I don’t know what I ever hated about summer. The pleasant, warm sun overhead, the beautiful blue sky and emerald green grass, the breeze in your hair and the excitement of freedom, of unstructured play time where you can live to your heart’s content. Oh wait, sorry I forgot about horrible allergies swelling your eyes shut, and months of sweltering, unrelenting heat, and nowhere to play. I’m still so buzzed from the discovery this morning, that I can talk to Sweetie Belle again. Something about it’s bothering me, though. I mean, besides the fact that I apparantly jizzed Sweetie into existence. It just doesn’t make... sense for some reason. I dunno. But otherwise, I’m on top of the moon! The town really does seem to go on and on, at first in our journey. I guess we’re taking the long way around? I don’t really get the layout of Ponyville, but one thing I do notice is town hall. As we come zipping out in a large courtyard, there framed in hills and forests and glittering water behind it, we pass by the lofty Town Hall. It really is a striking building, decorated out with flags, even the support beams looking somewhere between ancient Rome and the Antebellum South. Such an oddly round building too, sort of like... Rarity’s boutique. Rarity’s is more tent... shaped though. Not so much a sturdy, towering cylinder. I look at the windows of Town Hall high overhead, and... And as the building passes us by, a mountain emerges behind it, a mountain taller than the rest of the far ridge. Though the sunny day is a bit hazy at a distance, I can still see that shining city on the mountain, the silouette of its spires emerging from the mountain like a warrior from the clouds, sword up-raised. Then, buildings obscure that immense distance, and things are once again more comfortably claustrophobic. It leaves me thinking though. About that city, and who lives there. And what they might want to do with me. If I am in a fetish fic, does that mean Molestia is canon? It’s then that we finally emerge from the town, and the road we travel along rises up and down a hill, aforementioned grass and sky dazzling me more than any worries I might have of the pony state capital. I just want to jump into that grass and feel its blades tickling my belly, but we’re riding steadily along in Scootaloo’s wagon headed for presumably what is “the lake.” What I remember of lakes are scummy and muddy, full of choked marshes and mosquitos and hikers. Somehow I suspect that once again, I’m going to be pleasantly surprised. What I can see of Scootaloo’s face from back here is a mask of concentration, as she pays attention to her own body’s movements closely, specifically those of her wings. She’s buzzing along powerfully as we zoom up and down the hills, keeping a nice steady pace, easily carrying both me and Apple Bloom in the wagon. Man, if only I could stay in this life. I’d make Scootaloo the best rider. It’s just like my walking. If Scootaloo pays attention to herself, and learns to do it carefully, she can just get faster and faster without ending up a smear on the nonexistant concrete in this fantasy world, or at least without ending up with a broken wagon. I still don’t know about Apple Bloom’s talent, though. Her talents seem so... hard to pinpoint. Maybe the canoe will let me assess her carpentry skills, but then those are skills not talents. Or does it even work that way in this universe? But yeah, these fillies are going places in life. I can only imagine Sweetie too is destined for great things, if I’d just get out of her head and let her achieve them. It’s a benefit of being semi-main characters to a show I guess. You never see a protagonist with low aspirations or humble abilities, except that they may be an attempt to conceal lofty aspirations and powerful abilities. At least in that aspect, stories are not unlike real life I suppose. The people on the top edge of the bell curve are always going to be few, far between, and very notable in the history books. “I think I see it!” I shout, scooting forward in the wagon, trying to glimpse what looks like a glittering line over through the hills. I have to shout to be heard over those darned wings! Scootaloo winds through the hills, trailing us along behind, her powerful wings providing enough thrust and then some. It doesn’t seem as dizzying as last time, I rode in her wagon, but I really wasn’t as used to moving at all, last time. Plus there’s nothing here for Scootaloo to ramp off of, just a packed dirt road winding through the hills. Over the crest of the hill, the lake comes into view, and it’s actually really big! You can see the other side and all, but it’s far enough into the distance to be hazy. The sun sparkles on its shimmering surface. The lake appears to be the base of a large bowl of a valley, whose green hills become thickly wooded with trees, as approaching the side of the water. I can see a wooden dock off in the distance, with the road we are on converges towards it, the path ambling sleekly through open plains, skirting the waterside woods, then a long flat course to the water itself. “We’re here!” Scootaloo announces excitedly as we approach the dock. Stomping her hoof down, Scootaloo stops the scooter, and I rethink the safety of the speed we’re going when the wagon slides in a swift 90 degree turn. The sudden stop to the wagon just sort of flings my surprised figure out of it sideways, sending me sailing through the air and landing on the ground with a surprised “Unf!” “Sweetie Belle are you okay?” Apple Bloom says with concern, from still inside the wagon. “Of course I am,” I grumble, sitting up and rubbing my... blank hindquarters. “I only hurt my pride.” “You gotta hold on when she stops!” Apple Bloom chides me, demonstrating this by repeatedly patting her paired yellow hooves on the lip of the wagon. It’s fucking adorable. “Still working on remembering to do that,” I respond dimly, in soft admission. The dock by the lake has a rowboat moored on it. I try to remember if I’ve seen any boats in the show but nothing comes to mind. Though an image I made up myself on the spot does come to mind, of a pony trotting happily along towards the lake harnessed to a boat on wheels. I