Celestia and Luna slid noiselessly into the room where Twilight stayed in confinement. Avoiding the dirty dishes that the guards had quickly learned to leave until well after Twilight had fallen asleep, the princesses stepped up to her cushion. Twilight lay on her side, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling steadily.

“I prefer not to force dreams,” Luna whispered, “particularly from memories. I also prefer to stay out of the dreams of those I know well, but… I think you would agree that it is necessary in this case.” Her eyes glinted in the meager torchlight from the hallway.

After a thoughtful pause, Celestia emitted a soft snort and nodded. This could end up being a very personal intrusion. Her own student… She bit her lip as Luna’s horn touched her own, and a feeling of velvet spread over her body, at once bundled around her and stretching to infinity. It… pressed against her chest, like being underwater or… buried in sand. Fighting, struggling for the surface, thrashing now—

“Breathe,” echoed a muffled voice through the dark, and when Celestia’s lungs felt like they would burst, she sucked in a huge gasp and snapped her eyes open. She stood beside her sister in one of the school’s lecture halls.

“Is—is it always like that?” Celestia rasped.

Luna shrugged. “No. At least in my experience, I knew what to expect after the first time, but I have never shared this with anypony else, not in this way.”

Celestia took a few steps toward Luna and lowered her head to nuzzle her sister, but… grave matters needed her attention right then. At least Luna’s soft smile acknowledged the sentiment.

And still Luna sat. What was she waiting for? This was her domain, after all.

As if on cue, Luna replied. “I know your closeness to the situation makes this difficult for you, Sister, but I was not present when these events occurred. Perhaps you should take the lead for now.”

Luna was right. This place represented a memory almost as special to Celestia as it was to Twilight. Even if she hadn’t witnessed much of it directly, she’d felt it. But now, she had to do the exact opposite and approach a cherished moment with as cold an eye as possible. For Twilight, then…

A strained grunt caught Celestia’s attention. She whirled to see a filly gritting her teeth, putting her all into coaxing a feeble spark from the tip of her horn. And in front of the filly sat a large egg atop a wooden cart… Twilight. Twilight Sparkle’s entrance exam, and apparently Dawn Ember’s birthday, too.

Her eyes squeezed shut, Twilight frowned even more deeply, but still the egg sat motionless. Across the room, her parents shared a nervous glance, and Twilight mustered her last bit of resolve. The glow on her horn intensified, radiated… and fizzled out. Standing on wobbling knees, she stared at the floor, her eyes briefly darting toward her parents. “I’m sorry…”

She’d only trudged one step back to them when an explosion rang out, and a ring of color soared across the sky. As it swept over the castle, Twilight jumped, her eyes shining like the sun at midday, and a surge of magical energy expanded from her horn, engulfed the room, the castle, the city…

“Stop!” yelled Celestia just as Twilight’s parents turned into plants, and the image froze. “Can you back up to the explosion?”

Luna nodded, and after a quick blurring of the world around them, Twilight once again stood in front of the egg. The rainboom stretched across the heavens—Celestia couldn’t help but admire such a rare thing, but… no. She didn’t have the time now. It was a perfect memory, in every detail, but still just an image.

Again, Twilight’s eyes jerked wide open and surged with magical energy. And again, that radiant sphere would soon flash out like a supernova, leaving a scent of ozone on the air. Celestia leaned forward on the tips of her hooves, anticipated the moment when she might catch a bolt of lightning—it would be that quick. Her mouth already tensed to give the word…

“Stop!”

A flawless globe hung in the air surrounding Twilight, its pearly iridescence warping the reflections of everything in it. And in the time it had taken Celestia to say that single word, it had already grown several paces wide.

Celestia circled it and prodded here and there with a hoof. Her own distorted face stared back. Her sister, too, and the as-yet-oblivious entrance examination panelists, and somewhere beneath it all, the murky outline of filly Twilight. Celestia poked her muzzle through the barrier and sent slow ripples undulating across its surface. One of them caught her eye, and she walked around to the side facing the window, where a pale, milky version of the rainboom stripes outside curved across Twilight’s bubble. All of the colors, in proper order, but…

“Here.” Celestia pointed at the reflection, and Luna joined her. The purple band—a blob of pale yellowish-green interrupted it, but when she gazed out the window, the rainbow still arched, as pristine as ever. The light green wasn’t a reflection.

