>You were going to find that pickpocket and beat the shit out of him; what kind of punk steals a prosthetic leg?
>it had started as a good day at the fair
>you used your good hoof to hold the corn on the cob after shaking bits from your mane
>you found some shade behind a vendor tent and stood and ate
>suddenly, you found your pretty pink plot plopped on the ground
>all you saw was a short yellow tail ducking between tents
>you hold the corn in your teeth, and give chase
>you've been missing your right foreleg at the elbow since you were a filly, a week after you got your Mark
>you've adapted by taking up a three-legged gait a home, but you prefer to walk and trot with your wood leg on
>you've never been good at the tri-trot
>the crowd is thin today, being a Tuesday
>you catch a glimpse of the culprit in the distance - you think
>clip-clop clip, clip-clop clip
>the worst part is that you just got fitted last week
>your growth has slowed as you've matured into a fine young mare, and you expected not to need a new prosthetic for at least half a year
>one of the Fillydelphia police catches up alongside you
>quite easily
>"where you going in such a rush, young lady?"
>your breathing ragged, you explain in brief
>the officer peels off
>you keep following
>you're getting tired
>hopefully so is the perp
>you haven't seen him in a minute
>this part of the Fillydelphia Fairgrounds has a diving show
>they just set the diving pony on fire and he dove into the water from a fifty foot tower
>you scan the audience
>none of the stallions have yellow tails
>one of the mares does, though
>she is looking at the audience, not the show
>she and her suspiciously oblong saddlebag haven't noticed you yet
>the cop and three of his squadmates surround the exits
>they're looking for a stallion, thanks to what you told them
>the thief spreads her wings
>one is half-gone
>it has enough feathers to appear whole when folded
>the other opens her saddlebag with dexterous feathers
>she has a cloud
>you have the ancient strength of your earthpony forebears
>you take a running leap, grateful that you have both of your back legs
>like a silent ballet, she turns in slow motion, seeing you coming toward her
>your foreleg stump outstretched
>your face a rictus of righteous fury
>the police say they're not going to press charges against you
>you reattach your prosthesis
>the rest of the day at the fair is all the sweeter
>--end-