and up and down the stairs. It was as though the light were searching for something, but Erin paid no heed. She paid no heed to the light of the moon, nor to the sound of the howling winds outside. She paid no heed to the clouds forming overhead, or to the branches scratching against the windowpanes, or to the shadows that crept through her halls. She merely slouched over her equipment, staring so intently that she failed to notice even the the soft hissing of the finished record, or to the pair of eyes opening behind her.

        Meadowlark was beginning to wake, much to his dismay. The feeling of rocks in his head was back, much worse this time than it had been before, though at the very least its intensity seemed to fade with each sickening pound. At this rate, it might even be bearable by the time he died. He groaned, though if there were anypony who might convince him to admit such a thing in an intelligible manner, it was not so much the pain in his head that bothered him. Yes, it was still irritating, but he did not find himself irritated. In fact, he found himself sighing, an empty feeling that he could not put his hoof on lingering in the pit of his stomach. He sighed again, as though exploring the sound, and snorted. Nightingale rolled over, staring at Meadowlark over his shoulder.
        “Goaruh?” the sleepy pony grunted simply. Meadowlark shook his head, beating his wings.
        “Go-oh oh,” he said. He pawed at the ground, pulling a face and flaring his nose. His sleepy compatriot merely grunted, shrugging and rolling over, waving his wing in a less-than-polite gesture. Meadowlark snorted at him, turning his attentions back to the room, and to the empty feeling in his gut.
        The feeling was not something he had encountered before, that much was certain. It was not a hunger. He doubted he could manage to eat anything at the moment anyways with the ferocity of his headache. It was not anger - far too cold for that - but he felt it rather similar. It was as though his gut had frozen over, the frost biting at his innards just the same as the heat of fury did. He got to his hooves, moving as though he was trying to hide from something. His limbs were heavy and his head hung low. He flicked his ears and tail and he meandered in the direction of the bars, leaning against them and peering out through the room. 
        The mare-like-him was nearby. Meadowlark stopped leaning, his gut churning just a bit. He sniffed rapidly at her, tilting his head this way and that. A strange white sheet was draped around her body, like a set of folded wings. For a moment, a brief, curious moment, the empty feeling subsided. It was replaced by curiosity. He found himself wondering more than anything just what it was she was doing. 
She was leaning against what looked like a large blocky piece of the same material that made up the floor, and was swaying back in forth in an odd, sharp bobbing motion. It almost looked as though she was trying to attract prey somehow, some sort of strange dance to draw in unsuspecting animals. He narrowed his eyes at it, snorting his confusion.
        The creature stopped moving with a start, clearly having heard his snort. It seemed to shrink and turned around, and the empty feeling returned to him, this time accompanied by a more distinct annoyance. He found any interest in what she had been doing disappear just as suddenly as the empty feeling arose. He took a sharp step away from the bars, beating his wings and folding them tight against him with a snap. He narrowed his eyes at her, snorting pointedly, although he could not say why.
        “Oh no,” the mare-like-him said, putting up a hoof. “No, don't you worry, I'm not some other predator. It's just me, Erin, see?” She removed the sheet of white that had been draped over her shoulders and forelegs, returning to her normal green coat. She smiled, trotting up to the cages. Meadowlark took another sharp step back. Her closeness only exacerbated his annoyance, but strangely he found that she exacerbated his emptiness, as well. Either way, he could not say that he was fond of her presence.
        “So, you,” she said, oblivious, “finally decided to wake up, huh? How're you feeling?”
        Meadowlark flicked his ears, turning away from her in a huff. He had only caught a little bit of what she had said, and hadn’t really understood any of it. She seemed friendly enough in spite of everything, which only served to make him angrier. Even so, he found himself pausing. He turned back ever so slightly, staring at her out of the corner of his eye. He found her noises strangely compelling. Perhaps she was trying to explain to him why she had done what she had done. She might have even had a decent reason. 
“Goo fing?” he grunted. 
The mare smiled. “Well, I'll take that as a 'good',” she said. “I've gotta say I expected you to be up earlier. I might need more practice with the spell, I suppose. It's been awhile since I've had something to study directly, and you're new to all of us. I still don't even know how much you sleep normally!”
        Meadowlark furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate, but this creature made too many noises, and they all blurred together. He couldn't be sure where one noise ended and another began, which ones meant anything, if they ever meant anything at all. “Ser... nourm,” he said, snorting and planting his rump on the floor, turning away from her. The creature laughed, and Meadowlark pinned his ears back. This certainly didn't feel like an explanation to him.
        “Whatever you say,” the mare said, turning away. “You're just in time, though – I was just about to put on another record before I got back to work. What do you think of... The Whoof?”
        “Woaph?” Meadowlark asked, tilting his head. His eyes narrowed further, the empty feeling and irritation only growing. He could feel a growl rising in his throat, though he held it down – for now. Erin shook her head, turning away.
        “Well, woaph to you too,” she said, giggling. Meadowlark's eye twitched, and he decided rather suddenly he'd had enough of her. Clearly, she had no intention of explaining herself to him. She was content to keep poking and prodding and laughing at him, and he was tired of it. He barked loudly at her, causing the mare to jump into the air. For a moment she looked as though she were going to speak, but Meadowlark didn't give her the time. He unfurled his wings with a loud snap, beating them powerfully as he leapt into the air, the force of his jump and wingbeat propelling him into the air. He reached out, feeling his hooves strike the lowest of the strange branches, and curled them around it. His wings beat again, his muscles twisting and pounding as he yanked himself up, kicking off the branch and deeper into the cluster, bouncing from branch to branch until he found a particularly wide bough that hung out over the others. He walked along it, crouching as he did so and peering out through the foliage. He could see the tiny mare from here, even tinier from the height of the fake tree, but judging from her slowly turning head and vacant expression, she could not see him. He nodded, taking a seat and scowling at her as though he was somehow proving a point.
        “Well,” Erin said, giving up her search and turning away from the cage, “We're listening to them anyways.”
        Meadowlark watched her carefully from his vantage point as she trotted across the room, weaving in between the large somethings. He saw her pause to fiddle with something across the room, and through his fuzzy vision he imagined that she lit up for a moment.
        The sound struck him then, something unlike he'd ever heard before. They cut through the mire of anger and emptiness, striking his heart with an almost electric sensation. It was not an animal's cry, nor the whistling of the wind or the rustling of the bushes. It was not the babbling of a stream, or the tumbling of stones. It was something deeply alien, and yet somehow familiar.
        It was slow at first, and soft. He had to listen carefully, twisting and craning his ears in the direction of the sound. The sounds were small, sharp, but there were so many of them, more and more joining in every moment. They repeated themselves over and over, like hooffalls, but they sounded sharp and sweet. They sounded like a drink of cool water after chasing prey. They sounded like cold winds when the world began to die. They sounded like rain against his skin. 
He shuffled forward along the bough, trying to hear better. More sounds joined in now, like being alone when the moon was gone. The sounds sounded like emptiness. They sounded like lonesomeness. He shook his head, waggling his ears. He wanted to bark, to bray, to howl, but he couldn't. He couldn’t do anything. He was captivated by the sounds he heard. Noises like the creature had made at him, but so much more powerful. Noises like being tired, like missing prey, like being sick or injured. They repeated themselves over and over, pounding into him. They sounded like something he had never realized he didn't know. In spite of the warmth of the air, he found himself shivering. Before long he was completely captivated by the sounds, laying silently on his bough, so intent that he completely forgot about being angry at the mare-like-him. The fire in his belly and shoulders had only faded, but the emptiness had not. It clung to the inside of his chest, Coming out of his back in a sharp pain that throbbed when he saw the mare-like-him. He sighed deeply, ears and wings hanging limp at his sides as stared out through the leaves at her.
        
        The scientist flopped down into her large chair, sighing and rubbing her eyes. She set aside her glasses for a moment, staring across the room at the cage, observing it in silence. There would be more tests to do in the future. Many, many more tests, both updates on those she had just performed and more. For now, though, that much was over. The machines were doing their work, and so there was little for her to do but wait. She glanced at the pile of books sitting on her desk, and sighed.
        “Eeeeeeeh...” she groaned. “Where's a grad student when you need one?” She paused for a moment, as though she were expecting some over-eager undergrad to come bursting through her doors offering to aid her research, but she was disappointed. She sighed again, looking between the cage, the books, and the machines. Nightingale, at least, had not moved. Nor had the state of her research. The machines had probably done something, but they were far from having their tests completed in most most cases. A glance out the windows told her that dawn was still a ways away, as long as the night had seemed already. She'd been busy, to be certain, but it was good. Work was good. Even if it could be tiresome at times.
        Still, she thought to herself, best to start slow. I'll make my reports for the day, I think. She pulled open one of the desk's many drawers, pulling out a small recorder. She fiddled with it for a moment, setting it down on the desk as she swiveled her chair around, staring at the bat ponies in the cage.
        For a long time she was silent. In a strange way, even she did not know what was on her mind. She merely understood a sense of vague confusion, or of doubt. Perhaps it was the nature of discovering a new species. It was one thing to know intellectually the gaps in one's knowledge, but to actually see something, in the flesh, that no pony had been aware existed until a mere two nights ago, was breathtaking.
        Or perhaps it was merely how strange the beasts themselves were. So similar, and yet so alien, so animalistic. She stared for a long time, shaking her head.
        “September 22nd. Approximately two days ago, what I currently believe to be a new and unidentified species of animal was discovered. I've managed to procure two live subjects – both males. Thus far, the only subjects of the species that have been spotted.
        “The species resembles some sort of... bat pony. I'm honestly not sure how else to put it. Blood and tissue samples are currently being analyzed, and very soon I'll be able to send the data in for analysis. The results should show how much DNA they share with bats... or ponies. There seems to be at least some form of latent magic, as they've demonstrated ability to fly, which would be as impossible for them as it is for pegasi without magic – possibly moreso.”
        Erin paused again, turning her attention back to the curious pony. He was still pressed up against the cage, his ears flicking wildly. “I'll admit,” Erin continued, “I'm reluctant to ask for assistance in analyzing the data regarding the subjects. A discovery like this is monumental... I really have no guarantee that an expert wouldn't claim the discovery for themselves... I would probably be tempted to do the same. But more to the point... I feel like there's something strange about these two I can't put my hoof on. The bat ponies... rather, the subjects are extremely unique in a lot of ways, more than just their resemblance to ponies. They seem too...” She shook her head, shrugging.
        Erin got up from her seat, her horn coming alight as the recorder floated behind her. She trotted across the room to check on the progress of the tests as she spoke idly to herself.
        “Behaviorally, it's too early to make any accurate assessments regarding the subjects, but I do have some initial theories. I'll record them for posterity, if nothing else. They may be completely worthless, but they may turn out worthy of investigation later.
        “First and foremost, I believe them to be at the very least omnivorous. In spite of their largely equine appearance they exhibit very sharp teeth, resembling most predatory omnivores, though they may have molars further back I haven't seen. From the presence of the tapetum lucidum I would guess that they operate mostly via sight... though they've demonstrated to lean at least to some degree on scent and sound. According to a witness account, I believe they may have hearing superior to most ponies.”
        Erin shook her head, catching herself. “That is,” she said, “They likely have superior hearing when compared to ponies. Not to imply that they themselves are ponies.” She sighed, growling to herself at the slip-up.
        “They appear to be intelligent, but it's impossible to tell to what degree thus far. They appear to respond to communication, though it's unlikely they understand me to any real degree. If anything they likely just assume me to be one of their species due to visual similarities. The two subjects, at least, are close, as I've noted them engaging in simple communication. One of the subjects, who I've named Meadowlark, seems friendly enough... if a tad edgy, so I imagine they're a social species. Determining just how far their communication goes will play a vital role in determining exactly how intelligent a species they are in the end...”
        Erin stopped. There was a sense of finality to the words. “how intelligent they are”... the words held a terrifying, unspoken suggestion. Erin shivered. “I will continue my logs with further details as they become available,” she said sharply, flicking the recorder off. She set it down on a nearby counter, leaning against it and sighing. Something weighed on her, but she couldn't quite say what. No, that wasn't true. She knew exactly what it was, but she couldn't bear to say it. Not to the recorder, and certainly not to herself. She groaned, rubbing her eyes as though it would chase away the lingering, troubling ache in her shoulders.
        The was a clunk and a soft hissing across the room. The record had finished, and the player was resetting itself automatically. Erin didn't budge from her position on the counter as the music began again. The slow, steady beats, rising and falling and slowly accumulating more and more variety as they went along. The sharp sound of the singer drifted through the air, and it did nothing to ease her ache – particularly when it suddenly became a duet.
        “Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill, Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill, Cow'n jon da parree dress do kill~”
        Erin's head rose, slowly turning around to look over her shoulder. The sound seemed to be coming from the cage, but Nightingale wasn't singing. In fact, he looked just as confused as Erin, his head raised and rotating like a periscope, his ears twitching idly. The scientist whipped her head around, scrambling to her desk as a notion struck her. She rummaged quickly through the various drawers and shelves, eventually producing a small rectangular gem with pointed ends. She dropped it on the desk, her horn coming alight as she did.
        The gem flashed and a scene displayed itself for her, a tiny, flickering image of light. It was the branches of the fake trees in the cage, though there was nothing else. She grunted, her horn lighting up again as the scene changed. Still branches, still empty. Her brow furrowed in concentration and irritation as she continued to change the scene, until at last she came upon the one she had been looking for: Meadowlark, nestled on his back in the branches. Singing. Singing along to the record he had heard once, no more or less than an hour ago. Even more distressing, what truly sent a cold spike through the pit of Erin's stomach, was that the singing was very nearly perfect. The words were clumsy and off-kilter, but he clearly knew them, and with the exception of the odd stumble over a word, the notes were all perfect. The rhythm as well, lining up perfectly with the record. Meadowlark was singing along as though he had known the song his entire life.
        Erin reached for the recorder slowly, expression dead and mind empty, and switched it back on. “Subjects...” she said, “subjects show remarkable talent for... mimicry.” With that, she switched the recorder off again, staring at the cage. The clock upon the wall ticked away, and the record continued to play, the soft hiss of vinyl undercutting the music.
        The noise was deafening.
        It needed to stop. Erin needed it to stop. She pushed herself away from her desk, dashing across the room and throwing the needle off of the record and switching the record player off as fast as she could. She listened to the spinning slowly wind down before walking away again, shaking her head.
        “Gods,” she muttered to herself. “Gods. No. I'm imagining it. Just because they look like...” She shook her head again. “Magpies can mimic tone too. Parrots can remember phrases. I should just... check to see if they have any bird DNA, and... damn.” She bit her hoof, scratching at her mane nervously and peering back to the flickering image on her desk. Meadowlark had stopped singing now, a deep frown on his face.
        “The sun shines!” Erin called out. Meadowlark's ears perked up, but he didn't make a sound. Erin wandered closer to the cage, close enough that she knew he would be able to hear her clearly. “The sun shines,” she said again. She could not see Meadowlark, too far away from the image on her desk as she was, but the sheer weight of the pause made her certain he was listening.
        “Pones for't,” he sang.
        “...Wine pours.”
        “Pones For't.”
        “The snow packs?”
        There was a long, cool silence, and for a moment Erin's face lit up. “Skee 'rack!” the curious pony sang.
        Erin slumped against the bars. She felt as though she had been shot through the heart, and she gulped, putting a hoof over her mouth. Nightingale peered up at her. Even he, uncaring and lethargic as he normally was, could feel the weight. He eyes her coolly.
        Erin paid no heed, pacing around the room. She muttered to herself, her voice weak and weary. Her mane had fallen loose and it splayed over her face once more. “It doesn't mean anything,” she said, repeating it over and over. “Mimicry. Nothing else. Recognizing sounds... I mean sure he did it fast, but it's not like the lyrics are diverse... h-he’s smart, but intelligence isn’t the same as...”
        She sighed, collapsing into her chair. “It can't mean anything. There's no way that we could have missed them. How could... I mean, this close.” She drooped her head into her hooves, groaning.
        The clock ticked away in the silence as Erin sat. Thoughts ran through her head at a million miles an hour, desperately trying to rationalize the situation. After what seemed like hours of thought, she finally stood up. She knew what needed to be done... the only trick would be actually making herself do it.
        She left the lab, walking slowly through the halls. The night was winding to a close, and the world had reached the curious time when it is at its darkest. The lack of light didn't bother Erin at all, though. She knew that if she let even a single thing distract her from her mission then it would never be completed.
        She trotted into a nearby drawing room, looking around idly. Across the room she spotted what she was searching for – herself, reflected in a large mirror hung on the wall. She nodded, levitating the mirror and carrying it along behind her as she dashed back to her lab, carrying it to the cage.
        Meadowlark had returned to the floor, staring out of the cage. His ears perked up when Erin walked in, but he snorted, turning his head away. He moved to stand, but in the end all he did was shuffled closer to Nightingale. Erin didn't bother to recognize this, instead merely sliding the mirror through the bars and propping it up against the wall. She trotted away, grabbing her recorder like a beggar grasping at fallen change.
        “September 22nd,” she said, her voice breaking as she switched the recorder on. She paused, collecting herself, and continued again. She fought to remain in control of her voice, fighting it down to a dull, stoic tone squeezed out through deep, calming breaths. “September 22nd,” she said again. “The sample tests are continuing along well enough. For the time being, however... I'm going to go against the standard method... well, it's not as if anything to do with these... with the subjects, is standard. I'm going to jump the gun a little bit and perform some behavioural tests. Specifically, I... I'm going to perform the mirror test on them.
        “The test setup is very rudimentary for the time being,” she continued. “Just a single mirror in the room, no real... setup. Not very scientific, I'll admit... depending on the result I'll follow with more tests. If they don't demonstrate self-awareness, however, then...” She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Testing will continue as normal one way or another. This test, for now, is out of personal... personal curiosity. It will not be put into any of my findings or journals, but kept as a personal log. It... shouldn't matter.” She switched the recorder off, watching the bat ponies as the test unfolded. “It shouldn't matter,” she said again.
        For a while, nothing happened. Meadowlark still seemed to be sulking on the floor, peering over at Erin every so often, and hadn't noticed the mirror yet. He snorted occasionally, but that was about it. Eventually though he sat up, flaring his nostrils. For a moment Erin thought he might be doing it at her, but she put the thought from her mind, trying to focus on impartial observation.

        Meadowlark snorted again, turning away. It was then that he saw the mirror. His ears snapping up on his head like a pair exclamation points. He stood stock still, staring. He got to his hooves, tilting his head left and right. He snuffled the air, his ears twitching. Though his vision was blurry, across the room from him he could make out another creature like himself and Nightingale. He had never seen another one of them, though. Who was this strange thing-like-them he saw, he wondered. It seemed every bit as curious as him, at least. It tilted its head back and forth, back and forth, and it wiggled its ears. It must have been just like him.

        Erin watched the scene play out, captivated and breathless. Bit by bit, a smile began to form across her face. The curious pony didn't seem to realize that his reflection was not, in fact, him. He continued to move, continued to make social gestures, trying to greet the reflection as though it was another one of its species. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, running a hoof through her mane. She must have been mistaken. The phrases... the sociability... the bat ponies were intelligent, surely, but intelligent animals. The coldness in her shoulders was beginning to warm up, and she looked back up at the cage. Her eyes narrowed, and the coldness came back in.
        
         The creature was too much like him. Too much to be just another one of him, at least. The movements too familiar, the shape too perfect. It wasn't just another pony. It was Nightingale! Of course, how could he have not realized? Even still... something didn't sit right with Meadowlark. He snorted, nodding at his companion. It wasn't like him to move about too much, much less fast enough to sneak around to the other side of Meadowlark. As far as he knew, Nightingale was still sitting on the bed...
        He looked over his shoulder. His companion was indeed still on the bed, the bulk of his movement being to roll onto his back and stare at the false branches weaving above their heads. Meadowlark narrowed his eyes, turning to stare at Erin.

        “No...” Erin muttered, biting her hoof. “No, no, look at the mirror. The mirror.”

        Meadowlark continued to glare at Erin. If he was aware of her wishes, then no doubt he intended to spite her. The empty feeling in his stomach was unbearable when he looked at her, the creeping fire of anger resting hot in his shoulders. He looked between her and the strange thing-like-him, and much as he didn't want to, he couldn't help but wonder just what hoof Erin had in it. The mere sight of it made him curious, compelled him forward, and yet... he remembered her putting him to sleep, all too clearly. Even now the last remnants of the stones in his head still remained, rattling whenever he moved too fast. The empty feeling was almost painful when he thought about what the mare had done, eating away at him. He tore his view away from the mare, and for a long moment considered letting the thing-like-him be. Yet, it too seemed distraught. Perhaps it was another thing she had taken away and put in this cage. Another home stolen. Meadowlark tilted his head, whimpering with something approaching sympathy.
        He lowered his head, taking a step forward. The thing-like-him took a step forward as well. He turned his head, and so did it. He flicked his ears, and so did it. He swished his tail, and so did it. Perfectly in tune, as though it were imitating him... but it was too perfect. He flapped his wings and started. The thing-like-him's wingtips had disappeared! He beat his wings again, and it happened again.
        He stepped closer, snuffling at the air. He certainly didn't smell any other creature. Or hear one. No... this was not another creature. No creature just had parts of it disappear, or mimicked him. This thing was him, but not him. His face lit up as he realized – it was like the him in the water! The him that looked back at him when he drank, now floating in the air. How strange! For just a moment the empty feeling slipped away, allowing the compelling curiosity, the thrill of mystery to rise once more to the surface. He danced anxiously, reaching out to the side with a hoof. The tip disappeared, causing him to smile faintly.
        “Goaw!” he barked at his companion, “Gaow!”
        
        Erin quivered in her seat, watching the proceedings without a sound. She began to swear under her breath as the curious pony dragged his companion over to the mirror, waving his limbs and turning around as if to demonstrate the qualities of it. Nightingale grunted at his companion and tried to shove him away with his wing, but Meadowlark snorted back and yanked on Nightingale’s mane. He gestured towards the mirror. They growled and barked back and forth for a while, before Nightingale finally flapped his wings once, staring at his eager companion. Meadowlark barked, smiling back at the sour stallion. He flapped his wings again, looking for all the while as though he was about to say something when he was cut off by Erin’s deep, melancholy groan from across the room.
        She clutched at her neck as though it was broken, like she was trying to keep her head on her shoulders. “No, no, no,” she groaned, very nearly begging. She buried her head in her hooves, and Meadowlark paused.

        Once again, the emptiness had returned. This time, however, he was not angry. He left his companion, who merely rolled his eyes, sighing, but Meadowlark ignored him. Or rather, he didn't notice him at all. He crept, hoofstep by hoofstep, towards the bars. Anger had been replaced by something, something he understood even less than the empty feeling in his stomach: a tightness in his head like a gripping claw. Them are-like-him looked up at him from across the room, her eyes slightly puffy. She stood as well, trotting to the cage with weak, halting steps
        Meadowlark paused a few feet away from the bars, his wings half-flared as the mare approached. He turned his head back and forth, staring at the mare as she reached the cage. She leaned in, shaking her head.
        “Meadowlark... you... you can, can't you?”
        Meadowlark narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. His ears perked up, hearing something in the words he certainly hadn't before. He took a cautious step forward. He still remembered what she had done, but... the grip on his heart squeezed tighter.
        She continued to murmur, leaning her head against the bars. “Oh gods.” Her shoulders shook, and her voice became weak, and trembling. “I... I...”
        Meadowlark took another step forward. He was worried, he couldn't deny. Part of him thought that this must be some ploy to do something else to him, though what he couldn't say. Part of him simply didn't care if she was trying to trick him or not, and simply thought that her apparent misery was none of his business anymore. Yet there was still that tightness in his chest, driving away all other feelings like a territorial hunter. He realized that he had continued walking with slow steps, and that he had reached the bars. The mare leaned up against them, peering through at Meadowlark. He shuffled his wings, his ears drooping back. He could see her eyes, now, peeking out through her mane, and the empty feeling inside him lurched, his heart thudding. In spite of himself, in spite of his trembling and his reluctance, he leaned in. He pressed his nose against the bars, breathing onto the mare's forehead. She looked up at him and reached out, pressing her hoof against his chest through the bars.
        Meadowlark leaped back, barking and flaring his wings. He beat them several times, holding them wide above his head. His heart pounded in his chest, and the empty feeling felt like a gaping, searing hole where he had been touched. His body turned cold, trembling as the icy grip of fear overcame him. He barked again, backing away from the bars. The mare stared at him, their eyes meeting for just a moment, but Meadowlark turned away. He tried to bring back the anger, but he couldn't. He tried to repress the emptiness and fear, but he couldn't. He felt cold and hollow, and his chest burned where the mare-like-him had touched it. Worse than all that, though, worse than the stones in his head or the ice against his shoulders, or even than the hole in his stomach, he found himself trembling. In that brief moment they had shared their glance, he had seen all of those things in mare's eyes.
        “Oh, Meadowlark,” the mare said, stepping away from the bars. “I'm... I'm so sorry... I had no idea that... That you...” She sniffed. “I didn't mean to. I swear... oh gods, I... I need to go. I'm so sorry, Meadowlark... Nightingale...” She turned away, dashing from the room and leaving Meadowlark with the empty coldness.


> Act 1, Part 3: Of Brothers and Bunnies
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 1, Part 3: Brothers and Bunnies


        Two nights had passed.

        A lone stallion stood in the light of a streetlamp, a thick coat wrapped tight around him to stave off the cold and wet. His hood cast shadows over his face as he tucked the the thick fabric low, snorting mist into the night. He paused for a moment as though expecting something, but lowered his head and began to walk.
        He moved like a breeze, his long limbs moving him swiftly and gracefully through the middle of the road, where his path would not be barred by the grasping trees. They curled like a spider’s legs, long and slender and flowing like water. He had no company save for his shadow, and no sound but for the soft clop-clop-clopping of his hooves on cobblestone.
        He tugged his coat tighter around his shoulders, an impression of guile about him as he turned down the final lane in the quarter. The long, wide street took him past mansions, past parks and past ponds, finding him before the greatest and most ancient of them all. Great walls and a rusted gate stood around it on all sides, straight and tall as any guardspony, and every bit as imposing with their gate spikes for spears and heavy stones for armour. They rattled upon their hinges as the wind whipped, shaking themselves in spite at the stallion.
        Ignoring the unspoken jeers of the gate, he pulled back his hood slightly to reveal a long, dark-blue horn. He tapped it against the front gate, a spark of magic briefly illuminating the night. A loud crack not unlike a gunshot was heard, then silence. The gate swung slowly open, creaking and groaning along its hinges, and the stallion stepped quickly inside.
        Gravel crunched beneath his hooves as he made his way around the huge, ancient statue in front. He peered idly at it: some long-dead stallion, glaring out at the world. The founder of this home. The shrouded stallion shook his head, and his hood lowered as he mounted the steps leading up to the front door. He paused at the door, shivering faintly, before his horn lit up and the heavy brass knockers began to float.
        The crash of brass striking brass rang out in the silence of the night. A flock of birds flew from a nearby tree, their squawks and beating wings drowning out the echo of the knocker. The noise faded, and the night became silent once more.
The stallion pounded the knocker against the door once more. It echoed through the yard, and for a moment the stallion was unsure whether the rumble that answered him was the echo, or distant thunder. He shook his head, and the knocker lifted again.
There was one final crash, one final shrieking sound in the night. As the sound faded away, there was silence. The world seemed to stop, holding its breath. No crickets chirped. No birds called. Not even the wind blew. In the pale, sickly light, the world stood still, until the soft hiss of static could be heard. Faint at first, crackling. Then, a voice.

        “Are you seriously using the knocker?”

        The stallion paused, brushing his muzzle with a hoof. Whatever he had been expecting, it seemed, this was not it.
        “Well... yes,” he said. His voice had a deep, rich coolness about it, like ice. “They're there for a reason.”
        “So's the intercom. You were there when I had it installed, Stage. We talked about it.”
        “I sort of contest your definition of 'talked about it',” Stage said. “I never actually said I was going to use it.”
        “Of course not,” the intercom buzzed, a sour note in the voice of the mare on the other end. “You're just going to keep on being bloody dramatic. What are you even doing here?”
        Stage flipped back his hood, raising a hoof in an indignant sort of awe. “Pretty sure this is my house too, Erin. Dad left it to both of us.”
        “I'm pretty sure you lost the right to call this your house when you moved in with your trophy husband.”
        Stage snorted and shook his head again. “He isn't -” He stopped, pawing at the ground and grunting. “Look, I'm coming in. Are you in your lab?”
        There was silence from the other end of the intercom, but the soft hiss of static told Stage that it was still on. He tapped his hoof, looking over his shoulder at the empty square.
        “No,” Erin said finally. “I'm in the kitchen. The little one in the servant wing.”
        Stage nodded. “I'll be right there,” he said. With that, he pushed open the front door, stepping inside.
        The interior of the mansion felt even more decrepit than the exterior, if it were possible. The already dull light filtered through the dusty windows, creating a hollow, haunted feeling that lingered over the foyer. Stage sighed, his horn coming alight. The candles along the sides of the room spluttered, coming alive. The orange light splashed through the room, filling up the corners with warmth and life. He nodded faintly as he surveyed his work, setting off into the halls.
        Left and right as he walked the lights came on, leaping out in front of him like pirouetting dancers, bringing some tiny semblance of life to the dead home. When he finally came to the kitchen he paused. He opened the door with a slow deliberation, trying his best not to make a sound. Erin sat at the kitchen table, back to the door, hunched over a steaming cup of cocoa.
        “Singsong isn't a trophy husband,” Stage said. 
Erin didn't turn around, or even react, save to reply. “Right. So it's a coincidence that you're filthy rich and he's absolutely gorgeous?”
        “Pretty much,” Stage said, trotting around the table. He pulled off his coat, hanging it over the back of a nearby chair and sitting down across from the sour mare. “What's gotten into you, anyways? You're living up to the Smiles name more than usual, S -”
        “Don't you even dare,” Erin snapped, cutting him off. They were silent for a while, Stage staring across the table at her.
        “Erin, are you alright?” he asked. 
She sighed, leaning her head on her hooves. “Sorry. I didn't sleep well today. Or the day before.”
        “The day?” Stage asked. “Are you back to sleeping during the day now, or did you just stay up too late again?” He chuckled. “What, did you find a new favourite scientist whose career you want to absorb or something?”
        Erin shook her head, sighing heavily. “You want cocoa?” she asked.
        Stage was quiet for a while, watching his sister carefully. Her eyes were even more sunken than usual, hiding behind her limp, stringy mane. Her shoulders were slack and her neck hung low, her whole body slumping forward onto the table like a marionette whose strings had been cut. She cradled her mug close, staring down into it. Stage tapped the table.
        “Not coffee?” he asked. Erin shrugged.
        “Eh... out of beans. I need to run down to that little place in the East Quarter.”
        “The one Grandpa took us out to when we were little, right? When he was showing us around the city? And you tried coffee for the first time because you wanted to be grown up, and ended up spitting it all out?”
        Erin smirked – or at least tried. The corners of her mouth pulled up ever-so-slightly. A pony would hardly notice if they weren't looking. “You remember that?”
        “C'mon, you think I would ever forget the face you made that day?” Stage laughed, brushing his mane out of his eyes. “Besides, you always go to that place.”
        Erin smirked again, genuinely this time. “What can I say?” she asked, sweeping away her mane. “I've got a hunting path. You want cocoa or not?”
        “Yeah,” Stage said, getting up from the table. “I'll grab it, though.”
        “Pot's still on the stove,” Erin said. “You just have to heat it up. Think you can handle that?” 
Stage laughed, giving an exaggerated shrug. “Eh, I'll manage,” he said, trotting across the room. His horn lit up, switching on the stove and lifting a spoon from the counter as Erin slowly turned around in her chair.
        “So... why did you come, anyhow?” she asked. Stage shrugged, not looking up from the stove.
        “The university called. They said you hadn't shown up for your lectures for the past couple of days. Not that that's anything particularly unusual for you, but Crown Jewel seems to be using it as an excuse to attack you – and Singsong and I, by proxy. I had to see our accountant this morning because apparently our family's tax history was being audited. I figured you might know something about it.”
        Erin let her face fall into her hoof, groaning. “Oh gods, did that idiot blowhard actually follow through on that?” she asked. “That’s just what I need now.”
        Stage laughed. “So you do know something about it, eh?” he asked. “Seriously, Crown's not petty enough to go to all the trouble over you missing out on some classes. Heck, he'd be happy about your reputation taking a hit if anything. He's not stupid enough to think that this's actually gonna go through anyways. You must have done something pretty big to piss him off. Get into another hooffight?” 
Erin shook her head, her limp mane doing a tiny quivering dance every bit as bored and apathetic as the mare herself.
        “No,” she said, “and there's more where that came from. It's just for me, though, you and Singsong don't have to worry about anything. It... shouldn’t be too hard to clear up. Get the lawyers to take care of the paperwork and play nice for a while.” She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “You and Singsong should probably steer clear of the blast radius anyways, though. I get the feeling he’s going to throw investigations at me until something sticks, and I don’t want you two getting caught up in it.”
        Stage returned to the table, a mug of steaming cocoa floating along beside him and setting down as he eased back into the chair. “That’s going to happen, sure. Play nice? You, giving up on the chance to spite Crown?”
        “I'm... busy,” Erin replied, shrugging.
        “I didn't think you'd ever be too busy to piss him off,” Stage said, sipping at his cocoa. “This must be pretty big. Seriously, what's up? You usually at least have the decency to warn us before you disappear like this – and before you take out 6,000 bits on something, come to think of it.”
        Erin went quiet again, staring down at her cocoa. She sighed, and as she exhaled whatever life had returned to her seemed to fade away. Her shoulders sagged, and even the colour of her coat seemed to drain. She rubbed her eyes, trying to make them not feel as though they were on fire, but to no avail. “Did you check to see if the wards were working before you came in?” she asked. She shook her head suddenly, cutting the stallion off. “Actually, never mind. If you did and they still worked, you probably wouldn't be here. Let's... you wanna go check them with me?”
        Stage looked down at his cocoa, still as full and hot as when he had poured it, then up at the mare. He smiled, rolling his eyes. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? Not like it's cold out there or anything.”