can’t hold back a giggle, thankfully nobody asks what I thought was funny. Next to the dock, there’s a large, square building, more wooden in construction than most of the buildings in Ponyville. It’s painted in bright shades of white and pink of course, but the boards underneath are quite visible, making it look less like a house and more like a barn. Scootaloo’s already run right up by the waterside, peering into it with fascination. I wonder what she’s looking at. While Apple Bloom climbs out of the wagon, I start my slow walk over towards Scootaloo. I don’t get there before she gallops away, but now I’m curious too. Not that I don’t know what every lake looks like, but I just want to see how clear it is. Plus it’s sort of fun to just... see things underwater. I dunno, it’s just a novel experience that I rarely get to participate in. Normally, I don’t have friends to give me a ride to the lake purely on a whim. The water is, to no one’s great surprise, sparkling clear. It’s still stunning though, to see through Sweetie Belle’s rippling reflection, an array of moss covered rocks and sticks, descending smoothly outward into a deep blue shadow as the water deepens beyond the point you can see. I can’t approach the edge of the water, since the rocks look... worryingly hard to navigate. But I stop at the edge of the grass and sit there, just looking at it. Brilliantly green trees cover the far shore, sparser where the grassy hills begin to emerge. A lake... “You remember lakes, Sweetie?” Apple Bloom says walking up beside me from behind. “This one’s real big, ain’t it?” “Yeah I remember lakes,” I say accordingly. “Not this one though. It’s really um, oh you already said it was big. It’s really clear, too. Look how far you can see!” “Yep,” Apple Bloom says smartly, “Ah wonder how they keep it so clear?” I blink her way. “You don’t know?” I remark curiously. She shakes her pink bowed ketchup haired head, saying, “Ah dunno. Maybe they have fish clean it?” “Huh,” I say looking back at the lake. I guess maybe it’s not normal to have a lake this clear? It can’t be toxic though, because the rocks under the water are all slimy with algae. “We could ask someo—somepony?” I suggest in a tenuous chirp. Apple Bloom looks reluctant at that. “Dunno Sweetie,” she says uneasily, “You remember anything about the kinda pony you find in that there boat house?” “Um... no?” I offer nervously. “Is she—is the pony bad or something?” “No, she’s not a bad pony,” Apple Bloom offers, raising a hoof in a lack of certainty, “Just kinda y’know... weird.” That’s... kind of a weird thing for Apple Bloom to say. Looking into her beautiful amber eyes, I ask Apple Bloom, “You mean, like Zecora?” Apple Bloom’s eyes flash angrily and she says, “No! Ah don’t mean like... ah mean I don’t! Ah mean... kinda maybe? “At least ah can understand Zecora!” Apple Bloom exclaims at last, suddenly kicking at the air dramatically. She pauses in her tirade to look at me curiously. “You were always so scared of Zecora,” she adds with a searching look. “Are you... okay with her now? You can remember Zecora, right?” “Yes, I...” boy, how am I supposed to answer that? Sweetie Belle, the real one, isn’t talking, and I really need to get alone, so I can make sure she’s okay.... again. “I may have been afraid of her once,” I say carefully, “But I only remember good things about her now. I think you told me about her?” “Yeah she’s—she’s the zebra livin’ in the Everfree you know, right?” Apple Bloom whispers, giving deliberate emphasis to her words. “Just because she’s not like me doesn’t mean she’s bad,” I tell her, looking distractedly back over the lake. “I trust you a lot more than the other ponies in town. E-even Rarity. You’re just really...” I turn to her seriously and say, “You’re one of the smartest ponies I’ve ever known, Apple Bloom. Not because you’re smart, but because you’re really... level headed. When I um... I mean, even Twilight Sparkle...did that disastrous fashion show, because she didn’t question herself, and didn’t make sure she was making the right choice, and I think she’s smarter than all of us combined.” “She sure as heck seems smart,” Apple Bloom said with no lack of admiration in her voice. “When Big Mac got himself hurt during harvest season, we were gonna lose like half the orchard, until she figured out how to get all them apples bucked. An’ she is Princess Celestia’s favorite student!” “Yeah, she seems pretty smart,” I say feeling unsettled about that for some reason, “But what I mean is you know how to ask the right questions, and you’re not afraid to do it. Both you and her weren’t afraid of Zecora... and you were right. That means even if every other pony says someone is bad, I feel like I can trust you to say what she really is.” The pink bowed filly is silent for a moment, then asks, skeptically, “What kinda questions?” “Exactly!” I declare to her with a silly smile. “Exactly...?” Apple Bloom ducks her head nervously. “It’s called um... critical thinking,” I say to her, feeling a bit out of my element. “I don’t know much about it, but it’s like, making sure you’ve got it right, before you believe in something.” “Well, thanks Sweetie Belle, ah guess. That’s right nice of you,” Apple Bloom says lifting her head with a returning smile. “Okay fine then, let’s go see the boat pony, and you tell me if ah ...got it right or not.” “That sounds... good,” I admit, turning my head to that boat house. “But now you have me worried. If Zecora isn’t weird enough to spook you, then this pony is?” “Guess you have to see her,” Apple Bloom says simply. “It’s the best way ah’ll be able to explain.” “Hey, hey, I got it!” Scootaloo cuts in, running up to the two of us. “What if we get our cutie marks in waterskiing?” “What’s waterskiing?” I ask carefully, with a raised eyebrow. “It’s where you go so fast that your skis slide on the water,” Scootaloo confirms surprisingly enough, “And you do flips and stuff!” “That wouldn’t make the water here all muddy?” I ask, pointing a forehoof at the clear lake. “Oh, I guess it would...” Scootaloo admits. “You really think your special talent could be only waterskiing?” I ask her in a testy tone. “Well—I dunno, because... I