Celestia pushed her way into the sphere and held back a smile at that face of childlike wonder. If only little Twilight Sparkle knew all that lay in store for her. And just as quickly, the smile faded. Yes, if only she knew…

Leaning next to Twilight’s horn, Celestia sighted toward the anomalous green patch. “Northwest,” she remarked, her voice making a hollow echo inside the enclosure. “Where was Dawn Ember found?”

“As she said, near Vanhoover,” Luna answered, and her silhouette on the sphere’s surface held a hoof to its mouth.

“You were right, Luna. Dawn Ember is somehow involved. We know how Dawn Ember is. Now we need to know what she is.” Celestia shook her head. The motionless filly stared back, innocence preserved for all time. “What did you do?” she whispered to her future and past student.

Celestia held a hoof to her chin for a moment. “Go back again, Luna. Please.”

For the third time, Twilight leaned toward the egg and gritted her teeth. And Celestia paced around her while keeping an eye toward Luna. “What do you know about her? Dawn Ember, that is.”

Luna shrugged. “Very much like Twilight Sparkle in some ways: extraordinarily intelligent, studious, fiercely dedicated.”

The breath Luna held in said more than the words left unspoken. “But…?” Celestia coaxed.

“But… her magic is entirely intuitive. It is in the background, passive, making use of the energies around her. She cannot command any power and has no confidence in her abilities.” Luna winced and hesitated, but continued when Celestia gave her a warm, gentle nod. “I have not even bothered to place her in any magic classes—she can barely levitate a pencil and will never have the capacity to do any more than that.”

Celestia closed her eyes and let the new facts swirl around in her mind. She had to make sense of this. She had to. For Twilight’s sake. With enough time, it would come to her, but she didn’t have—

“She works with the innate magic of her surroundings,” Luna added, chuckling as she twisted her mouth into a wry grin, “instead of drawing on her own power. She is almost… distrustful of… magic…” Her eyes shot wide, and she gasped at her sister.

“I don’t suppose—” Celestia jabbed a hoof toward young Twilight “—there’s any way to get inside that mind.” There could be no useful answer, but Celestia gave the universe a few seconds to provide one. “In any case… Those sound like qualities that might trouble a foal with magical aspirations. Qualities that one might prefer to rid oneself of when desperate to impress.” Celestia bent her head low to look into Twilight’s eyes. “Qualities that the inexperienced might unwisely count as undesirable.”

Luna slowly nodded her head, but then squinted at her sister. “Surely you do not mean…?”

“We must be distrustful of magic, after all,” Celestia replied with a grave resonance. “The magic wants what it wants. And what it does not want is to be tamed by a conscience. It might cast that off if it found one distracted enough.”

“But… I have never heard of such a thing!” Luna puffed up her feathers as if she could ward off unpleasant truths with a bit more insulation.

“Nevertheless… you’ve felt magic’s influence.” Celestia resumed her orbit of Twilight. “You know what it might do of its own accord, given the opportunity: somepony’s greatest wish staring her in the face, but just out of reach and slipping away.” She exhaled sharply and tried to shake off the direction her thoughts were taking, but the tightness in her throat wouldn’t ease, even for a second. “Go forward again until her power awakens.”

As before, a boom resounded, leaving Celestia’s ears ringing. And Twilight’s body spasmed, her eyes awash in magical illumination. Everything became still again. Celestia hadn’t even needed to ask.

Celestia peered closely at those youthful eyes. And the minuscule tendrils of purple mist trailing from the corners. “You know what this means.”

Luna drew a shuddering breath and dropped to her haunches, her wings spreading across the floor. “There is nothing we can do to help her.”