        The pair set out of the mansion through a servant door near the kitchen, having delayed their journey only long enough for Erin to procure a coat. Then they set out into the night, into the damp and the cold. There was a chill about the night air, the sort that clung to a pony's bones. Erin shivered as they trotted over wet leaves and grass, making their way towards the massive forest to the south of the house. They skirted the perimeter at first, Erin sticking close to Stage’s side as she tried to tuck herself tighter into her coat. Stage peered down at her every so often, but made hardly a sound.
        As they rounded the enormous house, they found themselves staring the great forest in the face. The long wooden limbs stretched out before them, their fingers curling in a twisted invitation, beckoning them to come and play in the forest of the night. The wind whispered an inviting song, and Stage shivered.
        “So what's up, anyways?” he asked, pawing at the ground. “If you're checking on the wards, then you've got an animal you're studying?”
        Erin walked towards the forest, leaving Stage to shake his head and trot after her. She moved for a tree on the outskirts of the forest: a tired-looking oak with a low-hanging branches. Wrapped around it was a silver thread, tied on the other end around a small piece of quartz. The mare stood underneath it, straining her neck upwards in a vain attempt to tap her horn against the gem. The lost weight of fallen leaves had left the bough to lift higher, and Erin began to mutter oaths beneath her breath at it.
        “Stupid tree, with the stupid branch and the stupid – EEP!”
        Stage had snuck up behind Erin, lifting her into the air with his magic and setting her down on his back beneath the gem. She swore at him, thumping her hooves against his sides.
        “Don't do that!” she yelled, kicking him again, though she made no attempt to get down. Stage grinned.
        “You're tall enough now, aren't you?” he asked.
        Erin grunted sourly, but she could not deny, annoying as he was, Stage had given her the boost she needed. She craned her neck, tapping her horn against the gem. The was a small tinkling sound, and she frowned. “Old,” she grunted, “but at least the array is still up.”
        “About that,” Stage said, doing his best to peer upwards with the tiny mare leaning on his head, “are you actually planning on telling me about why we're out here sometime soon? Does this have anything to do with why you disappeared so suddenly?”
        Erin grunted again. This time, a small squeak escaped her throat. Stage gazed up at her and she rubbed her eyes, trying to shy away from the pointed look. “Soon...” she said. “Soon. I promise. Just... let's get all this set up now, okay?”
        Stage sighed, but nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But that means you're testing these things. I don't want you using me as a guinea pig and going back on that promise if I forget, alright?”
        Erin laughed, kicking her brother again. “What, don't you trust me?”
        “I do remember eventually, Erin.”
        “Oh.” Her expression fell; her eyes shifted left and right for a moment. “So... that means...”
        “Oh yes,” Stage replied. The humour remained in his voice, though it dropped to a distinctly pointed tone. “I remember it quite clearly.”
        Erin rubbed her foreleg. “And does Singsong...”
        “Yup,” Stage answered. “He’s quite flattered, by the way. He thinks it's hilarious. But he's not going to say anything unless you do.”
        “Right...” Erin rubbed her neck, looking away. “Well, that's fair enough I guess. Alright, I'll test them out. Just let me get them set up.”
        Erin clambered higher on Stage's shoulders until she could comfortably rest her horn against the hanging stone. The twinkling sound was heard again, this time punctuated by Erin pulling in a deep, smooth breath.
        She pulled her head back slightly, and the stone pulled along with it, never breaking contact from her horn as both began to glow with a soft green light. The twinkling turned to a humming as the glow grew, and Erin's eyes drifted shut. There was a moment of peace and silence before a great chime rang out from the quartz, the light shooting out in a bolt. In the distance there was a flash of green and another chime, then another further in the distance. The chimes and flashes continued, making their way further and further away, leaving glowing, twinkling fireflies in their wake. The sound and light faded into the distance, wrapping itself around the enormous forest.
        For a time, there was silence, save for the twinkling of the stone beside their heads. Erin's eyes were still closed, the gem clinging to her horn like a gleaming burr. After a time her ears flicked, and Stage turned to look in the direction they turned to. A soft pinging sound could be heard in the distance, becoming louder. Like a bolt of lightning, the green light flashed out of the forest, slamming into the gemstone. Then, as one, the lights went out. Erin's eyes came open as the gem swung away from her horn, nodding as the stone chimed loudly.
        “That should last... a few months at least,” she said, nodding.
        “Only a few months?” Stage asked, kneeling down. Erin clambered off his back, shaking her mane out of her face and rubbing her cheek. Stage brushed off his shoulder, continuing, “I'd have thought you'd push it. Keep you from having to do it again for a while and all.”
        Erin shrugged. “I... don't really think I'll need them up for all that long,” she said. “Though I'd honestly be happy to have to do it again.”
        Stage cocked an eyebrow at the tiny mare. “Uh-huh. About that...”
        “Right, right,” Erin said, waving a hoof. “I know, I'm sorry. I'll.. I'm just gonna test these things out, okay? I've got the wards set to take about 15 minutes worth of memory away, so I should remember, but if I don't, let me know that I already checked out the seestones, okay?”
        “Sure thing,” Stage said, nodding. Erin nodded back, before turning to the forest. She breathed deep, taking a few steps towards the trees. Then she stopped.
        She paused for a time, looking up at the trees. She lifted a hoof, pointing it at the forest as though she needed to remind herself it was there. Then she slowly turned around, peering over her shoulder every so often at the woods. Her eyes fell upon Stage, and she blinked.
        “Right...” she said slowly. “Right. Okay. So you got here...”
        “About a half hour ago,” Stage replied. Erin nodded, and continued.
        “And then we talked, and then we came out to...” She looked over her shoulder and the hanging gem, nodding. “Set up the wards, right?”
        “Right,” Stage said again.
        “And... then we were going to go back inside and drink more cocoa?” The corners of Erin's mouth twitched up, and she found herself smirking around the limp mane that hung like a veil over her face. Whether it was a foolish hope or a paltry attempt at humour, even she couldn't say.
        “And then you were going to tell me exactly why we're setting up the wards again,” Stage replied, a hunourless edge to his voice. Erin's heart sank, and she sat heavily on the wet grass.
        “I was?”
        “You were.”
        “Well... we have to check the seest -”
        “You told me that you already checked those.”
        Erin sighed. The long and drawn-out breath becoming almost humorous, pulling her head forward so it sank between her shoulders. In the end it was little more than a weak, pitiful grumble. “Do I have to?” she asked. 
Stage nodded. “Yes, you do. You've been dodging around telling me since I've gotten here, and it's pretty darn obvious that it's a problem. If it wasn't you'd at least have been able to keep up your half of the snark a little bit better.”
        “Half?” Erin snorted. “I do more than half, thank you.”
        “You see?” Stage said, giving her shoulder a prod. “That was weak, Erin! Come on, what's the matter? What's got you so down tonight?”
        Erin sighed again. There was less humour in it this time, and much, much more fatigue. She rubbed her neck and got to her hooves, moving as though there were great weights around her shoulders. “Alright,” she said finally. “I... it's easier to show you, though. Come on... let's go to my lab.”
        The pair set off, moving quickly for the nearest door as the clouds rumbled overhead again. Erin was silent, her head hanging low and swaying from side to side. Stage followed along behind, every bit as silent. Behind his eyes, however, shone a faint glimmer of concern for his sister. More than once he looked as though he wanted to speak, but each time he thought better of it and did not. He merely trailed along, quietly lighting candles that they passed in the hallway.
        This deep into the mansion, the candles were fewer and further between. The light strained to fill the vast tunnels of architecture, but there were far too many corners, far too much room to fill. A dim blue-blackness clung to the edges of the hallway, almost oppressive in its omnipresence, creeping around the edges of paintings and along the old cloth that covered furniture. Stage shook his head sadly, pausing only once to run his hoof gently across an antique picture frame before he carried on after his sister.
        The walk was short, though quiet dullness stretched it to an agonizing length. Finally though they came to the great double-doors that marked Erin's laboratory, and her horn lit up. The door swung open wide, revealing a room in disarray.
        Papers had been strewn about the floor and the counters: dozens – no, hundreds of sheets, tossed about as if in a mad fit. In the rear of the room a table lay on its side, apparently the source of most of the sheets. Fortunately, Erin thought to herself as she walked in, there had not been any glass on the table when she had become... irate. She moved to her desk, flopping down into the soft, high-backed chair. She pointed across the room from herself, not bothering to look where she was pointing. She knew what lay there, and she didn't want to see it. “Them,” she said simply.
        Stage moved slowly. He blinked every so often, as if he was expecting what he saw to disappear, as though he would wake in his bed, husband by his side, the strangeness that he saw having been merely a dream. He moved as though afraid his very hoofsteps might somehow cause his reality to shatter. “What... are those?” he asked. 
Erin grunted. “They're... why Crown is upset with me,” she said. “I saved them from him. They attacked his cousin, and he wanted them to be killed... but I bought them to keep them away from him.” She snorted softly. “I guess he wants them back... and to be as much of a bastard as he can be in the meantime. They're... bat ponies.”
        Meadowlark and Nightingale looked up in their cage. Nightingale had been sleeping, somehow still managing to put a sour expression in spite having just woken up, and Meadowlark had buried his nose in a bowl of food. He narrowed his eyes. He straightened up and beat his wings, holding them slightly out from his body, and he pawed out at the ground. His eyes twitched back and forth between Erin and Stage, his head tilting just enough to be noticeable. Eventually he gave up on whatever he seemed to be thinking about. “Gud nit,” he said.
        Stage gave a startled laugh. “They talk?” he asked.
        Erin nodded. “That one sings,” she said.
        “Sings?” Stage balked.
        Erin sighed, sinking deeper into her chair. “Shares crash!” she called to the pat-ponies.
        “Haps're dash,” Meadowlark sang after a pause. In spite of his reluctance the words were heartfelt, eyes closed and bobbing his head along to unheard music.
        “That's amazing!” he said. “He's... he's even pretty good, actually.” He shook his head. “Erin, what are they?”
        “They're... well, they're...” She grappled with the words, sitting down and rubbing her shoulders. “They're Meadowlark and Nightingale,” she said finally.
        Stage raised an eyebrow at her. “You named them?” he asked. Erin shrugged.
        “Course,” she said softly, looking away. “Why wouldn't I name them?”
        “Well, I dunno,” Stage said. “Just seems kinda weird to do it..”
        “I name all the animals I study, Stage,” Erin retorted, a sour edge to her voice. 
Stage cringed, rubbing his leg. “Well yeah, but, I mean... these ones are just so... I mean, I kinda figured you might be too uncomfortable to name something that looks so much like a -”
        “Well maybe that's exactly why they deserve names!” Erin shouted, sitting up with a jolt. “Why do you care, anyways!? If you don't want them to have names, you don't use them, but I'm the one who... who...” Erin paused, her voice suddenly turning weak. Her chest clutched, dragging the troublesome syllables down to their deaths, but she fought to push them out. “B-bought them...”
        All was silent, for a time. Even Meadowlark and Nightingale seemed to appreciate the gravity of the moment, with Meadowlark stepping away from the bars and going to join his companion on the bed. Stage took a step away from the bars, moving at a slow, halting pace. Eventually he gained confidence, crossing the room and taking a seat in front of Erin. He opened his forelegs.
        “Need your big brother?”
        Erin nodded, sliding out of her chair and immediately into her brother's forelegs, hugging him tight.
        “What's the matter, Erin?” he asked.
        “I don't... know,” she said. “I don't know what to do, Stage. I don't know what I should do.”
        “What do you mean?” Stage asked. “I mean, you're a scientist. Sure they're different, but that's part of what being a scientist is all about, isn't it? Finding out how new things work? I thought you'd always wanted to discover something.”
        “That's not...” Erin sighed, burying her face in Stage's shoulder. “You don't understand. They talk, Stage. I don't think it's even mimicry. He... Meadowlark remembers things. You heard him, he understood context, for goodness sake. He knew what the right response was for a phrase.”
        “Well, if they hear it enough any smart animal could do that, couldn't they?”
        “Yeah, but... he heard the record twice, Stage. Twice!”
        “So?”
        Erin groaned. “And? What animal can DO that, Stage? After just two listens? I mean, maybe a magpie, but do they LOOK like any sort of corvid to you?”
        “They're a whole new kind of animal,” Stage replied. He sighed, hugging his sister closer and rubbing her back. “Nobody knows what they're like yet. I mean heck, as far as I'm concerned they look pretty much exactly the same. If they all look like that, then -”
        “They're twins,” Erin said.
        “What?”
        “I've tested their DNA. I can't tell the details of it without sending it to a specialist, but their DNA is exactly the same, in every single test. They're genetic twins. Brothers.”
        Stage was quiet for a while. “Well...” he said finally, “...so?”
        “It... doesn't mean anything,” Erin admitted, peering over at the upturned table. “Not on its own. But still... they're the only two we've ever found, and they're twins? How do we know they aren't unique for their species? I mean, we could find evidence of... something. But we can't. We can't. I... can't.” She groaned, letting her face fall back into the stallion's shoulder. “They're not different, Stage... that's the problem. They're the same as us. They're... ponies.”
        “Ponies...” Stage echoed, his brow furrowing just faintly. “Erin... they can't be ponies. I mean, just look at them.”
        “I did, Stage,” She murmured. “You know just the same as I did that looking at them is what makes you think they might be ponies in the first place. I know you do. I saw it.” She smiled, though there was not a single trace of humour in that smile.. “You could never hide your feelings from me, Stage.”
        Stage ran a hoof through his wavy mane, rubbing his eyes. “No,” he said, “But I mean... I've never seen any pony that looks like them.”
        “And I've never seen any animals that look like them either,” Erin said. “Does that mean they can't be animals?”
        Stage let go of Erin and rubbed his shoulders, looking around for something to stare at. “But... I dunno. I mean, they can mimic but they're not really speaking... How can you really be sure Meadowlark even knows what he's talking about? A parrot can mimic too. It's not like he's speaking in full sentences, it's just words.”
        Erin sighed, smiling wryly. “You always liked your Edgar Rice Burros, didn't you Stage? He lived a hundred years ago, his books aren't anything close to accurate. Language takes a long time to learn... what they've learned so far isn't insignificant, it's astounding.” She sighed, looking up into her brother's eyes. She could still see worry there, and confusion. “You still don't believe me, do you?” she asked.
        Stage shrugged, a faint groan escaping his lips. Erin stood up, walking over to her desk and shaking her head.
        “Stage,” she said, ”do you know why I had you help me set up the wards?” she asked.
        “Why?”
        “Because... it isn't right to keep them locked up. This isn't their home. They live in forests... maybe not in my forest, but it's good enough, isn't it?”
        She rummaged through the desk as she spoke, almost as much to herself as to her brother. Her voice was small and strained, but in the otherwise silent lab there was no mistaking her words, nor her intent. She found the rectangular gem, placing it once again on her desk and sighing.
        “I guess I shouldn't expect you to believe me,” she said as she trotted across the room. “I... I didn't want to believe it either. I still don't want to, but...” She sighed, sitting down beside the cage, staring at a large red button that appeared to have been haphazardly installed on the wall. “Do you know what science is, Stage?” she asked. Her brother lowered his head, leaning in.
        “What is it?”
        “It's finding the truth... and accepting it, whether you like it or not.” She sighed again, hanging her head. This was not a sigh of sadness, though, nor was it a sigh of weariness or depression. It was a sigh that exhaled more than breath. It exhaled weakness and fear. It was a sigh of readiness. “Let's do some science, Stage.”
        She pushed the button slowly. There was a loud, metallic clack, followed by a low rumbling. Mist poured through the bottom of the back wall of the cage, drifting into the lab. It became clear that the wall was rising, lifting like a furling scroll. Soon it was completely open, staring out into a thick, deep forest.

        Meadowlark stared into the forest. He stared into the world behind the bars. He tilted his head, looking back and forth, back and forth, trying to understand how it could be night in one place, and day in the next. Or, for that matter, how one could be as warm as a summer's day and the other could feel cold and damp.
        He inched towards the forest, snuffling at the air. It was no trick; he could smell moisture in it, a sort of heavy thickness that always preceded rainfall. He imagined that, if he paid close enough attention, he might eventually feel his fur prickle in warning of nearby thunder. Nightingale felt it too: for the first time in almost the entire while they had been beneath the strange, fake trees, he had risen from his bed, holding his nose high in the air.
         For a time, the brothers were still and silent, each of them taking in the newly revealed forest in their own way. Meadowlark flicked his ears back and forth, listening for the birds. They were there, but they were far away. There were other animals, too. Small, scuttling things that hid beneath the fallen leaves. He ran his tongue along the inside of his jagged teeth, feeling them ache. They longed to feel fresh meat between them, to rend and tear. The food that the thing-like-him had offered them was filling, but not... fulfilling. There was always a part of him that missed something when the meal was over, and now it was clear. He needed meat. He needed flesh. He needed blood.
        He flapped his wings, calling his brother's attention. The two exchanged a meaningful glance, and Nightingale's ears fell flat against his head. He snorted, nodding towards the forest, and began to trot slowly towards it. Meadowlark hesitated, pawing at the ground, but followed after him soon enough.
        The transition into open air drew a loud snort from Meadowlark, and he flapped his wings in shock for a moment. Then he paused, beating his wings a few more times, feeling out the air. It was every bit as thick as it smelled. He leaped into the air, circling into the skies above his brother, until he breached the treetops. The sky was dark and dull, and in the distance he thought he saw light flash. He returned to earth immediately.
        “Bom!” he exclaimed as he landed. Nightingale was sniffing one of the nearby trees, and he looked up at his brother.
        “Aur?” the somber stallion asked, nodding his head back and forth. Meadowlark shook his head, snapping his teeth and lowering his head. Nightingale shrugged back, nodding. He snapped his jaws as well. With that, the two took off, galloping into the depths of the woods and leaving the light of the mansion behind.
        Even at a glance, Meadowlark could tell very clearly that this forest was not his home. It was similar, yet somehow fresh. His home was ancient, timeless, a world lost and away. There was no sound there but the flapping of wings, the scurrying of animals, and the sound of his and his brother's calls. Here, he could hear strange new noises, noises he couldn't identify, like the sounds of some far-off, yet omnipresent animal. He could see a strange light, too, not merely the diffused dull gleam of his beloved moon, but a dimness that seemed to come from the earth. The light seemed to come from all sides, but it was barely enough to even hold the darkness at bay, much less chase it back.
        The darkness. That, at least, was the same as in his home. Creeping, clinging, oozing over the landscape like a sapient tar, hiding the world of night from all who beheld it – all but the brothers. Meadowlark smiled, his eyes glinting in the low light. He saw the world of night, and all the secrets it held. The tracks, the insects, the flowers, all hints and clues pointing to the meal his teeth ached for. He lowered his head, sniffing against the ground. The musk of rabbit was clear, here, even over the steadily thickening air.
        “Bom!” his brother cried out, stomping his hooves in a quick pitter-patter. Meadowlark looked up, nodding. The rain would come soon. If they wanted rabbit, they would need to find it quickly. He gestured to the ground where he had found the scent, and his brother came close. Together they sniffed at the earth, their ears twitching this way and that as they searched for a trail.
        There was a rustling in the bushes.
        The brothers paused. They were still for a minute, then two, then three. Nightingale's nostrils flared silently, and Meadowlark swiveled his ears in the direction of the noise. He strained to hear the sound of prey over the strange ever-present hum of this new forest, closing his eyes and stilling his breath. He could hear his heart beating in his chest. He could hear the wind whispering through the branches. He could hear a distant rumble. He heard a soft thumping.
        There! His eyes snapped open, and his head dropped to the ground. He sniffed the air, his nose turning in the direction of the sound. Nightingale trotted in front of him, sniffing at the ground a few feet away, and nibbling at a nearby bush. He nickered, jerking his head in the direction of the sound. Meadowlark nodded, unfurling his wings. His brother did the same, both stallions remaining completely silent as they leapt up, half-flying, half-climbing into the branches of the trees.
        They traversed the forest in glides and hops, moving quietly between the branches, their eyes and ears locked on the ground. Occasionally they would drop to the earth again, pausing to sniff the nearby foliage, only to take to the branches once more with a new bearing. Their hunt was swift, the fur on the back of Meadowlark’s neck bristling with anticipation and nervousness. The rumbles in the sky came more frequently now, and he feared that their prey would seek shelter before they could catch it. Thankfully, his brother flared his wings wide, signaling him to stop.
        Nightingale gestured in the distance, and when Meadowlark stared hard, he could see the bushes rustling. He closed his eyes, listening hard, and smiled as he heard the familiar thumping of their quarry. From the sound of things, it wasn't going anywhere fast. Meadowlark lowered his head, growling to his brother.
        “Tuptuptup,” he murmured. Nightingale nodded without a sound, gesturing to his left. Meadowlark nodded, and Nightingale began to head in the indicated direction, moving to circle about the rustling in the bushes. Meadowlark began moving in the opposite direction, curling in around the other side. He glided silently to the ground, lowering himself down and skulking through the bushes. He relied on scent and sound to show him the way, his eyes focused on his brother in the trees.
        He stopped. He could hear the rabbit without trying now, smell its musk. It was close. His brother flared his wings again, drawing Meadowlark’s attention. Nightingale in the branches beckoned his brother to move to the left. He wrapped his wings into a wide circle, leaving a clear gap between the tips, and bared his teeth. Meadowlark nodded, beginning to creep once more.
        Soon enough he came upon a small clearing, a thick tree root cutting a line in the undergrowth. He stopped just short of it, peering up at his brother in the trees. Nightingale nodded. All at once he leaped out of the tree, a snarling scream escaping his lips, breaking the silence of the night with the sound of pure, animal hunger. A squeal was heard from the ground, followed by a crashing.
        Time seemed to slow down for Meadowlark. A blur of white stretched into view in the clearing, and Meadowlark lunged, teeth out. He could feel his heartbeat sync with the rabbit's, thumping ever faster, ever faster, ever faster, even as the world slowed more and more. The rabbit's musk washed through his nostril and over his tongue, filling his throat as he breathed in. He lost view of the rabbit, but it was meaningless. He felt its fur bristle between his teeth. He closed his jaw, piercing and crushing the rabbit's throat. Thunder crashed. All was screaming. All was blood, all writhing, all flesh.
        All flesh.
        Flesh.
        His heartbeat slowed, and the world sped up once more. His brother appeared through the bushes, nodding at the corpse clenched between Meadowlark's jaws. Nightingale pressed his nose briefly again Meadowlark's neck and looked to the sky.
        “Bom,” he said, murmuring the word as the first drop of rain landed on his nose. The two nodded to one another and set to work, Nightingale pulling bushes from the earth and flying into the trees as Meadowlark set about tearing out the rabbit's limbs, ripping the flesh from the bone. He peered up as he worked, watching his brother fill the gaps between the branches, building a canopy above their heads. It would be nice to be out of the rain, he knew, but right now he could have handled a wet night. He had the flesh of prey between his jaws, the thick meat resisting his tugs as he ripped it from bone. Blood dripped down his chin, hot and fresh, the scent filling his lungs. It was glorious. He sank his teeth into the meat, and the ache was gone.

        “Gods...” Stage gaped at the screen, his mouth open. He had taken a seat on the floor long ago. “That... they're...”
        “Carnivores,” Erin finished. “Well, predatory omnivores. I got a look at their teeth. I'm sorry... I should have warned you.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair.
        “No,” Stage said, “no, I'm alright. I was just... surprised, to see something that looks so much like us... but, well... I guess they really aren't, in the end, are they? They're just another animal, right? They must be?”
        “Must be...” Erin echoed. “Must be... must be...” She rubbed her eyes, falling quiet. He lips still moved, tracing the words over and over in the silence. He head fell back, leaving her staring at the ceiling.
        “Right... Erin?” Stage asked. “Erin?”
        She was silent.
        “Summer,” Stage said.
        “Weren't you watching, Stage?” she asked. Her voice was soft, barely audible even in the quiet of the lab “'Must just be animals'?” Erin sighed. Where before she had sighed to expel weakness, now she sighed to expel hope. She was left with nothing: an empty, deflated shell of a mare. She seemed to exhale even her colour. “They built a shelter. They used strategy. They communicated with... I swear, they must have been using some kind of words. They're nothing close to animals, Stage.” She looked back down, staring at her brother. The bags under her eyes had turned puffy, and her eyes were rimmed with tears. To say that she looked like a filly with her hoof in the cookie jar would be such an understatement as to be insulting. She did not look like a filly caught stealing cookies. She looked like a sinner before some almighty judge.
        “I know how you feel, Stage. I felt the same way. I feel the same way. You don't... want them to be real. You don't want them to be ponies, not for everything that means... but they are. They're ponies, Stage. Ponies. And I... I bought them, and I locked them in a cage, and turned them out into the rain, and fed them gods-damned dog food!”
        She buried her face in her hooves, trying to muffle her screaming. “Worst of all!” she cried, “Worst of all, look at them, Stage! How old are they? 18? 20? Older? How long did we leave them out there alone? How long did we not realize? That we had ponies, living in Canterlot Forest, raising themselves like... like some urban-freaking-legend? Like some savages? Like... animals?
        “I treated them like animals, Stage, like cattle. Bought and sold and caged up at my convenience. I wanted them to be animals. I... still want them to be.” She took her hooves down. Her heart clutched in her chest, and her throat felt as though somepony had shoved a brick down it, but she resisted the urge to cry, and to throw herself into her brother's arms. “I want to forget, Stage. I don't know what to do.”
        Stage looked at his sister, then the floor. His shoulders sagged. “I don't know either, Sis,” he said. “But... well, if they really are ponies... can't just leave them locked up, can you?”
        Erin shook her head, whimpering.
        “And you can't just forget, can you?”
        “No,” Erin said again. She sighed. “No, I know where you're going with this. I can't forget about them, as much as I want to.” She pushed herself out of her chair, trotting slowly to her desk. She moved like a corpse on strings, dragged along but moving anyways. She still felt empty inside... save for a something she could not identify. Perhaps fear. Perhaps guilt. Perhaps hope. Whatever it was, her hooves trembled with it as she returned to her desk. She leafed through the papers on it, staring at the words printed, all blending together in her mind. Words, conversation, and emotions from days past all blendedtogether in a haze of guilt and sickness.
        “I... knew from the start,” she said, pulling out a particularly official-looking piece of paper, the seal of Canterlot University stamped at the bottom. “I guess I just sort of needed to hear my big brother say it. Or... someone who wasn't me. I'd have heard it eventually, but it's nice to have somepony kick the stupid out of me sooner than later, or else I'd spend the next six months going back and forth on myself here.
        Stage took a step towards her, bobbing his head. “What is it, Erin?” he asked.
        “A letter of appointment,” Erin replied. “And an invitation, I guess.” She sighed, laughing at herself. “You were right,” she said, “and I didn't need to talk to you to know you were right, I just... wanted to hear somepony else say the words, to make sure I wasn't crazy.” She looked up at her brother. “I went to the Dean yesterday. I'm going to reveal Meadowlark and Nightingale to the scientific community next summer.” She laughed again. “The Summer Sun celebration... They're holding it in a small town this year, so there wouldn't be much going on in the city that time of year. Except for us science types, I guess.”
        Stage bridged the last gap between his sister and himself, hugging her tight. She sighed, leaning against his chest. “Stage?” she asked. “Will you help me with something?”
        “Of course,” he answered, smiling. 
Erin nodded, stepping back from him and moving to her desk. She picked up her tape recorder, looking over her shoulder and switching it on. She paused for a while, but eventually found her voice, small though it still was.
        “September 24th. With the assistance of my brother, Backstage Smiles, I have made an... astonishing discovery. The subjects... now named Meadowlark and Nightingale, have surpassed literally anything I'd dared to imagine. They're entirely sapient, capable of employing strategy in their hunts, building rudimentary structures, communicating based on contextual cues... I believe they may have even developed a basic language that they share.
        “This is... monumental, to put it lightly. I'm honestly not certain what to do with this. There will be... a lot to do. A lot of discussion. The entire community... this is way over just my head, now. If there's a possibility of another pony subspecies... even if they're just a mutation, then, well... there'll be a lot to do. I've already set up a conference with the scientists of Canterlot university, and any others we can get to attend, scheduled for June 21st.”
        She turned off the recorder, looking over at her brother. Silently, she removed the tape, slipping another one in, and turning it back on.
        “This will be an additional log to my studies regarding Meadowlark and Nightingale... which, hopefully, I will be keeping along with my brother.” Stage nodded silently from across the room, and Erin smiled and nodded back.
        “Educating the Bat Ponies.... Day Zero.”


Vimbert Franze:
Needs to be a dash
Vimbert Franze:
Dash
Vimbert Franze:
Dash
Vimbert Franze:
Dash
Vimbert Franze:
Dash

> Act 1, Part 4: Of Pages and Portraits
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 1, Part 4: Of Pages and Portraits.




        For the first time in several days, Meadowlark woke feeling natural and refreshed.
        Well, perhaps refreshed was not the right word. His neck ached like a bruise where his brother's sharp jaw had leaned against it, and the tangled mess of his limbs were dull and stiff. His mouth tasted of steel and old meat, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He smacked his lips. He harrumphed and smacked them again. The taste wasn't going anywhere, it seemed.
        He shifted on the ground in an attempt to untangle himself from his brother, who merely snorted in his sleep. Meadowlark rolled his eyes, jerking his head out from beneath his brother's and dropping the lazy stallion's chin onto the ground. Nightingale awoke with a start, and he glared up at Meadowlark.
        Meadowlark snorted back, rolling away and getting to his hooves, something which his legs objected to very much at first. He shook his head, and paused. He peered down, racking his brain, shuffling through his memories. what was it the thing-like-him had always said? "Hnn... nao," he grunted. Nightingale snorted back loudly, rolling to face away from Meadowlark. Meadowlark, for his part, grinned to himself, a grin that glinted with self-satisfaction. He plodded off as quickly as his hooves would allow him, ambling into the forest.
        He sniffed at the air, still smacking his lips and grumbling to himself. While he was certainly more comfortable here than in the fake forest the thing-like-him had kept him locked up in, he still felt no small degree of longing for home. He didn't recognize the trees, or the rocks or the grass. The birds sang differently, and the streams ran different paths. Even the rabbits seemed to taste different. He sighed, taking another deep whiff of the wind. There was water nearby, at least, and so he turned in its direction, pondering the last few days as he walked.
        All this time spent staring at her, and he still had no idea exactly what the thing-like-him was. It boggled his mind. Not, he supposed, that that was difficult. He had spent the last 72 hours in a state of perpetual confusion; he counted himself lucky that he could at least understand this forest.
        Yet as he came to the stream, dipping his muzzle into the cold water, he wondered if even this was something elaborate that he couldn’t understand, a thought which left him with no small degree of frustration. He stared at his reflection, turning his head this way and that. The cut on his nose had begun to heal, but it seemed to be scarring. He didn't even look like what he remembered anymore. He flicked the water with a hoof and grunted weakly, laying down by the stream's edge. His eyes began to drift shut.

        ...ponies forget...

        His head snapped up, eyes wide and ears perked. He looked around wildly for a moment, trying to find the source of the sound. Try as he might though, he couldn't hear a thing. Perhaps he had imagined it?
        He got slowly to his hooves again, taking a few steps away from the river. He shut his eyes and strained his ears. He knew he had heard something. It was far too clear for him to have imagined it. Only a snippet, but...

        ...wine pours, ponies forget...

        There! His head turned to the sound, and he dashed forward before suddenly stopping. He peered over his shoulder in the direction of Nightingale, and sniffed at the air in a long pull. Nightingale's scent was there, alright. He had not moved an inch.
        Meadowlark trotted in place, his eyes still locked in the direction of his brother. Nightingale would be expecting him back soon enough, he knew. Even if Nightingale didn't know it, he'd still be waiting. He was always waiting, after all, every time Meadowlark left, just as Meadowlark was always waiting whenever Nightingale left.
        Meadowlark looked once more to the source of the music. He could hear it more clearly now, the soft notes carried along by the cold evening breeze. The sounds chilled his soul, compelled him in a way he couldn't describe. He understood it though. There was so much that confused him, but this - this, most alien of all things, he understood. He took a step forward.
        He shook his head, stepping back and looking towards his brother once more. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, thumping harder when he considered leaving Nightingale behind. Would Nightingale know, though?
        A sharp note reached his ears, crisp and cool, sending shivers down his spine. He fidgeted, dancing in place and grunting softly to himself. He peered back and forth, back and forth between the music and his brother. He wouldn't be gone for that long. He only wanted to listen to the sounds better, after all. That wouldn't take him any time at all. He could probably be back before Nightingale even woke up again.

        ...come and join the party, dress to kill...

        His heart thudded in his chest. It was pounding so hard he was beginning to feel sick. He considered going to get Nightingale for a moment, but he knew his brother would turn down any notion of going to the music, and there was no saying how much longer it would play. No, it was better that he went on his own. This time. Just this once. He pawed at the ground for a short moment, before taking off into the woods.
        Meadowlark grit his teeth, setting his hooves firmly. His heart thudded in his chest, but he had made up his mind. His wings flared, and with a great leap he beat them, propelling himself into the treetops. 
He leaped and bounded from bough to bough, his hooves barely touching the limbs, his wings held straight out, flapping only when he made a particularly long jump. He moved with practiced, almost instinctive ease. It was as though he knew exactly where all the limbs would be, familiar or no, as though he could predict each sag and bend in the ancient wood. He skipped off the branches just right, bent and folded his wings just in time to dodge the trunks and limbs, bent in just the right way. He seemed almost weightless, moving as though helped along by some invisible hand as he ducked, bobbed and leaped through the treetops, reacting to each new obstacle in the space between seconds. It as a terrifyingly forward, bestial dance; his thick, honed muscles bunching and contorting beneath his coat, and his wings filled with wind like the sails of a schooner on the waves. Moonlight shimmered on his coat like a black velvet painting as he raced to his destination: the small clearing just behind the mansion.
        He dropped to the ground, his heart stilling. In the center of the small clearing was the source of the music - a tall brown-and-gold structure with a wide mouth and four thick legs - but somehow it was no longer important. Standing beside the source was the thing-like-him. She stared at him in a rapt awe, but soon blinked and shook her head. She took a step forward. Meadowlark took a step back.
        "Hey," she said, stepping back as well. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. I mean, I know I said that before, but..." She looked at the source of the music, and fiddled with it for a moment. The music stopped with a shudder, before suddenly restarting.
        
        The sun shines,
        and ponies forget.
        The spray flies as the speedboat glides,
        and ponies forget...

        "See?" she asked, stepping back. "Your favourite song, right? That's why you came here?" She smiled at him. It was a weak, unsure sort of smile. "I just wanted to talk. Or, well..." She shook her head, and sighed. "Not like you can understand me yet. Mmph..."
        Meadowlark sniffed at her, shifting his stance. She seemed frustrated, almost nervous as she chewed on her hooves, looking back over her shoulder every so often. She took another step forward, and while Meadowlark did lean away from her, he didn't retreat. The dull stabbing in his back had flared up again, but it was not so bad this time.
        He took a shaky, halting step forward, ears swiveling back and forth as he walked. Another step. Then another. The thing-like-him approached as well, the two set to meet in the middle. Meadowlark stopped several meters away from her, and as though out of respect she did the same. There they sat, staring at one another.
        The thing-like-him put a hoof to her chest. "Erin," she said. Meadowlark blinked, narrowing her eyes.
        "Erin," she said again, louder and slower this time. "Me, Erin." She took a few steps forward. Once again Meadowlark shied away, but did not retreat. "You, Meadowlark," she said.
        Meadolwark blinked, staring down at her hoof. It was point at him now, lingering a few inches away from his barrel. He leaned down to sniff it, but caught only a snatch of scent before the thing-like-him pulled it away. It smelled strange, almost like flowers. There was something else though, something sharp and almost muddy. He snorted a bit, and wiggled his nostrils.
        "No," the thing-like-him said, "Not the hoof. Look." She touched the hoof to her chest again. "Me, Erin." Then she reached out, her hooftip brushing Meadowlark's chest. "You, Meadowlark. Me, Erin, you, Meadowlark. Understand?"
        Meadowlark tilted his head, peering long and hard at the creature. "Un... dustand?" he repeated. A sparkle came in the thing-like-him's eye, and she did a little hop-jump in place.
        "You understand?" she asked. "Alright... You?" she pointed to him again.
        Meadowlark snorted, Narrowing his eyes. He looked between the hoof and the creature, his mind working as hard as he could. He imagined that if he thought much harder he would be able to smell smoke. He did remember the word she kept calling him, though: Meadowlark. The same thing she had called him all the while she had him in that strange fake forest.
        "Meadowlark?" he said, unsure of his answer. The creature did another little dance though, apparently pleased with it. Meadowlark smiled as well. He was, he had to admit, a bit proud of his achievement.
        "That's right!" the thing-like him exclaimed. "And me..."
        "Er...in? Erin?" Meadowlark said, struggling a bit over the strange sounds. "Me Erin?"
        "That's... er," Erin said. "No, no... me Erin, you Meadowlark. Understand?"
        "Me Erin," Meadowlark said again. He reached out, putting his hoof against Erin's chest. "Me Erin." He touched his own chest then, saying, "You Meadowlark."
        Erin chuckled a bit weakly, and scratched her head. "No," she said, "That's not... Humph. This is harder than I though."
        Meadowlark frowned, put off by her tone even if he couldn't quite understand her words. She no longer seemed quite as impressed by his performance, to say the least. She rubbed her chin.
        "Alright," she said. "Repeat. Erin. Erin. Repeat. Understand?"
        "Uff?" Meadowlark said, tilting his head. Erin groaned and sat on the dirt with a thump. She muttered to herself for a while, barely any more than a long, quiet hissing, before standing up. "Erin," she said loudly, tapping her chest. "Me. Er-in. And you, you, are Meadowlark." She prodded his chest heavily upon the last word, causing him to bark and stumble back. She jumped back as well, falling back onto her rump
        "No, wait," she said, waving her hooves. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -"
        There was a crashing from the bushes, cutting her words short. A wave of scent swept through the clearing, overcoming Meadowlark instantly. Blood. Musk. Sweat. Rain. Anger. For a moment, the very briefest of moments, time stopped.
        Nightingale leaped out of the trees in an explosion of twigs and leaves. A look of divine anger twisted and mutated his face into a hideous mask, teeth barred and stained with blood once more, foam and spittle trailing out of his mouth. His eyes were brightly-burning fires, pupils hidden behind their glow. For those few brief instants he looked supernatural, like something from a horror story come to life. Like a gargoyle animated from his perch into an unreal, terrifying hunt. He slammed into the ground in a cloud of dirt and dust, turning instantly on Erin. There was hardly time for her to scream before he had leaped again, a snarling howl on his lips.
        Meadowlark leaped into Nightingale's path, slamming his head into Nightingale's powerful neck. There was a sound like a boulder hitting water, and he felt weightless for a moment. The crash into the ground came as a sudden shock, but he had no time to recover. Nightingale's mind was still in the lunge, completely unaware of what prey he had caught. His jaws snapped inches away from Meadowlark's throat, his breath hot and damp. Meadowlark snarled as well, slapping Nightingale's head with his wings and shifting his weight to roll them. He needed to keep Nightingale off balance, give him time to from his hunt-induced madness.
        The pair rolled over the dirt, a mass of contorting muscles and shining fur. Still Nightingale snarled, gnashing and screaming and clawing to reach Meadowlark's neck. Meadowlark beat one of his wings, and Nightingale was briefly shaken by the gust. Meadowlark made his move.
        He curled in, tucking all four of his legs beneath Nightingale. He kicked out with all of them at once, a heavy thud telling him he had struck home. Nightingale was launched into the air, wings and legs flailing wildly as he fought to control himself to no avail. He slammed down onto his back, and Meadowlark leaped onto him immediately, pinning him down.
        "OUF!" he shouted into Nightingale's face. Nightingale seemed to come out of his stupor, then - though whether it was the harsh bark or the rough landing that did it, it was difficult to say. Regardless, Meadowlark let him up, and he got hastily to his hooves.
        Nightingale immediately began to stalk, peering angrily around Meadowlark, who for his part kept himself place firmly between Nightingale and Erin.
        "Aksh!" Nightingale snarled. "Unf owowr ouf, aksh!"
        "Unf aksh!" Meadowlark said. "Erin unf owowr, unf aksh!"
        Nightingale snarled wordlessly, trying to jump over Meadowlark, who slapped him back down with a wing. "Unf aksh Erin!" he shouted.
        "Aksh clopclop!"Nightingale roared in response. Meadowlark whipped his head around, only to see Erin scrambling to her hooves. Another thing-like-him had joined her, this one tall and thin and blue. He glowered at Meadowlark and shouted even more words he didn't understand, harsh words. Meadowlark barked and bounded towards them.
        "Unf clopclop!" he barked at them, "Unf aksh!" This only made them scramble faster, bolting for the open door of the fake forest inside. Meadowlark bolted after them, only vaguely aware of Nightingale following shortly behind.
        By the time Meadowlark arrived in the fake forest, Erin and the other thing-like-him had already made it through the door, though he had gained ground quickly. The pair shouted back and forth at one another, too fast for Meadowlark to make out the works. "Unf Aksh!" he shouted again, hoping that somehow the idea would make it through. No luck, however: A glimmer of light surrounded the door, and it began to close. In the space between moments, Meadowlark's heart froze.
        Once more, he was being caged in. The stabbing feeling in his back flared like a raging inferno. He felt sick, his stomach twisting itself into a knot of something resembling anger and fear. Without even thinking, he lunged for the door. He was barely even aware of his legs carrying him. It closed, his exit cut off inch by inch, like a guillotine in a mad drop. Closer. Closer.
        He lunged again, smashing into the door. It slammed open, bouncing off its hinges and slamming shut on Nightingale's face behind him. He rolled into a heap on the dusty floor of the lab, his head slamming into one of the strange instruments Erin had been working on before.
        His ears rang, and his vision blurred - and not just because of the light in the lab. That smash had given him an instant and rather severe headache, but through his stupor he was vaguely aware of Erin and the other thing-like-him conversing.
        "Shit!" Erin shouted, scrambling in place. "Meadowlark got through!"
        "I noticed," the thing-like-him said. "It looks like he slammed into your machines. Think he knocked himself out?"
        "I wouldn't count on it," Erin said, managing to still herself a bit. "These two are tough. Even if he was, I don't want to take any chances..."
        "We might have to teach them from the cage, you know..."
        "I know Stage, I know," Erin said. Her voice sounded weary, as though it were a struggle to form every syllable. There was a long pause, the air heavy. "Either way, we need to put him back to sleep for now. Nightingale too, so we can get them back into the cage."
        Cage... cage... sleep... the words echoed through Meadowlark's mind. He was certainly no more likely to understand them in his addled state than he had been previously, but he knew the words were familiar, and important. He groaned, twisting himself upright and stumbling back and forth. He opened his blurry eyes, and through the haze he managed to make out Erin, leaned up against a shelf.
        "Erin, he's up!" the thing-like-him shouted. Erin jumped, wrenching a book off the shelves. It was then that the words clicked in Meadowlark's head. He might not know the meaning of the words, but he knew very well what that book did. His heart thudded, and his head whipped around. He heard whirring, and more whirring. He smelled dust, and more dust. He saw darkness.
        There, at the far end of the room, a tiny square of it. Hardly a foot across, barely wide enough for him to squeeze through, but darkness nonetheless. He knew instinctively that the darkness was deep, leading off to somewhere. He stepped towards it, but hesitated. He had no way of knowing where it would go, no way of knowing that it wouldn't lead somewhere worse.
        He looked back to Erin, who was approaching fast, book clenched in her teeth. He felt sick with fear. His decision was made. Whatever lay beyond the darkness, at least it was not a book that would make him sleep.
        "Unf snor!" he howled at Erin, leaping for the darkness. Erin scrambled to catch him, but he was too fast for her, and for the thing-like-him that followed her lead. He slipped between them easily, leaping out and away into the darkness.