haven’t gone waterskiing yet!” Scootaloo says with a stubborn frown. “Sweetie’s got a point though,” Apple Bloom says to Scootaloo’s other side, making the orange pegasus wilt a bit as she found herself two teamed. “Nopony got a cutie mark that was only for just one thing. Mah sister didn’t get her cutie mark in gallopping home, but in all the stuff around that.” “Waterskiing might be part of your special talent,” I suggest to Scootaloo, who looks at me hopefully. “Maybe we can ask in the boat house if we can try it?” I suggest. “Except, I don’t think it’ll work for me and Apple Bloom, because we need your help to get going that fast.” “The—oh boy,” Scootaloo stops, grimaces and rolls her eyes. “You really don’t remember the boat pony, do you?” she says to me in a worryingly fatalistic tone. “We’re going over there anyway,” I admit cautiously, “So I guess I will have to learn.” There’s not much any of us can say to that. So, we head across the green grassy lawn to the old boat house, entering its slid open door, to be greeted by the distinct smell of wet wood and fish. We enter, looking for answers about the lake, and possible carpentry projects to work on, or at least I enter for these reasons. Curiosity in general motivates me, curious about the inside of a boat house, and of this mysterious pony that have the others so boggled. So of course they’re not making any canoes at the boat house. They’re not making any canoes there, or any boats at the moment. They do have boats that need to be repaired though. The proprieter or, overseer, or uh, the boat pony running the place is... really happy to have us showing interest. She’s a bit too enthusiastic though, and her husky voiced accent, if you can call it an accent, is... pretty much ...incomprehensible. No really. No, no you don’t understand. This is a very weird situation here. “Corse yec’n oo murigga cuppa feels go’ no derph t’wiggin ruckaside...” she says, or uh... something. I’m not even sure if she’s speaking words. This blocky mare is a deep blue pony, with a striking blonde mane, and a sort of vacant expression in her baby blue eyes. Her expression probably only looks vacant, because her eyes don’t exactly go in the same direction (and not in the cool way, like Derpy’s). It’s sort of hard to say for sure, if she even sees what us right in front of her. Picture of a sailing ship on her flank, that much is absolutely clear. There’s a really fishy smell in this boathouse too, making things even more distracting. Not like, wet fish, but like, cooking fish. The other two don’t seem to understand this pony any more than I, so I can safely assume it’s not a translation error. But she shuffles us off amid her steady babble, until we find ourselves standing right in front of what I presume is a leaky rowboat. The boat pony then drops a bunch of planks next to us, a hammer, nails, a wooden wedge, a jar of some kind of paste, a corkscrew shaped thing. ... Even Apple Bloom is afraid to touch the corkscrew shaped thing. After a very awkward silence, and staring at us unblinking the whole time, the boat pony says behind us something like “Cer wiffam’ daragan feel m’ars’rra toffa derph,” and starts walking away from us with what might be a downcast expression. I really can’t tell. “What did she say?” Scootaloo whispers to Apple Bloom. “Ah dunno,” Apple Bloom whispers back, “She’s like outta ah storybook!” “Maybe it’s like your accent, Apple Bloom,” I whisper to her, “Are there any families in town with an accent like hers?” “Ah ain’t got no accent!” Apple Bloom whines to me defensively. ...really? I give her a look. Is she joking? She’s got to be joking, so I roll my eyes at her and say, “Yeah, and I don’t have a horn.” “I don’t ‘have a accent,’ do ah Scootaloo?” Apple Bloom asks said pegasus in a hurt tone. I can tell Apple Bloom is deliberately mimicking me, but she still says “have a accent” like “hayve,” in her own accent. Is she genuinely ignorant about that? I mean, I read about how you get to thinking your accent is what sounds normal, but... that’s not really a thing, is it? Abandoned by the babbling boatswain, in a funny smelling cabin by a lake, surrounded by tools we have no idea what to do with, Apple Bloom is acting like she doesn’t know she has an accent. This is quickly getting to be the most surreal afternoon I’ve spent in magical horse land yet. And that’s counting the plant monster. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Scootaloo mumbles uncomfortably, making Apple Bloom’s ears go right down. “We can talk about this later,” I whisper to them. Sticking my hoof on the hammer handle, it’s pretty simple to lift it up. Nails, not so much. “I don’t wanna um...” I fumble with a nail, dropping the hammer, “Disappoint the um,” darn it I need both hooves if I’m going to nail and hammer, “boat pony...” I mumble distractedly. I pick up the hammer again, okay now they’re both looking at me amusedly. “What?” I hiss self consciously. “This is hard!” Scootaloo actually holds a nail for me, oddly on the sort of, outer wall of her hoof? Okay that is some bullshit right here. “Go ahead Sweetie,” she says in only slightly concealed mirth. I sigh and try to hit the nail, ready for whatever humiliation they’ve got ready for me. Just a light tap to avoid hurting Scootaloo it... slips right out of my hand. Oh right I don’t have hands. I um, push into the hammer again, to pick it up, and try hitting the nail. As soon as it hits, the hammer slips right out of my weird push/pull thing. Both of them giggle at that, and I actually feel kind of bad for being so clueless about this. “Sorry, um...” I mumble staring at the half embedded nail on the plank. “I don’t remember if um...” “Hamels a mouf thool thilly,” Apple Bloom says lucidly, leading me to look at her, with the hammer held in her... oh. God I’m dumb. Do I even watch this show? We all pick up the hammer the proper way and start messing around with the boat. Nothing for us really to do without instruction, asides just practice hammering planks into it. Which I can’t do, since I can hold a hammer, but I can’t figure out the trick to holding nails. Scootaloo finally ends up holding them for me, instead of