For hours, Dawn Ember waited as ordered, though honestly, she’d spent less than half the time awake. What did any of this have to do with Princess Twilight? Ember had never even met her.

That seemed a little odd. Both students of a Princess, at one time or another. And now a Princess herself, the Princess of Friendship. Wouldn’t she make it her business to meet as many ponies as possible? But they’d never crossed paths, as many times as Princess Twilight had visited the castle.

She’d heard the stories, of course, about how Twilight would run away from party invitations to bury her nose in a book. Yeah, books were great, but who could stand being so alone?

Look at her now, though—she knew practically everypony who came up to her, and she could remember some anecdote or shared moment for each one of them. Something just drew ponies to her; she never had to be alone.

And in all these years, Ember had only managed one friend. Well, Princess Luna, too, but she didn’t count. It had never gotten any better. She’d come to this school, not knowing a thing about practical magic, and spectacularly failed her entrance exam; Twilight had blown the test away and still managed to top herself time and again. Ember had arrived after leaving her sole friend back home but hadn’t scrounged up one meaningful relationship during her time in Canterlot. Not for lack of trying, either—she’d attended every social gathering she could find, at least early on, but she simply never fit with anyone she’d met. Twilight had gone from shrinking violet to friend magnet with little direct effort. So different.

But the one friend Ember did have… She blushed and held a hoof to her nose, though the empty room held no possibility of prying eyes. “Friendship is magic,” she’d heard Princess Celestia say on more than one occasion. The one kind of magic she’d never questioned, that she’d felt on her own without a doubt. One little piece of common ground with the Princess of Friendship, even if it took a misfit to befriend another misfit.

“Still no news from Vanhoover, eh?” Chanterelle asked when she opened the front door of her cabin.

Thrush passed her a small box and two envelopes, then shrugged and shook her head. “It’s the strangest thing, Chanty. She’s the sweetest filly. I can’t fathom why nopony’s stepped up to claim her or even say they know her. Been what now, six months?”

Long ago, Ember had stopped pricking her ears toward those conversations. She didn’t care anymore. Nothing would ever come of it, because she belonged here.

Thrush must have seen something—she stepped in and gave Chanterelle a big hug. “…Someday, somepony’ll walk up, a-and… that spare cot will sit there empty again.” Ember only caught a snippet of Chanterelle’s whisper, but she’d heard that enough times.

If only Chanterelle shared her certainty. Nopony would ever come. She didn’t want them to, anyway. She’d tried to reassure her before, but Chanterelle would only say that a filly shouldn’t worry about such things, then promptly drop the subject. So Ember did what she could.

Ember got up from the hearth, and the hushed voices stopped. “I love you, Mom,” she said with a quick squeeze of Chanterelle’s hoof.

Her mom didn’t answer, but her eyes glistened in the morning light. “Chores, young lady.”

Ember nodded and ran out to the yard, where she helped Fennel empty the drying racks and stow a few perishable herbs in the chiller box submerged in the creek. As quickly as she could, she blazed through her morning routine, then dashed back into the house. “Mom, Fennel found a bunch more of those ginkgo leaves I told you about!”

“Great!” Chanterelle replied, swiping a foreleg across her eyes. “They’ve been good sellers. Never woulda figured they’d have any use.”

Her attention returning to her coffee cup, Chanterelle glanced toward the kitchen counter. “Oh!” She jerked her head back to Ember. “I meant to tell you—those Miner colts that live to the east? The younger one got into some poison mushrooms yesterday.”

She placed her hoof on Ember’s shoulder and got those wrinkles around her eyes that she always did when she smiled. Ember loved them. They reminded her of some old etchings or woodcuts she’d seen, each tiny line carved with care and bearing the memory of a laugh. “I told them to burn a few dry twigs and make him eat ’em.”

“Did it work?” Ember asked, her eyes sparkling. She bounced on her hooftips at Chanterelle’s nod, but she needed to hear the words, too.

“I won’t tell you what happened after he ate it, but… we can just leave it that he’s doing better, and much faster than he has any right to, eh?”

Ember took a short hop into the air. “I knew it would work!”