        Erin swore, pitching to spellbook across the lab in a fit of frustration. She seethed, each ragged breath bringing her a bit closer to calmness, until finally Stage stepped closer to her.
        "You okay?" he asked.
        Erin sighed. "Of course not," she said. "Meadowlark is loose in our house - and that's a lot of house to be loose in. There's no telling what he could get into, what he could damage, or if he could hurt himself. Or worse!" she added, beginning to stalk around the lab, Stage trailing after her. "Or worse, what if he gets outside? The last thing we need is him running around the neighborhood afraid and confused."
        "The neighbours already complain about the state of the house every chance they get," Stage commented, picking the spellbook up off the floor and brushing it off. Erin glared at him. He rolled his eyes. "Just trying to cheer you up," he said.
        Erin took the book back, dusting off the cover and grumbling to herself. "I'll be cheered up when we can get him back here... I was so close to earning his trust again." She sighed, letting her head fall forward just a bit. "And then I got impatient and scared him off. Again." She breathed in to sigh again, but was cut off by the weight of a slender foreleg around her shoulders.
        "Well, moping isn't exactly going to help Meadowlark out, is it?" he asked. "Come on, sis. Let's go get him back."
        "Right," Erin said, giving a small nod. "First though, I should, um," she turned around, peering at the cage. Nightingale stood with his nose against the bars. His golden eyes glowed with a cold ferocity. He glared accusations at Erin, stared burning questions. His gaze made her more than just a bit uncomfortable, but she straightened up and marched over to him.
        "You," she said. "I know you can't understand me - and unlike your brother you don't seem to be making much of an effort... but I'm sorry I frightened you. And I'm sorry I locked you up. But I need to do it again."
        Nightingale did not react, still staring at Erin, even as she marched around the cage and pressed the button to lower the wall. To her surprise, even as the engine clanged to life and the wall slid back into place, Nightingale never once made a move to escape out from under it. Any time he wasn't staring at Erin he spent looking at the open door into the mansion.
        When the rear wall finally settled itself back into place, Erin nodded and put on a determined expression. "Alright," she said, tucking the spellbook into a saddlebag, which she then slung across her back, "Now you just be patient, Nightingale. We'll bring you back your brother, and then..." the stoniness of her expression faded just a bit, "It's really high time we all had a talk." She stepped away from the cage, turning to her brother.
        "Ready?" she asked.
        Stage nodded, stretching his legs. "Ready," he said with a nod.


***


        Meadowlark galloped through the darkened hallways. He was determined to put as much distance between himself and Erin as he could before she started to chase him - and he knew she would chase him. After all this it was simply a matter of inevitability. She wanted him, though heaven only knew for what.
        So he ran. His legs pounded until they burnt and his chest heaved. He propelled himself further and further into the darkness until it seemed that all the light in the world had fallen away. He ran until the evening turned to night, and it was only when he saw the first glimmer of starlight outside that he finally came to a stop.
        Moonlight poured through tall, thin windows, so vibrant in the darkness that the shafts of light seemed almost solid. Motes of dust that Meadowlark's run had stirred up drifted lazily through them like a thousand twinkling stars, turning each shaft into its own night sky. Meadowlark approached one, shivering slightly as he stepped into the light. He stared out into the night, and as he did The Mare in the Moon stared back. Her cool gaze was comforting, in a way. It was familiar, and simple. There were no words for him to struggle over, no strange thoughts or devices he couldn't fathom. The Mare in the Moon didn't care about him. She simply wanted him under her gaze. He sighed wearily, laying his chin on the windowsill and breathing out heavily. His hot breath fogged up the glass, obscuring his vision for just a moment.
        He grunted, sighing heavily as he stepped back. He needed to keep moving, if only to stay one step ahead of Erin. She'd be along soon enough, no doubt. There had been any number of twists and turns along the hallways. but they all seemed to lead to the same place.        
        He didn't feel the need to run anymore, at least. In fact, he moved quite slowly, plodding through the empty halls. His eyes trailed up and down the walls, taking in all the details, all the hard edges and curving arches. He had no way of being aware of it, but if he had he would have counted no less than five different generations of architecture passing him by as he walked, years upon years of building and adding passing him by. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't even know what he was looking for. An exit, perhaps? That seemed almost pointless, especially without Nightingale to join him. Perhaps he was trying to circle around and find the lab again, so he could free his brother away from Erin's watchful eye.
        Whatever it was, his thoughts were interrupted by his entrance into a large, very nearly empty room. It was so large, in fact, that he had to squint to see the other side of it through the darkness. He stopped just inside, his ears tilting back. He took a step forward. Then another. Each hoofall sent a clack echoing through the empty room, and some part of him worried that Erin would hear them and find him. That was not why he had paused, though.
        On the other side of the room stood a large, wide set of double-doors. It was only upon seeing them that he began to realize that the rest of the home was thoroughly coated in dust. Where everything else was a dingy, dirty shade of gray, these doors were a pearly white, save for the tiniest hint of blue from moonlight that poured through the tall windows along the wall bouncing off the marble floor. He moved closer again, this time taking several trotting steps.
        His first few steps were met with no resistance and, confidence bolstered, he dashed for the door. He shoved against it, but felt no give. He pushed harder. Still nothing. He frowned slightly and gave it a few sharp raps. The sound echoed loudly in the emptiness, causing Meadowlark to cringe. The noises faded, though, and the doors had not moved an inch for the attention. It seemed they were locked - or at least shut as tight as he cared to try, after the din he had just made. He turned on his heels, peering at the rest of the room.
        Two large staircases stood on either side of him, curving upwards in gentle arcs until they met in the middle on a large, ornate balcony the hung over half the room. Seeing as there was only the one exit below the balcony, it seemed Meadowlark's path was clear. He trotted up the steps, pausing only to take a quick glance into the level below. There was nopony there, at least not for now. There would be soon, no doubt, so he continued climbing, and turned down another hallway without so much as taking the time to enjoy the view.
        Then he stopped again.
        He felt an immediate and deep discomfort in this hallway, though at first he could not say why. He trotted forward, hooves shaking slightly and the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. There weren't any windows in this hallway, not that he needed them. Indeed, there seemed to be no source of light the whole way down, save for a single lamp illuminated near the entrance. Meadowlark was almost afraid to turn to it, afraid of what he might see if he looked there. His pursuer, perhaps, having used her superior knowledge of the compound to sneak up on him. Perhaps some other beastly thing. Whatever it was, he could not shake the feeling he was being stared at. He whipped around, a warning snarl on his breath, and immediately took a step back. To his shock, it seemed he was right.
        Cast in the light of the lamp was a stallion. He was an immense, hard wall of a pony, with a jaw that looked like it had been carved from granite. His gaze was every bit as hard, staring out at the world as if surveying it, analyzing every detail. Still, perhaps it was the warm orange light that accented his gray-blue coat, but there was something strangely warm about him. Though he had shocked Meadowlark at first, the bat pony found himself inching closer, rather than away.
        At first, Meadowlark thought that the stallion was on another side of a window. His body was missing from the shoulders down, though what was revealed had been dressed up in vibrant hues. As Meadowlark came closer though, he found that there was something strange about it. The stallion was flat, and Meadowlark had become accustomed to windows enough by now that he knew that would not be the case if this was indeed a window. He reached out, tapping the stallion's nose. It felt rough, but not in the way a coat is rough. It felt a bit like the ground, but softer and with more give, and it made a soft scraping noise as Meadowlark's hoof drifted lower.
        Meadowlark frowned, snorting loudly. The stallion, if he was there at all, did not react. He had not reacted to anything, not even being touched, and Meadowlark found this immensely frustrating. Either this stallion was incredibly stupid or stubborn, or Meadowlark had run into yet another bizarre aspect of this world he found himself in. He prepared to stalk off, turning sharply, but stopped.
        There was another face, he realized. This one was much more slender, almost gaunt, but it shared the hard-edged quality of the first. In a way, it reminded him very much of a cross between the first stallion and Erin. Meadowlark stared at it for a while, taking a small step back. He looked down the hall, and he realized there were more faces - far, far more faces. Tens, dozens, maybe even hundreds of faces stretching down the hall. They came in every shape, size and colour. Some enormous and muscular, some thin as the dead, and some as fat as two ponies put together. They all shared one quality, though: Each and every one of them had the same hard, sharp, cut-from-the-stone-of-the-earth gaze.
        Their eyes bore down on Meadowlark, a hundred cold and calculating pairs of eyes sizing him up in every possible way. His heart clutched in his chest, and his breath caught in his throat. A potent, inescapable paranoia came over them. He knew, somehow, that they could not see him, and yet... there was something he couldn't put his hoof on. He felt as though they were judging him. As though they had deemed him wrong, in some way. Once, when he was young, he had seen a doe give birth to a deformed calf. The herd had cast the calf out without a second though. He had caught a glimmer of their expressions as they did so... he wondered, was this how the calf must have felt? To be stared at like something imperfect?
        This wasn't his world. He didn't understand any of it. There was just... too much. Fake trees, rocks neatly cut and stacked, pieces or solid water, it was all too much. Now this, flat mares and stallions who stared and judged him. He felt like a deformed foal, here. He swallowed hard, taking a step back. He edged down the hall, trying to convince himself to run, but he could barely even walk. He forced himself to take a step, then another. All at once he bolted, trying desperately to escape the haunting eyes, but the ponies seemed to go on forever. With a desperate howl he flung himself to the side, crashing bodily into a door. It slammed open and he rolled into the room beyond, slamming the door shut once again with a kick.
        He could hear the slam echoing in distance. The large room with the doors, no doubt. The sound faded soon though, and he was left with silence, save for the sound of his panting. He covered his eyes with his wings, shivering. He didn't want to see what was in the room. He didn't want to be confronted with something new and confusing. For once, just for once, he wanted to not rack his brain over what he saw. He wanted things to be simple.
        It was a smell that convinces him to open his eyes. It smelled soft, almost like flowers, but there was something else there as well. Something sharp, almost muddy. His nose twitched, and he pulled his wings away from his eyes. Just a bit at first, just enough to peek over. There was more to the smell. There was a tang of sweat, and the pique of old blood. The air was stale, tainting all the scents with just a tinge of salt and roots.
        He pulled his wings the rest of the way away now, lifting his head off the ground. As ever, he was not quite sure what he was staring at. It was large, and square, and a drape that shimmered and flowed like water was tossed haphazardly across it. He got to his hooves, inching closer to it.
        As he stood up, he could see over the square thing and onto the other side of the room. It was quite large, though very little of it was taken up by anything. There was the square thing, and on the other side of it a low table not unlike the one in Erin's lab. All manner of instruments littered the top of this table. Nightingale trotted around the square thing, prodding at the instruments with an idle, half-hearted curiosity. He gave the room one last glance, spying a large bookshelf along the wall, but little else.
        In truth, the glance was mostly for the sake of making sure there was nothing in the room that would jump out at him. His attentions were much more focused on the square thing: the source of the sharp, flowery, muddy smell. With his check completed he twitched his nose once again, and pressed it against the square thing.
        It gave way to his pressing quite easily. He prodded at it with a hoof, leaning in to see how far it would sink. It nearly swallowed his hoof. He gave a quiet bark, beating his wings and putting both his front hooves on the thing. He pressed he pressed his nose against it, breathing deeply and snuffling. He knew the scent. He had only caught a snatch of it of course, but he had never once smelled any creature that smelled quite like Erin, and this thing had her scent in spades. He clambered onto it, moving towards the center.
        He smelled Erin all over it, in patches of greater or lesser scent. Sometimes the patches were tinged with sweat, sometimes with roots and salt, sometimes with blood. One small part, though Meadowlark had to concentrate to make it out, smelled vaguely like another creature. He gave a snort and a sharp nod, coming to a conclusion: This was Erin's nest.
        Or at least, something like it. It was like no bed he had ever seen, though he supposed that went without saying, at this point. Still, there was no mistaking that this was where Erin slept, tucked so far away from the cage and the forest. Hidden in a place he had stumbled on only by chance, a place guarded by hundreds of watchful eyes. A secret place. A safe place. Erin's place.
        Meadowlark stared down at the bed. After a while his legs gave out and he sat, now resting his chin on the soft material. His mind danced, thoughts coming and going too fast for him to really understand anything but notions. He simply sat and pondered, and perhaps waited. Yes, he waited. He waited to hear the sound of hooffalls coming down the hallway. He waited to hear muffled voices talking, and he waited to hear the door creak open. He waited, and he was rewarded.
        He smelled Erin before he heard her. She was trying to sneak up on him, but she had been running and her sweat filled his nose. The door creaked open, pausing only once, no doubt as Erin winced at the noise. Meadowlark trembled, but he got to his hooves. In the back of his mind he had a plan, or some semblance of one at least. He had a notion.
        The door swung open all at once, Erin leaping into the room. Meadowlark did not react, except perhaps to lift himself higher and straighter. For a moment, Erin stared as if in awe. Her brow furrowed then, and she stomped.
        "Get off my bed!" she shouted. Meadowlark’s eyes narrowed as he caught the words mentally. He repeated them as fast as he could in his mind, trying desperately to remember them. He would need them soon.
Erin’s horn lit up, and the book that had put Meadowlark to sleep before flew into sight. He felt his heart miss a beat, but he tried not to show it. There was no time to be afraid of it. He leaped, wings unfurling and propelling him like an arrow shot from a bow. He zipped over Erin's head, hooves planting against the wall of the hallway, just above the face of a motherly-looking mare. The thin thing-like-him was waiting, but it had been surprised by Meadowlark's sudden appearance. Surprise. Meadowlark knew how to take advantage of that.
        He shoved himself off the wall, leaping several long meters before his hooves touched ground again. The moment they did he was off, galloping down the halls. A brief look back saw Erin dart out of her room scrabbling to run after him. She shouted something he didn't catch, and she and the other thing-like-him were off.
        His heart pounded in his chest. The thudding was sickening, so powerful it threatened to throw him off balance. He needed to get away from the faces, first. He needed to stop being stared at. If he could get away from those eyes, then maybe his notion would work out, but for now...
        Not here. Not in this hall, at least. Another. He ran, searching desperately for a place without faces. He turned down hallway after hallway, even after the faces had long since disappeared. He wanted distance between them and him, and he wanted time to prepare. He looked back again, just to make sure that Erin was following him still. So many twists and turns up here. There were far more hallways than on the bottom floor, intersecting and overlapping. A creature could get lost in there for days, maybe even forever. The halls were as deep and full as the oldest places of Canterlot Forest, and in many places every bit as ancient. He breathed deep in between pants, the scent of old wood and damp filling his nose. Her. Here was the place.
        He stopped for just a moment, getting a view of the hall. Just ahead was another set of stairs, even older than the rest of the hall, leading upwards. At the top, he could see a door. It hung just slightly open.
        "There he is!" Erin shouted, rounding the corner. "Stage, be careful, we don't want to scare him off again..."
        It was too late. Meadowlark was up the stairs, as much flying as climbing. He was at the door in an instant, butting it open. He grinned widely at what he saw. Inside, another nest, its sheets of shining water still. He breathed deep. No other creatures, just dust. This nest wasn't taken.
        Erin jumped to the bottom of the stairs, and began to climb. Meadowlark rounded in a sharp leap, ending just at the edge. He concentrated, fighting with his mind for the words. "Hnnn... NO!" he roared, flaring his wings threateningly. Erin stopped.
        "No!" Meadowlark shouted again, beating his wings. His heart pounded. Was he afraid? Nervous? He couldn't tell. Whatever it was, he needed to make one thing clear. The words came to him slowly, and his words were halting, but he needed them to be heard. "My... my! Mine!” What had she called it? “Mine bed! No Erin, Meadowlark!"
        The mare stared up at him. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Meadowlark?" she asked. She moved to climb another step, but Meadowlark reared up, beating his wings again and again, until a rush of air whipped Erin's mane back.
        "No Erin!" he roared again, baring his teeth for good measure. "Meadowlark bed! No Erin...nn..." He growled, grappling with the words in his mind. He hoped that his guesses were close enough to communicate his idea, at least. "No Erin in Meadowlark bed. Meadowlark... scare off, Erin in Meadowlark bed. Meadowlark scare off Erin!"
        Erin stared at him for a while. Meadowlark’s heart pounded so loud he was almost certain Erin could hear it, but he stood firm. Eventually, slowly, Erin stepped back.
        "Alright," she said softly. "It's your bed. Your home. You can have it. I just... want to help. I want you to understand. Do you understand me, Meadowlark?"
        "Meadowlark stared down, grappling with the words. Some he understood, or at least he thought he did. She spoke so fast though, he could hardly tell if they were the words he knew. He shook his head, snorting. Erin's face fell.
        "Help," she said again. "Erin help Meadowlark. Erin... give Meadowlark home. give Meadowlark bed!"
        "Erin," the thin thing-like-him said, stepping up to Erin and laying a hoof on her shoulder. "Slow down. He doesn't understand the words yet."
        "I know that, Stage," Erin said sharply, rubbing her head. "But how else am I supposed to... if I can't talk to him, what the heck are we supposed to..."
        The thing hushed her with a pat, and stepped forward. "Meadowlark," he said slowly. He put a hoof to his chest. "You Meadowlark, me Stage. Understand?"
        Meadowlark narrowed his eyes, tilting his head. He did understand, true enough, although he wasn't exactly sure why the thing called Stage was introducing himself. He hoped that he hadn't asked for something wrong. Still, he nodded. Stage nodded back.
        Next Stage put his hoof to his chest. And swung it outward, tracing across his throat. As he did, he spoke loud and slow. "Woooooords." He did it again. "Speak. Speak Equestrian." He spoke one last time, this time letting his voice resonate. "Equestriaaaan~"
        "Stage, what are you doing?" Erin asked, her voice flat. Stage shushed her once again.
        "Meadowlark words?" he asked. Meadowlark blinked.
        "W..words," he answered. "Meadowlark words."
        "Meadowlark words no equestrian," Stage said. "Stage words, Equestrian." He turned to Erin then, speaking in a quick, hushed tone. "I need you to play along now, Erin. I think he's learning through context, so we need to give it to him."
        "How?" Erin asked, but she was cut off as Stage began to speak again.
        "Erin, do you speak Equestrian?" he asked. Erin blinked.
        "Yes..." she said slowly. Stage smiled, peering up the stairs at Meadowlark. The bat pony took a seat on the edge of the staircase, staring down. He understood, and yet somehow he was even more confused than before.
        "Erin," Stage continued, "Do you speak Meadowlark words?"
        "No..." Erin said, obviously no more aware of where Stage was going with this than Meadowlark was.
        "Would you like to?" Stage asked, a sly smile on his face.
        "Yes," Erin said, stretching to word out like taffy. A look of comprehension dawned across her face.
        "Speak Meadowlark words," Stage said. "Aksh."
        "Aksh," Erin repeated. Meadowlark snorted loudly from the top of the staircase, his eyes narrowing. For just a moment he thought this had turned to a threat, but that was not right... they were still speaking. Stage turned to him now, forelegs open wide.
        "Meadowlark," he called up. "Do you speak Equestrian?"
        Meadowlark blinked, rolling the words over in his head. He understood them, but still their true meaning seemed to elude him. He played Erin’s conversation with Stage in his mind over and over, trying to uncover the mystery. He seemed to speak without realizing it. "N...no," he said.
        "Do you want to speak Equestrian?" Stage asked.
        Meadowlark's heart thudded even faster now, hammering inside his chest. He swallowed hard. Once again, words he understood, but couldn't grasp. One more thing he couldn't understand... but then, was it really?
        He looked behind him, to the bed. A nest, like the one he had slept in all his life, a bed of matted grass and leaves and branches, with his brother beside him. Down the halls, like lines of trees too thick for him to see around. Now words, words like his. This world wasn't his. It was so far from his, a million miles away, and yet at the say time it was so close. It was just bigger than the forest. That didn't mean he couldn't understand it. Stage wanted him to understand. Erin wanted him to understand. His back ached, but looked back down at them. Creatures like him. That, in a way, was so much harder to understand than the rest of it.
        "Yes," he said. "Want to speak Equestrian."
        Erin and Stage laughed, hugging each other tight. Once they had finished their small celebration Erin stepped forward, pulling out her book once again. "Wonderful!" she said. "We just want you to come with us, and -"
        Meadowlark roared, leaping to his hooves and flaring his wings. The aching in his back turned once more to a stabbing, and all at once any thought he had of following them disappeared. He had to fight back to keep himself from lunging.
        "Erin!" Stage shouted, slapping the book out of the air, "Put that away!"
        "What?!" Erin asked, jumping back. "I was just going to make it easier for him to come with us -"
        "It scares him," Stage said. "Haven't you seen the way he acts when you pull it out? He ran out of the lab, and out of your bedroom... what did you do to him with that book?"
        "I just put him to sleep!" Erin shouted back, stomping her hoof and setting herself in. She kept looking to Meadowlark, a hint of something in her eye he couldn't identify through his anger. "I just needed to take some samples..." Her horn lit up again, but Stage's hoof held the book against the floor.
        "No," he said. "Look, Meadowlark..." He turned once more to the bat pony, edging closer. "Meadowlark... it won't hurt you. No hurt. No book."
        Meadowlark's fur bristled, and he snarled from the top of the staircase. He felt sick with fear, but he fought through it. He refused to give ground now. Too much of that lately, and he didn't like being tricked. He could hear Stage swallow from there, but Stage continued to advance.
        "This is bad, right?" He asked, sliding the book forward. Meadowlark snarled again. "Right," Stage said. "Bad. So... you aksh. Meadowlark aksh book." He slid the book forward a bit, then jumped back.
        Meadowlark stared down. He still growled, still snarled, but only for show. His attention was away from them now, focused squarely on the book. Even he could understand that the book wasn't dangerous on its own. It was only dangerous when Erin made it fly, however she had managed to do that.
        He breathed deep, trying to keep himself calm as he stared at the book. You kill the book... that was what Stage had said, almost instructed him to do. Meadowlark began to move down the stairs.
        Was this a trap? Something to get him close so he couldn't run away in time? Perhaps. Erin had pulled it out after asking if he wanted to understand, after all. Every time she gained his trust, out came the book to hurt him again. Every time he let his guard down, she hurt him, or threatened to hurt him. His back ached like a wound, sharp jolts of pain running through him with each and every step.
        He was only a few steps away from the book right now. He stared up at Erin and Stage, who were standing a healthy distance away. He stared at them for a long time, the two staring back in complete silence, just watching him. He growled faintly, and they took another step back. Were they afraid of him? Or...
        "Do... do you..." he struggled with the words, trying to remember the sounds. "Do you want... want Meadowlark... aksh book?"
        Erin and Stage looked back and forth, sharing a nod. Erin took a short step forward. "Meadowlark," she said. "Meadowlark, I... Erin book aksh Meadowlark. I hurt you with the book. That's bad. No." She scowled for a moment, as though she too were struggling to comprehend the words. "Bad Erin. Erin sorry." She rubbed her face, her shoulders bunching up. Her mane covered her eyes, but she wore a deep, pained frown, and while it was faint, Meadowlark was almost certain he heard her... squeak.
        "Meadowlark, aksh book," she said. "No book, Erin no aksh you anymore. I want you to aksh the book."
        Meadowlark swallowed heavily. The words struck him in the chest, his already pounding heart clutching so hard he almost keeled over. The pain in his back was almost unbearable. He turned away from Erin sharply, ripping into the book savagely. His teeth cleaved through the thick cover with ease. He shook his head, rearing up as he did. Scraps of paper flew all around him, scattering like mice. No two shreds could stand to be near to each other. He snarled as he ripped into it, working out something he still didn't quite understand. Whatever it was, though, it all flowed out through his teeth. All the fire, all the coldness, all the hollowness, even the pain in his back flowed out as he roared and bit and ripped. Pages fell all around him, like gentle snowflakes.
        In the end there was barely anything left that could be called a book. His chest heaved, short of breath after the savage action, but he felt good. He felt full. He felt clean. He looked back to Erin, and smiled. She smiled back at him, her eyes glistening.
        "Meadowlark?" she asked. "Do you want to learn Equestrian?"
        The bat pony flashed a toothy grin. "I want to learn Equestrian," he said.
        
        


> Act 1, Part 5: Of Inspectors and Ivory
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 1, Part 5: Of Inspectors and Ivory




        The sound of a metronome drifted lazily through the mansion, filling the space between seconds like a clock's echo. The sound strolled through the halls and meandered up the stairs until it eventually faded away deep within the massive building. The ticking of the metronome was replaced by the soft padding of hooves on carpet that never once left time. They turned corners and climbed stairs, eventually coming to a rest before a heavy door. A hoof rapped upon the door three times, still keeping time, then paused. There was silence for three beats, then six. Once more the hoof rapped three beats on the door, and once more there was a pause. Three beats. Six beats. Nine beats. The hoof raised one more time, poising as though to rap.
        It slammed into the door, throwing the it open wide.
        "Up!" Erin shouted, stomping into the darkened bedroom and tramping around the bed. "Up up up you lazy boys!"
        From beneath the mound of thick sheets and comforters, a scarred blue-grey nose poked out. Its nostrils twitched as it sniffed at the air, and it slowly crept out to reveal Meadowlark, eyes still shut tight. He turned to stare sightlessly at Erin, ears cocked into an unspoken question. Erin responded by flinging open the curtains, letting brilliant clean light into the room and causing Meadowlark to yelp and duck his head back under the covers.
        "Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn why is day?"
        "Because Celestia raised the sun and lowered the moon," Erin said idly, staring out the window. Thick, wet snowflakes pattered against the glass, leaving rivulets of clear window through the dried-on dust and dirt and piling along the sill. It was already a solid few centimeters, and it didn't look like it had any intention of slowing.
        The landscape beyond was a field of white as far as the eye could see, even into distant Equestria beyond Canterlot Mountain. At least, as far into distant Equestria as anypony could see through the snow, which amounted to a few small farming villages on the outskirts of the capital. Still, it was clear winter's inexorable march down the mountain was well underway. Some of the other mansions dotting the horizon has already begun to string up lights.
        "I mean, why am us awake in day?" Meadowlark asked, snapping Erin out of her thoughts as he pulled the comforter tighter around his nose. 
Erin turned away from the window and trotted around the bed. "Because," she said, "I'm trying to wean you into it. It's noon. Most ponies were up five hours ago at least. Also, it's 'why am I awake in the day'. Technically during the day, but, baby steps."
        "Most ponies are dumb," Meadowlark said. "Didn't you said that?"
        Erin paused, tapping her chin. "Huh. Probably, but I think I was talking about something different. Probably my students."
        "Didn't you also say we were Not-turn-nail?"
        "Nocturnal," Erin corrected. "And you are. Sleep cycles can be altered, however. Think of this as a... test of your circadian rhythm."
        "My what?" Meadowlark asked.
        "Your sleep cycle."
        "Oh." Meadowlark's head poked out, and his brow furrowed. "Us am up early because you are experiment?"
        "Because I'm experimenting," Erin corrected. Meadowlark harrumphed, but Erin continued as though she hadn't heard him. "Anyway, there's more to it than that. You could use some more Equestrian practice."
        Meadowlark sighed, but crawled out of the bed without any further resistance. He stretched, groaning loudly as he did so, though not loudly enough to cover the snaps, crackles and pops his back made. He grunted idly, shaking his wings out and taking a seat beside the bed and Erin poked at the remaining lump.
        "That means you too, Nightingale. Come on, get up."
        A stifled mumble came from deep within the bundle of sheets. "Do not want."
        "I don't want to," Erin said.
        "You don't want to," Nightingale responded, "I don't want to, so why are we?"
        Erin didn't reply. Instead her horn came alight, and the covers flew off of Nightingale. He snarled, and both Erin and Meadowlark rolled their eyes. They knew full well the snarl was just for show. Even back in the forest, Meadowlark thought to himself, Nightingale had always resisted waking up for as long as he could.
        "Fine," Nightingale grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Could have say please."
        "When was the last time you said please?" Erin asked pointedly.
        "Different. Am savage," Nightingale replied.
        Erin snorted as Nightingale crawled off the bed, making sure he wouldn't just make his way back to it. "If you ask anyone around here, I'm a savage too," she replied. "And I still say please."
        "No you do not," Meadowlark said.
        "Hush up Meadowlark," Erin said, trotting past him with a huff. Meadowlark paused for a moment, his brow screwing up as he tried to decide whether or not she was being serious. Either way he shrugged, trotting out after her and Nightingale.
        The three walked together through the halls in a tight group. Nightingale was still uncomfortable in the sprawling hallways of the mansion, his sharp eyes ever darting back and forth, as though he were suspicious of each and every torch and painting. Of course, Meadowlark couldn't blame him. Even after these few months in Erin's home he was still having trouble adjusting. It seemed like every time he turned down another hallway he found something new, and he had long since learned that Erin could be unnervingly calm around some startlingly dangerous objects.
        So the twin bat ponies kept close to Erin, and to each other. They kept a wide berth of the hall of portraits. Erin had tried to explain them once, but somehow knowing what they really were - images of ponies long dead and buried - only made Meadowlark more nervous around them. He didn't enjoy being judged by living ponies very much, and he liked being judged by the dead even less.
        After a few minutes of walking, Meadowlark was surprised to find himself relaxing slightly. A soft tune had reached his ears. It was a new song, and there was a sharp, steady clicking behind it that was new to him. Every few seconds the song would stop for a moment, and then restart, slightly different this time. Sometimes the song would start in the middle, going for only a few bars before stopping. He perked his ears, slowing down.
        "Meadowlark?" Erin asked, looking back. "Something wrong?"
        "Us hear music," he answered absent-mindedly. Is weird though. Keep... what did you said? Skipping?"
        "Skipping?" Erin repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I don't hear anything, but your ears are better than mine. I shouldn't have left a record on..." She frowned. Suddenly, her face lit up and she laughed, tapping her hoof against the ground.
        It was Meadowlark's turn to frown, and he nearly managed a pout on top of it. "What?" he asked. "Did I used the wrong word?"
        "No, no," Erin answered. "Well, yes, but it's not like you'd know. That's probably just Stage composing."
        "What is composing?" Meadowlark asked.
        Erin scratched her chin. "Mmmm, well, it's making music. Sort of. He's sort of... writing instructions for other ponies to play music. He likes the quiet when he's doing it, so let's not disturb him. This is the first time he's been commissioned in a while, and he's excited about it. Besides, we've got plenty to do today, don't we?"
        "I remember so, yes," Meadowlark said. He followed after Erin, glancing once more to where the sound was coming from.
        "Yay," Nightingale said without an ounce of enthusiasm. Still, he followed after them as the group made the rest of the journey into the lavish den that made their study room.
        The room had changed a bit in the past months. Before it had been filled with luxurious antique furniture, all caked in years of the dust of disuse. The dust had been cleaned off, and the furniture less arranged and more disarranged, shoved up against the walls at awkward angles and dragged back into the center whenever necessary. The walls, white and gilt with gold, were still dotted with scraps of paper where Erin had once pasted posters of forests in an attempt to make the brothers more comfortable with the lab - though as soon as Nightingale was comfortable enough with speaking he made it very clear that they did more harm than good. Too many memories of the cage and the fake forest within.
        Meadowlark sidled along the far wall, creeping by the desk Erin had brought in. A large cushion similar to the one he had slept on in the cage had been laid out for him, and he settled down into it, Nightingale joining him. Erin sat down in her tall chair, settling into it comfortably and peering at her desk.
        "So," she said, brushing some letters around to find the notes she had made yesterday, "we were at, uh... let's see. Tenses, was it?"
        "We did tenses," Nightingale said, nodding. Erin scanned her notes, and lifted a quill with her magic.
        "Were doing tenses," she corrected.
        "What?" Nightingale grumbled under his breath, adding, "You said did was right in past..."
        "Only if it was a one-time thing," Erin said. "Today we're going to do advanced tenses. Because the study of tenses was ongoing, we use the... uh..." she paused, flipping open a book she had on the table. "Past progressive."
        "How many tense is there?" Nightingale asked sourly.
        "Are there," Erin corrected. She consulted the book, and said, "About sixteen."
        "What!?"
        "But practically, there's really only like, seven."
        "Is still more than three you said before," Nightingale muttered. "Are you tell I there are more than two gender next?"
        "That," Erin said, "Is a whole other can of worms. Let's not go there. So, Meadowlark," she said, turning her attention to the silent bat pony, "Care to guess at the past progressive of 'we jumped'?"
        Meadowlark didn't respond, just staring at the cushion. Nightingale and Erin both stared at him expectantly. After a while, Nightingale snorted loudly. Meadowlark jumped, his ears snapping up and his wings snapping out.
        "Huh?" he asked. "What?"
        "Something on your mind?" Erin asked, flicking the book shut. "You're usually on your hooftips for lessons." She wore a faint smirk, but Meadowlark detected at least a small hint of concern on her face.
        He looked down, feeling his face grow a bit warm. "Well, uh," he said. "Just thought about Stage, us think."
        "Stallions do tend to do that," Erin said, frowning a bit.. "The bastard."
        Meadowlark gave her an odd glance, which she waved off. Still, he shook his head. "What is commissioned?" he asked. "You said he have one of those."
        Erin leaned back in her chair, rubbing her chin. "I guess I did, yeah. I... hm. Now how do I put it? My grandad was a painter, so I guess I never thought of it... but it's, someone pays you to make something."
        "Pays?" Meadowlark asked, tilting his head.
        Erin grunted louder, scratching her head. "Uh, money... I guess I haven't taught you about that. I guess it's like... someone kills a rabbit, and they give it to you? But you have to make something for them."
        Meadowlark frowned, confused. For once though he wasn't confused by the thing itself. Just by the prospect that someone would want to do it. "Why?" he asked.
        Erin shrugged. "It's different from pony to pony. It takes a lot of money, so they have good reasons usually. Some of them have an idea they want made. Some of them just want to support the ponies who make things. Others like to do it to get their name on it." She turned to the desk as though merely for something to do, fishing through some of the letters that littered the old wood. "Not this one, though. Stage was commissioned anonymously."
        "What is?" Meadowlark asked again.
        "It means he didn't give his name. Gods know why." She sighed, shrugging. She rifled through the letters, muttering over addresses to herself. Meadowlark breathed deep, and smelled cold and wet, and a strange stallion. These letters must have been delivered fairly recently. Which meant it would probably be a few weeks before Erin actually read them. As it was she simply shoved them out of her way, tossing some onto the floor as she organized her notes and uncovered some specific grammar books.
        "Well, anyways," she said with a grunt, "Enough about Stage. We won't see any of him for a few weeks, I don't doubt. Then he'll tweak the bloody thing within an inch of its life, but at least we'll see him." She smirked. "And his husband will come over, which is always nice. But for now, Meadowlark: What is the past progressive form of 'we jumped'?"
        Meadowlark's eyes widened, and his brows came together. "Um," he said hurriedly, "Umm... we did jumped?"