hammering, herself, so that I can try hammering, and... well, suffice to say it’s kind of jarring to hit something with a hammer you have clenched in the space between your front and back teeth. Oddly, if not unexpectedly, it doesn’t make my teeth hurt to do so. Eventually we get tired of destroying a broken leaky boat, and I spit the hammer out, twisting my head to stretch out any kinks in my neck. There, I see the boat pony looking our way again, just peeking around the corner to watch us like a frightened filly. I can’t help but notice she’s got a funny looking plain gray cap on her very blue head. “It’s okay if you have an accent!” I say to her loudly, “It’s just we don’t really know what to do.” I don’t really expect her to understand, since my accent is going to be just as incomprehensible to her as hers is to me. Matter of fact, why do I just happen to have the same accent as Sweetie Belle? If I was Texan, Sweetie would be speaking like Applejack, and if I was from Louisiana she’d be talking like Cherries Jubilee. But... I just talk normal, and my accent just happens to be the same as Sweetie Belle? Am I remembering wrong? The boat pony trots into the room again though, with a somewhat apologetic smile on her face. “Ooo, eenboh tarsin neftly,” she says... or something. “Hain’ t’wee ders ginna dodgy parsa nift’feel.” Okay this must be a different language entirely, because I am getting none of what she’s saying. She seems to get that too, and just headbutts us away from the boat. She seems concerned finding me unable to walk smoothly, but I wave her off, and eventually Scootaloo ends up using her spread wing to steady me so I can shuffle my way away from the boat we basically destroyed. The others start to head out leaving her smiling, wall-eyed self, but something catches my eye, or rather my nose, that I’m still curious about. “Hold on a sec,” I tell the two of them, sitting down to rotate myself around with difficulty, until I’m oriented toward the smell. “Just gonna check something out really quick,” I say, standing and putting down a hoof, and then another hoof, in some facsimile of walking. The boatswain picks up on what I’m doing, and starts leading me along with a guiding hoof, saying, “Sure nee kifa bob welshis tawny arche,” in a very congenial tone, and my two friends follow curiously now. I’m not sure they want to see this, but I can’t exactly tell them off now. She leads us to a... huh. It’s a... a hot smoky grill on which there are a few shish kabobs. Except there’s only one somewhat large kabob for each shish, so more like roasted marshmallows. But unlike roasted marshmallows, what is stuck on these skewers smells like... well it smells like what I’ve been smelling in the boat house. Is that really more fish? “What is this?” Scootaloo asks critically as the boat pony passes out morsel’d skewers to each of us with a genteel smile on her face. I guess she... is rewarding us for... participation? Free samples? Scootaloo doesn’t know? Should I say something? “Ah’nno,” Apple Bloom says to Scootaloo, drawing my attention to where she’s already nibbling on the edge of a morsel, her ears wiggling her own bow as she masticates the relatively tough flesh, “But it shore is tangy!” “Ehu enolil shippamarkel ey’c’ndosh,” the ever helpful boat pony explains. And now Scootaloo is yanking pieces off of it with her formerly herbivorous teeth. “S’good!” she says, in clueless delight. They really don’t...? This is... hilarious.... They don’t know this is fish? I can’t wait to tell them. I can’t stop grinning like an idiot. I knew ponies fished, from the show, but maybe just to feed other animals. Yesterday, I learned an entirely different story, that ponies aren’t completely vegetarian, and fish can be served on a plate or as we see here, on a skewer. And yet here are the CMC with no clue about it, so it can’t be all that common to eat fish! “It’s a... um... free sample,” I suggest to the three, touching my own morsel with my tongue. It’s not too hot. I take a nibble. It’s delicious. I’m not totally evil, right? I didn’t just leave them hanging. I damned my own soul too, by feasting on the delicious morsel of a potentially rather unethical item in Equestrian cuisine. It tastes sinfully good, at least. The fish dad served yesterday evening wasn’t nearly this good. It’s probably how they cook it, with this seared fish having a stronger flavor than pan fried. One thing’s for sure, we’re all in this, together! They sit there eating fish just like I do, and I don’t have to worry about it being forbidden or anything. ...do I? I probably should tell them. I dunno, maybe I’ll get a chance later. I just don’t want to wipe the pleased smile off their faces. Definitely don’t want to make that boatswain upset. So I stay foolishly quiet, and we finish our fish treat. The boat pony actually waves us off, as we finally leave the boat house. I guess what we did was pretty special to her. My apple friend cheerfully explains they are “gonna go run around or somethin’ maybe fin’ somethin’ cool to explore,” and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want to run along right with them. But alone time is very important for me, more than I want it to be, because I think it’s been hours, and I just... don’t feel good about Sweetie Belle, and whatever state she’s in. I wish Lyra had had a quick answer, though at the same time I’m immensely relieved that there isn’t a quick answer, that is to say a quick answer involving killing me, like they killed that thing that took Princess Luna. That being said, no quick answer means I’m gonna worry, and try to keep talking to Sweetie, even if it’s a bad time. I’m just so nervous about her! With those two running off along the same path I’m guiding myself slowly along, my slow pace leaves me with nothing but the wind and the birds, and the dim slosh of water of the lake. And that’s just where I want to be. Because it means I can finally talk with Sweetie Belle. First order of business: figure out how to tell if other ponies can hear her or not. At the rate I’m going, I’ll probably have to ask Lyra directly. It should not be this difficult to determine that. Speaking of which, how the heck am I