“Octavia! You're going to be late for school!” you yell upstairs. “Your breakfast is getting cold!”
>You stand in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in your hand, watching the staircase.
>There's no response, save for an incoherent set of groans from the second floor.
>After setting the mug down, you head up to rouse the sleeping one.
>She's retreated all the way under the covers when you arrive.
“I made cinnamon toast. If you don't come downstairs, I'm going to eat it all myself.”
>The covers shift.
>[“Five more minutes...”] the filly says quietly, poking her head out.
>You cross your arms.
“English, Octavia. It's time to get up. Come on!” You pick up the covers and lift them off of the filly.
>She looks up at you and puts on her best puppy-dog face.
>”Can't I stay home today? My tummy...”
>You furrow your brow and reach down.
>Octavia melodramatically groans and flops back down to the bed. You rub her belly for a second before quickly scooping her up and carrying her to the bathroom.
“Well, if you're sick, you need medicine. How does that sound? A little timber wolf sap?” The filly's eyes go wide and she starts to squirm.
>”I...I feel better now. No timber wolf sap, please.”
>You stay the course.
“Are you sure? I wouldn't be a very good father if I didn't make sure my little mare is feeling well.”
>”I-I'm sure! I'm sure! I'll go!”
>With a laugh, you put her down. Octavia scurries to the bathroom herself to start brushing her teeth.
“Come down when you're done! Breakfast is waiting!”
>You head back downstairs to read the paper while Octavia washes up.
>Three minutes into an engrossing article about the upcoming Winter Wrap Up, you hear a rapid clopping off to your side.
>Before you can react, the paper has been snatched out of your hands by Octavia as she leaps across your lap.
1/2
 
>She lands on the other side of your chair and starts scouring the paper.
>After a few seconds of manic page-flipping, she beams and grabs the comics page before jumping into her chair.
>The filly scans the page rapidly while munching on her toast.
>You check the clock.
“Alright, we should get going. Are you ready?” you ask.
>Octavia scrunches up her face when she gets to the end of one strip.
>She looks up at you, pouting.
>”You left it off!” she cries, pointing at the last panel. “What happens to Luther?”
>With a laugh, you circle around to her and pick up her now empty plate.
“You'll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”
>”Why don't you just say?”
“Because then nobody would read it tomorrow. Now come, get your scarf on. It's cold out.”
>The little grey mare sighs and follows you to the closet. You wrap a dark blue scarf around her before turning to get your coat.
>When you turn back around, she's disappeared.
“Tavi?” you call.
>There's no response.
>You hear a shuffling from the staircase. Following the sound, you rub your temples.
“Tavi, you're going to be late for school again if you don't come down here now.”
>”Octavia isn't here, Tall Man!” the filly suddenly yells. She's pulled the scarf up over her muzzle like a mask and is lunging at you from the stairs. “There is only me! Grey Area!” She yelps when you catch her mid-tackle.
“Well she can go to school in Octavia's place, then. Come along,” you answer, carrying the squirming filly under your arm.
>When you get to the door, you put her on your shoulders.
>She kicks lightly. “Mush!” she cries.
>You start walking to the schoolhouse, thinking of what new trouble your daughter will find today.
End