***


        "We jumped," Meadowlark said, his eyebrows coming together in concentration. "We were jumping. We had jumped. We jump. We are jumping. We will jump. We will be jumping... and, um... mmf." He chewed his lip, his ears lowering.
        "You've only got one more," Erin said helpfully.
        Meadowlark nodded. "Yeah, it's... nn..."
        "We will have jumped?" Nightingale offered. Meadowlark snorted, but nodded towards his brother.
        "That one," Meadowlark said.
        "That's right," Erin said. "Those are pretty much the only tenses you'll need to know for conversation. At least, unless you find yourself talking to an especially pedantic grammarian."
        "What is pedantic?" Meadowlark asked.
        Erin waved a hoof. "Stupid and annoying, really," she answered. "At least, as far as anyone who isn't pedantic is concerned. Anyway," she stretched her back until it clicked and cracked, and peered towards the clock on the wall, "it's getting on about five. What do you colts think about breaking for dinner, hmm?"
        Nightingale's ears perked up, and Meadowlark rolled his eyes. If there was anything that could capture Nightingale's interest, it was the promise of food.
        "Got any rabbit?" Nightingale asked.
        "I'll check the cupboards," Erin said with a snicker. "You might have to settle for griffon takeout again. I think we've got leftovers, so at least you won't need to stalk the delivery boy again."
        "You are the one who told us hide," Nightingale said with a huff. "We hide, food come. That end one way."
        "Yeah, and it isn't jumping out of the shadows and scaring the poor colt half to death," Erin said. "Even if he was a dork."
        "We never jumped out," Meadowlark pointed out, then paused. "We never had jumped out? We just watched him."
        "The first one was right," Erin said, shoving herself of her chair. "And you shouldn't have done that much. You two shouldn't get too close to other ponies." She trotted past them, beckoning them to follow. Nightingale was up in a moment, but Meadowlark took a moment longer to clamber off the cushion, stretching his stiff legs and looking back at Erin's desk for a moment.
        "Still, it's a moot point," Erin continued. "We've got griffon food to last a while, and if we need emergency rations I can always let you two out into the forest. I'd rather you two didn't even have the chance to see another pony for the next few months, and the way things are going I'll get that wish."
        The doorbell rang.
        Erin was silent for a while. At least, so it seemed. After a moment Meadowlark realized she was not silent, but that a slow, low growl was in fact rising steadily in her throat. "Ffffffffffff-" she growled, her eye twitching. She ran back to her desk, shuffling through her mail. "Shit," she hissed under her breath. "Shit shit shit don't tell me it's... shit!" She lifted a letter out of the pile, glaring at the writing on it. "I could have sworn," she muttered, cutting herself off.
        Meadowlark took a step toward her, a hoof suspended in the air. He could feel the tension emanating off of her as she danced in place, her head jerking every which way. The doorbell rang again, the impatience of the ringer almost audible this time. Erin swore along with it, throwing her hooves around Meadowlark and Nightingale's necks. "Come with me." she said sharply.
        "What?" Meadowlark asked, refusing to budge. Erin strained against him, for all the good it did. "Why? Where?"
        "To somewhere!" she said. "And I'll explain later! I don't have nearly enough time to prepare as it is and every minute you're out here is another minute lost. Now move! Go! Get!" She threw herself into Meadowlark's back, staggering him with the force. After a few more shoves she managed to inch him along the floor a few inches, but that was as much as Meadowlark would take. He sat heavily on the floor, and glared over his shoulder at Erin.
        "No!" he declared. "Not moving until you tell I why!"
        Erin sighed heavily, her shoulders bunching up as she did. Then she looked Meadowlark dead in the eye, and for all her glower he had the impression that she was very frightened.
        "Can we talk on the way?" Erin asked. Meadowlark blinked, but nodded and got to his hooves.
        "Alright," he said. He walked along with Erin, who moved at a surprisingly quick pace. Even Nightingale seemed to feel the urgency from her, speeding along at her side instead of trailing behind as he usually did. Meadowlark got the impression that Erin was one more doorbell away from breaking into a run.
        "Somepony is at the door," Erin explained through short breath. "I don't know for sure, but it's probably the inspector Jewel sent... I thought for sure he wasn't supposed to be here for another week or so."
        "What is the inspector?" Meadowlark asked. He himself considered this to be a quite leisurely pace, and had much less trouble speaking than Erin. He thought about this for a moment, then decided to get all of his questions out of the way. "And why's he here?"
        "And who is Jewel?" Nightingale chimed in.
        "Um," Erin said, swallowing hard. "The inspector is here to see if my license to keep Large Animals is still valid," she explained. "Also if I'm storing the large animals properly." She gave a glance over her shoulder as they rounded the corner. "That would be you two. Which is why we absolutely cannot let him see you outside of the cage."
        "How come?" Meadowlark asked, slowing slightly. "Why does he want us to be in that cage?"
        "Because..." Erin said, faltering slightly. She slowed as well, looking back at Meadowlark. there was something in her expression he couldn't quite identify. "Because he thinks you're dangerous. It would... I can't convince him that you aren't yet. So he needs to not see you yet. Nopony can see you yet."
        "Well... why not?" Meadowlark pressed. "We can show him, can't we? We have to be... not-dangerous at him."
        "He won't stick around that long," Erin groaned. She waved her hoof, hurrying the brothers along. "Especially not with Jewel feeding him a load of... Jewel is the reason he's here. Jewel is convinced you two are some kind of killing machines because of what you did in Canterlot Park."
        "Canterlot Park?" Meadowlark asked, tilting his head.
        "Us home, you mean," Nightingale said. there was a hint of a snarl to his voice. "That was not us fault."
        "I know that!” Erin shouted. She grunted, running behind the pair and putting a hoof on each of their rumps', shoving them forward. "He doesn't! Now move!"
        They rounded one last corner, and Erin stopped them before a large, thick door that Meadowlark recognized as the library. Meadowlark had never been inside it - he didn't even really know what it was. All he knew is that whenever Erin had gone inside it, she had come out with altogether too many books for his taste. He shuffled his feet awkwardly in front of it. Erin, for her part, darted around him and hammered on the door.
        “This will have to do,” he heard her hiss to herself.
        To his surprise the music, which he had barely noticed in the rush, stopped. It was only once he stopped hearing it that he realized it had actually been quite loud, as though the source was just behind the door. There was a long pause, and the music started again, confirming Meadowlark's suspicion. It was indeed coming from within. He crept a bit closer, sniffing at the heavy wood.
        Erin hammered on the door again, and Meadowlark jumped back from it with a start.
        "I know you heard that, Stage!" Erin called in.
        "And I know you said you wouldn't bother me," came a muffled shout from behind the door.
        "I lied," Erin said, swinging the door open. She trotted inside, and Meadowlark and Nightingale followed her.
        Meadowlark peered around, almost in shock. The room was divided into two stories, the walls of each covered from corner to corner in dark brown bookshelves, packed to the brim with books upon books upon books. It was apparent that at some time in the past somepony had run out of bookshelf, but had not seen this as an adequate reason to stop acquiring books. They were stacked in piles on tables along the back wall and on the stairs leading up to the second floor, some even spilling off the edges of shelves.
        Meadowlark looked at his brother, shrugging his shoulders at an idle itch between them. To his surprise, for once Nightingale looked very interested in their surroundings. His eyes flicked from book to book, narrowed slightly. He looked lost in thought, so Meadowlark turned away, looking instead to Erin. She stood beside Stage, who was sitting at an enormous black piano in the center of the room.
        Stage looked rather less than pleased, but he seemed to be making an effort to be polite. "Can I help you?" he asked, leaning on the top of the piano.
        "Yes," Erin said tartly. "I need you to hide these two."
        Stage raised an eyebrow, straightening up. "Hide them? Who's here?"
        "The Animals License inspector, I think," Erin replied. Stage grimaced, looking over at the open door.
        "And with a pursefull of Jewel's bits, no doubt," he said. "Alright. I needed a bit of a break anyways..."
        "No," Erin snapped. "No breaks. We need to give him a good damn reason not to come in here, and you composing is the best we can get."
        "Why would a Large Animals License inspector come looking in the library?" Stage asked with a scoff. Erin, however, had already turned on her heel and was making her way for the door.
        "No risks!" she shouted over her shoulder. "This guy is gonna be looking for any reason to rescind my license. I checked the mail. They're doing research into my license history to see if it's still valid, we've got metal inspectors coming for the cage, charm inspectors for the memory spells on the forest, and a freaking tax audit. Jewel isn't backing out of his threats any time soon. I'm gonna need to be flawless if I want to get them out of my mane." She stopped, turning to face Meadowlark and Nightingale. For just a moment the hardness of her expression melted away, and she looked deeply sorry - and deeply worried.
        "Guys," she said, her voice low, but still firm, "I know this sucks, but I really need you two to stay in here until I say you can come out. It's probably not gonna be the last time it happens, too. But the alternative is worse, so for once you need to do what I say, when I say it. That means you too, Nightingale," she added sharply. Nightingale shuffled his wings and gave a snort.
        "Fine," he said after a while, turning away from Erin. She seemed satisfied by this, if a tad surprised, and turned to Meadowlark.
        "And you?" she asked.
        Meadowlark opened his mouth to speak, but found something holding him back. This entire situation made him feel uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he had felt it now, but he had the unmistakable notion that he was being caged, just in a different way than normal. Even so, he trusted Erin. Or at least, he wanted to trust her.
        "Okay," he said, nodding. Erin nodded back, dashing out the door and slamming it behind her. In the distance, Meadowlark could hear the doorbell chiming again.
        The three stallions sat in silence for a while. Stage leaned idly against the piano, rubbing his eyes while Meadowlark and Nightingale looked around. Meadowlark was more than content to view the library from where he was sitting, but that didn't seem to be enough for Nightingale. Nightingale spread his wings, jumping onto the railing of the nearest stairway to avoid the piles of books, and trotted up to the second floor. Meadowlark caught only a glimpse of him pulling a book off its shelf before Nightingale trotted deeper into the second floor, blocking him from sight.
        Meadowlark snorted quietly at this development, and got slowly to his hooves. He would have a look around as well, he decided. Even if he didn't feel particularly inclined to go near any of the books. He wandered past the piano to a pair of broad tables. Each one was littered with books, some open and some shut, all tossed haphazardly across the surface where they had been cast. One of the tables appeared to have been dragged across the floor until it was within hoof's reach of the piano, the nearest corner more cluttered than any of the others.
        Meadowlark skirted along it, sniffing idly at the tomes. He snorted at one, taking a sharp step back when the force of the snort caused the page to flip over. He heard Stage chuckle, and looked over at him with a faint blush.
        "You're not afraid of it, are you?" Stage asked him.
        Meadowlark waved his hooves vaguely, mouth hanging open in an unspoken defense. "Well, us..." he managed. "I do not know. It could be spellbook. These things are... weird. I do not trust them."
        Stage chuckled again, but he reached out and flipped the book shut. "That wasn't a spellbook," he said. "It was a storybook."
        "What is a storybook?" Meadowlark asked, tilting his head.
        Stage leaned back on his stool, rubbing his chin. "I guess... it's like a lie," he explained. "Except everypony knows it isn't true, and nopony cares. Except because everypony knows it isn't true, they let it be real anyways, sort of. It happens inside their heads, but they still experience it, in a way." He paused, then laughed. "That made no sense, didn't it?"
        "Not... really," Meadowlark admitted. Of course even if it had made sense to him, or even to a regular pony, it wouldn't have mattered. He was only half-paying attention, his eyes still lingering across the multitude of books, flicking back and forth, trying to take stock of every spine and page.
        "Well, anyways," Stage said, shrugging, "It can't hurt you. Spellbooks, storybooks, any kind of book is useless without somepony to read it. The power is all in there, but if nopony reads it, it can't get out."
        There was a sound of rustling and thumping form the second floor, as though a pile of books had toppled over. After a moment, Nightingale's head appeared over the railing, looking around. Meadowlark barely gave him a glance, though.
        "Power?" Meadowlark asked. "What do you mean?"
        "Well, I mean, spells and stuff," Stage explained. "But also not. In the case of stories there are... ideas. Thoughts. Those are powerful, once they get into somepony's head. It can change them, and they can spread it." He chuckled, patting his piano. "But like I said, if nopony reads them they've got no power. That's why I like music. You can't just choose not to hear music, and the moment you hear it those ideas are in there. In your head. There's no going back." He brushed his hooves over the ivory, smiling a far-off, wistful sort of smile at it. "Music can change a lot of ponies," he said. "Make them better. That's what I love about making it."
        Meadowlark stared up at him, and took a step closer. He looked between Stage, and the piano, and back to Stage again. "Erin said," he said slowly, "that you are making music?"
        "That's right," Stage replied. "An anonymous commission. He didn't have any conditions aside from me using this old legend: dead ponies who came to life, and ate freshly dead corpses to reverse their rot. Some legends say that once they looked 'fresh' enough, they’d try to eat living ponies to come back to life themselves." He chuckled. "A bit macabre, but the commission wanted it done by Nightmare Night, so it's probably appropriate."
        Meadowlark nodded silently, trying to be polite. He hadn't really understood any of that, and for once he didn't really care. "How do you making music?" he asked. "I thought that machine made music?"
        Stage gave a sharp, sudden laugh, but his expression faded when he saw Meadowlark's turn hurt. "You really don't know?" Stage asked. He leaned back, adding, "Well no, I guess you wouldn't... I'm sorry. You two took to Equestrian so fast sometimes I forget that you... well, aren't." He reached back to the table, grabbing a book and gesturing for Meadowlark to come near. Meadowlark did as he was beckoned, though he felt his heart tighten slightly as he got closer to the book. It was large, but flat and a bit floppy. Stage flipped it open, revealing its contents to Meadowlark: lots of long, thin bars dotted with strange symbols.
        "This is music," Stage said.
        Meadowlark stared at the page, then up at Stage, then the page again. He frowned. "No it is not," he said. "It is... well... things." He didn't know quite what it was, of course, but he wasn't so dense he thought it was sound.
        "Yes it is," Stage assured him. "Well, sort of. This is called sheet music - what you're seeing are music notes. They're like instructions for making music. Here." He set the book open on top of the piano, and tapped the page. "This note here," he said, "is a G. So to play it, we press this key here." He placed his hoof gingerly on the keyboard, pressing one key down sharply. Sound rang out, brilliant and clear, shooting through Meadowlark's heart. It made the music from the record player sound like nothing more than static and noise. He felt himself begin to shiver, and his breath came shallow.
        "Wh-what," he asked quietly, shuffling his wings, "Was that?"
        "Music," Stage replied with a smile. "From the piano. You've only ever heard a recording... a copy of the sound, played later. Music from a real instrument sounds different."
        "It more clear," Meadowlark said with a nod. It was many other things, too. Everything he had felt when he first heard the record player seemed amplified. "It is so... better. How?"
        "Recordings lose something," Stage replied with a shrug. "Or gain something wrong. I don't know. But hearing it live is just different. We're not even in a very good room for it. The books eat too much sound."
        "You mean it will get better?" Meadowlark asked, turning to look at Stage with a jolt. Stage leaned back, rubbing his neck.
        "Uh, well sure," he said. "Depending on things like the shape of the room you're in, music can sound better or worse. Carry further... stuff like that. The overall sound is the same - which is why I'm okay with composing in here - it's just more crisp."
        Meadowlark sat back. The concept of it was amazing. Music even better than better. "Wow," he said. "Us love to hear that..."
        "Maybe you will, some day," Stage said. "One day this thing of mine'll get performed, so maybe you'll get to hear it on Broadbay."
        "Not soon," Meadowlark said, his good mood fading some. "Erin doesn't seem like she'll ever let us out... she doesn't even want other ponies to see us. I don't know why."
        Stage smiled softly, laying a hoof on Meadowlark's back. "She has her reasons," he said. "In a few months, you'll..." He paused. "Well," he continued after a time, "I shouldn't say. Just... trust she's got her reasons."
        Meadowlark didn't respond. He knew there was something hiding in the answer. Probably something important. He felt the now-familiar tinge of frustration, but didn't say anything. Instead he just sighed, laying his hoof on the keyboard.
        "Would you like to learn?" Stage asked.
        Meadowlark blinked. "Huh?"
        "The piano," Stage said. He gestured to the book on top of the piano. "Like I said, I could use a break... and if you're so interested in music, well, maybe you'd like to learn to play? I could give you a quick lesson, and it'd keep the music going so we don't get suspicious."
        Meadowlark stared at Stage for a while, then down at the keyboard. He didn't even need to think about the answer, but he did anyways. He wondered if Stage was trying to distract him - if he had gotten too close to some secret Stage didn't want him to know, and he offered Meadowlark something he knew Meadowlark wanted. Still, if Meadowlark was aware of the trick, he could at least watch for it. Or at least, so he reasoned.
        With a slow, wary nod, Meadowlark turned to the keyboard. "...I would like that," he said softly. "A lot. I like music."
        Stage smiled wider. "Then we have that much in common," he said. He rolled his shoulders, spreading his hooves out across the keyboard with a flourish. Meadowlark stared at him for a while, wondering what exactly he was doing.
        Stage sighed faintly, chuckling as well. "Well, maybe we're a bit early for showing off," he said. He adopted a much more normal pose, flipping through the music book and tilting it towards Meadowlark. He pointed at the top of the page. "This song is called 'Hot Crossed Buns'. We start with a C... here," he said. He placed his hoof over a key, then took it off to make way for Meadowlark. "Give it a try."
        Meadowlark swallowed, placing his hoof over the key. For some reason, he found himself quivering inside, as though he were afraid to push it. If simply hearing the music had sent such a shock through him, he could hardly imagine making it. But then, he could hardly have imagined beds a few months ago, or houses or heating, and all those things were wonderful. He breathed deep, exhaling in a heavy sigh. He pressed his hoof down.
        It felt like thunder struck him, thunder made of ice. There was more than just the sound, sharp and crisp as a singing bird. He felt his hoof tingle as the key reverberated beneath it, the tingles traveling up his foreleg and into his heart. His heart beat fast, and he felt himself break into a grin, ear to ear. He pressed the key again, feeling that same shock of icy thunder. He became aware that he had been so tense - not now, but before. He felt his entire body relax when he pressed down.
        "Hah," he said happily, for a moment almost barking with excitement.
        Beside him, Stage smiled knowingly. "Make that two things we have in common," he said, almost to himself. "Are you ready to continue?"
        "Y-yes," Meadowlark said. He still beamed down at the keyboard, and he placed his hooves over it with more confidence now. "Us am ready," he said.
        "Alright," Stage replied. "Then our next note is D..."
        There was a sharp rap on the door just as Meadowlark pushed the key.
        The sounds mixed together into a strange, sharp sort of noise, like the sound of somepony being alerted. Meadowlark's head snapped to the door, and Stage started violently. Upstairs there was another sound of falling books, making it clear that Nightingale had been startled by the rapping as well. All three fell instantly silent. Meadowlark held his breath and his hackles stood on his neck. He felt a warning growl rise in his throat, but he kept it down. Outside the door, muffled voices could be heard.
        "What are you doing?" a voice demanded. Meadowlark recognized it as Erin, sounding about as displeased as she had ever been. Another mare, somepony whose voice Meadowlark didn't recognize, answered her.
        "That would be called 'knocking on the door', Erin." the voice replied.
        "Thanks, I can see that," Erin grumbled back. She lowered her voice, such that Meadowlark had to strain his ears to hear. Erin continued to speak. "I mean, why are you knocking on the library? I told you, My brother is in there composing."
        "And what, I'm not allowed to pop in and say hello to him?"
        "Not when he's composing, no. He hates being disturbed when he's composing, and he can be an even bigger bitch than I am. I'd expect you'd know that by now, Close."
        There was a pause, before the stranger answered. "...Maybe. On the other hoof, I'm sure you could probably out-bitch him by a wide margin if he had your license revoked because he refused to let me have a look around."
        Erin scoffed. "In a library? Would you seriously expect that I was keeping two wild animals in a library? Come on Close, even I'm not that eccentric."
        "I'd argue that," The mare called Close replied. "I believe I once found you using a rubber mouse to play with a Jaguar."
        "I wasn't playing, I was researching. I wanted to see how much of their instincts domesticated cats retained. Anyways, a few toys in an enclosure is nothing on the level with keeping an exotic species in a library. I realize you and I don't always get along, but you must, at least, give me the respect to assume I know how to do my job, otherwise you may as well get out of my house right now."
        Once again, there was silence. Meadowlark swallowed, shimmying off the bench. He felt Stage try to grab his foreleg, but he shrugged Stage off without a thought. He had no idea what was going on out there, and that made him nervous. He needed to know, and to know he needed to get closer. He crept, inch by inch, to the door, and pressed his ear against it.
        He could hear movement outside. A largish mare was shifting on her hooves. That must have been Close. Erin hardly made a sound. She barely moved. Meadowlark imagined that she was giving that singular stare of hers, like her entire being was focused on thinking unpleasant thoughts about you.
        Finally Close spoke again. "Alright," she said. "I'll give you that much. Still, my instructions were to be thorough. Extremely thorough."
        "Your instructions," Erin repeated. Her voice was tart, like she had smelled something foul. She leaned back though, relaxing. "Let me guess who gave you your instructions..."
        Close cut Erin off. "The request was anonymous," she said. "But all of the papers were in order. They gave a lot of good reasons to. Newly acquired specimens, and through a pretty dubious means at that. The desk workers have been going over your case for a month and they're still not sure if it's legal. You may very well be precedent setting, here. Not to mention the... nature of the things you've got." She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, despite there being nopony listening... or so as far as she knew. Meadowlark shied away from the door slightly, wondering for a moment if she knew he was there. He swallowed, assuring himself this could not be the case, and leaned in again.
        "Is it true what they say?" Close asked. "About those things you got? Are they... monsters?"
        There was another bout of silence, and this time Meadowlark could hear Erin shifting uncomfortably. "Monsters..." she said, almost to herself. She repeated the word, this time saying it like an insult, like she found the notion of it darkly amusing. Meadowlark wished that he knew what the word meant. "Monsters," Erin said. "No, they're not monsters. There's no such thing as a monster. You ponies, you call anything strange a monster... Hydras, Manticores, Dragons. They're just animals, same as any other." She spoke again, softer this time. "They're the same as anything else."
        Erin sighed, and Meadowlark had the impression she was rubbing her neck. "You know exactly who this is, Close. You know what's going on as well as I do."
        "Yeah," Close admitted. "Maybe. Still, that doesn't mean that this is nothing to worry about. Jewel is out for blood, you know that? You have any idea how hard I had to fight to get this assignment?"
        "Well, don't think I don't appreciate it, Close," Erin replied. "I don't need to tell you how relieved I was to see your face at the door instead of somepony else..."
        "Instead of Keen Eye," Close remarked. "Jewel requested him specifically."
        "Wonderful," Erin said. This time Meadowlark was sure that she rubbed her neck. "Seriously, we need to get out of here. Stage is composing, and I'm not going to be able to keep my voice down when we start talking about this."
        "Are we talking about this, now?" Close asked.
        Erin snorted. "Of course we are. Why would I even let you in here if I didn't think you had information on that moron? No, I'm going to take you to my lab and show you their cage, and give you all my notes on them so far, and you'll tell me what Jewel is up to and then go back, give your report, and I'll pass until the next time Jewel finds something to sue me for."
        Erin's voice had begun to fade as she spoke, accompanied by soft hooffalls. Meadowlark could hear Close shifting in her hooves, then she trailed after. "Alright," the mare said. "I'm not just going to pass you outright, though. I'm here to do my job, one way or another."
        Erin began to speak again, her tone teasing, but behind the thick door Meadowlark couldn't make it out. Without thinking he reached up for the door handle, and realized that Stage's hoof was on his shoulder.
        "Meadowlark!" Stage hissed as Meadowlark looked back at him. "What are you doing? Do you want her to hear you in here?"
        "Us was not making any sound," Meadowlark said quietly. His eyes narrowed at Stage. Stage's concern confused him. He knew Erin didn't want him seen, of course, but he didn't understand why it was such a big deal. Erin didn't seem to have any issue about being seen, after all, so why should it be so much worse if he was?
        Nightingale appeared, poking his head out over the balcony. "Ponies can not hear," he said coolly, settling down and draping his forelegs over the edge. "Bad hunters. She no hear us."
        Stage's eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment, and he shook his head. "You don't know that," he said.
        "You do not hear," Nightingale pointed out. "Us follow you some time. You just walk still. No door, too."
        Meadowlark watched as Stage bristled, obviously trying to keep himself calm.
        "When were you following me?" Stage demanded. He shook his head then, stomping his hoof. "No, nevermind. Look, nopony can see you, especially not Close. For your sake and Erin's, it... it would be bad, okay. You've gotta stay in here. Got that?"
        "Week ago," Nightingale said, beginning to rock his hooves. "You walk to face hall. Stare at the close one. another pony come, and he poke your nose, and you poke his nose, and you go to your nest. Us want to know why you poke nose."
        Stage gawked at Nightingale, completely forgetting what he had been saying.
        "You - you followed me? That was private!" He hissed, trying his best not to shout. He grunted and growled wordlessly in a vain attempt to articulate his anger. Nightingale, however, didn't care. His cold eyes flicked to Meadowlark, and for a moment their gazes met. Meadowlark knew exactly what Nightingale was thinking. It was the same thing he was thinking. Why would it be so disastrous if they were seen? Who was this new pony? What was a "monster"? Meadowlark nodded. Nightingale returned the nod, the movement of his head almost imperceptible, and turned his gaze back to Stage, who had managed to recover himself some.
        "What is private?" Nightingale asked, egging Stage on. While he did, Meadowlark turned sharply, pulling open the door as quietly as he could, and slipping out without a sound.
        Once in the hallway Meadowlark spread his wings wide, the tips brushing along the walls. There was very little air to catch here, but he did his best. He skipped and jumped along the floor, letting his wings keep him aloft and extend his jumps in a ghostly speed.
        Erin and Close's voices had long since faded, but he didn't need to hunt this time. He knew exactly where they would be headed, and he knew exactly how to get there. He spied Erin's lab at the end of the hall in no time at all, and he could hear the two mares’ voices from within.
        "...Are supposed to be where, exactly?" It was Close speaking. Meadowlark slowed to a crawl, lowering to the floor as he crept towards the door. It was open just a crack, as always - Erin could never be bothered to close a door, after all. Meadowlark peered through the crack, shallowing his breath until it made no noise. Close and Erin were standing in front of Erin's desk. A small gem was floating in the center, and what looked like a half dozen windows were above it. Through each window was a different scene of the forest behind the mansion, each fairly far apart from what Meadowlark could tell.
        "Hard to say," Erin replied. "I can only cover so much of the forest before the see-stones would start to interfere with each other." She shrugged, glancing sidelong at Close. "Even if I couldn't, from what I gather they're stealth predators. They've got a pretty surprising amount of endurance, but they seem to stalk and ambush primarily. If they don't want to be seen, it'll be pretty hard to spot them.
        Meadowlark's eyes narrowed. Was she talking about him? She knew that he wouldn't be out in the forest. He kept closer, swiveling his ears to hear more clearly. Close's voice was tired, and a bit sad.
        "Great," she said. "I'm gonna need a bit more than that, Erin. For all I know you're just covering for the fact that they escaped."
        "Impossible," Erin said sharply. "I've got them locked up tight. They're no worse than a pack of timberwolves. You can check my notes if you want to be sure... or I can prove it to you."
        "Prove?" Close asked. "Prove how?"
        Erin's horn lit up, and the windows closed suddenly. The stone of the desk was sent away, replaced by another, smaller stone. Erin held this one in her magic with something approaching reverence, like it was a rabbit before her starving belly.
        "I'll show you," Erin said, her voice lowering until even Meadowlark could hardly hear it, "but you have to promise you won't say anything about it to anypony."
        "I have to say something," Close remarked.
        "No specifics," Erin insisted. "Just tell them I'm right, and they're safe. Understand?" She spoke with such force and determination that Close stepped back from the smaller mare. Meadowlark felt the intensity too. Whatever it was was more precious to her than a life-saving meal. It was... Meadowlark couldn’t put a word to it, but she wanted whatever it held more than he had ever wanted something before in his life. He swallowed. A knot had begun to form in his stomach.
        "Alright," Close said after a while. "I just want proof. Show me."
        Erin nodded, setting the gem down. It began to spin, and with a spark another window appeared above it. On this window, Meadowlark could see a small rabbit grazing. It stood for a while, immobile save for to nibble on grass. Long enough that Close began to get impatient.
        "What am I looking at exactly?" she asked.
        "Hush," Erin said, her voice full with that same sound of desire. "Watch."
        For a moment the image in the window seemed supernaturally still. Then, all at once, the bushes around the rabbit exploded. Nightingale shot down from above, landing in front of the rabbit and roaring soundlessly. The rabbit darted away, only for an image Meadowlark himself to appear, snatching the rabbit in the time between instants. Close yelled loudly, stumbling backwards.
        "What the hell was that?" she demanded, clutching at her chest.
        "Those," Erin declared, "were the animals under my care... those were the bat ponies."
        "B-bat ponies?" Close stammered. "Those... those were ponies? But that one looked like... like he was going to eat that rabbit."
        "He was," Erin said simply. "They're predatory omnivores. Rabbits seem to be their primary prey, although I think they can take down larger animals, like deer."
        Close gaped at Erin, shaking her head in dumb silence. She managed to compose herself, though. She swallowed hard, and shook her head again, sharper this time. "Those," she said after a while, "are not ponies. I mean, I get the name, but... jeeze, Erin. What did you find?"
        Erin just shrugged. "I found... animals. New animals. Nothing more, nothing less. Just like the rest of them." Her enthusiasm seemed to have faded a bit with Closes reaction. Her eyes were cast down now, staring at the gem on her desk. "Is that all the proof you needed?"
        "I... yeah," Close said. "Those things are pretty good at hiding, I guess." She shifted her weight, staring at the now-frozen screen. The image of Meadowlark with his jaws around the Rabbit filled the screen. Close shuddered. "Creepy things, aren't they?"
        Erin shrugged again, but she took longer to do it this time. After she did, she stayed silent. "I thought you'd be better," she said suddenly. "I mean, you work with animals too... sort of. I'd expect it from Jewel... he never understood. But you... I thought you'd be better."
        It was Close's turn to shrug. "I can stare down any kind of animal without flinching," she said. "It's different when they look like... that. It's unnerving. It's unnatural." She turned away, looking like she meant to pace, but looked back at Erin. "Did you say Jewel saw these things?"
        "He did," Erin nodded. "Before me, I think. They attacked his cousin. He was at the guard house when I found them there."
        "They attacked a pony? I'm surprised they weren't put down."
        "They didn't do much damage," Erin said with another shrug. "Superficial wounds. Jewel wanted them put down anyways."
        "Hmm," Close said quietly. "So that's why he's on the warpath..."
        "Jewel?"
        "Yeah," Close said, nodding a bit. She sat down, rubbing her shoulders. "He must have really hated them from the get-go... I've been at this job for years, you know. Decades. I know how the system works. Jewel came in with the old head of the department. Must have 'hired' him for council. They did their damnedest to stack the system. They went through your records, hunted down every single demerit and stacked them up. Anonymous request for inspection or no, he made it pretty obvious he was the one who filed it. If you hadn't been so obsessive about your work, my visit wouldn't have been anything more than a formality. As it is you don't have anything to worry about from me. You're practically perfect this time around, even in spite of not being able to show me the..." Her voice faltered, and she swallowed. "...things.” She was silent for a time, and Meadowlark thought he could see her shivering. “He's not gonna stop there, you know."
        "I know," Erin said, sighing. " She stared at the gem for a while more, before trotting over to join Close. They sat down, staring at the wall beside the door. Meadowlark shrank away more.
        "I know," Erin said again, almost to herself this time. "I know Jewel. I've known him since we were foals... you know, for however much we hate each other... for however much the Jewels and Smileses have hated each other for centuries, I sort of respect him? My father told me he respected Jewel's father once, too... they're dedicated. Passionate. Almost obsessive."
        "That seems to be a quality of old money, doesn't it?" Close asked with a wry laugh. Erin smirked.
        "Only the good ones," she replied. "But he'll keep coming. He'll find some way to get his hooves on them. Or try, at least. Until he kills them. He told me so himself, and I believe him."
        Meadowlark's stomach twisted, and his heart froze. Kill was a word that he had only learned lately, but it had a meaning he was intimately familiar with. Fear was not something he had associated with it before. That was new. In spite of himself, he shimmied closer, so close his nose almost poked through the door. He watched the pair intently, making up for their strange, dour calm with near-panic.
        "Well..." Close said, very carefully not looking at Erin. "Are they worth saving?"
        There was silence, for a while. Meadowlark saw Erin's neck bristle. It comforted him, strangely. It was familiar, at least. "They're the only ones of their kind we've ever found," Erin said. Her voice was quiet, but the hardness had returned to it. "They're important."
        "Maybe there's a reason for that," Close said. "I... Celestia, Erin, did you see their eyes? It looks like -"
        "Yes," Erin said sharply. "I saw them. Almost familiar... ponies forget." She smirked, laughing with a sudden, dry sort of humour. "It's almost funny the first time, isn't it? How you fight it. How could they possibly be ponies? They stalk. They hunt. They kill. They kill just to be alive. But there they are. You see those eyes, and..."
        "They can't be ponies," Close said. It wasn't a question. There wasn't a hint of a question there.
        Erin breathed a deep, heavy sigh and got to her hooves. "They're important, either way. A new species. Big stuff... I'm going to be showing them, you know."
        "Showing them?" Close said, looking up at her. "To whom?"
        "Everypony," Erin replied. "A conference, during the Summer Sun festival. I'll reveal them to the world, there. Well. Just the scientific community first, but word will spread. I know it will. Before long they'll be famous."
        "And you with them?" Close asked.
        Erin peered at her sidelong. "Maybe," she said. She was silent for a while. Then she cantered to her desk, snatching the gem away. The image disappeared, and Erin spun on Close. "Out!" she demanded sharply. "Out! I have work to do. Not long enough to prepare, especially not if I have Jewel breathing down my neck, but he'll be out of my mane as soon as I reveal them. So you go back, and you tell them I passed inspection, and you let Jewel know that there's nothing he can do to get his hooves on them. Not now, not ever. I don't care what he thinks they are or what he thinks they deserve, they're here." Her enthusiasm had returned hand-in-hand with a fierce determination, her eyes burning bright in her tiny head. "And you let him know that some day soon, he and everypony else is going to understand what that means."
        Close got to her hooves slowly, obviously not as inspired as Erin. Meadowlark was, though, leaping to his hooves the instant Close made a move for the door. He was on the move back to the library before Close even though of what might be behind it. He moved far faster to leave than he had to come, perhaps faster than he ever had.
        He felt light. He felt empty, save for the twisting, burning sensation in his stomach. All the words flashed through his head, barely defined but perfectly understood. He slowed when he came near the library, staring out a nearby window. The sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow off the snow. It looked cold. He felt cold. Outside, the wind howled.