supposed to tell Lyra that Sweetie Belle just came back? I still don’t have a reliable way to contact her, outside of a place that I only vaguely know the location to, a college that I would have to walk to reach. Sweetie sure did come back, well after it was too late for me not to tell Lyra. I was planning on telling somepony anyway, or me and Sweetie were planning on doing it. It still strikes me as uncomfortably poetic justice though. Soon as I tell Lyra in a panic that she’s gone, Sweetie comes back, and now I have no way to tell Lyra she’s back. Uh, maybe I should have done that actually, I guess it wasn’t such a good idea to go to the lake after all. But this lake sounded like so much fun! I-in a totally mature, grown-up way, of course. I... should be taking my situation and Sweetie’s dilemma more seriously, but... There, I stand, on four hooves, on a trail into adventure, about 5 meters away from the boat house, which I managed to exit without too much trouble. I’ll just... practice walking a little, and then talk to Sweetie Belle once we’re out of hearing of most ponies, if she doesn’t talk to me first. That’s a good plan, right? That’s responsible, right? So, lifting one soft powdery white foot, I let myself fall forward on that, and think the special walk mantra, just walk, walk, walk. I’ll have to walk and talk—oops, stumbled. I’ll have to walk and talk eventually, but for now I just need practice, and just... walking without distractions. Lift hoof, forward, repeat. Walk, walk, feel the butt swaying, try to get into that rhythm. Try to look forward at the verdant forest enveloping me. The air is moist and cool, and there’s moss on the trees, especially the older, twisted ones. The trail is well maintained, thankfully, and actually this part seems more like sawdust than dirt underfoot. I stumble again. Shoot. With my tail and ears drooping, it draws attention to my tail hitting the earth. I look back at it dimly, the curly candy colored thing that moves at my beck and call. Really, to move my tail feels just like reaching my arm out, except... it’s a lot more... bendy than an arm. The cool thing is I’m not just sitting here telling my tail to move, but actually flexing the muscles that move it, curling it back and forth, then lifting it up, and switching the tip in the air. It’s really a lot more complicated than you’d think a tail would be. There are so many degrees of freedom, it’s... weird, but cool. “Okay, I think we’re alone now,” comes the blessed voice of the real Sweetie Belle, snapping me out of obsessing over my tail, which is actually her tail. “Can you still hear me?” “Yes!” I blurt out fast as I can, facing forward, and letting my tail bounce back to neutral. “Yes, I can, and I was just going to ask,” I continue more levelly. “Thanks for telling me. I’m so glad you’re still here.” “Miss Lyra did say it was okay, even if you can’t hear me,” Sweetie admits matter-of-factly, “I heard her tell you that, do you remember?” “Y-yeah, I heard her, but... I just don’t know about Lyra,” I remark glumly. “She was exactly what I expected, but at the same time wasn’t anything I expected, besides aquamarine.” “I know I said to ask her, but...” Sweetie Belle mumbles in a guilty tone, “I didn’t really know that she would be good. I was just guessing. You could’ve just asked some... other pony than who I said. How am I supposed to know who you should ask?” “It worked out better than either of us could have expected,” I say reassuringly, which sounds odd since I’m speaking in the same voice that I’m reassuring. “The important thing is that you know better than I do, about who to ask. Maybe there are lots of other ponies who know better than you, but... you were the only pony who knew the truth, the truth that I really wasn’t... you. I couldn’t ask any other pony who to ask, or they might hurt us... hurt me, at least.” “Some things about this are really fun,” Sweetie says in a frustrated tone, “But some things are really bad. I wish I could help you walk better, because I’m so wiggly I just want to run all over the place! We’re at the lake!” she whines. “I know! This place is beautiful,” I say, lifting a hoof and thinking about trying to walk again. “You can’t even hear the town from here, and well... we’re talking now, but when we get quiet...” Silence descends. “So... beautiful...” I whisper. I don’t think I’ve ever not heard anything more beautiful than the silence of a wilderness. “I like how you can see the water through the trees,” Sweetie puts in. I turn my head to look, and yeah, the sparkly glitter of the sunlight on the water dances through between the trunks of the trees on the shore. “Thanks,” she mumbles. With a sigh, I say, “Sweetie I’m worried about you. I need to know if you’re going away again.” “I didn’t do anything though,” Sweetie said, “I just got... slid further... out of tune? I dunno.” “We might h-have a way to bring you back if it happens,” I say seriously. A horribly inappropriate way, I make sure not to add. “But I need you to stay with me, and talk to me. If that’s all you can do, you can... pretend you’re giving me a tour of Equestria!” “That sounds fun,” Sweetie says with a giggle, as I try walking forward again. “You really do need a tour guide, and I’m just the pony!” “Um, and... I would like you to talk when— other pon—ponies are a-around,” I add clumsily. Dangit I just can’t keep up a walking pace, talking like this. I wobble off to the side of the road and flump down on my side. It’s dusty here, but high enough above the water level that it’s not muddy. “What if they hear me, though?” Sweetie says nervously. “I don’t want them to think I’m talking to them!” “Yeah, so, that’s why we have to figure out how to tell if another pony can hear you,” I make sure to clarify for her. “If they can’t hear you, then you can talk all the time. Maybe that’ll help you stay...better. I was thinking about it on the wagon, on the way here. I think I have an idea.” “Oh?” Sweetie says in a hopeful tone. “Knock knock,” I answer simply. “Who’s there?” she answers automatically. “Oh good,” I conclude with relief, “That meme is in Equestria too.” “Oh good that... meemis...who?” Sweetie replies