Last chore. Ember pulled her blanket over her cot and smoothed it out, then set her corn-husk doll on the pillow. Everything squared away.

“Should we give her mane a cut?” Fennel asked from behind her, his voice echoing in his coffee mug. Ember frowned a bit but stifled a giggle when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chanterelle shaking her head. “You sure? It was pretty neat when I first found her.”

“No. I think it suits her better long. She seems to like it, too,” her mother answered. Ember blew her forelock out of her eyes and snapped a nod.

Chanterelle rose from her seat and set her cup in the sink. “Ember, why don’t you go on over to the Miners’ and see if Copper feels well enough to play?” She reached for a paper bag on the counter, and the way the contents bounced across the tile, it was pretty full. “Here. I made some cookies after you went to sleep last night. You share these with him if his mom says it’s okay.”

Maybe two months ago, she’d met him. Weird colt. They got along great, of course. Takes one to know one…

“And if you come across those Cedar twins on your way, please just leave ’em alone for once.”

Ember took the bag in her mouth. “Yes’m,” she mumbled over the rolled-up top. She gave Chanterelle another quick hug before rocketing back out the door.

After a good ten minutes of galloping through the forest, she stopped to catch her breath and sat on a moss-covered rock. Sun-dappled ferns swayed in the muted breeze that managed to get below the trees, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the feeling of uneven warmth on her coat. She was getting brown from the rock and kind of an ice blue from the moss, but understated, in the background. Sometimes her mind needed a rest, too.

Ember unrolled the top of the bag and had a look inside. Eight cookies! Four apiece. She’d need a little more energy for the rest of her trip, so she went ahead and ate one of hers. The steady crunching in her ears masked the birdcalls, and then… Well, she couldn’t have an odd number, so she ate a second one, too. That still left six—three for each of them.

Tearing off down the path again, Ember made her way up a low ridge and back down the far side, along a dry creek bed, then into a stand of pines, where she stopped for another snack. More crunching in her ears, accompanied by a woodpecker skittering over the evergreens’ bark to see what insects it might dislodge. Then one final stretch through forestland and a couple of jumps over low thickets before she cantered up to her destination.

A dark blue mare answered her knocking. “Mrs. Miner? Chanterelle sent me with some cookies to share with Copper. Is he feeling better?” She held her bag up, as if such a thing needed proof.

“Yes, and I hear I have you to thank,” Mrs. Miner answered, tousling Ember’s already-tangled mane. “He’s playing out back. Why don’t you go on and find him?”

Ember nodded and picked up her bag, then trotted around the house. The land behind it ended in a rocky escarpment that ran hundreds of hooves down to the river below. With a very clumsy and deliberate flapping, Copper was just descending from a tall pine tree, his mouth full of pinecones. When he landed, he spit them all out except one and flung it as far down the slope as he could. It bounced from stone to stone, rattling all the way, until it finally splashed into the river. He watched it until it had wound its way around the next hill and out of sight.

She walked to the slope’s edge and peered down. Judging by the number of pinecones littering the rocks, he must have been at it for hours. One at a time, the rest of his supply clattered to the water below. Was this supposed to be entertaining? He hadn’t seen her yet; he was crouched to launch himself back at the trees. “What are you doing?”

Copper looked back at her with a frown that said only an idiot would need to ask, but he didn’t stand up. “Throwin’ pinecones down the hill.” He was actually serious—none of that curl to his lip that he got when he was making fun of somepony. He really thought that was the part that needed explaining?

“Why?”

Copper shrugged.

“Is it fun?”

Copper shrugged again. Must be a boy thing.

“Maybe the trees don’t like you pulling those off.” In her experience, plants deserved more respect than some ponies, especially when that pony was a dumb colt.

“’S what they’re for. Spreadin’ seeds and such. I figure sendin’ ’em downriver spreads ’em more’n they ever coulda hoped. So it ain’t hurtin’ none.” He closed his eyes and snapped a nod as if that were the end of the matter.

He was right. But no way he’d thought of that until just now. Dumb colt.