> Act 1, Part 6: Of Future and Families
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 1, Part 6: Of Future and Family




        Meadowlark awoke with a start.
        He didn't move. He had gotten used to being shaken from sleep, recently. In a strange way, he sort of liked it. It reminded him of life in the forest, where he had to sleep light for fear of some other predator stumbling across his and his brother's camp - whatever little risk of that there was.
        He sighed, poking his nose out from beneath the sheets and peering around the room. It was not so dark that his eyes couldn't clearly make it out, but the clinging, creeping shadows made it obvious that it was still the dead of night. He looked for something out of place, something that might have toppled over to wake him up, but everything was as it was when he had gone to bed. Even the window, silhouetted by dripping icicles, still contained exactly the same amount of icy teeth. He smiled faintly to himself, baring his own teeth back at it.
        No, he thought as he leaned back. Nothing had moved. Perhaps it had been his brother shifting or grunting? Meadowlark brushed the sheets aside just a bit, revealing the tip of Nightingale's muzzle. His nostrils opened and closed slowly, and a light snore escaped them. If anything, it was a surprise he wasn't louder. Meadowlark sighed, slipping out of bed and walking to the window. He leaned on the sill, resting his nose inches away from the cold glass. His breath fogged against the window, clearing between breaths. Fog. Clear. Fog. Clear. He watched it fade in and out for what seemed ages. Then he heard the whispers.
        Meadowlark turned sharply away from the window, ears perking. The whispers were low at first, too low to hear, and unsteady. It sounded as though they were beginning after a long pause. Soon though, they grew in confidence. They seemed to be everywhere at once, bouncing off the walls and fluttering back and forth. Meadowlark drifted away from the window, tugged by a vague inclination of direction. It lead him to the door, which he nudged open. He paused for just a moment, looking back at his sleeping brother, before nosing the door open and creeping into the hall.
        The whispers were more intense and more vague there. It was even harder to discern a direction, but just as before Meadowlark found himself pulled along by a feeling more than anything, a notion that the sounds happened to be coming from this way rather than that. The halls were dark, without a window in sight to let in the cool light of the moon. It was dark even to Meadowlark's eyes. The shadows clung along the walls, pooling in the crevices upon the floor and ceiling. For a moment, Meadowlark wondered if it wasn't the shadows that were whispering. He paused, his golden eyes darting to and fro across the hall. The shadows were still, but the whispering persisted. Meadowlark shook his head, and continued after the whispers.
        He chastised himself as he walked, embarrassed by his nervousness. Shadows. He was afraid of shadows, of all things. He was a hunter. A predator. The shadows should be shying away from him! At least, that was what he told himself. His shoulders hunched, and he sped his pace. His ears swiveled like radio dishes, searching for the source of the whispers. He was beginning to be able to tell the source more clearly, now. The voices were becoming more clear as well. It seemed like there were dozens of them, stallions and mares alike. Some sounded big, others small, some strong and some weak Every one of them had a breathy, airy quality, as though they only spoke when the wind blew. They were getting closer with every step, and Meadowlark's pace slowed with every word. He was just around the corner from them, now. Despite that, it was still difficult to make out the exact words for the echoes and the soft hiss beneath it all. He crept down, straining his ears.
        "...asleep. No need to... let him in... go quickly."
        "We'll get this... work to do... more to learn... brothers..."
        "...can help us. Better than... all the rest..."
        "Damn the... rip them... enough... Meadowlark and Night-"
        The last word was cut off by a howl cutting through, the mere sound of it chilling Meadowlark to the bone. It was like a wounded animal. Meadowlark's heart nearly stopped, and his wings lifted themselves from his body, half-unfurling. He had to stop himself from growling at the unseen howler. Instead he forced himself to round the corner quietly, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was before it saw him. He breathed deep, and stepped sharp.
        The first thing he saw was eyes, hard as stone. There were mere inches away from his face. An enormous stallion, sided by an enormously fat and aloof looking mare, and another stallion who was so gaunt and pale he seemed to be a walking skeleton. Meadowlark froze in his tracks as a breathy voice rushed through once again.
        "Wwwwwwhat are you... doing here... you..."
        "...our house... must be..."
        "Well, here he... now... last chance to..."
        Meadowlark stumbled back, nearly tripping over himself. He felt his rump hit wall, and stared up - another stallion was above him, huge and looming down. His breath caught in his throat, and he just barely managed to pull himself to his hooves. He had just a moment to consider bolting before a crash sounded through the hall, like thunder. Meadowlark jumped violently, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, and all at once there was silence. No more breathy whispers. No more echoing voices. Meadowlark was still, listening to the silence and staring at the ponies. Somewhere in the distance a light came on.
        Slowly, Meadowlark began to relax. As he did, he found himself once more ashamed. There were no ponies with him. He had stumbled upon the hall of portraits once again, too focused on the whispers and shadows to realize where he was. He beat his wings and flicked his tail, snorting. He turned on his hoof, full ready to storm off back to his room and try and get some sleep, when he heard the whispers again.
        They had lost their breezy quality, and with it some dozen voices. Now there were only two. Whatever had altered them had carried them, so they were softer now, but more clear. He began to creep down the hall, listening.
        "It's good to see you again, darling."
        "You make it sound like I've been gone forever."
        "You make it sound like you haven't! I have needs, you know..."
        "Well, I'll be happy to fulfill those needs soon enough..."
        Meadowlark tilted his head. Now that he was closer, he was beginning to recognize the voices. They still echoed, but it was not so much as before. He crept into the light at the end of the hall, blinking a bit as his eyes adjusted. Not that he needed his eyes. He knew well enough that this hall opened onto the balcony of the foyer. It had proved difficult to forget his first experience with this place.
        He lowered to the ground as he approached the railing. His eyes were still blurry, and the figures below were difficult to make out. There were three of them. Two were wrapped in what appeared to be thick robes. Both robed ponies were short, but the third was tall and slender, with it's back turned to Meadowlark. It moved erratically, seeming to bounce back and forth from the pony by the door.
        "Go ahead," one of the cloaked ponies, a mare, said. Meadowlark recognized her voice. He furrowed his brow, squinting in to confirm his suspicion: the cloaked mare was Erin, wrapped in a thick blanket as usual, rather than a cloak. The tall pony seemed to relax, and leaned past Erin to the cloaked pony. As he did, Meadowlark found he recognized him as Stage, as well. They stayed together for a long moment, then parted. Meadowlark saw the cloak shuffle a bit, and the pony beneath seemed pleased with itself. He flattened his ears, not sure of what they had just been doing.
        "Thank you, sweetheart," the second cloaked pony said. This one was still a stranger to Meadowlark, but apparently not to Stage and Erin. It was a stallion, though his voice was soft and high, and had an almost harmonious quality. It was as though it expect to be accompanied by music. "It's nice to see you again as well." He embraced Erin, and the three seemed to relax as one.
        "But," the cloaked stallion said, "I know how you two are. If you wanted me over here, you probably have something urgent. Why don't you show me to it, and I can get let you back to business?"
        "They're sleeping right now, I think," Stage said. Erin nodded in agreement.
        "It's about the middle of the night for them," she said.
        "It's the middle of the night for us," Stage commented. He shifted his stance, taking a few steps away from the pair. He turned to peer out the window, shaking his head. Behind him, Erin shook her head in kind.
        "Whatever," she said with a wave of her hoof.
        "You called me over in the middle of the night," the cloaked stallion said, voice clearly unimpressed, "and I can't even have a look at them yet?" He swept back his hood, and even from atop the balcony Meadowlark could see a dangerous glint in his soft blue eyes.
        His coat was a creamy off-white, framed by a very carefully draped pale brown mane. His face was every bit as soft as his voice, rounding without being at all chubby. If it were not for a sense of serene maturity about him, it would be difficult to ascribe the title of stallion to his coltish features at all.
        Erin waved her hoof again. "No," she said. "I called you over in the middle of the night so you could look at them. I'd much prefer you see them while they're asleep, if we can manage it."
        The stallion's eyes narrowed. "...Why?" he asked. "You said they weren't dangerous..."
        "They aren't," Erin said sharply. "But they are... unnerving. It's better they don't see you uncomfortable around them. They haven't really seen anypony else yet, so..."
        There was silence among the three. Stage mulled awkwardly, and Erin played with the edges of her blanket. The cloaked stallion's frown deepened.
        "I've seen 'uncomfortable' and you know it, Erin," he said. "That's not what this is about. You haven't told them, have you?"
        "What was I supposed to tell them?" Erin snapped. "They barely even understand what they are, let alone why it's so important. I have more important things to teach them first. I..." She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes. "Look," she said. "I'm sure you and Stage want to catch up again. I want to go to bed. Let's get you to them so you can take a look. You can call your friends about it in the morning, and if we're lucky you can probably be on your way before they know you were here, and we can go back to getting things ready for this. I'll... tell them when it's time. For now, I don't want them to know."
        There was another bout of silence. Meadowlark's brow was locked in a furrow. He felt an all-too-familiar sensation, a dull stabbing feeling in his lower back. She didn't want him to know... what? Before he had time to think, Stage stepped up to the cloaked stallion and put a foreleg on his shoulder.
        "You're not going to convince her, Singsong. And to be honest, I sort of agree with her. Everything we show them is new to them. We need to take it slow... I'm not sure we can trust them with something like this right now."
        The stallion called Singsong sighed, but nodded. "Alright," he said. "Then let's go, I suppose. If you're so convinced to keep them from realizing life outside exists, we don't want to wake them up with our whispering. Where are they sleeping?"
        "This way," Erin said, trotting towards the staircase. Meadowlark scrambled to his feet, spreading his wings and leaping down the hall. In a matter of moments he had gotten far enough away he could no longer hear them, but he didn't slow down. He wasn't sure what would happen if they caught him out of bed, but he wasn't inclined to find out. He dashed into his room, darting under the covers as quick as he could without disturbing Nightingale too much. Luckily, his brother was sleeping like a stone. Meadowlark settled in beside him, waiting.
        A minute passed. Then two. Before long, he heard soft hoofsteps from outside, approaching fast. He closed his eyes, and stilled his breath, fighting every instinct he had to jump up and snarl at the intruders.
        The door crept open, and Meadowlark heard the footsteps come in.
        "...These are them?" Singsong asked, his voice hushed.
        "That's right," Erin replied. "Just pull the sheets back. they won't notice, probably."
        "Are you sure?" Singsong asked. His voice sounded a bit uncomfortable. "You said they were predators, right? How do you know they won't, you know... think I'm attacking in their sleep?"
        "No," Erin replied. It sounded as though she were shaking her head. "I've studied them. They sleep surprisingly deep. I think they must have slept hidden or something. Either way, they trust me. Or at least, Meadowlark does. So they'll just assume it's me even if they do wake up."
        There was a pause, and the sound of Singsong nodding. "Alright," he said. Meadowlark felt the sheet pull back, and Singsong's breath caught. "They're... big," he said. "Bigger than I expected."
        "Will that be a problem?" Stage asked.
        "No, no," Singsong replied. "We've had bigger. Hmmm... I think I have an idea."
        "That was fast," Erin said, shifting on her hooves.
        "They're... unique. It's easy to figure out."
        "If you say so," Erin said.
        Stage chuckled, and his voice drifted away from the bed. "Trust us, Erin," he said. "This is our ponies' specialty."
        Erin muttered something under her breath, and Meadowlark felt the covers drift back over him. The three left the room without another word, closing the door behind them. Meadowlark threw off the covers and sat up, staring at the door. His chest was tight now, heart beating fast. His mind flashed back to the inspector months earlier, playing the words he had overheard again and again, mixing together with what he had heard tonight. He slowly laid himself back down, but he couldn't chase the words away.


***


        "Meadowlark," Nightingale said sharply. Meadowlark jolted to life, jerking out from under the covers with a just as sharp grunt.
        "Gnuh?" he said, whipping his head around. Slowly, the memory of allowing himself to relax and drift to sleep returned to him. He slowly fell back into the bed again, looking at his brother through tired eyes. "Mmm?" he asked. "What?"
        "You moved," Nightingale said, gesturing to a rut in the bed beside him - one that in any other night would have held Meadowlark's sleeping body. Not that night, however. The stress had left Meadowlark sprawled haphazardly across the mattress. 
"Did something happen?" Nightingale asked.
        Meadowlark stared at Nightingale, then at the rut in the bed, then back at Nightingale. He faked a yawn to cover a worried frown. "S...hould it have?"
        Nightingale's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, but the set of his jaw gave away a mix of concern and confusion. "You never move," he said, his tone blunt. "We never move. Even if you get up you always come right back. Why didn't you?" His golden eyes locked with Meadowlark's, searching him. For the briefest of moments, Meadowlark considered lying. He considered brushing it off as an idle twitch in bed. Or perhaps with the warming nights of the oncoming spring, it was getting too warm under the sheets for them to be huddled together as they had in times past. If Erin didn't want them to know, perhaps it was better that they didn't after all...
        Meadowlark let his ears droop and his head hang slightly. Even if he could lie to his brother, even if Nightingale couldn't see through everything he tried with those piercing eyes, Meadowlark wasn't sure he could bring himself to do it.
        "I woke up last night," he said, meeting his brother's eyes once again. It seemed as though they communicated in more ways than just words, then. "I heard whispers. Erin and Stage. They... had a third pony with them. A small stallion."
        "Singsong?" Nightingale asked.
        Meadowlark narrowed his eyes. "Yes..." he said softly. "Did you know about last night?"
        Nightingale shook his head. "No," he said. "No, I've seen him around the house before. He's never seen me. I think Stage called him his... husband?"
        Meadowlark shrugged at the question implied. "I don't know," he said. "But his name was Singsong. Erin and Stage invited him here..."
        "Why?" Nightingale asked. His voice was tight, and he leaned in slightly, eyes intense.
        "To see us," Meadowlark said. "He came in the night while you were asleep. I pretended to be. Erin didn't want us to see him." He paused, letting silence hang. Nightingale leaned back, his eyes narrowing. When he spoke again, Nightingale's voice had regained its usual impassive, cold quality. Colder than before, even.
        "...She didn't want us to see him?" he asked. "But she wanted him to see us? That's..."
        Meadowlark nodded. He knew exactly what Nightingale was thinking. What he had thought as well. "She talked about something. I think it was the conference she mentioned before. She doesn't want us to know about it... she thinks it will be too much for us."
        "What is it?" Nightingale asked. He snorted, settling down.
        "I... don't know," Meadowlark said, leaning back as well. "They didn't say. But she seemed... worried? Scared? I don't know... Singsong said she should be getting us ready, but..."
        "She's keeping it from us," Nightingale finished. "Keeping us from getting ready. She... Hmmph. What did that book say... knowledge is power?"
        Meadowlark blinked, sitting up. "No it isn't," he said. "What does that have to do with this?"
        Nightingale shrugged. "I think it's a... thing. Whatsit. A lie that's true? It means if she knows more than us, she can be ready and we can't. Like, if we hunt a rabbit, we know where it is, but it doesn't know where we are. So we have the power."
        Meadowlark stared at Nightingale. Nightingale stared back. His eyes had turned from merely cold into ice. Meadowlark could see Nightingale's muscles tightening. He felt his own doing the same, as a familiar tension fell over them. Hunt.
        "Why, though?" Meadowlark said suddenly, rolling out of bed suddenly. "I don't think she's hunting us... so why?"
        "Who knows?" Nightingale said with a grunt. "Those things... we never know. It's always something new." He slipped out of bed himself, stalking aimlessly around the room. "We..." He shook his head as his words dissolved into a faint growl, followed by a sigh. "We shouldn't let her know," he whispered. Meadowlark peered at him, but Nightingale continued. "She's hiding something from us. Well... maybe we should hide this from her. Maybe if she doesn't know we know, then..."
        He glanced back then, and Meadowlark saw something unusual in his eyes. Not something completely new, but something rare. Meadowlark took a slow step forward, his chest tightening.
        A sharp rap on the door interrupted his thoughts. The door creaked open and Erin stepped through. She paused.
        "Good morning, you two," she said, eyes narrowing slightly. She cocked an eyebrow, and continued, "I wasn't expecting you to be out of bed already. Did something happen?"
        "Um," Meadowlark said, looking back at his brother. Nightingale didn't move, save for his eyes flicking back and forth between Meadowlark and Erin.
        "We heard something," Meadowlark said. "From the window. Big crash. I think it might have been an ice...thingy."
        "An icicle?" Erin asked, looking around Meadowlark's bulk. "Mmmm... could be. Spring is coming early this year, isn't it?"
        "Is it?" Meadowlark asked, looking over his shoulder. His eyes met Nightingale's again, and Nightingale's cool eyes seemed to have a spark of approval in them. "I don't really know... I don't remember last spring that well. They all just kind of..." He shrugged.
        "Blend together," Nightingale offered, getting to his hooves and trotting over to the pair. He paused beside them, ears perked as though waiting for something.
        Erin seemed to get the idea, and nodded. "Well, I just came up to let you colts know it's time for breakfast. Since you're already up, why don't you come down with me, hmm?"
        "Alright," Nightingale said, trotting out the door. Erin got up and trotted out after him, followed by Meadowlark in the rear of their three-pony-party. He took care to close the door behind them before following after Erin.
        The three moved in silence. Judging from his slow, plodding gait Nightingale didn't mind, if he even noticed. Then again, Meadowlark mused to himself, the silence was hardly unusual for Nightingale. For Meadowlark, however, it was different.
        He felt a tightness in his chest. Not so much nervousness or anxiety, just tension. The tightness spread out along his back, winding along his spine as he hunched his shoulders. He realized that he was staring at Erin. He caught himself, forcing himself to look away, but no matter how he tried he kept looking back at her, watching her every movement. He memorized her pace in three repetitions. In that time, her left ear flicked twice. He heard her clear her throat once, and one of her elbows popped. She smelled like coffee. She hadn't slept well last night.
        Meadowlark shook his head, chasing the thoughts away. In their place his body began to move instinctively, twisting in tiny, subtle ways. He tightened his back and lowered his steps, crouching ever so slightly to the ground. Once again he shook his head, growling at himself. Erin peered over her shoulder at him as they turned into the foyer, making their way down the stairs onto the main floor.
        "Something wrong?" she asked.
        "Huh?" Meadowlark asked, straightening up and blinking. "Uh, no," he said. "No, just... thinking. To myself."
        Erin raised an eyebrow, but smiled a bit at him. "You generally think to yourself, yeah. What were you thinking about?"
        "Oh, um..." Meadowlark rolled his shoulders, looking out a window as they passed. The sun outside looked bright and warm, reflecting off the wet snow. "Not much," he said. "Just thinking about spring, I suppose."
        No matter how he tried to twist the words, they were not at all the truth. They were a lie, plain and simple. He hadn't been thinking about spring. He had been watching Erin the way he had once watched a bear. Taking in the details. Analyzing. Waiting. Seeing how she would move. To hunt her? No. Meadowlark shook his head. No, it wasn't to hunt her. Just to be ready in case... his ears drooped. In case she was hunting him.
        "That's fair enough, I suppose," Erin said. She swung open the door to the small kitchen tucked into the back of the wing they called home, and trotted around the island in the center. "I suppose you guys are used to being out there, huh? This'd probably be the only time of the year you actually liked..."
        "I liked Winter," Nightingale said as he took a seat. "Rabbits leave better trails in winter. They're easier to hunt. You can find bigger animals hunting them, too."
        "Huh... really?" Erin asked, pausing in front of a cupboard. "I'd have figured... well, I guess you guys must be used to the cold. Anyways, speaking of hunting, what can we rummage up for breakfast, hm?"
        Meadowlark sat at the island as well, cradling his head in his hooves. He didn't answer, instead just idly staring out the window. It was Nightingale who spoke up, once again.
        "Let's hunt our breakfast," he said. Meadowlark blinked. Erin paused again, tighter this time.
        "What?" she asked, turning around. "Why?"
        Nightingale shrugged, trying to seem casual, but Meadowlark saw a cautious glint in his eye. His words were guarded, no doubt carefully chosen on the walk over. "It's been awhile since we hunted," he said. "Why not?"
        "Because... it's cold and wet out there," Erin said with a wave of her hoof. She turned her back on him, standing on her hooftips to look into the cupboards. "Maybe we have some jerky. Or more griffon food."
        "I'm tired of Griffon food," Nightingale said, his ears drifting back. "I'd rather hunt. The rabbits are good this time of year."
        "...I'd like to hunt too," Meadowlark agreed. He caught Nightingale peering at him out of the corner of his eye, almost thankful, but whatever he was planning Meadowlark hadn't intended to play along. He had been telling the truth - he wanted to hunt, to work out the tension he had built up watching Erin. More than that, his jaws ached from a winter without ever tasting fresh blood.
        "No, no," Erin said, shaking her head. Something about her tone sounded worried, perhaps even scared. "No sense in wasting energy going after some rabbit that might not even be out there. I've got some stuff planned for you today, so I'd like you to be with me." She glanced over her shoulder at Nightingale, raising an eyebrow accusingly. "And awake would be nice too, in your case."
        Meadowlark peered over at Nightingale. His eyes were dark, and his shoulders hunched. Slowly though, he relaxed and exhaled.
        "Alright," Nightingale said after a while. "Do we have any jerky left?"
"Yeah," Erin said, producing a bag from the cupboard and dropping it in front of Nightingale. "We only have enough for one though, it looks like. Meadowlark, what do you want?"
        "Huh?" Meadowlark asked, his head snapping away from Nightingale sharply. "Uh, just Griffon food if we've got any, I guess."
        Erin nodded, plodding across to the fridge. After some rummaging she managed to find a soggy, but mostly full box of tightly-packed and strangely-spiced meatballs. Meadowlark still had a hard time believing they were meat at all, but they seemed pleasant enough and they sated the aching in his teeth a little, so they were a welcome meal.
        Erin joined them at the island shortly after with a bowl of cereal, and set into it. Meadowlark focused on his own breakfast, and for a while he was even able to ignore her.
        It didn't last, of course. Before even a few minutes had passed Erin cleared her throat, and spoke up.
        "So," she said. "I know I've been too busy to keep up with you two the past few weeks. How have you two been getting along?"
        "Just fine," Nightingale said, hardly looking up from his jerky. "We're used to being on our own."
        Erin looked at Nightingale for a moment, her expression almost faintly sour. "I suppose so... from what I hear though, you haven't been alone per se." She turned back to Meadowlark, a brief smile flitting across her lips. "I hear from Stage you've been hogging the piano."
        "That's..." Meadowalrk began, but stopped and narrowed his eyes. "What's hogging?"
        "It means keeping it to yourself," Nightingale offered, glancing at Erin. The mare nodded.
        "That's right," she said. "Very good, Nightingale."
        "Oh," Meadowlark said, returning to his food. "I... guess I have? He's been showing me some... I didn't really think I was hogging it, since he was there with me..."
        Erin smiled again, waving a hoof. "Well, you know Stage. He's a whiner. Anyways," she said as she polished off her cereal, "We're going to be giving him the day with that thing, now."
        "Huh?" Meadowlark asked. He licked his lips of the last meatball, setting the soggy box aside.
        "I told you I had something planned, didn't I?" Erin said, standing up. "You two kept up with reading like I asked, didn't you?"
        "Well... yeah," Meadowlark said. "I read the alphabet like you said. And those things... sentences."
        Erin nodded. "Good, good," she said. She turned to Nightingale, then. "And you Nightingale?"
        "Houyhnhnm's Travels" he replied.
        Erin blinked. "Excuse me?"
        "Houyhnhnm's Travels," Nightingale repeated. "That was what I read this week."
        Erin simply stared at him, eyebrow cocked in disbelief. "Hyouhnhnm's travels," she repeated. "Really. I ask you to memorize the alphabet and some simple sentences, and you tell me you've read -"
        "'I cannot but conclude," Nightingale cut in, his voice curt, "that the bulk of your natives, to be the most pernicious race of little odious vermin that nature ever suffered to crawl upon the surface of the Earth.'"
        "...Huh," Erin said, clearly dumbstruck. "That's... and you understand all that?"
        "Your entire species is mean, nasty and smelly," he replied just as curtly. "So far as I can tell."
        Erin simply nodded. "Wow," she said. "Alright, I hadn't been expecting that. I... hm. Seems kinda like the lesson wouldn't be much good for you... I guess if you want to do your own thing for the afternoon, Meadowlark and I can -"
        "I'd like to stay with Meadowlark," Nightingale said. He pushed himself away from the table, walking to Meadowlark's side and flicking his wings, the leathery skin snapping softly."
        "Alright," Erin said, raising her hooves and lowering her brows faintly. "Fair enough. Sound like me a little more..." Nightingale snorted in response, and Erin shook her head.
        "So Meadowlark," Erin said. "Care to come with me to the library? Let's see if we can get you caught up to your brother at all, hmm?"
        "Uh, I guess," Meadowlark responded with a shrug. He slipped down from his chair, walking wordlessly to the door, pausing to let Erin through first. The mare gave him a smile, and he tried to smile back. He hoped it did not look as suspicious as it felt.
        After they slipped outside, Meadowlark fell in beside Nightingale, keeping his voice low, so Erin would not hear. "You've been reading?" he asked.
        Nightingale shrugged. "I had to do something while you were playing piano. We were in the library. There were books. I found one with lots of words and what they mean in it, and then I found others."
        "Oh," Meadowlark said, looking down. He frowned deeply. "Why, though? I mean..."
        "I didn't want to be away from you," Nightingale asked. "I... didn't trust you with Stage. Alone."
        "Or Erin?" Meadowlark asked. Nightingale nodded silently. Meadowlark's frown lessened, and he sighed. He felt more than a bit relieved. "I'm glad," he said. "That it's not just me, I guess." He raised his head a bit, staring at Erin’s back. If she had become aware of their conversation, she didn't show it at all.
        They were getting close to the library. Meadowlark lowered his head again, breathing deep to try and shoo away the growing feeling of sickness in his stomach. "What are they like?" he asked. "Books, I mean? Stage said they had... powers. Ideas. Can they make me think things?"
        Nightingale's eyes narrowed. "I don't think so," he said. "All the ones I read... they have ideas, but I don't think they made me think the way they did. There were some I actually thought were dumb. Like one that thought stronger things always get better. But a bear is stronger than us, and we're better than a bear."
        "Huh," Meadowlark said. He swallowed, rolling his shoulders. "I guess... that's okay then. So you don't think she's trying to... I don't know..." he eyed Erin carefully. "You don't think she's trying to make us forget about whatever she's hiding? Or make us think it's a good idea, or something?"
        "Well," Nightingale said. "I wouldn't say that... but I..." he breathed deep. "Auf aksh," he said softly.
        Meadowlark was silent. The words seeped into his mind, settling down. Words. That was what they were. It was almost surreal to think of them that way. Words. Language. He knew what they meant. No matter what they were called, they always meant the same thing. I kill. You hunt. We eat. He smiled a smile that got bigger and bigger, until he was grinning at Nightingale. Nightingale grinned back.
        "Thank you, Nightingale," Meadowlark said. Nightingale didn't respond; he kept on grinning until Erin came to a stop in front of the library, throwing open the doors.
        "Right!" She declared loudly, rounding on the brothers. "Nightingale, If you want to grab a book on your own, you can sit nearby, but I'd like to make sure Meadowlark can focus. If you don't mind?"
        Nightingale exchanged a glance with his brother, and smiled. A glint passed between the bat ponies' golden eyes, and Nightingale nodded. Without a word he spread his wings and leaped into the air, silently ascending to the second floor and disappearing into the forest of bookshelves, leaving Meadowlark alone with Erin.
        The nervousness had mostly evaporated now, replaced by a strange blend of trust in his brother and mild distrust in Erin. Still, Meadowlark shuffled his hooves idly as Erin trotted along the bookshelves, apparently looking for something.
        "Go ahead and sit down, Meadowlark," Erin said without looking over. Her eyes scanned the shelves and she seemed to flit here and there aimlessly, muttering to herself under her breath. Meadowlark didn't sit down, however. Instead he just drifted near the table until Erin made a sound of victory, pulling out a large, if thin, book from the shelf.
        "Found it!" she declared, whirling on Meadowlark and prancing to the table, book in the grasp of her magic. She took a seat, waving at him as though she barely noticed he was there. "Sit, sit," she said. She sat down herself, placing the book down gently. It was old and well-used looking, the spine nearly worn bare from opening and closing what must have been hundreds of times. On the cover was a faded image of a young, bright-red earth pony, surrounded by large, looming trees. Their branches reached out like skeletal, curling fingers, grasping at the colt who was curled up on the ground. He looked terribly afraid. The cover was also emblazoned with large, spooky-looking letters.
        "Lit..." Meadowlark said, focusing on the words hard and squinting. "Little Brave Heart and the... the For-est of Fee.. Fah... Fair? Fear?" He blinked. "Little Brave Heart and the Forest of Fear?" he turned to stare at Erin, who was looking longingly at the book. "What's this?" he asked, slowly taking a seat.
        “It’s a storybook,” Erin said. She tapped the cover. “My grandpa used to read this to me when I was little. I want you to read it.”
        Meadowlark’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and he looked between Erin and the book. “Why?” he asked after a while.
        “Because it’s short,” Erin said simply. “Short at simple. Perfect for learning how to read. Starting today, we’re gonna start working on that, alright?” She smiled at him, and her horn lit up to open the cover.
        Meadowlark stared at the storybook, and swallowed. It seemed to be eying him expectantly - or perhaps that was just the crude, simple drawing of a pair of ponies. Meadowlark almost smiled at them. As paintings went, these ones were significantly less intimidating than the paintings of ponies in the hallway.
One of the ponies was tall and slender, clearly a mare, with a stern look on her face, and the other was a colt running through a field of flowers. Above the pair were words, written in large and inviting letters. It was these that Meadowlark focused on, beginning to read aloud.


***


        Meadowlark turned the last page, finding nothing there but the large words, "The End." He blinked, scratching at the back cover. "Is that it?" He asked, a bit sadly. Erin chuckled, closing the book.
        "It is," she said. "Did you like it?"
        "I... think so?" Meadowlark replied. His eyes lingered on the back cover.
        Erin smirked, and pressed. "You think so?"
        "Well, yeah," Meadowlark said with a shrug. "I mean, it was neat... but it was weird." He frowned. "I guess I still don't really get stories... there was confusing stuff in there."
Erin opened her mouth to speak, then paused. Her horn lit up, and a pad of paper and a pencil floated gently over to their table. "You mind if I..."
        Meadowlark shrugged again, shaking his head. Erin nodded, and flipped open the pad. "What confused you about it?" she asked.
"A... lot, I guess?" Meadowlark said. His mouth hung open as he struggled to find the words. "It's... weird. I mean... those were ponies, right? Are they like the paintings in the hallway? Were they alive once?"
        Erin shook her head, the pencil scribbling seemingly of its own accord. "No," she said. "At least I don't think so. They may be modeled after ponies the artist knew - that is, they look like real ponies - but they were made up. Little Brave Heart and his mother were never real."
        "Okay," Meadowlark said, though in truth he was still grappling with the concept a bit. It didn't help matters it seemed to be the exact opposite of what he understood from paintings - although that seemed to be as little as everything else. He sighed internally, turning his attentions back to the book. He flipped through it, finding an illustration of a small, gnarled pony with big blue eyes and a corkscrew horn. "And this?" he asked. "Is it made up too?"
        "Mhmm," Erin said, leaning in to look at the page. "There are old legends about them. Elves. Evil spirits that steal away ponies to be work for them, or play with them forever."
        "And the trolls and mig mites?" Meadowlark asked, flipping through the book.
        "Also not real," Erin confirmed.
        “None of it was real?” he asked.
        “Nope,” Erin said with a nod.
        Meadowlark nodded back. He stared at the back of the book, flicking his eyes back and forth over every detail he could find, every scratch and word. Wheels spun in his mind, going over the information over and over, but whatever answer he sought, whatever explanation of the strange thing, it always lay just beyond his comprehension. If there was an answer at all.
        “So Stage was right,” he said to himself. “Stories are lies.”
        Erin looked up from her notes, and turned to stare at Meadowlark. Her expression was almost completely flat, save for an almost accusatory arch to her eyebrow. "What?" she asked.
        "Lies," Meadowlark answered, leaning back a bit from her glance. "That's what Stage called them. Lies everypony knows are lies." He paused for a moment before leaning back in, and stared sidelong at Erin. "Why did you want to show me this?"
        Erin snorted. "That's... hmmph. I guess that's one way to put it. You'd think a writer would be a bit more poetic, though. There's a big difference between what isn't real, and what isn't true." She tapped the book. "This isn't real," she said, "but that doesn't make it a lie."
        "Why not?" Meadowlark asked.
        Erin opened her mouth, but didn't speak at first. "It's..." she said after a while, her voice faltering. "It didn't happen, but, nopony is claiming it really did, so it's not... really a lie, but it's more like a... a... well, look!" She slapped the table, scowling. "The point is, the things in it aren't invalid just because they didn't happen. That's the difference. There!" She grinned, clearly pleased with her answer. Meadowlark simply frowned at her. That she needed to go so far to justify why she wanted him to read it was far from inspiring. He sighed, staring up at the balcony where Nightingale had disappeared.
        "So," he said quietly, "Even though the things in the book didn't happen, they're true?"
        "Yes," Erin said with a nod. she paused. "Well, sort of. Just because something isn't a lie doesn't make it true, either..."
        Now Meadowlark simply stared at her, blinking slowly. "What are you saying?" he asked suddenly. His heart clenched with the words, and he breathed deep. "I don't understand. There's a difference between not real and lies, fine. But not real is the opposite of real, and true is the opposite of lie. You told me that! How can something not be itself, or its opposite?"
        "It's..." Erin grunted. "It's a storybook!" she snapped. "Why do you care so much about truth and lies? It's not important, I just want you to read a damn book!"
        "Maybe it's not important to you," Meadowlark snapped, leaning in, "but it's important to me! I don't know everything like you do! I don't understand!" He slammed his hoof down on the table, baring his teeth. Erin jumped, leaning away from him a bit, but he continued on, feeling himself lose control of his words. "You do it all the time, saying things I don't understand - you know I don't understand, because if you don't tell me how can I? You say words I don't understand, and you don't let me understand! You keep things from me, and I don't know why. You told me! You told me I was here to understand. That's what you promised me, that you'd teach me, but you only teach me what you want me to know, and nothing else!" He paused, realizing that he had stood up. His chest felt tight and cold, but he fought to continue.
        "I'm a hunter! A... a bat pony. I'm not like you. I don't understand these things. You... you give me a rabbit, and it's dead or it isn't. There's never a picture of that rabbit on the wall. It's just gone. Before it was real, it was there, and now it isn't. There's no way for it to be real and not real at the same time. I don't... I just..." He breathed deep, leaning against the table. “I want to understand” he said, half a mutter and half a growl. “I want to, but I just... don’t.
        Vaguely, Meadowlark was aware of Erin shifting in her seat. She sounded uncomfortable. Eventually, he heard her shift towards him, and felt her hoof on his foreleg. Meadowlark looked up, and he saw Erin frown and run a hoof through her hair.
        "Look, Meadowlark..." she said. Her voice was soft and frustrated, and she grunted wordlessly. "If I avoided giving you a straight answer, it's because I'm not a philosopher. A lot of ponies a lot smarter than me spent their whole lives trying to come up with an answer to the questions you just asked, and they never really came up with a good answer. Some things are just too complicated for a single pony to understand. But..." She looked back at the book, and her frown slowly morphed into a faint smile. "My granddad read me this. I was a stupid, stubborn foal. I did a lot of bad things because I thought I knew best, and this book kinda... I dunno." She laughed, more at herself than anything else. "The reason I say it's not true, but not a lie, is because whether it's either of those things is... personal. I mean, didn’t you ever fight with your mother because she made you do something you thought was dumb?”
        Meadowlark sighed. His shoulders ached, and he felt as though his rant had drained all his energy. He sat down, still leaning his forehooves on the table. “I... guess?” he said. He sighed again, frowning as something occurred to him. “Or... maybe? You said Nightingale and I are brothers, right?” 
        "Right," Erin said. Her smiled faded just a bit, and she flicked her ears in confusion.
        Meadowlark, however, didn’t notice. He frowned deeper, mental gears once again spinning. “The book calls that mare Little Brave Heart’s mother,” he said after a moment, “and you said something about a grand mother... which is I guess is a really good mother or something?" He rubbed his chin, flipping the pages and staring down at the final illustration: Little Brave Heart wrapped in the bigger mare’s arms, both with warm and happy smiles on their simple faces. "...What's a mother?"
        There was a strange silence. Meadowlark looked up and found his eyes meeting Erin's. Her smile faded bit by bit, until it finally became a frown. Her gaze was guarded, almost confused. She leaned back in her chair, opening and closing her mouth a few times, then stopped again. "You..." she said slowly. "Sorry, I think I must have misunderstood you." She shook her head like she was trying to shake something loose. "Your mother is the mare who raised you," she said. "You know, taught you to hunt."
        Meadowlark narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. "Nnnno," he said. "We didn't have anything like that."
        Silence fell again, and this time Meadowlark was sure he could feel the tension. He leaned in, and his chest began to feel tight, just as the face around Erin's eyes became tight.
        "How can you not have had that?" she asked. Her voice was quiet. "How did you learn to hunt? Who taught you?"
        "Nopony taught us," Meadowlark said. Erin stirred a bit when he spoke, and he noticed that she wasn't writing this down. That bothered him for some reason, though he couldn't put his hoof on exactly why. 
"We ate weak animals, or small animals at first. It was enough. When there weren't any, we ate berries and roots. Soon we got bigger, and we just... learned. Found out how to. If we couldn't eat we went hungry, and..." he shrugged again, just a small shrug this time. Erin looked almost as though she were in pain, and when she spoke her voice was more than just soft.
        "Just the two of you," she repeated. "It's been just the two of you? All your life... damn." She covered her mouth with a hoof, her brows knitting together. "I... I always thought... I mean, I know you two were the only ones we found, but I figured maybe the rest just lived deep in the forest, or maybe you were the last ones around, or... or... I mean, I'd wanted to ask, but..." Her voice was turning frantic, but the pained tone never left her. If anything, her voice became more pained.
        Meadowlark tilted his head. He wanted to do something to alleviate the pain, but as ever he had no idea what even had caused it. "What's wrong, Erin?" he asked. "What's the matter with it just being us?"
        "I... I don't know," Erin said, lowering her head. "I guess I just... I'd had assumed..." She leaned forward again, an inch at a time, and slipped her hoof over Meadowlark's. He stared down at it, blinking. "I'm sorry, Meadowlark," she said. "To you and Nightingale both. Now I understand why you've been having such a hard time. I thought you were just having trouble adjusting, but..." She sighed. "A mother is a mare," she said. "A mare who cares for you. She protects you, and helps you, and teaches you how to survive and to live. A mother does... a lot of what I'm trying to do for you right now. But you and your brother are smart enough to learn to survive alone in a forest by yourselves, from birth - no instinct, no mother, no nothing."
        Meadowlark looked Erin up and down. “Were you...” he said, he said, his voice soft and slow, “were you trying to be our mother?” He looked down at Erin’s hoof. It felt warm against his, pulsing faintly.
She shook her head again, setting down her notebook. “I... no,” she said. “I don’t think so, at least. I... honestly don’t know.” She slid her chair away from the table. "Meadowlark," she said, staring him in the eye. "Please believe me when I say, I was doing my best to help you. I tried to teach you at a rate you’d be comfortable with, and I thought that you would just... know that. I promise you, I never meant to keep anything from you. Not... not really. If you're really self-taught, though, I don't think any pace I set will do. I think you need to set your own pace. I'm sorry I didn't understand that." She smiled a bit ruefully, and added, "I guess I didn't really understand you - I might have stopped trying a while ago, really. But I promised, form now on I’ll try... on your terms. I still have things I'd like you to learn, but we can do it at your pace." Her smile turned from rueful to warm, and she extended a hoof.
        Meadowlark stared at it for a while, before smiling back. It was his turn for the smile to be weak, though. It was not rueful, but a tad unsure. He was a tad unsure. After seeing Erin so sorry, it was difficult to be frustrated with her... but perhaps it was for the best. He took her hoof, shaking it. "You promise?" he asked. “You weren’t... trying to control me or anything?”
        Erin blinked, and chuckled. “Of course not,” she said. “Why would you think that?”
        Meadowlark looked down, shrugging. He opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. In spite of everything today - or perhaps because of everything, the way Erin seemed to switch moods so suddenly - it was still hard to trust her. For a moment he thought that maybe he shouldn’t let her know he knew. Maybe he should keep it to himself, and prepare. Maybe he should lie. He breathed deep, and grit his teeth. No. No lies.
        "Nightingale told me that knowledge is power," he said. “That if you know more than me, you can use that. Trap me, or trick me... I thought maybe that was why you didn’t want me to see other ponies, to know they’d think I was a monster.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But, you promise that you really just wanted to teach me about them when I was ready? And about the conference?” 
He looked back up at Erin; he felt strangely hopeful. He expected Erin’s warm smile to greet his eyes. Instead, he was surprised to find that her expression was no longer warm - it was no longer anything, changing between expressions almost too fast to track. Hurt, angry, horrified, guilty.
        "You-" she stammered, her voice apparently decided on angry, "were you spying on me!?"
        Meadowlark blinked, leaning away a bit. "What's spying?" he asked.
        "You were!" she said. She opened her mouth to shout, but froze, and sighed heavily. She ran a hoof through her hair, and when she looked up again her irritated expression was cut with something like remorse. Meadowlark's eyes narrowed, and a wave of cold washed through his gut..
        "W...why?" he asked. "Do you still think like that? That I'm a monster... whatever that is?"
        "No," she said. "No, I'm not... sorry.” She sighed heavily, running her hoof through her mane and scratching her head with a grunt. “I'm just frustrated. I guess. I'm... not used to apologizing this much? Didn't want to confront this right after I already realized I've been wrong to you the whole time? Pissed off that I didn't get to choose the way you found out about this?" She sighed again. "How did you find out?"
        "I... followed you when the inspector was here," Meadowlark said. He spoke slowly, tilting his head this way and that to view Erin from different angles, though she didn't seem to change at all. "Followed you to your door and listened... is that spying?"
        Erin waved her hoof. "Yes," she said with a sigh. "But, look, don't worry about it. I... guess I'd have to tell you soon enough anyways. But I should... we should talk to your brother." She turned around, waving to Meadowlark to follow her. She moved slowly, almost wearily as she climbed the stairs. Meadowlark followed closely behind.
        They found Nightingale deep between the shelves, nose buried in a book. His eye snapped up when he heard them coming, though his head did not move.
        "M' reading," he said. "Like you told me to... reading Thus Spake Zarath... Zarasoo... Zarathuta." He snorted, turning back to the book. "The words inside are easier," he added as if in defense of himself.
        "Well, I'll need you to stop," Erin said. Nightingale's eyes paused their travels across the page, and he looked up with his whole head this time. His eyes flicked back and forth between Erin and Meadowlark.
        "...What is it?" he asked.
        "We need to talk," Erin said. "All three of us. Meadowlark told you about the things he heard, and saw?"
        Nightingale's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Yes," he said after a minute. "The pony that came last night. You talking to that inspector about us. He said something about a conference?"
        Erin nodded, and sat down. She let out a deep sigh, and leaned back against a bookshelf. "That's right," she said. "I'm... princesses, I have no idea where to start with this. I guess..." she rubbed her eyes. "The inspector. The inspector was here to check the cage I was keeping you in at first. She wanted to make sure it would keep you in."
        Nightingale's eyes narrowed more, and Meadowlark felt a spark of anger flare up in his belly. He suppressed it though, and managed to keep his voice calm as he asked, "Why?"
        "Because she thought you were in there," Erin said. "Legally, you should be... legally you're classified as animals. The same as a rabbit or bear. But you aren't."
        She breathed deep, and Meadowlark peered at Nightingale. His brother stared back. There was caution in Nightingale's eyes. Not quite fear, not quite anger. As cold as ever, but waiting. Watching. In his own eyes, Meadowlark knew, there was concern and confusion. He breathed deep as well, forcing the same cool watchfulness into his eyes.
        "You're... I don't really know what you are," Erin said finally. "I think you're ponies, like me and Stage, but you aren't like any ponies we've ever seen before. Nopony has. Ponies don't eat meat, or hunt, or have bat wings or see in the dark, or..." She took a moment to compose her breathing again. "That's why I don't want anypony to see you. Yet. You're different. Scary. They'll think you're some kind of... some kind of monster. Something dangerous and weird. They'll be afraid of you.
        "But the conference... the conference is a meeting. A meeting of scientists, like me. Ponies who will understand what you really are, if I show you to them..." she swallowed. Nightingale stared. Meadowlark stared.
        "Ponies will be afraid of us," Nightingale said slowly, "so you want to show us to ponies."
        "Carefully," she said. "In a controlled situation. I want to teach ponies about you. Introduce you to them, and to the world outside slowly-"
        "And what if this wasn’t what we wanted?" Nightingale snapped suddenly, getting to his hooves. "What if we just wanted to go home?"
        "I couldn't," Erin said. "There were... somepony wanted to kill you. Taking you in was the only way to save you, and then I discovered what you were... I needed to teach you."
        "Did you?" Nightingale asked. "Why? Why did we need to be taught?"
        "Because you weren't meant to live in a forest," Erin said. "You're ponies, like us. You can live here, like the rest of us -"
        "Why?" Nightingale snapped again, raising his voice. "Why would we want to live here instead of the forest? We agreed to be taught, but never to that! Did you ever ask us?" There was a hint of a growl to the last word, and Nightingale approached Erin. Meadowlark jumped up suddenly, throwing a wing in front of him. Nightingale stopped, but growled from the back of his throat.
        Surprisingly, Erin jumped up too, and marched up to Nightingale. Almost out of panic, Meadowlark spread his second wing in front of her.
        "I'm sorry!" she shouted. "You're right! It was wrong of me to keep this from you, and to make this decision for you! But what could I do? Throw you back into the forest to be killed? Keep you locked up in that cage forever, never let you understand the world you're in?" Her eyes were hard as steel, matching Nightingale’s blow for blow. Meadowlark stared between the two, and he found he saw a line of something like warmth.
        "Like it or not, Nightingale," Erin said, "you walked out of the forest. You made that choice. This is the world you're in now. Would you want to go back? With no books? No music? Would it be enough now?"
        Nightingale faltered. He moved as if to speak, but found nothing to say. Erin gestured at the book behind him.
        "Would you be able to stand not knowing?" she asked. The hardness faded from her eyes and her voice, and she looked down. "It was wrong of me to try and trick you. I thought you wouldn't know any better. But you made the choice to learn, after all, so maybe I should give you more credit. I'll give you another choice:” She looked back up, some hardness returned to her eyes. It was not steel this time, though. There was a challenge in her eyes. “do you want to go to the conference? There's still time for me to cancel it."
        All three ponies were silent. the whole world was quiet, save for the slow ticking of a clock somewhere deep within the library. Nightingale swallowed, and looked away. Meadowlark closed his eyes as well. He breathed slowly. His gut was cold as ice, and hot as fire. He lowered his wings, like floodgates for all the information. His body trembled, and he was only vaguely aware that Nightingale had gone to pick up his book. Erin was still sitting as she had before, eyes cast ever so slightly down.
        “Why didn’t you tell us?” Meadowlark asked.
        Erin tensed up like she had been shocked. When she spoke again, her voice was tight. “I... didn’t think you’d understand,” he said. “Not yet. I was planning on telling you when I thought you’d be ready. I wanted you to be ready...” She sighed, and her tension subsided. “I guess I just thought it would be too much to take in at first. Knowing that as far as the world was concerned, you were unique and strange.”
        “We were always unique and strange,” Nightingale said softly. 
        Meadowlark nodded in agreement. "I think..." he said after a moment. Nightingale and Erin both looked up, staring at him. He looked between the two of them, and breathed deep. He beat his wings once, feeling it match time with the heart pounding in his chest. "I think," he said, "that you shouldn't have lied to us. But I believe you. I believe that you thought you were doing a good thing for us." he pawed at the ground, turning to stare at Nightingale. For once, Nightingale's eyes were not cold, or hard, or cautious. They were close. They were frightened, just as Meadowlark knew his eyes must be. He trotted over to Nightingale, standing close to him, and he turned back to Erin.
        "We'll go to the conference."