uncertainly. “Oh! No that’s not the joke, sorry,” I tell her. “Let me try again. Knock knock.” “...who’s there?” she answers cautiously. “Ether,” I say. “Ether who?” she asks. “Ether bunny!” I conclude brightly. ...Sweetie doesn’t laugh. “Why would a bunny have ether?” she asks curiously. “Oh no, but you don’t have easter,” I say in horror, “That ruins the whole joke!” “East...er?” Sweetie tries again. “It’s a human holiday,” I say dismissively. “Um, when spring comes, is there anything with bunnies and jelly beans?” “No, but that sounds really cool!” she says appreciatively. “It’s alright,” I say noncomittally. “I don’t know if sugar is good for ponies.” “Why wouldn’t it be?” Sweetie asks in a thankfully mystified tone. “Because sugar is really bad for humans,” I say in disgust. “It tastes so good, but it eats holes in your teeth.” “Don’t you brush your teeth?” Sweetie says in an aghast tone. “That’s the sad part,” I say to her, trying to come up with... an 8-year-old explanation. “It does it from the inside. You can use vinegar to clean spots off of glass, right?” “I guess so,” Sweetie says. “Rarity usually uses alcohol.” “Well, um... so those white spots that dry out on glass are calcium, and vinegar cleans it because it’s acidic.” “Okay...” she says in a querying tone. “So, teeth are also made out of calcium. And acid in your mouth can make them softer, but what sugar does it it makes your blood more acidic.” “R-really?!” Sweetie squeaks, in a way that really does sound like she has vocal cords, and isn’t just a voice in my head. But, I’ve never had a voice in my head before, so I’m not really one to judge. “Only in humans!” I quickly clarify. “I mean, I don’t know if it does in ponies, but I think it has to be different. In humans and... animals related to humans, it makes the blood just a little bit more acidic, not enough to feel it, but enough to clean away all that calcium, bit by bit.” “What about your bones?” Sweetie says in horror. “Osteoporosis is a big problem where I come from,” I say sadly. “That’s where your bones thin out, and it gets really easy to break them. Like um... Granny Smith and her hip. It’s just... part of getting older. I guess. But sugar makes it happen way faster, so humans basically can’t eat any of the stuff. Except they do because it just tastes so good. It’s kinda sad, really.” “Yeah, I can see why you wouldn’t want to go back to that...” Sweetie says in a note of understanding. She couldn’t possibly understand though. But I’m super grateful that she’s trying, and she does... kind of have a hint about it maybe. “Okay, so, before we invent Eostre,” I say, “I’m gonna have to think of a new best knock knock joke.” “Best knock knock joke?” she queries. “Yeah,” I say mournfully, “The ether bunny one was my absolute best. But there are others... Abraham Lincoln no no, um... oh. Oh yes. Yes this will be perfect.” “Knock knock,” I repeat, ritualistically moving my forehoof in a knocking motion. “Who’s there?” Sweetie asks eagerly. “Little old lady,” I say innocently. “Little old lady who?” Sweetie responds dutifully. “Golly, Sweetie,” I say to her, “I didn’t know you could yodel!” “But I didn’t—” Sweetie cuts off. “Little old... lady... little old—phahahaha!” Let me tell you, even when someone ostensibly is not using your vocal cords to laugh in the voice that isn’t yours, but that you have to speak with, it’s still pretty darn satisfying to make someone laugh. Sweetie really liked that one, haha. I have to admit I giggle a bit too, just because she’s enjoying it so much. She stops trying to yodel, and settles down to mere giggles though, once I shift around, to heave myself up onto four hooves again. I look at my side that was pressed onto the ground. Hm... kinda dirty... ha, yeah! I find I can totally dust off my rump with my own tail. That is so horse. “So, what I’m going to do is say to somepony ‘Knock knock’,” I continue to reveal to Sweetie, lifting a hoof and considering walking again. “And they’ll say ‘Who’s there?’ but I won’t answer them. You will then say ‘Little old lady’. If they say ‘Little old lady who?’ then they can hear you. And if they don’t, then I’ll say... Orange.” “Orange... who?” Sweetie asks hesitantly. “Orange you gonna let me in?” I respond easily. “Let an orange... in?” Sweetie asks uncomprehendingly. “Yeah, that one isn’t very obvious,” I answer. “It’s supposed to sound like ‘Aren’t you gonna let me in?’ But it doesn’t matter if they don’t laugh, because that will mean you can talk to me, and not worry about anypony hearing you!” “So I’ll say ‘Little old lady’” “And if that doesn’t work,” I cut in, “Then I’ll say orange!” “That could work,” Sweetie says appreciatively. “I don’t know if I’ll remember, but I’ll try.” “You don’t have to,” I say eagerly, “Just wait until I say ‘Knock knock’” and then you’ll know you’re supposed to answer! With...?” “Little old lady!” Sweetie brightly pronounces. “Great!” I say. “And... we can try to talk to Lyra too. I dunno if we should try to go to the college again, or she said she would do something about seeing us... ugh, I kind of forget what she said though.” “Um... something about... the end of the week?” Sweetie says, adding guiltily, “I guess we both should have paid attention.” “We’ll just have to hope she knows what she’s doing...” I say unconvincingly. “But for now, let’s see how much I can walk around the lake!” Sweetie has no objections to that! I take step after step, glad that the main path is easy to travel along. I have to stop every now and then, just to remind myself not to freaking think about walking. I can start to get a sort of decent rhythm going, at least to the point that I can feel my own butt swaying in countermotion to my movements, but then I lose it again. As I travel the path before me, I start to feel dizzy from all the walking. I never would have thought it took this much concentration to learn how to walk again! It doesn’t help that Sweetie Belle is enthusiastically trying to cheer me on the whole way. Finally, I just lean right, until I’m on the shoulder of the trail, and sit my butt down in the dirt with a sigh and a quiet whump. “C’mon, get up!” she continues cheering, “You can do it!” “I