Copper’s eyes drifted down to the bag beside Ember. “Whatcha got there?”

“Cookies. There’s one for each of us. Mom baked them last night.” She should have thought to wipe the crumbs off her mouth before she said that. But he didn’t notice.

He smiled and nosed his way into the bag, then scarfed down his cookie in three bites. “Thanks. Say, why weren’t you levitatin’ those? Seems easier’n carryin’ it.”

Ember sighed and hung her head. “I’m no good at magic. You know that,” she muttered.

“Who ever heard of a unicorn that couldn’t levitate nothin’?”

Why did he always have to say that? He wasn’t trying to be mean—she’d seen mean before, and this wasn’t it. She drooped her ears and said quietly, “Who ever heard of a pegasus that works underground?” Maybe he heard. Not that it mattered. Dumb colt.

After a long, silent minute, nopony had said anything, and only the breeze rustling through the evergreens chimed in. Finally, Copper pointed at the bag. “Ain’t you gonna eat yours?”

“No.” She shoved the paper sack toward him. “You can have it.”

Three more bites, and it was gone. Then another long silence until he spread his wings and lurched to an unsteady hover. “C’mon. I’ll get you some pinecones.”

Ember flashed a half-smile and trudged over to the top of the slope.

In the quiet throne room, Ember chuckled to herself. A couple of oddballs, pressed together out of necessity, though she liked to think they would have become friends no matter what.

It had to work that way, didn’t it? Quality over quantity. She’d rather have one dear friend who made her life full, whom she looked forward to seeing every single day she woke up. Better that than a hundred acquaintances she could take or leave. And what a friend!

Chanterelle had figured it out long ago. The way they acted around each other, the way Copper’s parents somehow always sent him over to stock up on their medicines when Ember went home for a visit. The way Copper insisted that he could do so much more for the family business if he got a good education in mining techniques rather than relying on traditional knowledge. And at a school just outside Canterlot, no less.

Still, he’d return to the family mines when he graduated. And when Ember finished as well, they could surely use another herbalist in the mountains, back home. Finished school, that is. And… and her apprenticeship. What had prompted Princess Luna to decide that so suddenly? And why had she looked so miserable about it?

No, it hadn’t been fair of Ember to say that Princess Luna didn’t count. She was most definitely a friend. There, Ember had doubled the number already! Two friends, and one with something very clearly tearing her up inside. If only she could do something to help, to ease the burden.

Suddenly, Dawn Ember felt like she understood Princess Twilight Sparkle very well indeed.

Twilight Sparkle awoke with a start. She would have leapt off her bed, but—oh, yeah. Still tied down to her cushion on the floor, with her nose stuffed into a corner of it. A corner damp with drool.

Morning again, but without the sun in the sky yet. The last time Twilight had awakened in the castle, Princess Celestia met her with a gentle voice and a warm gaze. Not much chance of that now, she supposed. When her heart had stilled, she found herself smiling.

Why? She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and tried to blink the fog out of them. If not Princess Celestia, then she could use some company, even Rarity or…

Applejack! She’d had the most wonderful dream about Applejack! Her smile only broadened at the memory of it. At least it had started out that way, but then it got interrupted. And a dream had never felt so real before.

“Profit’s down a little, sugarcube. That’s all.” Applejack sat in one of the library’s big, soft reading chairs and kneaded the brim of her hat in her hooves.

Nopony else in the room right now—no need to keep quiet about it. “If you need a loan, just say so,” Twilight replied. And despite their solitude, Applejack still widened her eyes and cast a furtive glance around.

“No, no. Ain’t no call for that.” Applejack shook her head and sank further into her seat, the pillows surrounding her like a little fortress. “Fruit prices came down this week, but our trees are healthy. Nothin’ long-term, just a temporary setback. We got other crops, too.”

Of course Applejack would never accept money. It took her friends long enough to convince her to let them help when Big Mac had gotten injured years ago. But everypony can pitch in a hoof. Not everypony has money to lend. That must make it more personal somehow. A whole community? That’s what friends do. An individual? That’s a debt. And Applejack hated debts.