        



> Act 1, Part 7: Of Exits and Entrances
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 1, Part 7: Of Exits and Entrances


 

“Get get get!” Erin muttered, shoving her way through a small crowd of ponies with a few sharp flicks of her hoof. In truth it was more her glare that sent the ponies scattering than her strikes, looking even more bedraggled than usual as she did. Not surprising, considering she had been awake for several days, running herself ragged in preparation. Now that everything was close to the end her eyes were filled with a mad, wild sort of determination.
            She strode out of the conference hall, sending the delivery ponies dodging this way and that as she circled around the large carriage that had just arrived. Shooing away a large stallion that came attempting to help her, she unhooked the heavy bolt lock on the back door and flung them open.
            Seated in the back were Stage and two other ponies, both of them wearing heavy cloaks with hoof that hung over their eyes, and most of their noses at that. One of the figures was shifting in his seat almost nervously. The other sat completely still, save for occasionally flipping a page in the book he held.
Erin scowled at Stage. “Cloaks?” she asked as Stage jumped down from the carriage. “In the middle of June? You couldn’t try something a little more conspicuous maybe? Maybe have them wear makeup and leather with spikes?”
            Stage merely shrugged. “I’m a rich, gay director,” he said. “I’m allowed to be eccentric in the company I keep. If anypony wants to make assumptions they’ll guess I’m trying to hide their identity from Singsong. Or that I’m trying them on for a role or something.” He stretched out his hind legs, beckoning for the hooded figures to follow after him. “Not like it matters. I mean, rumours are going to be spreading fast enough after tonight.”
            “Information is going to be spreading fast after tonight,” Erin said, waggling a hoof at him. She hooked a hoof around one of the hooded ponies, pulling them both back into the conference hall as she continued. “And I’d like it to be the right information, on my terms,” she said. She shook her head. “Singsong and his friends are already here. There’ll be a dozen or so presentations before ours, but we should still probably be ready well ahead of time.”
            She lead the trio of stallions into the halls, full up with ponies looking every bit as bedraggled and wild as she – some even more so – and directed them through the pack to a large room just behind the auditorium. Once they were inside Erin sighed so heavily she seemed to deflate. She flopped into a nearby chair and sighed again.
            “May we take these off now?” one of the cloaked figures asked, tugging at the cloak.
            “What?” Erin asked, looking up. “Yes, yes, go ahead.”
            The figure tossed off his cloak, flicking his shaggy mane out of his eyes and unfurling his dark, leathery wings. He gave them a few almost experimental flaps. Meadowlark’s brother was not nearly so showy, merely depositing his cloak on the floor and continuing to read his book.
            “Nightingale,” Stage chided, “You shouldn’t just leave that on the floor.
            “Hmm?” Nightingale asked, as if only just realizing where he was. He looked down at the cloak. “Why?” he asked.
            “Be-“ Stage began, stopping suddenly. He stared, dumbfounded, and snorted. “Because Somepony might trip over it,” he said.
            Meadowlark turned to Erin, ignoring the other two stallions. “Nopony saw us get into the carriage,” Meadowlark said. “You won’t have to worry about rumour.”
            “Rumours,” Erin said, pulling herself up in the chair. “Or a rumour.” She shrugged, rolling her shoulders. “Anyways, thank you. I’ve been a bit… antsy tonight, as you may have noticed.”
            “I did,” Meadowlark said with a nod.
Erin stared sidelong at him, but carried on. “Anyways,” she said, “Stage is mostly right. There won’t be much worry about rumours after tonight; the only thing we have to worry about is how you’ll be received.”
            “So you really will be revealing us tonight?” Meadowlark asked, taking a seat on the floor in front of her. “Showing us off like you said?”
            “Of course,” Erin said. “Or, well…” she winced as Meadowlark’s face fell. “No no,” she said quickly. “Meadowlark, showing you off would be a bad thing. For you.” She leaned forward, putting a hoof on his shoulder. “Showing off is something you do with… objects or ponies you don’t care about. We’re not going to be showing you off, but we will be revealing you here. I promise.” She smiled at him.
            Meadowlark rubbed his foreleg, and rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, okay,” he said, smiling back after a while. “Just making sure.”
            Erin smirked. “Have I ever lied to you before?” she asked.
            “Yes,” Meadowlark replied. “Several times. About this actually.” He frowned at her. “Did you forget?”
            “I could have sworn I’d gotten around to teaching you about figures of speech,” Erin said with a grunt. “Or maybe you’ve just been cooped up in the library too long and have started backsliding. Though surrounded by the language I don’t know how.”
            “Well, I don’t actually read… that much,” Meadowlark said, lowering his head ever so slightly. “Nightingale reads a lot… I mostly play the piano. I guess I read music books, but they don’t really have… words.”
            “That would explain it,” Erin said. She smiled suddenly, an oddly nostalgic sort of smile, and she peered over at Stage. It seemed he had finally convinced Nightingale to pick up his cloak, as the bat pony and cloak had both gone off somewhere. Nightingale had been replaced, in fact, by Singsong, who was stretching up to kiss Stage. Erin sat up higher in her chair and called out to them.
            “Oh good!” she said. “Singsong, you’re back!”
            Singsong held up a hoof, shushing her while he finished kissing Stage, and smiled at her when he broke it off.
            “Of course,” he said, and Meadowlark instantly understood why he was called singsong. His voice sounded like a jingling bell. Singsong fluttered his wings and trotted over. “We were just taking stock of all the outfits.”
            “All?” Erin asked, cocking her head. “We only need two. What’s this ‘all’, here?”
            “Oh, I couldn’t quite decide what we were looking for,” Singsong said. “And I figured you know, maybe a costume designer would be a better choice to pick out outfits than a tenor?” He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Anyways, we ordered in a few different outfits so we could see what colours they looked good in, try on some different sizes, some styles…” His eyes drifted to Meadowlark, and gave a start.
            “Oh!” he said, recovering himself somewhat. “Wow, I… hadn’t been expecting their eyes to be so… wow.”
            “Um,” Meadowlark said, leaning away from Singsong a bit. He cast his eyes around for a moment, but eventually they drifted back to Singsong. “I’m sorry?”
            “No no,” Singsong said, shaking his head. “You just surprised me as all. They’re… striking.” Singsong rubbed his chin. What had been a startled expression quickly became an intent one, flicking up and down Meadowlark’s body. Meadowlark swallowed and shifted in his seat. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. “I wonder if we could… well, they probably emphasize themselves. You’re… I’m sorry, which one are you?”
            “Meadowlark,” Meadowlark answered.
            Singsong smiled, extending his hoof. “Singsong Smiles,” he said, giving the name itself a bit of a tune. “Pleasure to meet you, Meadowlark.”
            Meadowlark took his hoof carefully, and shook it. A bit too hard apparently, as it threw Singsong off his balance a bit.
            “Sorry,” Meadowlark said, tucking his ears back. “Sorry, shaking hooves is… weird.”
            Singsong managed to steady himself, flapping his wings. “Wow,” he said, straightening up. “You’re just about as strong as you look… hopefully we have something sturdy enough to keep you from popping the seams… I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re not used to wearing clothing?”
            “What’s clothing?” Meadowlark asked, tilting his head.
            “Right,” Singsong said, giving his wings a short, sharp snap. He hummed, turning around suddenly and trotting away from Meadowlark and Erin. “I’ll be back,” he called over his shoulder. “I‘ve gotta talk to Inseam!”
            Erin slumped back down into her chair as Singsong left, sighing heavily. “Right,” she said, rubbing her face. “Where was I?”
            “Revealing us?” Meadowlark asked, tilting his head slightly. Erin peered at him oddly for a moment, but blinked suddenly.
            “Actually,” She said, “you’re right. That is where I was – or where I should have been.” She managed to push herself out of the chair, straining her neck to look around the cluttered room. “Now where’s that brother of yours?” She started to trot towards a small closet before Meadowlark cleared his throat.
            “He’s over there actually,” Meadowlark said. Erin turned around.
            “What?” she asked. “How do you – oh, right, noses.” She grunted, tapping her hoof against the floor. “Did I mention the noses?” she asked, almost to herself, tapping a bit faster. “Must have. Whatever, I can check my notes when we find him.” With that she was off again, walking so fast Meadowlark had to canter for a moment to catch up with her as she passed. He had to nudge and prod every so often to weave her properly through the piles of notes and various pieces of equipment and clothes racks that had been left haphazardly. Eventually he managed to steer her to where Nightingale had meandered off to, sitting on his folded up cloak in a corner behind a clothes rack with his nose still tucked in him book.
            “Nightingale,” Erin said, beckoning the stallion to stand. “I’m glad I found you. I need to talk to you two. I want to run through everything that’s going to happen tonight.”
            Nightingale looked up, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought we knew what was going to happen tonight?” he said. “You were going to show us off.”
            “She is,” Meadowlark said with a nod, then paused and looked over at Erin. “Or at least I think she is?”
            Erin sighed, waving a hoof. “Yes, yes,” she said. “We’ve been over this, Meadowlark, don’t worry. I won’t break my promise. I just have a specific plan that we need to go through – the way I’ll be talking about you. Since you two aren’t like a normal animal, where I could just point out certain features and leave everypony with an essay to read through for details, I thought we could do something a bit more… in-depth.”
            This, it seemed, had captured Nightingale’s attention. He laid his book down gently, folding his hooves and shuffling his wings. Meadowlark recognized the bunch of Nightingale’s shoulders, as if he were preparing to pounce on something.
            “In-depth,” Nightingale repeated. “I recognize that. It comes before something complicated. Detailed, I think? What is your idea?”
            Erin tapped her hoof on the floor, and motion for Nightingale to rise again. “Come with me,” she said. “I need to check on my notes, see that I’ve got everything… I can tell you once I’ve got it all settled.”
            Nightingale nodded silently and got to his hooves, and once again the three were off. This time Erin actually managed to lead with confidence, striding forward while Meadowlark and Nightingale trailed behind. Nightingale stared silently at Meadowlark. There was a hint of concern in his eyes, or perhaps something else. Meadowlark tilted his head slightly, peering back. It wasn’t something he had ever seen in Nightingale’s eyes before, but it was familiar, perhaps.  A hint of fear, like when they had fought the bear when they were young, with a splash of the satisfaction that had come after the bear was dead and they were alive. Nightingale gave a small, terse smile, and Meadowlark blinked. He opened his mouth, but Erin cut him off.
            “Right,” she said sharply, and Meadowlark realized that they had arrived at a makeshift desk – a large folding table, no less littered with papers and books than her desk in the lab at home. She shuffled through the papers for a moment before producing a battered binder. Clearing a space on the table she laid it down and flipped it open. “Noses, noses,” she muttered as her horn lit up, sending the pages flipping. “Right! I mention the noses. Good. Noses, ears, eyes, wings…” She flipped a couple more pages, and turned around to face Meadowlark and Nightingale.
            “…In-depth?” Nightingale asked.
            “In-depth,” Erin said with a smile. “I have no choice but to talk about your genetics and your habitat, but how would you feel about showing off your senses and bodies?”
            Nightingale’s smile, faint as it was, faded almost instantly. His eyes seemed to turn cold as he spoke. “Oh,” he said. “That’s what you meant. Just showing off.”
            Erin’s smile faltered as well. “Is that a problem?” she asked. She looked between the two. “I thought you wanted the chance to show off a bit?”
            “We did,” Meadowlark said, nodding. He looked back at his brother, whose eyes had gone straight from cold to icy. “Didn’t we?” he pawed at the ground.
            “…Yes,” Nightingale said quietly. “I suppose we did. Show what we’re good at.”
            Erin stared at Nightingale for a moment, oddly still compared to the jitters from mere moments ago, but nodded slowly. “Well, right,” she said, turning back to the table. She fished through some more papers, eventually retrieving a round, flat disk. “Do you know what this is?”
            Meadowlark opened his mouth, but Nightingale cut him off with a sharp, “No,”.
            Meadowlark frowned at his brother, but continued. “It’s a discus, isn’t it? I read about those once. They were mentioned in a play. Old Pegasus thing?”
            “Eh, close enough,” Erin said with a shrug. “It’s called a Frisbee. It’s just a bit easier to throw than a discus. It’s a toy, basically. Ponies stand a ways apart and toss it back and forth. I want to do something a bit more creative with it, though. I’d like to throw it in the dark and have you two catch it. Demonstrate your night vision and agility.”
            “You want to show them how we hunt,” Nightingale said. Erin nodded.
            “Pretty much the long and short of it, yeah,” she said. Nightingale simply grunted, and turned away. Once again Erin paused, looking almost hurt. “Is something wrong?” she asked. Nightingale didn’t answer, simply sighing.
            Meadowlark frowned. Among other things today, sulking was not exactly something he was used to seeing Nightingale do. “Nightingale?” he asked. Nightingale stared up at him, still not speaking. Meadowlark nodded his head sharply away. Nightingale nodded, and turned to leave.
            “We’ll be a minute,” Meadowlark said to Erin, moving to walk after Nightingale. To his surprise Erin looked neither impatient nor annoyed with this. She simply looked a bit sad. That was confusing too, but Meadowlark shook his head to chase the thought away. He only had time for one worried pony right now.
            He followed Nightingale back to the nest he had made of his cloak. Nightingale laid down on it again, touching his book. He didn’t pick it up, but he stared at it. Meadowlark tilted his head to stare as well and squinted as he attempted to make out the words. “The pen…p-henol…”
            “Phenomenology,” Nightingale corrected. “The Phenomenology of the Spirit. By Seagel. He was a Griffon, I think.” He shrugged.
            Meadowlark frowned. “Huh,” he said. “I’ve never heard that word before. What does it mean?”
            “I’m not sure,” Nightingale said. “The book is about… things happening. And how we see things, and… ourselves.” He sighed, looking away.
            “Is that why you’re upset?” Meadowlark asked.
            Nightingale didn’t respond for a while. When he finally did speak, his voice was soft and rung with a hint of frustration. “No,” he said. “Or, yes… it’s not the book. It’s the ideas. I’ve been… thinking about things. About the way we are.” He ran his hoof across the book again. “About how we’re… other.” She shook his head, growling. “It’s stupid. I know what we are. We’re not like them. Not like Erin and Stage and Singsong.”
            “Aren’t we, though?” Meadowlark asked. “I mean, Erin says that we’re like her – and we walk and talk the same. I even read about pegasuses – they can fly like us. So we’re like them.”
            “Pegasi don’t eat meat,” Nightingale said, sitting up. “They don’t hunt like we do, or see in the dark or smell and hear like we do.”
            “But unicorns don’t fly, and pegas…si don’t do magic,” Meadowlark replied. He shuffled his hooves, watching Nightingale. “But even if we are different, does it matter? I mean, we’re not any different from what we were.”
            “I know,” Nightingale said. “But I think… I think…” He turned away, and for just a moment Meadowlark thought he heard Nightingale’s voice choke. Just a moment, and then Nightingale’s shoulders tensed, and his back straightened. He breathed deep, and sighed. Meadowlark stared at his back, and they were silent. At least, silent until Singsong rounded the corner, and jumped with a shout as both Meadowlark and Nightingale’s heads snapped to stare at him at once.
            “Gods alive!” Singsong shouted, patting his chest. “You two scared the life out of me!” He breathed deep, fluttering his wings. “I’m glad I found you, though.” He trotted over to the pair, and a stocky mare came around the corner after him, with a measuring tape slung around her neck. Singsong turned to her. “What do you think?” he asked.
            The mare rubbed her chin, her eyes flicking up and down the pair. “That one,” she said, pointing at Meadowlark, “will do with a warm colour, as long as it isn’t anything too intense. And the other one something cool, a purple, maybe.”
            “Um?” Meadowlark asked.
            “Oh, sorry,” Singsong said with a wave of his hoof. “We were just talking about your costumes – did Erin not tell you she wanted you two to dress up for this? It’s as close to a fancy event as she goes to anymore, after all.” He gave a smile that made Meadowlark swallow, and Nightingale seemed to bristle a bit as Singsong continued, “At first I thought she meant like a Nightmare Night costume – I voted a wild stallion style of loincloth, personally… I think you two could make it work, but it wouldn’t be ‘appropriate’.” He grinned and gave an exaggerated shrug, trotting to the clothes rack and beginning to fish through it.
            “So we’re going to be wearing clothes?” Nightingale asked.
            “That’s right,” Singsong said absentmindedly, pausing at a white shirt for a moment before carrying on.
            “Fancy clothes?” Nightingale asked again, shuffling his wings.
            “Thaaaaat’s the plan,” Singsong replied.
            “I want this one,” Nightingale said, reaching into the rack and pulling out a dark royal purple coat. It was made from velvet, with broad cuffs and wide, v-shaped lapels that widened on their way up to the chest, before narrowing sharply at the collar.
Singsong blinked at him, staring at the coat, and then Nightingale, and then the coat again. “That… actually looks very nice,” he said. He turned to the mare. “What do you think?”
            “The colour suits him,” the mare said with a nod. “He’ll need a shirt. Maybe a tie to go with it… yes, a nice tie.” She smiled. “I’m sure we can do something about that mane, as well… make you look downright noble.”
            “Maybe we shouldn’t go too far just yet,” Singsong said. “We want to show off that they’re civil, but we still need to show… you know.” He waved his hoof vaguely.
            “I know, I know,” The mare said. “We’ll just get his mane out of his eyes so the scientists will be able to see them. That’ll be reminder enough. Now,” she added, turning to Meadowlark, “let’s see what we can do for you…”


***

 
            “There,” the mare, who Meadowlark had learned was named Inseam, said as she smoothed the jacket on his shoulders and tugged at his sleeves. “That fits nicely. How does it feel?”
            “It feels… weird,” Meadowlark said, tugging at his collar. Inseam and Singsong had managed to stuff him into a silk, yellow-green jacket stitched with gold. It hung long and loose, draping over his flanks and flaring wide at the sleeves, revealing a ruffled white shirt beneath. The image was completed with a short white scarf, wrapped tight around his neck and draping down over his chest. Inseam slapped idly at his hoof, and he grunted at her. “It’s tight,” he said. “Around the shoulders and chest especially…”
            “Move your forelegs a bit,” Singsong said. “If you’re not used to clothes it’ll feel like that even if it fits.”
            Meadowlark did as he was asked, lifting his forelegs and rotating them as much as he could manage. The fabric tugging against his coat tingled where he touched, almost prickling and itching. He could feel the fabric pulling against itself in fact, restricting his movements slightly.
            Singsong didn’t seem to notice or care however. “You’re fine,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hoof. “You’re just not used to wearing something. You’ll have plenty of time to get used, however.” He rubbed his chin, looking back and forth between Meadowlark and Nightingale, who Inseam had made good on her promise to get into a tie matching his jacket. “You two cut a fairly dashing figure in those outfits,” Singsong said. “If it weren’t for your wings we’d have a hard time convincing ponies that you weren’t just wearing some kind of makeup.”
Nightingale flexed his wings, peering at the leathery flaps pulled tight across bone. “Is that so?” he asked, almost to himself. “Hmm.”
            Meadowlark simply shrugged, tugging at his jacket again. “I’m not sure I want to get used to it,” he said. “It itches, and it’s harder to move…” He shifted again, eliciting another slap at his hoof from Inseam. He snorted. He was beginning to dislike that mare.
            “Can you move well enough to catch the Frisbee?”  Erin said. Meadowlark turned around to see her striding around the corner. Somehow she managed to look even more disheveled, despite having switched out her old lab coat for a fresh, sterling white one and apparently having brushed her mane into a semblance of tidiness. There was a sort of near-panic in her eyes though, and a she spoke around a well-chewed pencil.
            Meadowlark blinked at her, and looked down at himself. He rolled his shoulders, stretching experimentally. The jacket was tight, but not so tight he wouldn’t be able to move. Or so he imagined, at least. “I think so, yeah,” he said. He turned to his brother, whose face had darkened once again. “What do you think, Nightingale?” he asked.
            “I’ll be fine,” Nightingale said with a shrug. “Do we both need to catch one?”
            Erin shrugged. “Only one is necessary to get the point across,” she said. “Half the point is the audience not seeing that well anyways.” Her head snapped towards the wall clock suddenly, and she tapped her hoof against the ground. “Anyways, are you two ready? We start soon. Very soon. Like a minute.”
            “Wait, already?” Meadowlark asked. He felt his heart clutch suddenly, and his stomach churned as though it had been kicked. It straightened after a moment, but still felt tight, and he realized his heart was beating faster. “I thought we had more time. Didn’t you want to go over things?”
            “I did,” Erin said, a barely-contained edge to her voice. “Then you two ran off to do… this.” She waved a hoof at them both in a broad, vague motion, and grunted again. “Still,” she added after a while, “we would have had to get you dressed anyways. You look good.” Her eyes trailed up and down both of them, and Meadowlark noticed her gaze paused when it met Nightingale’s. “Very good.” She looked up at the clock again, and nearly jumped. “Blast,” she said. “They’ll be in to get us any minute. Here!” she shouted curtly at Meadowlark and Nightingale, waving her hoof. “Here, here, follow me.” She gestured at a door on the far side of the room.
            Meadowlark stood up and walked to her, stopping when she put a hoof over his chest. They waited until Nightingale trailed past them towards the door. Once he was a short distance away Erin leaned in close to Meadowlark and whispered, “Nightingale… how is he doing?”
            Meadowlark blinked, staring at Erin. There was that tint of guilt in her eyes again hidden among the panic. After a moment he nodded. “He’s… doing okay, I think,” he said. “I think he’s worried about how they’re going to think about us.” He furrowed a brow. “He said he didn’t want to be an Other. Do you know what that is?”
            “Seagel,” Erin said with a nod. She fell silent, before sighing and shaking her head. “Well!” she said sharply. “He’s doing alright, that’s enough for now.” She took her hoof off of Meadowlark’s chest, moving it to his back and giving him a shove. “Now, get get get! We have to go. We’ll be expected backstage any minute.”
            “Uh,” Meadowlark said, taking a few quick strides forward so he was no longer being pushed and skipping to the side or Erin. The churning in his stomach returned again, and he shuffled his wings. “Who’s expecting us?”
            He peered back just long enough to see Erin grin wide. “Nopony, she said.” Meadowlark swallowed.
            Nightingale fell in beside Meadowlark as they passed, following Erin out the door. She led them into a darkened back hallway, the vague sounds of speech echoing down from somewhere nearby. Meadowlark and Nightingale exchanged wary glances as they walked, but Nightingale’s eye had a hint of excitement in it as well.
            The speech got louder as they traveled, until Meadowlark could detect excitement, if not specific words. It was possible he was hearing specific words, in fact, but they were simply so long that he could not decipher them. The darkness began to fade just slightly, and upon a final turn Meadowlark spotted a lit at the edge of a large room. The speech was clear now, though the words were still strange. He could understand perhaps every other word. Erin stopped, holding up a hoof to signal Meadowlark and Nightingale to do the same.
            Whoever was speaking seemed to be drawing to a close. Somepony came darting out from the shadows in the room, running to Erin and muttering something even Meadowlark couldn’t hear to her. Erin simply nodded, waving a hoof. The pony peered over her shoulder at Meadowlark, and tucked his ears back. Meadowlark’s stomach churned again, so much so that he had to lower himself to keep steady. Erin peered over her shoulder as well, waving the pony away and walking up to Meadowlark.
            “Are you alright?” she asked. “They’re going to introduce us… well, me, right now. I’ll give a bit of a speech, and then give the signal for you two to come on.” She looked between the pair. “Will you two be alright to slink in the shadows until then?”
            Meadowlark nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Just feel… weird. Like sick, but not really?”
            Erin nodded. “You’re nervous,” she said. “Don’t be. Everything will be fine.” She breathed deep, and he imagined she might not believe that as much as she wanted to. “Anyways,” she said, looking at the sliver of light. A new speaker had begun to speak, talking about a “Sunshine Smiles” and calling her a word he didn’t recognize. “I’m up,” Erin said. She patted Meadowlark and Nightingale on the shoulder once each, and then cantered out into the light. Meadowlark crept after her, peering out through the sliver.
            The light stung at his eyes, but through the glare he managed to make out Erin. She was standing next to a large screen that hung down from the ceiling, on an elevated platform in front of a mass of ponies. Meadowlark held back a gasp. There were more ponies in that crowd than he had ever seen – not that that meant much, of course, but he had never expected there to be so many ponies at all, let alone in a single place. There had to be hundreds of them, in all shapes and sizes. He could barely make them out through the light, but from the way they all focused on Erin, intent and still, he felt a strange sort of judgment. He swallowed hard, crouching lower. He looked back at Erin, watching her as she breathed deep and straightened.
            “Fillies and Gentlecolts of the academia,” she began. Her voice boomed over the crowd, making even her tiny frame appear larger than life. “I do beg your pardon, as for a moment I feel that I must resort to an amount of egotism.
            “I know that throughout the night, you’ve all seen some amazing things. I imagine a few of you even had a part in discovering those amazing things, in fact. But tonight, I will present to you something… truly remarkable. Perhaps one of the most remarkable things you, or I, or indeed anypony will ever see in our lifetimes.”
            A faint image appeared on the screen behind Erin, too light for Meadowlark to make out completely, but it appeared to be some sort of bug. Erin gestured to it as she continued. “The discovery of a new species of animal is always something for occasion,” she said. “Generally speaking the discovery is an insect, however, defined by minute features. For more variety we generally look to new fish, or other aquatic lifeforms. Nevertheless, it’s always an interesting day.”
            The image on the screen changed suddenly, now showing what looked vaguely like a cross between a bear and a rat. “More rarely,” Erin continued, “We find a new species of Mammal. This is rare enough in itself to send ripples through the scientific community even today. Rarer still is the discovery of a sapient species, with the last recorded sapient species discovered being the Minotaurs, a meeting which occurred several hundred years ago now. In recorded Equestrian history, however, there has never been a single case of a newly discovered subspecies of pony… until today.”
            A low rumble rippled through the crowd. The ponies in the crowd shifted and looked around, some even seeming to recoil. Erin seemed to grin, raising herself even more. “Oh yes,” she said. “I know, of course, what you’re thinking. You can’t believe me just because I say it – we’re scientists, after all. You need evidence. Well…” Her horn lit up, and a Frisbee hovered into the air. “I have your evidence with me here.” She looked over her shoulder, grinning at Meadowlark. His stomach felt as though it was doing flips, but in spite of that he found himself grinning back. “Ready, Meadowlark?” she asked. Meadowlark nodded.
            The spotlight on Erin went out suddenly, leaving on the glow of her magical grip on the Frisbee – at least, until she flicked it sharply into the air, releasing it and letting it fly. To a normal pony it must have disappeared in the dark, but Meadowlark saw it more clearly than ever, trailing the slight curve to the right as it flew. His muscles bunched for an instant, and he exploded across the stage.
            Erin had thrown it high, higher than he could get with his wings alone before it left the edge of the stage. He ran away from it at first, bolting for a wall along one side of the stage. He crouched for an instant before leaping upwards and slamming his forehooves into the wall a full two meters up. He took a moment to curse the long jacket as it tugged around his shoulders. In the space of a moment he shifted his hind legs beneath himself and unfurled his wings. Then he leapt once more, beating his wings powerfully after the Frisbee, jaws open wide. Then just as fast, it was over. The Frisbee was caught in his jaws with a heavy snap, his teeth digging into what he discovered was soft plastic. He tucked in his wings, twisting himself around to land once more on the edge of the stage with a heavy thud.
            The lights came on. The ponies, their faces now clear mere feet away from his, gasped and recoiled backwards in shock. He realized his fangs were bared around the Frisbee, and that his pupils must have dilated into slits when the lights came on, judging from the harsh sting. He straightened up slowly, closing his wings, and looked around the stage. Nightingale had come on stage as well, though he held back from Meadowlark. He had returned to his usual cool, watching expression, his eyes flicking from pony to pony in the crowd. Erin trotted up to the front of the stage, holding out her hoof.                    
            “The Frisbee, if you please?” she asked. Meadowlark dropped it into her hoof, and rolled his shoulders. Erin tossed it somewhere behind the screen before turning back to the audience smiling at them.
            “Fillies and gentlecolts,” she said, “I assure that these two are not some predator that happens to look vaguely pony shaped, as I myself believed when I first discovered them almost a year ago. They are not simply an animal that has been put in a suit and trained to behave – at least, no more than the rest of us.” She put a hoof on Meadowlark’s shoulder, rubbing his back gently. “Allow me to introduce you to Meadowlark and Nightingale – the first ever recorded specimens of what I am calling the Nocturne Tribe – or if you prefer to be colloquial, Bat Ponies.”
Meadowlark smiled, turning back out to the audience. The title of ‘Nocturne’ was a bit new to him, but he supposed that Erin knew what she was talking about when she decided on it. She probably chose it to help the other ponies accept himself and Nightingale.
            If that was the case though, Meadowlark thought as his stomach twisted painfully, it didn’t seem to be working. The ponies closest to him still stared in shock and fear. Worse yet, the horrified look had begun to spread, with even those ponies far in the back shifting uncomfortably. A nervous murmur rumbled through the crowd. Ponies turned to each other as if they expected something, some sort of revelation. Meadowlark swiveled his ears, picking up random snatches of the conversations.
            “…Must be some kind of joke…”
            “Surely can’t be ponies…”
            “Did you see his teeth?”
                   Meadowlark swallowed, taking a step back. A glance at Nightingale told him his brother felt much the same. Hollow. Cold. Sick. He felt almost as close to panic as the ponies in the crowd. He remembered the night in the park, the first time he had ever seen another pony. The memories came back as sharp and crisp as a photograph. The mare, she had had that horrified expression as well. The last time he had seen that expression… he took another step back, letting his wings unfurl slightly.
            Erin took a sharp step forward, clearing her throat with a sharp cough. The murmuring quieted, and she spoke over the rest. Her tone had taken on an element of fierceness, an almost defensive bite. “I assure you,” she said, “there is nothing to be concerned about here. I understand that their appearance is… unsettling.”
            Meadowlark felt a pang of sadness over that. Erin gave a sympathetic look over her shoulder, but continued. “But Meadowlark and Nightingale both are kind, intelligent stallions. They’re a tad different… culturally, but no different from the rest of us.”
            This seemed to have finally calmed the crowd, at least a bit. Erin took a step back, beside Meadowlark, and put her hoof on his shoulder again. Meadowlark still felt a bit sick, but he managed to return her smile before she breathed deep, returning to her practiced speech.
            “Meadowlark and Nightingale first came to me nine months ago,” she said. “They came from the forest in Upper Canterlot, and when they first arrived they were wild and feral. They were captured by a local guard when they attacked a young couple walking through the park. Through him they came to me. Needless to say, I was ecstatic at first. As I said, the discovery of a new mammal is more than worthy of note in the scientific community, especially one living so close to us.
            “I began performing fairly routine tests on them at first,” Erin said, gesturing to the screen behind her. The image changed again, displaying an image of one of the brothers’ profile – most likely Nightingale, judging from the lack of scar on the nose, and the narrow-eyed glance Nightingale shot Erin confirmed it – next to several other animals. “By comparing their features to known animals I was able to determine many of their characteristics. They rely primarily on scent and hearing for hunting, but they also have Tapetum Lucidum, speaking of a nocturnal nature, which is supported by their dark coats. Judging from their teeth which… some of you had a closer view of than others, I was able to predict, correctly, a predatory omnivorous diet. Most interestingly, I was able to take a DNA sample to be tested by an expert.”
            The image changed again to a long, jumbled series of letters than didn’t seem to spell anything in particular. Looking closer Meadowlark realized that there were actually two columns of the jumble, with a section of each bolded to stand out.
            “The DNA from the two of them was identical,” Erin continued. “This was my first hint that they were perhaps not simply animals – they looked similar because they were identical twins. I was not able to confirm until an expert had looked over the results much later, but sections of their DNA are consistent with pony DNA. The non-pony DNA, however, is completely incomprehensible. According to the expert, it does not match with any known creature.” She paused for a moment, peering around the silent room as if expecting a question or objecting. Hearing nothing, she added, “Of course that means very little – DNA testing is a very new science, and there are many animals that we do not have recorded DNA patterns for yet. And, by the time I had the results back from the expert, I had already realized their true natures. Early after meeting them… as it were, I performed a rudimentary mirror test. Not only did Meadowlark, the first participant, pass it with flying colours, he then proceeded to introduce and explain it to his brother. Next, I observed their hunting patterns, and realized they hunted through traps and tricks, and that they communicated with one another using a very basic cryptophasia – a language invented and shared by twins – to do so.
            “After this point, and with… difficulties I won’t go into, I began attempting to communicate with them. It took some time, but I was able to open communication, and begin introducing them to Equestrian concepts.” At this point Erin seemed to swell again, but Meadowlark realized that it was not simply breathing deep, but rather that she was swelling with pride. “This was when I first truly realized the extent of their intelligence. I do not believe that Meadowlark and Nightingale are as intelligent as any pony. I believe they are more intelligent than an average pony. In a mere nine months they have both not only developed a near-expert grasp of the Equestrian language, but have also demonstrated aptitude for music and advanced concepts.” She turned around then, gesturing to somepony behind the stage, and an earth pony skittered out with a microphone stand, setting down In the middle of the stage.
            “I could speak about Meadowlark and Nightingale for hours,” Erin said. “I could tell you probably a thousand stories of how they’ve amazed me with their cleverness, or awed me with their agility and flying ability. I could, but I won’t. Copies of the essay and examination of them both are available to anypony who requests them. Showing, however, is more powerful than telling, so now I’m going to let them show you just how intelligent they are. Nightingale?”
            Nightingale almost jumped, turning to stare at Erin. “…Yes?” he asked. His voice was quiet, and nervous beneath the usual coolness. Erin gestured for him to join her by the microphone.
            “Why don’t you say a few things for the audience? Just speak into the microphone, here.” She pointed to the mic, and Nightingale approached it slowly, staring at it like it might bite.
            “What… would you like me to say?” he asked. His ears flicked back as his voice was projected out through the auditorium, but he managed to keep his composure. Meadowlark pawed at the ground and found himself wishing he had his brother’s calm.
            “Anything you like,” Erin said reassuringly. “Why don’t you tell them about what you’ve been reading lately? Neightzche, wasn’t it?”
            “Ah, no,” Nightingale said, swallowing. His eyes flicked from pony to pony in the crowd, watching them all like prey – or perhaps like predators. “No, Neightzche was a few months ago… his ideas interested me. The idea of developing your own morals and staying dedicated to them is interesting, and I think I’d like it to be possible, but… but… you see, where Meadowlark and I grew up, that wasn’t a possibility. There were rules in the wilderness. Not rules like laws, but… I couldn’t decide I didn’t want to hurt anything, otherwise I would die. I had to live by the rules nature set. So I found it difficult to relate to many of his philosophies.
            “He did, ah, however mention a concept; I had to look it up, called Amor Fati. It’s the idea that anything that happens in life is good, even the bad things. Like being hungry, or losing somepony you care about. I felt I could relate to that, actually. I sort of liked it. You see for me, suffering meant that I was alive. It wasn’t much, of course, but when it’s all you have, it’s a big thing. I followed that line of thinking back to stoicism, which… I also didn’t truly care for. It had many of the same ideas – that misfortune or unhappiness was a result of doing things wrong, but the idea that being unhappy was a result of being immoral was just as foreign to me as Neightzche’s work. I was unhappy many times In the forest, whether or not I considered it good I was alive, but I had never considered myself to be immoral in any way. I still do not: I did what was necessary to live. I do not believe that there is anything immoral about the course of nature.”
            Meadowlark blinked. He became aware very suddenly that Nightingale no longer seemed nervous, or afraid. He had lost his usual sulking posture, as well. He stood straight, staring out into the audience in much the same way as Erin had. His voice was still cool, but it was calm and strong, as well.
            “After a while,” Nightingale continued, “I began to realize that a great many of the books I had read didn’t… speak to me in any real way. There always felt like there was some kind disconnect, as though it was being written for somepony else. It struck me then that in a way, they had: they were being written for Equestrians. They were written from the perspectives of ponies that were born and raised in societies, rather than in the wild as I had been. It… struck me very powerfully, in fact. I found myself broadening my reading. I looked into more existentialism, and that seemed to help. It was still written from the perspective of society, as I suppose was inevitable, but it had a wider range. At the very least, it helped me to frame what I had read of Neightzche. I’m still reading everything that I can, but at the moment I’m working my way through the works of Seagel. I believe I can actually say that his idea that an object is in part defined by how we define ourselves is definitely true – not just because my understanding of philosophy changed as I learned more, but… my understanding of the world changed as I learned Equestrian. To the degree where I’m not certain if I am the same creature I was in the forest.”
            Meadowlark gaped. Nightingale had stepped away from the microphone, letting the auditorium fall into silence – and indeed, it fell into silence. The scientists in the crowd stared at Nightingale in awe. Even Erin was staring at him wide-eyed, surprised that he had done so much reading in such short a time. In spite of the sheer shock Nightingale’s final words had given him, in spite of how they still echoed in his mind, Meadowlark found himself smiling at that. For some reason he was glad that they could still surprise Erin, even after she had spoken so highly of their abilities. Erin shook her head however, and took a step forward.
            “Fillies and Gentlecolts,” he said, setting off a wave of ponies who realized they were still at a conference, “There are still more presentations tonight. As I said before however, anypony who wishes it can request a copy of the essay and report on my s – the stallions. Fillies and gentlecolts… Meadowlark and Nightingale.” She gestured one final time to the pair of stallions as the audience erupted into applause. The sound was thunderous, ripping through Meadowlark and Nightingale as well from the look of him, but Erin managed to get them both moving with a gentle tug.
            She led them away from the stage, barely stopping as ponies approached them with shouts and questions that were drowned out by the noise of the applause. She led them through the winding hallways, passing their room and carrying on until the applause was no longer audible. Finally, she took them to the door where they had first entered the building, bringing them outside.
            The night air seemed cool after the heat of so many ponies shoved into a single building. It nipped at Meadowlark’s skin, making his outside feel just as prickling and cold as his inside. The emotions were coming too hard and too fast for him to be able to pick them out. Confusion, giddiness, fear, excitement, loss and satisfaction all crowded against one another, vying for superiority. He had to breath deep just to keep his mind steady. Amid the noise, he imagined Erin must be feeling the same from the way she trembled.
            Eventually he managed to calm himself, and Erin turned around. An enormous smile was plastered across her tiny face, and her eyes were rimmed with tears. “You did it,” she breathed, giggling in a distinctly un-Erin-like manner. “We did it!” She flung herself at Meadowlark and Nightingale, wrapping her forelegs around their necks and hugging them close as she laughed. “That was incredible! You were both fantastic!”
            Meadowlark felt an emotion win out. There was still fear, yes. There was still confusion, a sense of lingering doubt and a far-off echo of Nightingale words, but as he looked at his brother he could see he and Nightingale felt the same thing, now: Pride. He wrapped his foreleg around Erin’s middle, hugging her back and laughing as well, tilting his head up to the sky with eyes closed. All three laughed as the cold breeze washed over them. It seemed as though they laughed for ages, before Erin gave them a final squeeze and relaxed.
            “You two,” she said quietly. “I’m so glad I found you.”
            Meadowlark smiled, slowly letting his eyes drift open. He stared up at the moon, looking into the eyes of the only mare he had known longer than Erin.
            His heart froze.
            The Mare in the Moon was gone.
 