don’t wanna go too far from the boat house,” I whine, any excuse at this point to just stop and think for a moment. “We came all the—” my words cut off, once I look back down the trail we came from, and the boat house is still right over there. “Oh come on!” I exclaim with a frustrated lash of my tail. “We hardly even went anywhere!” “You don’t have to go any further if you don’t want,” Sweetie says thoughtfully. “I feel like I’m walking, but I don’t feel whatever’s making you so frustrated.” “Rewiring my brain,” I say offhandedly, then correct myself, “Or, wait, no sorry. That’s when I thought that a person was their brain.” “Hmm?” Sweetie says curiously. “I used to think you were your brain,” I say, “So, if you change the brain, you change the person. There wasn’t any way to separate them. But... then I ended up in your brain, and I’m still the same person... mostly, even though my brain is totally different. It’s your brain! And I don’t even know where you are! “So, I guess we aren’t only our brains after all,” I conclude somewhat somberly. “It still feels like rewiring it though. Like... learning to beat eggs.” “With a mixer?” Sweetie asks uncertainly, and I really have to learn what the tech level of this society is one of these days. “No, by hand,” I say. “Uh, I mean... by hoof.” I hold up a forehoof twisting it sideways demonstratively as if it could hook around a giant spoon handle. “Ugh,” Sweetie groans, “I can not do that right. It just turns into stirring, or I drop the bowl.” “It takes practice,” I tell her softly, “After that, when you just push the spoon at the bowl, your arm just does the exact right motion to beat it.” “Why not just use the mixer?” Sweetie asks testily. “Because it was... noisy,” I tell her, hesitating as I try to recall the exact reason. “Also it takes too long to find the beaters.” “A mixer isn’t noisy,” Sweetie tells me. “There are a lot more noisy things than a letric mixer.” “Maybe someone was trying to sleep? But also I had a... problem with noisy things,” I answer reluctantly. “They just... it’s not that I hate noisy things. I just really like quiet things. When something you really like keeps getting taken away from you, over and over again, you start getting resentful of what’s taking it away. I started getting really... frustrated with noisy things. But not just that. They’re scary and unnerving, and they hurt your ears. Nobody cared about ears where I came from, and they just hurt so bad. Not the noise of a hand mixer, but like, a saw, or a drill.” “Saws? Really?” Sweetie utters leerily. It takes me a moment to figure what she’s so leery about. “Oh,” I clarify, “No, a power saw, not a ha—hoof saw.” “A power saw?” Sweetie asks without missing a beat. “It’s like a mixer,” I respond equally smoothly, “just with saw blades that spin instead of beaters. And lots noisier.” “...oh,” Sweetie says. Good talk. Sweetie doesn’t encourage me more, so I guess she got that I or, we just want to rest here a while. It’s a beautiful lake. The water downhill from the trail glitters, in sunlight that also filters its ways through the thick, green foliage above. The most beautiful thing is the silence. There’s no sounds other than the rise and fall of my chest, and the wind whispering through the trees. Really I’m just grateful to be outside, without any pain or illness. I can sit here in the half shade, pleasantly warm all over my naked body, and I can breathe through my nose. I can’t even describe how satisfying it is to breathe through my nose. That’s just... it makes me feel like I don’t have to worry anymore. There are problems I’m facing whose solution I can’t even come close to figuring out, but that’s okay. There are no problems that outright have no solution at all. I’m not in trouble, not in a way that I can prove I’ll never get out of. I’m an adorable little unicorn girl on the bank of a glimmering lake on a bright summer day, and I’m having no trouble breathing. This is probably the longest time I’ve had all alone by myself to talk with Sweetie Belle. It’s funny because I don’t know what to say, now that we have the opportunity. She knows what my plans are already, and she can’t help me walk any better. Mostly what we talk about is the past. Her past, which I really have to learn more about. But even that’s kind of sparse. She is definitely 8 years old. “Yes, daddy cooks fish. It’s his special talent after all,” Sweetie tells me most informatively. “It’s not often since we moved from Baltimare, ponies don’t like fish at all around here, and there are a lot more pegasuses who eat a lot of fish there, and gryphons too. And there’s an ocean, so there are a lot of fish!” “Huh, why’d he move here then?” I ask uncertainly, “I didn’t think ponies even touched meat here... well except for Fluttershy.” “Oh. Yeah, she has lots of animals to feed,” Sweetie explains. “So sometimes she has to give them fish or, other things.” “Other things?” I prompt curiously. “She only said other things,” Sweetie says in hasty embarassment. Eventually it occurs to me that I’ve actually still got a brush caught in my tail. Which kind of gives you an idea how tangled my tail must be. But it’s a perfect place to just sit there amid the whispering leaves, carefully holding the brush in both hooves, and running it in long strokes down your tail. Sweetie really appreciates it. It feels so good to get the loose hairs out out of our... tail, and on top of that, Sweetie already has expectations on how tangle free a tail should be. “It’s so interesting,” I say to Sweetie, “I never had a tail before, and... it feels like hair on my head, but a really long pole... head. I dunno it’s just cool!” “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have my tail,” Sweetie confesses. “I never even thought about it before.” “Not brush it, for one thing,” I say, as the hairs sliding through the brush’s bristles so naturally align and smooth out. Not to say they’re straight. Each hair describes a very slender curve, that gets more pronounced toward the end, curling around in a little bobb. That part doesn’t comb out, it just keeps popping back into that shape again. I can’t really reach the top of my head, but the part of my