“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, hiding her smirk with a hoof. “I didn’t mean a loan. I’d just give you the money. You know I’d do anything to help.”

Applejack’s forehead wrinkled, and she averted her eyes, even ducked further behind a cushion. “I appreciate it, Twilight, but we don’t need it. I’ll just have to… to dip into Granny’s hip replacement fund.” At a noise from across the room, she jerked her head over, but just a book in the return slot. They were still alone. “Again,” she added under her breath.

“Really.” Twilight walked around back of Applejack’s chair and put a hoof on her shoulder. She wouldn’t be able to see Twilight’s smile there. “You know I’d do that for you. Honestly—” she had to hold in a giggle at her choice of word “—I don’t even need the money. It just sits there, gathering dust.”

“Oh.” The corners of Applejack’s mouth quivered. Barely. But she almost asked. Twilight was sure of it. “I… I hadn’t expected. Guess I still always saw you as a student, y’know? But Princess Celestia’s student, come to think of it, and a princess yourself now.”

Applejack sat silently for a moment, nodding to some imaginary conversation in her head. “Yeah,” she added.

“I’m sorry.” Twilight circled back to the chair across from her friend and sat down. “I didn’t mean to seem insensitive. Really, I don’t have a good handle on money. I’ve never been one for indulgences, and I basically live in public housing. Maybe I don’t have much money, but you’re welcome to any and all of it.”

Those lips, twitching again. Predictable, but still fun to watch. Maybe she—

“I don’t even know what a job like ‘princess’ pays.”

She asked? She really asked…

Twilight’s mouth hung open. Not a question as such, but in her own way, Applejack had invited an answer.

“Around… five thousand bits a week,” Twilight said, selling it with a shrug. Applejack’s eyes shot wide open. “I-is that a lot?”

Applejack didn’t reply, and Twilight had to fight to keep a grin from sprouting up. Instead, she forced a frown. “I-I don’t even know what things cost, Applejack. Spike’s so good with a budget, and he manages the finances these days.”

Still speechless, Applejack rubbed a hoof down her muzzle. One tug on the hook already.

“Sorry it’s not enough,” Twilight said. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

And like any simple fish, Applejack took the bait. “No, sugarcube. Don’t feel bad. Don’t matter what it is—I wouldn’t take it. But just so you know, that is a lot. Even if it weren’t, don’t you dare feel ashamed.”

“I knew it,” Twilight muttered. “I have only two, maybe three hundred thousand saved up, and it can’t even help a friend. You don’t have to spare my feelings.” She held her pose—the thought of whipping up a few tears crossed her mind, but no need to go overboard.

In truth? Princess Celestia had considered fiscal responsibility a very important part of Twilight’s career both as a student and a public servant. She made about eight hundred bits per week, easily less than Rainbow Dash or Rarity. Or Applejack, for that matter.

Applejack gritted her teeth and bit off a word Twilight never would have pictured her using. “Look, we’ve talked to a doctor about Granny, and…”

She was going to ask! A thrill ran up Twilight’s back. That mare would actually choke down her pride and accept money! But of course, Twilight couldn’t let her good friend compromise her morals, so she’d decline, for Applejack’s sake. Surely, an Apple wouldn’t want a token gesture. And with that line crossed, Applejack might even beg.

The world bent, shimmered, reshaped. And Twilight felt herself torn from her library. Ripped away, forced into—

The school. But they hadn’t used those old chalkboards for years, not since her third term there. In front of her, a dragon egg on a small cart. She knew this place!

Just like before, she went through all the motions of attempting to open that blasted thing, and just like before, she succeeded, rather brilliantly. But Princess Celestia hadn’t attended, not until afterward. Yet she’d watched the whole time. Three of her: one peering closely at Twilight, one pacing around her in a circle, and one talking to…

Princess Luna. No, her banishment wouldn’t have ended yet. What was she doing here? And why involve Celestia?

What did it mean? And what had Celestia found so interesting about those bands of color?