End of Act 1.



> Act 2, Part 1: Of Luck and Letters-of-Notice
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 2, Part 1: Of Luck and Letters-of-Notice


        The sun drifted low in the sky, casting an orange tinge over the city of Canterlot. The cooling summer air lent a sense of calm to the mountain, more so as one moved up to the higher Quarters, where affluent ponies had already retired for the night.
        It was there, high in the reaches of the Upper Quarter, in the aged Smiles mansion, that a robed figured stalked the halls. She kept to the darkness away from windows with a thick cloth draped over her eyes, muttering beneath her breath. Her path seemed aimless, meandering through the twisting halls. As long as she was away from the light, it seemed, she was content. Despite this she wandered to the windows often, peering out before flinching away from the evening glare.
        Eventually the sun dipped below the horizon, and the figure seemed to breath a sigh of relief. Once more she set off, but this time with a sense of purpose. She headed into the wing where the bedrooms were located, counting off the doors one by one, before stopping. All at once she threw open the door, resulting in a loud hiss.
        "Ow ow ow," Erin muttered once she was finished with her hiss, pulling the sheet further down over her eyes. "Why is it so bucking bright in this room? You two are supposed to be nocturnal."
        Meadowlark and Nightingale started at her from the bed. Both held a book, though a careful glance revealed Meadowlark's book to be one of sheet music. Nightingale barely glanced at her before returning to his own book, another volume from some long-dead philosopher.
        "We used to be," Meadowlark replied, closing his book. "But you started waking us up during the day, remember? We've been awake all day, waiting for you."
        Erin frowned from beneath her sheet. "Oh," she said, shrugging. "Well, fine, I guess. I'm turning the light off anyways."
        "Okay," Meadowlark said. Nightingale grunted and shrugged.
        Erin switched off the light, sighing happily as she shrugged the sheet off and rubbed her face. Her eyes were bloodshot, and ringed by thick purple bags. "Thank gods," she said, closing the door behind herself. "I wish I'd remembered you two were up. I could have slept all day..." she grunted and rubbed her eyes again. "I haven't been this hung over in... ten years oh god I'm getting old." She groaned again, louder this time.
        Meadowlark tilted his head in confusion. "What's hung over?" he asked.
        "Something you should never, ever be," Erin said. "It's basically terrible. It's like being sick, except it's your fault, so on top of being sick you also hate yourself."
        "If it's your fault, then why did you do it?" Nightingale asked, flipping a page.
        Erin shrugged. "To celebrate. It's complicated."
        "It sounds stupid," Nightingale replied.
        "It is," Erin said. "But it's been long enough that I forgot why I stopped. Now I remember." She winced again, and added, "Gods, do I remember. So what have you two been doing in here all day?"
        "Um," Meadowlark said, "Mostly just this."
        "What, reading?" Erin asked. She stopped rubbing her eyes momentarily to pull one open and stare at Meadowlark. "Just reading? You aren't even bothering to celebrate?"
        "You mean like you did?" Nightingale asked.
        Erin stuck her tongue out at him. "Quiet, you. Seriously, though! The world knows about you now, you're gonna be famous. That's awesome! Live a little!"
        "Okay," Meadowlark said. He peered over his shoulder and shuffled his wings. "So, uh... what should we do to celebrate?"
        "You... uh..." Erin paused, tapping her chin. She grumbled and waved a hoof dismissively. "Well, okay, maybe there's not much that constitutes celebration for you two. Tell you what! Why don't I let you into the forest out back, and you can hunt for some rabbits?"
        Meadowlark perked up instantly, hopping to his hooves on the bed. Even Nightingale seemed to perk up a bit, gently closing his book and setting it on the bedside table.
        "Rabbit sounds good," Nightingale said with a nod. "Griffon food is getting salty."
        "And boring," Meadowlark added, flicking his ears happily. "How long has it been since we hunted something?"
        "Months, I'd imagine," Erin said as she opened the door again. "I don't think you two have hunted anything since I let you out into the forest to observe you last fall. Not unless you've been sneaking out of the house behind my back." She paused, and peered back at them sidelong. "Have you?" she asked sharply.
        "No," Nightingale said with a shake of his head. He turned back to look at Meadowlark. "Did you?"
        "Nn, well..." Meadowlark shuffled his wings. "I did stalk a delivery colt once. Just to watch him. Does that... count?"
        Erin sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Well, we haven't heard any reports of a murder in the neighborhood lately, so I'm gonna say no, it doesn't." She shrugged. "Not that we'd hear about it if it happened up here, anyways." She waved a hoof. "Oh well, it doesn't matter. You'll get your chance now! Come on, let's go to the lab."
        The trio set off down the halls, chattering idly as they walked. At least, they did so long as they avoided the windows. Erin still shied away from them, covering her eyes even from the pale moonlight. Meadowlark and Nightingale however roamed closer to the windows, peering out. They lingered for a while, watching the moon as it crept up over the horizon when they could. Little by little, inch by inch, Meadowlark grew more anxious as it rose. He had thought for a while, perhaps it was all the excitement last night that had made him see things. He thought he had been wrong about the moon somehow changing, but as it rose his fears were confirmed. The Mare in the Moon was indeed gone, and in her place was simply a plain silver orb.
        Eventually their path turned away from the windows, however, and their thoughts turned away from the moon. Erin seemed to be feeling better, or at least she no longer felt as sick judging from her more chipper demeanor. They found themselves in the laboratory.
        Meadowlark peered around the lab. It seemed like it had been forever since he had been in the tall, vaguely wild-smelling room. Most of their lessons had taken place in lounge rooms and dens around the mansion, lingering close to the bedrooms. Now this place seemed strange to Meadowlark. Not that it hadn't always, he thought to himself as he plodded between blinking machines. Last time though it had been strange to him for a very different reason. All of the decorations still hung to the walls, obviously a fake forest to him even then, but time had made it all sag and seem listless.
        Erin grunted as she threw herself into her high chair, levitating a glass of water off the desk and taking a sip out of it. "I've still got a bit to do in here," she said as she set it back down. "I mean, aside from nursing a hangover of course." She smirked. "So anyways, I'll just let you two to do your thing and hang out in here. I'll leave the door open and you two can come in anytime you like, okay?"
        "Sure," Meadowlark said, nodding. He peered at the cage. The door hung open, but aside from that very little had changed. Even their old mattresses were still laid down. He took a step towards it, and paused.
        "Something wrong?" Erin asked.
        Meadowlark started, and looked over his shoulder to nod. "Oh, uh, no no," he said. "Just... thinking about the cage, I guess?"
        "Well, I'm not going to lock it behind you if that's what you're thinking," Erin said with a wave of her hoof.
        "No, that's not it." Meadowlark shook his head and shuffled his wings. "Just... remembering, I guess."
        "Not much to remember," Nightingale remarked as he walked past Meadowlark. He plodded up to the door and gave it a prod. The door swung weakly, creaking on it's hinges. "We were only in here for a few days, and not much happened..."
        "Not that you'd remember," Meadowlark said. He bunched in his shoulders, trotting up beside his brother and giving the door a poke himself. "You were asleep for most of it."
        "Exactly," Nightingale said. "I don't remember it, so it doesn't count."
        Meadowlark rolled his eyes, but he smiled. If nothing else, Nightingale had found a way for him to avoid admitting to... what did he feel about the cage? Apprehension, perhaps, but something else too. A sense of regret, almost. He shook his head and swung it the rest of the way open, as though doing so would put it out of his mind, and exchanged a glance with Nightingale. His brother smiled faintly, and nodded. Meadowlark smiled a bit wider back.
        "So," Meadowlark said, beating his wings once, "Ready to hunt?"
        Nightingale turned his faint smile into a smirk and plodded past Meadowlark through the cage, into the open forest beyond. "Of course," he said. "As I recall, I'm usually the one to ask you that."
        Meadowlark snorted and dashed after his brother. "Well you're obviously remembering wrong!" he said, laughing. Nightingale grinned and dashed after, spreading his wings and leaping up into the treetops.
        "Prove it, then!" He shouted down at Meadowlark. The two dashed off into the trees, Nightingale along the branches and Meadowlark darting from bush to bush, hiding almost instinctively in the undergrowth.
        Meadowlark's heart pounded in his chest as he ran, thudding and thumping against his ribs and echoing in his ears. It beat so hard he could even see it in his eyes, the dark colours of the night flashing vividly with each beat. His lungs burned and filled with the scent of the forest. Decaying leaves and rushing water, and in the distance the faint tinge of flesh and musk. He closed his eyes and breathed deeper, but there was no need. Even months later, the smell of a rabbit was unmistakable. Meadowlark changed his course slightly, and pushed off even faster. He knew that Nightingale had caught the scent as well. All there was left to see was who would catch it first.
        Meadowlark vaulted over a thick root. He savored the burning sensation of effort in his legs as he kicked off, as well as the cool wind across his wings as he unfurled them slightly, just enough to glide silently above the forest floor. A faint glimpse of a shadow flickered over his head, and he pushed off harder the next time he touched ground. A wide grin was plastered across his face.
        On through the forest Meadowlark and Nightingale raced. Meadowlark could smell a twinge of adrenaline in the trail now; the rabbit had heard them coming and set off on a run. It didn't matter. In spite of the dull ache beginning to form in his shoulders his body felt light and full of energy. The rabbit smelled stronger now, closer. A quick look up told Meadowlark that his brother had gained some ground as well. He would have to dive down before he could catch the rabbit though, and his path would be different, whereas Meadowlark only had to catch up. There was only a small amount of ground to cover now, at that. Meadowlark tucked his ears back and tucked himself in. With one powerful kick he thrust off a high root, launching himself with wings spread wide. All at once the smell of fur and fear hit his mouth and nose as he rounded a tight corner. The rabbit was inches away from his open jaws. Then, centimeters.
        Meadowlark snapped his jaws shut, and heat washed over him. Warm blood washed across his teeth and through his mouth as he skidded to a stop. Before long he felt his shoulders sag and his whole body relax. Even his teeth felt as though they had been aching, a pain too dull to notice until it was gone. He breathed heavily and took a few tired steps, the limp rabbit in his mouth, until Nightingale landed in front of him.
        Nightingale was smiling faintly. He seemed tired as well, but content. "Good job," he said, panting slightly. "I think I'm out of practice..."
        Meadowlark set the rabbit down and grinned. "I think we both are," he said. He chuckled. "You were always slow."
        "Maybe," Nightingale said. He laid down with a grunt and nosed at the rabbit idly. "Though I seem to recall you and I getting a fairly even share of first bites. Speaking of, leg?"
        "Sure," Meadowlark said. He settled down as well, taking a leg in his mouth. Nightingale bit down on the head, and together they pulled apart, savoring the crunch and crackle as the rabbit was pulled into two halves. For a while they were silent as they ate, ripping chunks out of the rabbit's hide and gnawing idly.
        "So," Meadowlark said eventually, "what do you think happens now?"
        "Hmm?" Nightingale asked as he chewed a piece of fat. "What do you mean?"
        "Well," Meadowlark said, shuffling his wings, "we weren't supposed to be seen, right? But now we have been. So... something is supposed to happen, right? But, what?"
        "I... don't know," Nightingale said. He chewed at his fat more and rubbed his chin. "I hadn't thought of it like that I suppose... but I think I know what you mean. It feels like... something has happened? Like things should be different now." He prodded at his half of the rabbit. "I read once that ponies give themselves symbols. They want things to mean something, so they ascribe meaning to things they think should mean something, even if they don't actually. Maybe we're doing that?"
        "Maybe," Meadowlark said, nodding. "Are we that, though? I mean, ponies? I know Erin says we are, but..."
        "I don't know," Nightingale said with a shrug. "But I don't think it's just limited to ponies. I read another book that said the author of that first one was something called species-ist. I asked Stage about that, and he told it means they don't recognize things that aren't ponies matter... so I think maybe everything is like that, but he just said ponies specifically."
        Meadowlark frowned, taking another chunk out of the rabbit. Once he swallowed, he hummed faintly. "Well, maybe then," he said. "But, I don't think that's it. I mean... didn't Erin say things would be different? And things did happen, after all... sort of..." He looked up and sighed.
        The trees were thinner here than in the forest closer to the mansion, allowing a view of the sky. The moon had lifted higher now, it's face still bereft of the familiar figure. Meadowlark sighed again, and Nightingale looked up as well.
        "She's really gone, isn't she?" Meadowlark asked. "The Mare in the Moon, Erin called her?"
        "That's right," Nightingale said. "It does seem... important, doesn't it? But perhaps it's just weather?"
        "I dunno," Meadowlark said with a shrug. "I don't remember anything like it before."
        Nightingale was quiet for a while. "I don't remember a lot of things," he said. "It might have happened when we were young. Or perhaps there's a cycle. Like with season, but longer."
        Meadowlark grunted, and narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Maybe it is," he said. "Does it matter?"
        "No," Nightingale said. "That's the point. It doesn't matter, but you're trying to make it matter." He shoved aside a bone, reaching down to pick at a scrap of meat. "You're not thinking about the Mare in the Moon. You're thinking about the conference last night, aren't you? You want it to have meant something."
        Meadowlark opened his mouth to object, but he didn't say anything. He shuffled his wings. It felt as though there was an itch between them, but no matter how much he scrunched his shoulders the itch persisted, creeping down his back and side. "I... don't know," he said. "Maybe? I guess. I mean... what does it mean for us? I wasn't avoiding talking about that. Will we be going out and seeing ponies now? Will they expect things of us? I just don't know... what the point of the conference was. When Erin was talking she said that we were another kind of pony, just like them, but I'm not even sure we are. I don't feel like them."
        "Well, how do you know what they feel like?" Nightingale asked. He cracked open a bone and sucked out the marrow before continuing. "Even you and I don't feel the same. I doubt all of them would."
        "They all looked at us the same, though," Meadowlark said. He folded his forelegs and laid his head down on them. "Like they were weird. Different. And I guess we are... but Erin was trying to teach us to be like ponies, so are we supposed to be like them?"
        Nightingale didn't respond. He chewed on the rabbit bone idly, his eyes taking on a far-away quality as he hummed to himself. "Everypony is a different pony," he said simply. "I'm not sure how we can be like them."
        "Yeah," Meadowlark said. He rolled his shoulders again. The itch still hadn't subsided. "Yeah, I suppose so." He sighed, and stared up at the moon.


***



        Erin jolted in her chair, sitting up and blinking quickly. Soon enough she realized she had simply snored herself back awake, and she settled back into her chair with a sigh. It was a contented sigh, though. The impromptu nap, caused less by intent and more by relaxation and exhaustion had wiped out the last of her hangover and left her feeling refreshed, as though her muscles had been replaced by cotton balls. She stretched, cricking her back loudly and turned to her desk.
        It was, as ever, littered with papers and hastily scribbled notes. Another onlooker might have thought they were written in some sort of code for how rushed it was. Most were far too pointless to be encoded though, simple observations that never made it into the final report on Meadowlark and Nightingale. The rest of the desk was covered with idle things Erin had carried with her and never bothered to take away. A few glasses of water in various states of fullness, discarded candy wrappers and a desk calendar that had appeared some time in the past year.
        Erin reached for the calendar and pulled off the current page. "Close enough to midnight anyways," she muttered to herself. The calendar listed famous scientists and their accomplishments from that particular day. A Hearth Warming present from Singsong. A nice enough thought, though Erin already had most of the dates and names memorized.
        "On this day in history," she said in an almost mocking tone, "Summer Smiles discovered an entire new subspecies of pony, finally becoming noteable for something aside from being the most closely-related pony to some dusty, long-dead quarry owner!" She dropped the calendar on the desk and sighed happily again. "Maybe I'll finally start using my real name," said said. She rubbed her neck. "Well, not if 'Erin' Smiles discovered them, I guess." She shrugged. "Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." She turned back to the desk, leafing through her notes and papers, Somewhere down there was a second essay she had written, different from the one she had handed out at the conference. A victory speech of sorts. Self-indulgent perhaps, she supposed, that was what the idle rich did, wasn't it? She smirked to herself as she recovered it, and began to skim over the first few lines to occupy herself.
        A loud buzz sounded from beside her desk, loud enough that she started and dropped the essay from her magic.
        "Cripes!" She shouted, slapping her chest as though the restart her heart. "Buck me!" It was the intercom she had had installed several years ago. She leaned over, tapping the button to speak. "What is it?" she snapped. "Do you have any idea what time of night it is?"
        There was a low hum of static on the other end, speaking of an awkward, or perhaps simply unimpressed, pause. "Erin," the voice said, "it's only nine o'clock. Are you hungover?"
        Erin's ears pinned back. "Stage? No! Not... anymore. Why are you here?" She grinned. "Gonna help me celebrate?"
        Once again there was silence on the other end of the line. "Uh," Stage said, "Yeah... maybe you better let me in. I've got a couple of things you might like to see."
        "Sure," Erin said. Between her excitement - at least by her standards - and her lingering embarrassment, she missed something in Stage's voice. She hit the second button and a loud click sounded. After a pause, Stage's voice came over the intercom once again.
        "Thanks," he said. "I'll be there soon. You're in your lab?"
        "Yeah," Erin said. "Get in here already!"
        Erin turned back to her desk as the intercom buzzed off. A few glasses lit up with her magic and arranged themselves in at least a slight semblance of order, and she found herself shuffling and stacking her paper. She scowled and berated herself. She was too old to be shy about her habits, even if Stage didn't seem to think so.
        He didn't, Erin judged from his entrance. He strode into the lab with a package of papers floating behind him, and he set them down on Erin's desk. "I thought you stopped drinking," he said. Though clearly unimpressed, concern was also present in his voice. "For that matter, I thought you stopped drinking almost ten years ago, now. You know how Mom felt about it."
        "I did stop drinking ten years ago," Erin grunted, hunching her shoulders. "I had an occasion to celebrate, and a cellar full of wine from five generations ago. I wanted to celebrate. Besides, I don't think a mare who smoked herself to death is the best source of health advice."
        Stage raised an eyebrow at her. Any trace of his usual humour had drained from his face. "Nopony forced you to get drunk, Erin," he said. "Don't talk like that just because you're embarrassed about it."
        "I'm not -" Erin said, stopping herself halfway through the sentence. "Well... maybe a bit. But it was just a celebration. I think I earned that, don't you? That was a big night for all three of us."
        Stage sighed. "I suppose so," he said. He glanced at the bundle of papers. His horn lit up and the string trying them together untied itself. "As long as it was just tonight. I don't want you slipping back into it just because things didn't turn out exactly how you expected, okay?"
        Erin waved a hoof dismissively. "Of course not," she said. "I mean, I know the excitement will fade eventually. By this point I'm used to being a recluse anyways, so I'm hardly gonna mind."
        "I'm serious, Erin," Stage said. "I worry about what you're up to in this giant house alone at the best of times. You need more ponies around. At least now you have Meadowlark and Nightingale..." he shrugged. "If things don't go well here, you and the twins will come and live with me and Singsong, okay? At least until we can make sure that you're alright. At least promise me that much."
        Erin paused, peering sidelong at Stage. Her eyes flicked down to the stack of papers.
        "Promise me," Stage said, putting his hoof over the top paper."
        "Alright," Erin said. "I promise. What is it?"
        Stage took his hoof off the paper, and Erin levitated it off the stack. It was a newspaper from the previous day. Erin studied it, reading aloud. "Longest Day and Night of the Year: Princess Luna returns." She looked up at Stage. "The buck is this? Did the Canterlot Daily change owners and become a tabloid?"
        "Not unless every other paper did at the same time," Stage said, tossing out a few more papers from the stack. All them had some variety of that title. "Including a royal decree from Canterlot Palace. Looks like it's official: We have two princesses now."
        "Huh," Erin said, leaning back in her chair. "Well... dang. Still, I don't really know why you expected this to upset me that much... I mean it's cool, kinda." She waved a hoof. "I know how these things go, you know. Meadowlark and Nightingale might be big, but they're not front page of the Canterlot Daily big, at least not until we find a whole colony of their tribe. This is only gonna be big in the scientific community for now, and that's what matters."
        "Yeah," Stage said. "Except, I think you're underestimating just how big a new princess is. A princess who, from the looks of things, came from the moon. The civilian press isn't the only ones big on this. I've checked around. Three different aristocrats have commissioned plays based on the legend today, and nopony even knows the details yet."
        "Well, they're trying to get in her good books, I guess" Erin said with a shrug.
        "Maybe," Stage said. "Well, probably. Any chance to move up in the world. But it got me wondering how widespread this is, and I happened to know a stallion in the Equestrian Scientific Journal. They don't have anything done yet, but I managed to get my hooves on a list of planned articles for next month's release..."
        His horn lit up and he pulled another sheet of paper out of the stack. He levitated it to Erin, who stared at it suspiciously. She took it from him slowly and began to read.
        "New Princess Special," she muttered aloud. "Investigations on the change in lunar cycles... sociological impact of a change in governmental styles... investigation of the mechanics of being locked in the moon... secrets of our legends..." Erin scowled. "The buck is all this!?" She snapped, throwing the paper down. She stared at it for a moment as it drifted limply, before slapping it out of the air. "Half of these don't have nearly enough time to be considered legitimate studies, and the other half are barely science! I'm pretty sure the article on myths and legends is gonna be written by that mare who's always claiming El'bia was founded by ghosts..." She turned around to her desk and slammed down her hoof. "Buck! And by next month enough new stuff will have come up that I'll be lucky if they bother to consider anything that happened at the conference... buck. Buck!" She slammed her hoof down again.
        "Erin!" Stage shouted. "Remember what you promised."
        "I promised not to get drunk you prick, not that I wouldn't get upset!" She barked. She grit her teeth and ran a hoof through her mane. Her eyes burned from the forming tears. She felt sick to her stomach. "I mean, you expected this to happen, didn't you?" she asked Stage. "That's why you made me promise, isn't it?"
        "It is," Stage admitted. "But that doesn't mean I want to see you get worked up like this. He put a hoof on her shoulder, but Erin shrugged away from him.
        "Gods, my bucking timing," she groaned. "Or that princess's timing... what the hell... what about Meadowlark and Nightingale? I promised them that they'd be getting out in the world, and..." she rubbed her shoulders. "If this had gotten big, you know, we could have gotten an expedition going... we still could, I mean, but who the hell is gonna follow it?"
        "Erin, look..." Stage said, putting his hoof back on her shoulder. "Come and stay with me and Singsong for a while, okay?"
        "I'm not that bad," Erin said, waving a hoof. "I'm not gonna get drunk again... that never really worked the first time I tried it."
        "Yeah, maybe," Stage said. "But I still wanna see you while you're working through this... and besides, in this state you're not gonna look that great at any formal events. Singsong will want to help with that. He's never actually been to anything but my show openings, which aren't really the biggest events out there."
        "Formal events?" Erin asked, peering up at him. "Why would I be going to any formal events? The twins got passed over. That's what you came here to tell me, right?"
        "Well, it was, actually," Stage said. "But I found something else on the way here." He reached into his mane, pulling out a small, crisply white envelope. "I found this in the mailbox. Delivered pretty recently from the looks of it. I... may have opened it..."
        Erin sniffed, and smiled weakly at him. "Snoop," she said. "Old habits, huh?" Her horn lit up, and she took the envelope from him. She gave it a shake, sliding out the letter within. "It's from the... Dean of the university?" she asked as she unfolded it. "It's too fancy to be a pink slip. It's... an invite?" Her ears perked up, and she sat up straighter in her chair. "A cordial invite! I'm invited to... wait..." she quieted down, her eyes darting back and forth across the letter. "We? It's... for me, Meadowlark and Nightingale! We're all invited to the Dean's Summer Ball!?" She looked up. "Stage, you usually get these things. They're for like, huge socialites and family heads, and department seats. What the hell?"
        Stage smiled faintly, and shrugged. "I guess Meadowlark and Nightingale made an impact on somepony after all," he said. "Go figure. But like you said... department seats, and socialites. Maybe there's a chance to get those two out there after all?"
        Erin leaned back in her chair, breathing out slowly. She turned the letter over, and back again, inspecting every inch of it. “I... I mean, wow. Yeah.” She rubbed her face. “This... could be big. I mean... we could talk to geneticists, maybe some paleontologists... we could get interest in an actual expedition, but...”
        “But?” Stage asked, tilting his head. “But what?”
        Erin shrugged. “Well, you know more about those kinds of parties than me,” she said. “I mean, you always get invited to them. And you were always better at the social crap anyways. But the way I remember them from way back when, Ponies generally went there to look impressive, talk about how great they're doing, and get just drunk enough that they can still function on expensive wines. They're not exactly there to talk about that kinda thing...”
        “Well, these aren't all rich ponies after all,” Stage said. “The Department Head of Theatre lives in a loft apartment in the Lower Quarter.”
        Erin rolled her eyes. “I've met the Department Head of Theatre,” she said. “He makes over one hundred thousand bits per year. If he lives in a loft apartment, it's because he never got a chance to be the starving artist he was always meant to be.”
        Stage laughed. “Well, okay,” he said. “The point is, there will still be scientists, there. Even if they don't want to talk about it there, you can still introduce them to Meadowlark and Nightingale, and then approach them afterwords.”
        “Yeah, I guess,” Erin said with a shrug. “I guess... I'm just worried about how Meadowlark and Nightingale will react. I mean, that's not really their world.”
        “Well, neither was this,” Stage said with a shrug. “They adapted, right? As far as they'll know, it'll just be the next step.”
        “The next step?” a voice asked from the back of the lab. Both Erin and Stage turned to see Nightingale plod into the lab with Meadowlark on his heels. Once they were in the lab Meadowlark moved around Nightingale and trotted up to Erin's desk, while Nightingale kept up his meandering pace.
        Both Bat Ponies had blood still fresh on their muzzled and mud on their hooves, and judging from the bulge in Nightingale's cheeks swapping back and forth, he had a piece of bone or cartilage to chew on.
        Stage grimaced and leaned away from them as they approached. “Hi, guy... eurgh. What's that smell?”
        “Rabbit,” Nightingale said simply.
        “Well, scared rabbit anyways,” Meadowlark added, taking a seat on the floor beside the desk. “They only smell like that if they notice you before you kill them. Otherwise they don't smell that, um...”
        “Pungent?” Stage suggested, waving a hoof in front of his nose.
        “Delicious,” Nightingale responded with a shrug.
        Meadowlark looked back and forth between the two, but shrugged. “What were you two talking about?” he asked.
        “Um,” Erin said, peering at the letter in her hooves. “Well, we were just talking about a party, actually.”
        Meadowlark tilted is head. “A party?” he asked. “I... think I've heard of those? Stage, didn't you mention something about that, once?”
        “Hmm?” Stage asked, shaking his head and shuffling away from the offending smell. “Oh, yeah. When I told you about how I got into music, seeing a pianist at a party my parents took me too when I was young.”
        “Will there be a pianist there?” Meadowlark asked, leaning forward and perking his ears up.
        “Maybe,” Erin said. She folded the letter, and a small smile passed across her lips. “They could have a full band, even. It's hard to tell with these sorts of things, but... it might be interesting to see, don't you think?”
        Meadowlark paused, and hunkered down a little. “Well... maybe,” he said. “I mean, I think... I've never heard live music played by anypony aside from Stage and myself, and Stage is always saying the library has bad acoustics... it might be nice to hear music somewhere better... but there are a lot of ponies at parties, aren't there?”
        “There would be,” Erin said, nodding. “There would be a lot of scientists there, but a lot of ponies more like... um... well, not like me, but like Stage and Singsong. Normal Ponies. You wouldn't have to show off, or anything,” she added as Meadowlark hunkered a bit lower. “You'd be able to just talk to ponies, and hang around like that.”
        It was Nightingale's turn to perk up now, though he still gazed coolly at the letter in Erin's hooves. “Just like at the conference?” he asked. “I... enjoyed the conference, I think.”
        “Well, sorta,” Erin said, smiling a bit wider now. “You wouldn't be speaking to the whole crowd – ponies would come and go from conversation. At least, unless you were really interesting. But it would just be a casual situation. You could just meet some ponies.”
        “Just... talking?” Meadowlark asked. He lifted his head a bit, and his ears twitched with interest. “Do you think.... the ponies there would be okay with that? I mean... do you think they'd be okay with us?”
        “See for yourself,” Erin said, holding out the letter. “They invited you by name.”
        Meadowlark took the letter and began to read over it. He squinted intensely at the paper, reading it over and over. “They invited me and Nightingale, too?” he asked. “Why would they invite us?”
        “They're excited about a new kind of pony I guess,” Erin said. She leaned in, putting a hoof on Meadowlark's shoulder and rubbing. “They want to meet you. Want to talk to you, maybe even make friends with you.”
        “As a pony?” Meadowlark asked, perking up more.
        “Why not? That's what you are, after all,” Erin replied. “But, hey – it's your choice, you know. An invite is optional. You don't have to go if you don't want to.”
        “I think I'd like to,” Nightingale said. He peered at his brother, who was still staring at the letter.
        Meadowlark shuffled his wings and rubbed his chin, scratching at the drying blood stains in his fur. “Mmmm,” he said softly. “I think... um...” he peered up. “I think I might like that? I mean... I think I'd like to get to know ponies... as a pony. I think that'd be nice.”
        Erin grinned, patting him on the shoulder. “That's great!” she said. “I'm sure you'll like it. Although,” she added, settling back into her chair and smirking a bit, “we may need to update you on etiquette. It probably wouldn't do for you to show up covered in rabbit blood.”
        “It wouldn't?” Meadowlark asked, looking down at himself.
        Erin chuckled. “No, you wouldn't,” she said. “And if you couldn't figure that out from Stage, we might need to teach you how to pick up on body language in general, at that.”
        “It's not the blood I have a problem with,” Stage said, “so much as the smell. Not that I like the blood, mind you. But I agree with Erin. You two could probably use a lesson on the kind of manners that ponies use at parties like those.”
        Nightingale sighed. “More rules?” he asked.
        “Yes, more rules,” Stage responded, smirking if a tad indignant sounding. “But not that many, really. Not that there'd be much time for it anyways, the party is in a couple of weeks...” his smirk turned warm. “I was telling Erin, but you know, you can all come and stay with me and Singsong for the time being. It would make things easier.”
        Nightingale shrugged. “I suppose,” he said.
        Erin snorted. “If you're gonna keep pushing for that, I suppose we will,” Erin said. “I still say I'm fine, but... hey, these two are gonna need to get used to being around ponies, right?”