hair that hangs down alongside my neck I can brush at least. I wish one of my friends were here, so we could brush each other’s hair. I try brushing the fur on my body a little bit, the novelty of a thick pelt of fur lost on Sweetie as she chides me that the hair brush won’t work as good as the body brush. I still slide the bristles ineffectively through those short hairs, just marvelling at the soft white coat covering me in general. We don’t sit there idle for the whole entire day. Not with how restless I’m feeling, not with this whole big lakeshore area to explore. Sweetie herself sighs with relief when I stand up and try walking again. It isn’t how I expected to be transported to Equestria, as a little filly struggling to walk, with the real filly chattering away in her head. It’s qualitatively better than what I had, but it’s still slow and frustrating, and frightening in ways I could never have anticipated. Do I really have to tell head-voice Sweetie Belle about the birds and the bees? The trail slowly curves around the lake, not hugging too close to the edge. Every now and then there are small walking paths beaten into the brush, going up to the water, but I certainly don’t risk trying to go down those. Everything is full of the lush green of summer, and so very quiet it’s just breathtaking. You can hear birds chirping in the distance, but not a single hint of the sound of an automobile, or a highway, or a trucking route. Even the train is far away from here, or if it isn’t, it’s far too quiet to be heard. I hear a harsher chirping, like that of a squirrel, and then a rush of wind above. Nothing in front of me but a dusty trail and a cathedral of greenery, embracing my world all around. I still can’t go very far. I start to get anxious once I can’t see the boat house anymore. It’s stupid because I know it’s right there around the bend, but I just feel like I’m going to get lost or something without an... older pony to rely on. Anyway, Sweetie is getting nervous too, so we turn around, slowly tracing a circular arc in our path, until we’re all turned around, the greenery is hugging close to us again on the right, but the lake is to the left. I keep stumbling! I’m just really feeling worn out, staring at my hooves, and then trying to stare forward, and then glancing at my hooves again. Finally, the boat house is in sight again, and I immediately flop down, somewhere right near where we stopped the first time. Now that I’m not walking, it gives me a chance to talk to Sweetie Belle again. “How long have you lived in Ponyville, Sweetie Belle?” I ask her curiously. “A long... time?” Sweetie answers. “I had my fifth birthday here, so... five?” “That’d be three years,” I mention. “I guess Rarity hasn’t been here longer?” “Oh, I remember that’s why we moved!” Sweetie exclaims in realization. “Rarity wanted to open a store, and there was a place she got in Ponyville for really cheap.” “Really cheap, huh,” I say in disbelief. “Yeah, don’t tell her I said though,” Sweetie says casually, “She doesn’t like ponies talking about how cheap her boutique is for some reason.” “It’s not cheap anymore though?” I prompt her. “Rarity added all that... stuff to make it a really special looking ...building?” “Oh no, it’s not cheap anymore. She worked really hard on it,” Sweetie says, then a little less confidently, “You don’t think she thought I meant it was still cheap, do you? “Gotta be careful,” I tell her, “If you don’t make yourself clear, ponies will think you said something else.” “Yeah I’ll... I’ll try,” Sweetie says reluctantly. “Maybe after we get out of ...this thing.” “No pressure or anything,” I remark. “Let’s... learn about this, I guess. I really don’t know. It’s... just so impossible what happened to me. I don’t even know how to think about what happened to you. Are you... dealing with it?” “It’s really hard,” Sweetie says sorrowfully, “I want to move around on my own again. I... should be scareder, but I’m not. I don’t feel like myself because I’m not scared...er. I wish I never went to those stupid Badlands.” “Well, it’s a good thing you did,” I tell her, “Otherwise I would never have had this happen to me.” “You like this?” Sweetie exclaims, incredulous. “No, I... I mean... yes, I do,” I tell her firmly. “You are a wonderful unicorn, and being you feels so much better than I used to feel. You are really healthy, and you haven’t hurt yourself or anything. I had a bad back, and a bum ankle, and lots of things that are just... gone. I–I won’t say I’m not having trouble with these things,” I wave a forehoof in front of my own eyes to demonstrate, “But I’m just... really, really glad that I could have this much. Just being you is, I mean... “I don’t have many friends...” I tell her softly. “I don’t have any friends. Nobo—nopony ever came up to me and told me it’s okay to be a blank flank. Everypony is too busy for me, or they’re not supposed to be around me. Or they’re just bad p-ponies who just don’t care about hurting me. And some people think I’m dangerous just because I have a... uhm... because people think boys are dangerous, in my world.” Before she can ask about that, I hastily continue, “A-and, and you have friends, and family, and ponies who love you. I know they don’t love me but, I can’t say I don’t enjoy it. I really wish I had a—” my voice catches, damnit. “Sister like yours,” I manage to tell her, before shutting up and wiping at my eyes. “And friends,” I say after I have—after we have calmed down enough not to lose it. “Your friends are just as awesome as I imagined.” “They are pretty special,” Sweetie said gratefully. “I wonder what they’re doing now?” “Dunno, Sweetie,” I say with a shrug of her shoulders. The two of us stare thoughtfully over the lake’s waters. That’s when Scootaloo comes skating past us, across the lake, buzzing her wings as fast as she can to tow the wagon along behind her on top of the water, inside which Apple Bloom is perched, looking back with alarm, bow flapping in the wind. “Oh, faster Scoots!” I hear Apple Bloom’s distant moan of alarm, “He’s gainin’ on us!!” After they pass by, a rather angry looking turtle the size of a Panzer I comes rocketing across the water after them.