> Act 2, Part 2: Of Past and Parties
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Act 2 Part 2: Of Past and Parties


        The sun hung just over the horizon like a weary head, seeming to sway and bob in the shimmering heat of midsummer air. Streaks of red and orange slashed across the sky. Their vivid light stood at stark contrast with the shadows that stretched across the ground like long, cloying fingers. Those shadows pointed to a row of wide mansions, almost supernatural in the choice to pass over the tracks of land that separated them.
        The mansions were humble, from a certain point of view. That there were more than one on a street set them apart from the massive homes in the Upper Quarter. Still, each mansion must have housed no less than thirty rooms, more than ample space for a pony, or a family of ponies. More than enough room for ponies to stay in, and never be seen by anypony outside.
        In a mansion at the end of the lane, a mansion touched by the final claw-like finger of shadow, a cabal of ponies gathered in the foyer. There were five in all: four stallions and two mares. To the last they were dressed in finery, and to the last an air of tension hung over the group. The two largest stallions stood dead still, barely breathing, but the next largest stallion shifted from one hoof to another. It seemed as though they were preparing for something. Something big. The larger stallions glanced to the window now and then, waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon...
        “Oh Erin, do stop fidgeting,” the smallest stallion said, slapping at the mare's hooves. Erin grunted and shifted away from the stallion, who continued. “That scarf is barely even gauze. If you keep playing with it you're going to tear it, or get it greasy.”
        “I'm not greasy,” Erin said, scowling at the stallion. “Honestly Singsong, you're the one who insisted I clean so thoroughly, you ought to know. It's not as if I don't wash myself normally. Just because we don't all use weird scented shampoos and stuff.”
        “I happen to have expensive taste,” Singsong said, poking out his tongue. As if to demonstrate he brushed his hoof over the front of his coat. It was a crimson jacket, fit tight around his legs and chest and cut from fine El'Bian cotton with a velvet trim. The front was double breasted, beginning just below the ascot at his neckline and ending at the mid of his barrel. The back stretched into a long tail that split down the middle fell over both sides of his croup. He hummed for a moment. “And frankly I have no excuse for it; I grew up on a farmer's hoof-me-downs. You were born rich. You should know far more about this than me.” He reached up for the scarf at Erin's shoulders again before she swatted his hoof away.
        “I never liked fashion,” Erin said. “I followed the mousing cats while they hunted, and played with bugs. And if you keep fiddling with it you're going to tear the blasted thing. I look fine.”
        And she did. So much so, in fact, that one could be forgiven for not believing that it was the same mare who spent all her night holed in a laboratory. Her mane had been combed and washed close to a dozen times, and when it had finally been tamed it was tied in a wide braid, then that braid folded to run up the back of her neck and head, leaving a loose fringe pointed up and slightly off-center. Only her bangs were truly loose, and even then had been combed in just the right way to remain alluring – and keep attention off of her hard as ever eyes.
        She wore a dress of deep, rich purple – a tad egotistical, she had thought, but Singsong and his clutch of stylists had insisted it was her colour. And she supposed, with no actual royals in attendance, she would be the closest to it there. To hammer the point home the dress was Empress-styled, sleeveless but clinging tight to her chest before billowing out around her flanks and legs in a subtle swirl. The object of all their attentions, a gauze-like scarf, was draped across her shoulders and coiled down her forelegs. She had even managed to shoo away the bags under her eyes for the night. Truly, if it were not for her tiny, permanent scowl she would be quite beautiful.
        “She does, Singsong,” Backstage smiles said, putting a hoof on his husband's shoulder. In stark contrast to the rest of the group his attire was very plain – nothing more than a simple gray tuxedo - though an eye that knew about such things would see that it was made of the finest materials, by the finest tailors an exorbitant amount of money could buy. The head of the family had to make a good impression, and there was no room for taste. Only the classics. “We all look fine. Even Meadowlark and Nightingale managed to look more at home in those suits of theirs.”
        All eyes turned to the pair of Bat Ponies, who stood stock still – save for Meadowlark turning occasionally to look out the window. The sun was nearly below the horizon now.
        The pair were wearing the same clothes they had at the scientific conference a month ago, but the time in between had allowed for tailors to come in and fit the suits better to them. It had not been what one might call an easy task. The tailors had been reluctant to get close enough to fully inspect and measure the brothers, no matter how much they were assured. Nightingale had managed to calm one by reciting poetry while the tailor worked, but Meadowlark's talents were not so easy to present while standing still. It had taken hours of poking with needles and too-tight measuring tapes before his coat finally fit him well, but the result was much more comfortable than it had been.
        At the very least, Meadowlark mused to himself, it had gone better than having their manes styled this evening. All he had wanted was to watch the stylist work, but evidently being that close to his eyes was... disquieting, Nightingale had called it. The mare had yelped enough to not count as quiet, that much was certain.
        He would have liked to say it saddened him, but in truth he was used to it. Erin had allowed the pair more freedom since they had moved in with Singsong and Stage, and not even begrudgingly as he had expected. Perhaps because it was inevitable – try as he might to stay in the mansion every room had a window, and ponies were close at hoof here. It had scarcely been a day before a neighbor had seen him through a window, practicing on the Grand Piano Stage kept in the foyer. The pony, a middle-aged mare, had hammered on the door then and there, demanding loudly to know whether it was Singsong or Stage who had betrayed the other with this allegedly illicit guest. That same mare had nearly died of shock when Meadowlark opened the door and stared at her. It was the eyes again. He was certain of this, because when he opened his mouth to speak she had fainted from the sight of his teeth.
        No, he was used to that treatment by now. It was the reason he was so still where he otherwise would have been dancing with excitement. It was the reason why they were waiting until the sun had gone down to leave. The party had started almost an hour ago now, but it had been agreed by all of them that it was best that they move under the cover of night, so as to draw as little attention to Meadowlark and Nightingale as possible. Meadowlark understood that. Still...
        Meadowlark felt a hoof on his shoulder. He looked down and saw Erin smiling faintly up at him. “It's still true, you know,” she said. “Nothing has changed. You're still gonna get to meet lots of ponies tonight. I just didn't want to sour your mood by, well...”
        “Seeing ponies run and scream from us?” Nightingale offered in his usual dry tone. He looked listless without a book in his hooves, but he mirrored Meadowlark's actions nevertheless.
        Erin rolled her eyes. “Nopony reacts that bad,” she said. “Especially not while Stage or I are with you. But yes... I don't want you to be bummed out by bad reactions, or judge the party before we see the real thing. This is going to be a casual event, and you're both handsome and clever and talented. You'll fit right in, I'm sure of it. We just need to let them get used to you.” She smiled. “Do you know, a thousand years ago a Pegasus like Singsong and a Unicorn like Stage would have hated each other on sight? They could hardly be in the same room, much less share a house and bed. Ponies take time to adjust to new things. You just have to give them that time.”
        Meadowlark nodded slowly. She had told him as much before, and he had told himself the same ever since. He really, truly did not get upset when ponies were afraid of him anymore, but he was weary of the hollow feeling it gave him. No less hollow than the Mareless moon had made him feel. He wondered if it was how the moon felt without its mare. Or how the mare, wherever she might be, felt without the moon. Still, he nodded, and touched the back of Erin's hoof. “Okay,” he said. “Time. I'll give them time. I'll be patient, until they feel comfortable. Like hun...” He stopped the thought in its tracks and peered out the window, and saw a sliver of silver in the distance. “The moon is up.”
        Erin peered out over his shoulder. “So it is,” she said with a nod. “I guess that's our cue to head out... Stage? Singsong? You're both ready?”
        “Of course,” Singsong said with a small flourish.
        Stage simply nodded. “I am,” he said. “The carriage has been waiting for a few minutes. I had them pull around to the front when the sun started to go down.”
        “Good,” Erin said. She stepped away from Meadowlark and adjusted her scarf. “Well... you two ready to really get out there in the world?”
        Meadowlark smiled meekly, and after a moment he did not feel so meek. He nodded. “Of course,” he said. “We've been waiting for this. To be ponies.”
        “Regardless, the world spins on,” Nightingale said in a vaguely somber tone. “Both we, and the party goers have no choice. Ready or not, we are coming.”
        Singsong chuckled and patted Nightingale's shoulder. “I'll introduce you to some stallions I know there,” he said. “Hopefully they'll be able to get you to lighten up a little. You can't spend all your time with your nose in some dusty old book.” He trotted off, falling in line alongside Stage as the two headed for the door.
        “That was mine, actually,” Nightingale said, trotting after them.
        “Then I'll introduce you to a writer,” Singsong chirped back. “If you're going to start writing your own dusty old books, I think you should be a bit more... eloquent.”
        “I'm eloquent enough,” Nightingale said with a harrumph. The trio were out the door now, leaving Erin and Meadowlark alone. Meadowlark chuckled to himself.
        “... It's funny,” he said. “I barely remember the forest now. It seems so far away... but Nightingale always over-thought everything, and then was so... calm, when it happened.”
        “He's a planner,” Erin said with a nod. “My father was like that. He'd drive himself mad thinking through every possibility, and then when the time came to actually do whatever he'd been fretting over it was so much, it was always easier than he expected.” She smiled. “You're a bit like that too, you know. This won't be as bad as you're thinking.”
        “I don't think it'll be bad,” Meadowlark said with a shake of his head. “I'm excited, really. Just... I don't know how ponies will react, I guess.” He sighed and idly tapped his hoof against the ground. Erin giggled suddenly.
        “Look at you,” she said, adjusting one of his lapels. “Picking up my bad habits... you look just like me the first time I went to one of these things.”
        Meadowlark blinked. “You've been to these before?” he asked. He looked down, and added, “... in a suit?”
        Erin rolled her eyes, but giggled again. “No, not in a suit. But yes, I have been to these before a few times. And a few other things like them – let me tell you, this is nothing compared to some of the things I've been to...” She shook her head. “I know how you feel, for what it's worth. Ponies like you and me... it's hard to feel like this sort of thing,” she plucked at the scarf around her shoulders, “is our world... It's hard to feel like the kinds of ponies who live around this neighborhood are like us. They certainly don't want to think so.” She made a wry face. “Funny thing is, half the ponies here are New Money – but they're all so desperate to forget that they were ever not rich.” She shrugged and adjusted the scarf again, turning to the door. “But this party will be different. There'll be a lot of ponies like that, sure, but there'll be just as many artists or scientists... ponies who don't care about who you are, so much as what you can do.” She smiled and gestured for Meadowlark to follow her. “I'm sure they'll be happy to meet you. Especially the musicians. I think you're almost making Stage jealous, with how fast you picked up the Piano.”
        In spite of his still-lingering apprehensions, Meadowlark smiled. He bobbed his head and trotted after her as they walked out the door and into the night. “You think so?” he asked. “Should I stop?”
        “Don't you dare,” Erin said with a laugh as she clambered into the waiting carriage. She sat down across from Stage, who was sitting between Singsong and Nightingale. “Stage could stand to have his ego deflated occasionally, especially with all those great reviews he buys. Right Stage?
        “Uh huh,” Stage answered with a humourless smile. “It's not like I have the absolutely horrendous review of my first musical framed in my office to remind me my name doesn't count for anything in this field.”
        “He talks to it sometimes,” Singsong put in.
        As the cart lurched to life Stage objected, setting the tone of the carriage ride to one of light, jovial ribbing and bickering. With the cheerful tone it seemed like no time at all before they had arrived at the party. Though in truth very little time had passed. The event was hosted by the Dean of Canterlot University and his wife in their mansion, a home that rivaled the old Smiles Manor where Erin lived. Indeed, it seemed almost desperate to be compared to the more ancient and refined homes in the Upper Quarter.
        The mansion consisted of three great wings, the central wing sitting forward from the east and west like a puffed-out chest and jutting out into the enormous driveway and front yard. Bushes of summer roses were arranged intricately around the exterior, and in the middle of the yard was a paved walkway around a large decorative fountain. At least, Meadowlark thought as he peered out the window at it, he assumed it was meant to be decorative. He had read about decorative fountains before. He supposed that somepony might intentionally commission one as ugly as this, but he could scarcely imagine why.
        Meadowlark shrugged internally and turned his gaze over the rest of the yard. A long line of carriages had formed through the drive, despite it being well over an hour past the time when the event was supposed to begin.
        “They're all being fashionably late,” Singsong said when Meadowlark pointed this out. “I don't doubt that the earliest ponies here arrived no sooner than Fifteen minutes after we were supposed to.” He waved a hoof limply at the lineup. “A lot of these ponies probably arrived fifteen or twenty minutes ago, and they're just taking their time ushering them in.”
        Meadowlark frowned at this. “Why would they be late on purpose?” he asked.
        Stage shrugged. “It's... difficult to explain?” he said. “It's this sort of posturing thing... this is a scholastic event at its core. Ponies like us get invited to get visibility and funding for the university, but it's good for us to talk amongst each other... except we don't want to let anypony know what we're looking for, so we have to play it close to the chest, and, uh...” He saw Meadowlark's utterly lost expression, and sighed.
        “They're hunting each other,” Nightingale said bluntly. He peered out the window of the carriage. There were only a few between them and the front door, now. “Sometimes we can't catch a rabbit on our own – it's in a bad place. It'd hear us, or smell us. So we let it see one of us... then it runs. If it's in a bad spot, there's usually only one way out...”
        “And the other one of us is right there,” Meadowlark finished, nodding slowly. “Waiting to catch it.”
        Stage blinked. “Okay, now you've lost me,” he said.
        “They're trying to spook each other,” Meadowlark explained. “They make a mistake, except it's not a mistake. That puts everypony else off, and they can get... well, they probably don't eat each other,” he said, trailing off with a shrug.
        “Barely,” Erin said with a snort. “That's rather on the nose, actually.”
        “I suppose...” Nightingale said, apparently cutting himself off to peer at Singsong and cough to himself. “Hrmm...well. I suppose if it's how they hunt... then it's how they live. I don't understand it, but I'm not certain I can judge it.” He eyed Singsong again. “Eloquent?”
        That seemed to strike a chord with the passengers of the carriage. Singsong blinked once before answering. “Well,” he said slowly, “It could use some prose-ing up, but I suppose you're right.”
        Erin, true to form, snorted. “Well I do understand it,” she said. “It's not as if most of these ponies need to put in all that effort to get another drop in the flood. And they certainly don't need to do it at the expense of one another. Our family got by on nothing more than good de-” she stopped dead as she caught Stage's distinctly unimpressed eye. She snorted again, and looked out the window. “Well... that's culture for you, I guess. Even if we're not raised into this, you get thrown in and you do what you can. I feel bad for the ones who earned this, most of all. Stage and I grew up being told it didn't make a difference in the long run, but for them... must be all they can do not to forget.
        That didn't seem to be what Stage expected out of her, but it was enough for him at the very least. He rolled his eyes and peered around Nightingale. “Well at any rate, let's try to keep our discussions of the rich and famous outside of the party with the rich and famous. We're here.”
        A tall, slender stallion stepped up to the carriage door and opened it. “If you would care to step out, Sirs and Madam, we shall receive you now.”
        “Yes, of course,” Stage said with a nod. “Nightingale, why don't you get out first?”
        Nightingale nodded silently, slipping passed the stallion who had opened the door. He was followed by Stage, then Singsong and then Erin. Meadowlark was the last to leave the carriage, nodding gratefully to the doorstallion.
        “Thank yo-” he started, before blinking. He had looked the doorstallion dead in the eye, hardly more than a foot away, and the stallion hadn't even reacted. True, the light was dim and his pupils would not be so narrow, but they still had the same golden glow as ever. “Thank you,” Meadowlark said again, more quietly this time. “Will you be in the party as well?”
        “I have many duties to attend, sir,” the stallion said with a bow. “There will be many other servants attending, however, and I assure you there are all of the utmost.”
        “Shame,” Nightingale said, looking the stallion up and down slowly. Singsong smirked at this, though why Meadowlark could not say.
        “Well, thank you again,” Meadowlark said with a nod. The doorstallion bowed once more before shutting the carriage door and signaling to the cart puller to move along. The next carriage pulled into place and the doorstallion stepped up to it as Erin gestured for Meadowlark to follow.
        The were directed into the mansion by a line of silent butlers who used nothing more than themselves to signal the path. Not that they were necessary. An even moderately perceptive pony could hear the deep, distant rumble of voices and music. As they walked through the halls the sound of their hooves clopping against marble was slowly overtaken by the drone, as well as the bellowing voice of somepony slightly closer. Meadowlark began to feel a tight apprehension swirling in his gut. His confidence had been bolstered somewhat by the door stallion, and he had meant it when he said he was eager, but eagerness came with nerves, it seemed. He recalled a similar feeling from Erin's home, when he had first arrived. All the strange new sights, sounds and smells all around him. He had had a desperate need to discover what it all was, but knew was dangerous. New deserved caution. It took him a moment to realize his wings were lifted slightly off his sides, his hooves falling silently even on the hard floors. Nopony else seemed to notice however, and they rounded the final corner between themselves and the booming voice.
        “-ores, Generous patron of the Music Department!” The voice cried, apparently emanating from a surprisingly small, though quite barrel-chested stallion.
        “Why thank you, darling.” A blue and beige mare said as she trotted past him. Stage approached the stallion, handing him a pair of cards. The stallion looked between the two cards, then gave the group a gauging look. After a moment he gestured to Stage and Singsong.
        The pair stepped up, shoulder to shoulder beside the stallion, who took a deep breath and bellowed out to the party: “Mister Backstage Smiles, Patriarch of the Smiles Family and generous patron of the Theater Department! And Husband, Singsong Smiles, patron of the Theater and Agriculture Departments!”
        Stage bowed solemnly to the crowd of onlooking ponies before walking down the stairs with Singsong at his side. When he was gone, the stallion gestured to Erin. She stepped up, and the stallion called out again.
        “Miss Summer Smiles, of the Smiles Family, Professor of Zoology and Ethology!”
        Erin trotted briskly down into the crowd, apparently eager to stop being seen, while muttering something to herself. She took just enough time to look back to Meadowlark and Nightingale and shoot them an encouraging smile. Meadowlark breathed deeply, watching the stallion. After a moment the stallion beckoned them forward. Meadowlark did so, Nightingale beside him.
        The stallion looked them up and down for a moment, before turning slowly. He cleared his voice and shifted his shoulders. It seemed to Meadowlark that he considered them, in particular, to be of some import.
        “For the first time,” the stallion bellowed, “Honoured guests Meadowlark and Nightingale Smiles, of the Smiles Family... and Bat-Stallions!”
        A hushed silence fell over the room. Even ponies who had not been paying attention to the arriving guests looked up from their business. All was silent. All eyes were on the pair.
        Beside Meadowlark, Nightingale threw his wings open with a snap. A gasp erupted from the crowd, but Nightingale quickly closed his wings again, shuffling them as though he had only been adjusting their position. Meadowlark peered at him, and smiled.
        “It's what they wanted,” Nightingale said quietly.
        “Or expected, at least,” Meadowlark replied.
        “Are they not the same, in the end?” Nightingale asked with a subtle shrug. “Ah well. What is it Singsong always says?”
        Meadowlark smiled wider as he gazed over their impromptu audience. “If somepony wants a show, they'll make one for themselves, so you may as well give them one first.”
        The eyes were different. Different from how ponies normally looked at him. There was fear – oh, was there fear in their eyes. Instinctive, wild fears, the fears that creep forever at the back of the mind. Fear that ponies forget they have until something falls off the shelf at night, until unexpected thunder rolls. Until they see a predator within hoof's reach.
        But there was awe in those eyes.
        Meadowlark moved slowly at first. With each step he took though, with every moment he saw that awe mingling with fear he grew a bit more confident. His heart thudded in his chest, but he could see what Singsong meant. He could see it in the eyes of the ponies staring, how they wanted their show. He smiled.
        Nightingale was many things Meadowlark was not – Nightingale was patient and careful and creative. Nightingale was devious and surreptitious. He was a terribly, savagely clever beast, Nightingale was, but Meadowlark was one thing Nightingale never would be: He was a showstallion.
        Meadowlark let his wings go slack, their tips dipping and trailing after him. He twitched the tips of those long, bony fingers, stretching the leather of his wings to catch the light at just the right angle angle to give them a dark sheen. He stared out into the crowd, locking his slit-pupiled eyes with a pony here and there until he was sure they noticed.
        He held his head high through it all. He was strange to them, frightening, but they didn't want an animal. He didn't want to be an animal. He watched as the fear and the awe fought, and was surprised to see awe winning out on most of the faces. Many of them had seen him once before, he realized – he recognized some of those faces in the crowd, faces belonging to scientists and students, but none had ever seen him so close before, so real. He smiled. It felt... good, to be seen. After he had drank his fill he quickened his pace and strode into the crowd, Nightingale at his side, until they reached Erin, Stage and Singsong.
        Singsong gave a quiet clap. “Well done colts,” he said with a giggle. “Especially you Meadowlark. That was some show you put on up there... you two should audition for a play some time, you know.”
        “Can one make a career out of playing villains?” Nightingale asked with a wry smile.
        “Only the very best,” Stage replied.
        Even Erin was grinning as she patted Meadowlark's back. “Thanks for getting the heat off me,” she said. “I haven't been to one of these in years, I thought for sure I was gonna get swamped with ponies finally getting their chance again. Thanks to you little entrance, I think I can rule that out.” Her smiled softened a bit, and she patted his shoulder more gently. “I told you ponies would like you when you got here. These aren't some mare who thinks it's her business to stick her nose in other ponies', there are some smart, talented folks, and they know their kind.”
        “Their kind?” Meadowlark asked, tilting his head in confusion.
        “Didn't I just say?” Erin asked. “Smart, talented ponies. That's what you two are... and don't you forget it.”
        Meadowlark was quiet for a moment before he broke into a grin again, much wider than his smile on the stairs. Erin's hoof against him suddenly felt warm. Not hot, more like the warmth of sitting in front of a fire. “You think so?” he said.
        “We all do, Meadowlark,” Singsong said, nudging Meadowlark with a wing.
        “And we're not the only ones, it seems,” Stage said, peering through the crowd. “Don't look now, Nightingale, but I think you have company.
        Nightingale, as beckoned, did not look. At least, not until a round, bearded stallion emerged from the throng of onlookers and clapped Nightingale on the back. Nightingale's head snapped to stare at this new stallion, and Meadowlark saw a barely-suppressed snarl on his lips.
        “Sorry lad, sorry,” the stallion said, throwing up his hooves to show he was no threat. “I didn't mean to frighten you.” He adjusted a the pair of thick spectacles sitting on his nose, and laughed. “My name is Feather Quill.” He extended his hoof to Nightingale, who eyed it. Slowly Nightingale took the hoof and gave it a shake.
        “A pleasure, Feather Quill,” he said. “I don't believe you were at the conference... do you know me?”
        “Please lad, just Quill will do,” Quill said with a laugh. Amazingly, the laughs didn't seem at all forced to Meadowlark. He was genuinely jovial despite being near sandwiched in between the Bat Ponies. He didn't even have the look of awe, though there was something similar. Meadowlark had seen that look in Stage's eyes when he had talked of his favourite composers. “And no, I wasn't at the conference. Science, well... it's good, it's good, but it's not my area of expertise. You see, I'm the head of the Philosophy department at Canterlot University...”
        Nightingale's ears perked up at this. “Really,” he said. There was only a hint more interest in his voice, but it was enough for Meadowlark to know he was very interested in this prospect indeed. “I didn't know the university had one of those.”
        “Indeed it does!” Quill said. “Second only to Manehattan's in the entire country, you know. But you see, a student of mine is dual-majoring in Psychology, and so of course he's studying a bit of medicine, so he was at the conference, and he told me... remarkable things about you. I wonder if I could talk to you about some of things you said – I know more than a few department chairs here who would love to have the opportunity to listen in as well, you know.”
        Nightingale gave Quill an even stare, obviously considering this quite seriously. He hummed and shuffled his wings, before turning to look at Erin, who simply waved a hoof.
        “Oh, go on,” she said. “Quill is a good stallion, and I'm sure this sort of thing is why you two were invited. Besides,” she added, straightening her scarf, “I was hoping to go hunting for the head of the Paleontology Department. I have a few things I'd like to ask him.”
        “I have the usual affairs to get to as well,” Stage said with a weary but amused sigh. “At least a dozen departments will be wanting me to start backing them as well, and some of the new social crowd will want to meet, and there are some business ponies I've been dodging for months now...”        
        “And you're going to take me to the buffet table and get me some hors-d'oeuvres so I can stuff my face while I look pretty beside you,” Singsong said, wrapping his foreleg around Stage's and tugging him lightly. “Now do hush up. You can handle these ponies in your sleep. I've seen you do it.”
        Stage laughed and allowed himself to be pulled back to the crowd. “Well as you can see,” he said before he disappeared, “I'm going to be busy for a while.”
        “See?” Erin said, turning back to Nightingale. “You both go and enjoy yourselves. Talk to ponies. Get yourselves out there in the world. That's why you're here.”
        Nightingale nodded. “Well... alright then,” he said. “I would like to meet the ponies who want to meet me.”
        “Glad to hear it!” Quill said, clapping Nightingale on the shoulder again. “Now come along my lad, come now. We're off in a little corner of our own, as it always is, of course. You'll get used to being in a corner of your own as a philosopher, you know.”
        Quill and Nightingale plodded off into the crowd, and Meadowlark followed after them. The shock of their entrance had subsided, and most ponies were returning to their previous business now, and many were too preoccupied to move aside for them. Meadowlark looked back over his shoulder and saw Erin rubbing her neck, looking desperately tired already. She looked up and caught Meadowlark's eye, and smiled at him. She waved once or twice before making a shooing motion.
        Meadowlark smiled back, then turned around and found his smile fading instantly. A throng of ponies had begun to close in between him and Nightingale, who seemed to hardly notice that he had fallen behind. Meadowlark surged forward, dancing and dodging to avoid shouldering ponies out of the way. As Nightingale pulled further in front of him, however, Meadowlark's heart clenched, and he gave up the effort, near barreling to be back with his brother.


***


        Erin watched Meadowlark and Nightingale disappear for only a moment or two before smirking and sauntering away. With Stage and the twins elsewhere any attention she would have otherwise received had melted away, which suited her just fine. No doubt she would draw somepony's eye eventually, but for now she had a moment of reprieve.
        She took a moment to remark to herself on the irony of that. Just a few weeks ago she was begging for attention to be paid, and now she would have much rather gone without. Only a moment though, for she quickly decided that no, it wasn't that ironic after all. The situation was different. All this was more Stage's world than hers. No, she was more than happy to be ignored here.
        Of course history had proven that when Erin would be happy with something, she rarely got it.
        Erin was at the buffet table when she heard it first, helping herself to some deviled eggs and a small glass of cider. An all-too-familiar voice lilted over the crowd.
        “-be just a while, Misty. Go off and have fun. You deserve it, you know.”
        Erin winced internally, fighting off the urge to drown herself in a decorative gelatin mold. As it stood she angled herself as far away from the voice as she could, hunkering down and trying to turn invisible.
        It didn't work. She heard a set of hooves stop just behind her, followed by an almost palpable sense of shock.
        “Summer?” the voice asked. A stallion, maybe a year or two older than herself, but worn from years of spending all day talking. Soft and slightly rough, like satin. Erin winced externally now.
        “Hello, Jewel,” she grumbled, stuffing another deviled egg in her mouth before turning a weary eye on the unicorn.
        For a stallion who spent all day every day wearing suits, Gleaming Jewel knew how to step up his dress. He wore, to a casual observer, a simple black tuxedo. A simple black tuxedo of exquisite, sharp cut, the fabric nearly gleaming in how black it was. The white shirt underneath the jacket was pristine, and looked a though a dozen ponies had worked for hours to iron it so thoroughly it would not wrinkle for generations. Every last thread was made from some material too far-off to be even remotely affordable. El'Bian cotton, Mitaanii silk – Erin mused that if Zohannonite hemp were not so atrociously uncomfortable and utilitarian, Jewel would have found some part to make out of it just to prove he could. The suit must have cost more than most ponies made in a year. Which for the Jewel family, she supposed, was a good day's work.
        Erin's eyes followed the line of the suit up. His mane was, as ever, expertly looped in its ponytail, though the simple black tie had been replaced by a deep violet ribbon. Almost certainly egotism, on his part. It was not until she saw his face that Erin paused. For once, Jewel looked genuinely taken aback. Erin blinked.
        “You called me Summer,” she said. “Not 'Miss Smiles'.”
        “I... suppose I did,” Jewel said, smiling faintly. This did not put Erin any more at ease. “I was... surprised. Please forgive me. I must admit, I didn't expect to see you here.”
        “... Uh huh,” Erin said, not at all convinced. She looked him up and down for a moment. She had forgotten how well he cleaned up. “Jewel, I know you. I know you take stock of who gets invitations to these things. Heck, you donate so much money to get half of these rolling that you probably get a hoof in picking who gets those invites.”
        “Well, yes,” Jewel said with a nod. For all his surprise, real or feigned, he didn't seem particularly embarrassed to be caught on it. “I must admit, this is true. I had seen your name on the invite list. Still, you have been on the invite list for several such events, and you've never attended. At least, not for a good many years... and yet here you are.” He rubbed his chin contemplatively. “Here you are indeed.”
        Erin suppressed a small urge to cover herself. “Yeah, well,” she said, popping another deviled egg in her mouth. “I just happened to have a reason to come this time. Stage has always handled the family's business stuff.”
        “These parties aren't merely business, Summer,” Jewel said. He smiled wryly. “Most ponies tend to enjoy socialization. It's nice to be amongst our own.”
        Erin just rolled her eyes. “Did you ever really believe that?” she asked.
        Jewel's smile fell away. “Well.” he said. He paused for a moment, gazing out over the crowd. “Summer... I wanted to apologize.”
        It was Erin's turn to be taken aback. “What?” she asked, dumbfounded. “For what? I mean, I'm not gonna say you have nothing to apologize for, but – seriously, what for? I have a list about ten years long.” She laughed. “Heck, I wasn't sure you even knew how to apologize.”
        Jewel's wry smile returned. “That's hardly kind,” he said.
        “Accurate, though,” Erin retorted. “There's a reason we're here and not there, Gleam.” She jerked her head towards the floor, where several ponies had begun to dance a waltz. “There's lots of reasons.”
        “Reasons I stand by, for the record,” Jewel said. For just a moment, he almost looked remorseful. It was longer than Erin had ever see him look so before, at least. “No,” he said as he regained his composure, “I wanted to apologize for the, ah... Nocturnes, I suppose you call them now.”
        Erin looked at Jewel sidelong. “Meadowlark and Nightingale,” she said. “The bat stallions you wanted to kill. You know the name I gave them?”
        “Misty attended the conference,” Jewel said, scanning the crowd for his cousin. Erin looked out as well, though she couldn't spot the mare. Misty had always been more than happy to blend into the crowd, she supposed. “She's studying biology, you know. Her professor suggested she attend, and she saw, well... them. She told me about them.” He rolled his shoulders idly. “I was wrong about them. I had no idea that they were...”
        “Ponies?” Erin suggested. Jewel was quiet for a long while.
        “I suppose so,” he said finally. “Regardless, what I did – what I wanted to do – was wrong of me. Had I know their true nature, I wouldn't have tried to have them killed.”
        Erin considered this. She considered it for a good, long while. She had genuinely never known Jewel to be truly remorseful over anything. Then again, for as vile as he could be he had never done anything as bad as lobby for the execution of a pony. Even if they had attacked his family.
        That was hardly their fault, though, and he had to have known that. If some strange pony walked into what he considered his home and started yelling at him, wouldn't he react the same? Hadn't he always said...
        Hadn't he always said that as the upper class they had to forgive lower ponies for mistakes they couldn't know they were making?
        Erin frowned and sighed. Well, so much for her good mood. She swirled her cider – didn't they usually put out non-alcoholic cider at these things? She could taste the telltale grunge of alcohol, feel it in her cheeks – and hummed to herself.
        The band changed tunes, starting up a new song. It was a still a waltz, but a more chipper tune, and she knew without looking that the dancers would be changing their step. In a way she was glad these kinds of waltzes hadn't gone out of style. She had never liked them, but it was all she had ever been able to dance to. Something about slower dances always threw her off her hooves.
        She was shaken out of her stupor when she spotted Jewel lift a hoof out of the corner of her eye. He smiled and gestured idly to the dancing ponies. “This was always your favourite, wasn't it Summer?” he asked. “You would always dance to it. Would you dance with me, darling?”
        In spite of herself, Erin found she was smiling. Not just smirking, but smiling. Not out of humour, mind, unless it was a particularly dark breed even for her. Nor out of happiness. She was smiling out of nostalgia, she supposed. “... Sure,” she said with a shrug. “Why not.”
        Erin polished off her glass of cider and set it down on the table, allowing Jewel to lead her by the hoof onto the dance floor. They slipped into the flow of dancers effortlessly, falling into their own stance. Erin remembered the feeling intimately. She remembered the heft of Jewel's hoof on her shoulder and hip, the bulk of his bicep under her own hoof. He had gained wait. They were neither one as young as they once were, she supposed. He still felt warm, though. Or maybe that was her?
        They danced as though they were young. The dance was muscle memory for both of them, drilled almost since birth to step those same steps, over and over. They swirled in time with the music, to the left, to the right. Then they span.
        “Ah,” Jewel said softly, “How long has it been since we danced, Summer? I don't know when...” His voice was almost dreamy. Erin's face felt hot. How strong was that cider?
        “Ten years, isn't it?” she asked.
        Jewel considered this. “Is that all?” he asked finally. “It seems...”
        “A lifetime ago,” Erin said with a nod. “Two, even.”
        They span again. To an outside observer it would be impossible to tell that Erin hadn't danced in ten years, and that Jewel... how long had it been since Jewel danced, Erin wondered. He obviously didn't have anypony special now. Had he found anypony in the meantime? She realized she had no idea. Jewel had been an antagonistic force in her life for so long... but nothing more. A force, not a pony.
        “I hope I'm not stepping on anyponies' hooves,” Erin said.
        “Not mine,” Jewel said with a smirk.
        “Any mares?” Erin asked again, raising an eyebrow at Jewel, whose smirk only grew wider.
        “Now Summer,” he said, “in all of your thoughts about me, I'd be amazed to hear you considered me a family stallion.”
        “I thought you were a callous bastard,” Erin pointed out as the tune of the music picked up. “There's nothing that precludes a callous bastard from marrying and having a family. Many have done it in the past.”
        “I suppose so,” Jewel said with a chuckle. “Still, don't count me among their numbers. I have dated, here and there, to appease my family... but as Misty and her coltfriend grow closer and closer I find there is less and less weight on my shoulders, as far as nuptial matters are concerned.”
        “I'm glad she's getting along,” Erin said. “How is she doing?”
        “It left a scar,” Jewel said with a solemn nod. “A small one, but still there. It seems your Nocturnes had... less than clean teeth.”
        “That's not uncommon among predatory species,” Erin said reflexively. “It helps with hunting, since it makes things less likely to get away from them for long, but it's mostly because fresh tissue tends to leave hitchhikers behind. Though at the end of the day most of their mouths are cleaner than ours...” She blinked, and shook her head. “But,” she said, “I meant more generally. How is she? You said she was studying biology?”
        “Ah,” Jewel said with a faint chuckle. “My mistake. Yes, biology. She's working towards veterinary sciences, she has mentioned.”
        “That's good work,” Erin said with a nod. “Won't get your rich, but it's a good job. Not that she'll need any help in the money department.”
        “I rather thought you'd feel that way,” Jewel said. “It makes her happy, I suppose. And, yes, she will not truly need monetary aid, if things keep going the way they are. Still, I wonder how such work will suit her.”
        “It suits me fine,” Erin pointed out. “And not that anypony cares to measure dicks anymore, but last time they looked the Smileses out-valued the Jewels by some billion bits.”
        “Yes, but you were always unique,” Jewel said. “Uniquely...” He rolled his head back slightly as he thought about it. He had done that as long as Erin had known him, in just such a way as to show the sharpness of his jaw and longness of his neck. Idly she wondered if he had known what he was doing even as a foal.
        “Common?” Erin offered with a snort.
        Jewel laughed. Surprisingly it was not derisive, or egotistical, or any of his usual varieties of laugh. It was real, and genuine. He hadn't laughed like that in ages. “Uniquely grounded,” he said. “You have your hooves firmly planted in the earth, far beneath all of us.”
        Erin cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at this, but Jewel continued before she could comment. “I do not mean you act below your station, of course,” he said. “Just that... all of us here, we live high up in the clouds amidst gold and silver and silk. It gets to them, I think. Ponies get too rich, and then...”
        “They forget,” Erin said.
        “Precisely,” Jewel said with a nod. “They forget what they are. You never have, though. You know Summer, in spite of all our differences, and disagreements... I admire that about you. I admire your practicality. That is a rare quality among these ponies.”
        “You're wearing a suit that's at least a few thousand bits,” Erin point out. If anypony else had been saying this she would have agreed with them – begrudgingly, she would admit, but agreeing nevertheless. To hear it from Jewel, though, it rang false. “I'm not sure you're in a position to give me 'they'.”
        “This is an event, you know,” Jewel pointed out. “We're rather supposed to be excessive. Even you're dressed quite richly this evening... though I suppose you likely borrowed it from Backstage's, ah... husband.” He smirked. “I know the fellow was small, but in your size...”
        “Singsong's friend had it made,” Erin said, a hard edge to her voice. “Thank you very much.”
        “Ah yes, of course,” Jewel said. If he heard the edge he gave no sign of it. “All the more point, my darling – in all the time I've known you you've never had a taste for frivolity. All of your interests are practical. In the scientific world, in education... I don't believe I've ever even thought of you as much for being a mother. Though these days, who can say?”
        “Well there's one thing we had in common, I suppose,” Erin said, her tone dry. Jewel was going somewhere with this. He might have caught her off guard by seeming genuinely surprised and repentant – he may have even truly been – but she had learned long ago to look past his exterior and see when he had an angle.
        Jewel carried on as though she hadn't said anything. “It's a shame... but then, perhaps it's for the best, that. After all, I know how proud the Smiles family has been of that peculiar face of yours, historically... it's almost a shame there's no way to keep that going.”
        That was it. “Don't you dare bring Stage into this,” she hissed at him. “When Stage and Singsong decide to adopt, that foal will be every bit as much a part of the Smiles family as Stage or I am.”
        Jewel merely blinked. “Of course, Summer,” he said. “I would never dream of suggesting otherwise.”
        “Yeah, right,” Erin snorted. She was about to ask what else he could possibly be implying when she caught his eye, looking to the far wall of the ballroom. She followed his gaze, and spotted Meadowlark, slumped listlessly against the wall beside Nightingale, who was speaking animatedly with a young stallion.
        She looked back at Jewel, who merely smirked. “You brought them into this world,” he said. “A magnificent thing, that. A pair of... Nocturnes, amongst the pony elite. I suppose that makes them your responsibility.”
        “Nocturnes are ponies, Jewel,” Erin said with a grimace. “They're their own ponies, their own responsibility, not mine, now, and they have just as much right to be here as anypony else.”
        “Are they, now,” Jewel said. His smirk was small, but definitely still there. “Are they. Have you thought about their paperwork yet, Summer? Making things official? If things keep going this way they'll have to become citizens sometime, you know. Especially if they are to be... their own responsibility.”
        “Maybe I have,” Erin replied. “You can't just get documents overnight, though. Frankly I'm not even sure who I should contact about it. What's it to you?”
        “I am a lawyer, darling,” Jewel said with a shrug. “We think about these things. I suppose immigration is out of the question... with no nation to come from, they could hardly be refuge-ed or extradited. Is it even possible for them to get birth certificates, anymore?”        
        Erin breathed deeply. She was tired of playing Jewel's game now. She had forgotten how much it exhausted her. “What do you want, Jewel?” she asked. “Why did you ask me to dance? You haven't changed at all in ten years, so why bother?”
        “Neither of us has changed, Erin,” Jewel said. “I think we've forgotten how. Nostalgia, I suppose.”
        The song had finished, and as far as Erin was concerned so had the dancing. She shoved away from Jewel and turned her back on him sharply. “Well, you've had it then,” She growled. “Here's some more for you: You treat everypony else like they're your plaything – everypony else – but I'm no toy, and I don't do games. You're a bastard, Gleam. You're a bastard, and I hope you die alone. At this rate, I'm getting my wish.”
        She marched off. She hoped that had hurt him. She hoped it stung, and that he knew somepony near them had heard. She knew it didn't, though. He was probably smiling to himself, just like he had last time. And just like last time, she wished there was some way to make him feel as torn up inside as she did.