Twilight’s face burned. Luna, manipulating her dreams again, and not long after she’d promised to assume Twilight’s sentence, were one pronounced. She’d like to play both sides, it seemed.

Did she hope Twilight wouldn’t notice? Did she think she could insert herself into Twilight’s past and endear herself that way?

She had no right! To rummage around in somepony’s memory—a breach of trust, a horrible violation!

From the start, this whole business had come about through Luna’s meddling, but Twilight could never figure out her angle. A power play, certainly, to take out a perceived threat, but why do it this way? To convince everypony that Twilight had gone insane? Possibly, but rather troublesome, hard to predict, and incredibly arrogant to assume she could overpower Twilight in doing so.

Twilight had almost talked herself into it. Luna was quite arrogant. She’d taken on a humbler demeanor that one Nightmare Night only to gain acceptance, stave off loneliness, not because she’d magically reformed her need to look down on everypony.

But… Twilight could read deceit in a pony’s eyes. Luna had said that she and Celestia, both of them, loved Twilight. She could have left it at Celestia alone, and by including herself, she might be drawing Twilight to play right into her hooves. Those eyes. Luna had shown no subterfuge in making that one raw statement, and just as she felt herself sinking into that well shaft again, to watch herself do things she shouldn’t… For now, she could still wrestle her way out with the strength it gave her.

Princess Luna loved her.

Princess Luna had several hours until anypony would miss her presence in Canterlot. Not that she needed to explain herself, but in this case, discretion protected more than just her.

She soared low over the Everfree Forest’s treetops, where few, if any, ponies would see her. Even so, she couldn’t let her mind wander. The innate magic below already tugged at her thoughts, and it only worsened the closer she got to that old castle. A residual magic in that case, no doubt. Few ponies understood how powerful such a thing could be.

Twilight had apparently noted some on her travels through the portal, and even here, the Elements retained some inherent abilities, despite the stones themselves having been restored to the Tree of Harmony. And the Castle of the Two Sisters—the stirring energy had precluded any possibility of her ever living there again. Fortunately, her current business need not direct her that way, though she constantly fought the impulse to go. During her brief fight with Twilight—her two brief fights, she noted, her thoughts drifting back to her return from exile—she’d let herself sink into their velvet embrace. The first time, quite deliberately, but the second, before she had noticed.

But no, today’s errand led her just outside the forest, to a humble cottage she’d visited one time, a few years ago. She didn’t expect this occasion to go any more smoothly.

Princess Luna alit at the peak of an arched bridge over a stream. With a sigh, she took a moment to peer over the low stone walls at her reflection in the water below. How many ponies still thought of her as some nocturnal terror, some menace in the shadows? How many would assume, based on old legends, that she couldn’t actually cross this running water, or that she wouldn’t have a reflection?

With a petulant toss of her head, she trotted down the inclined paving stones and up the short walk to the nearby house. She knocked on the front door, and amid a flurry of animal noises from inside, she waited. Should she try to stand tall and command obedience? Kneel and appear less threatening? The latter seemed more in line with what she could imagine Twilight recommending, just like her last time here. Nothing had helped.

The door opened a crack, and Fluttershy poked her head out. “Y-yes?” A short squeak followed as Fluttershy gasped softly.

Twilight’s way, then. Luna eased herself down to her knees, but Fluttershy only lowered her own head, almost all the way to the doormat. “May we talk?” Luna said.

“I-I…” Fluttershy shielded one of her eyes with her mane and trembled.

Luna envisioned a breezy hillside awash with moonlight, and the papery rush of moths emerging. The scent of moonflower, the light tingle of frost on her coat. A smile came easily, one she knew she’d need. “Please,” she said. “For Twilight.”

Her lips pursed, Fluttershy nodded and swung the door the rest of the way open. But those same lips quivered as Luna regained her full stature. “Please. Do not be afraid.”

“Y-y-yes.” Fluttershy backed away, her nose still pressed to the floor. “Y-Your Highness.”

With a slow breath, Luna stepped over the threshold. She’d never actually made it inside before. All the birdhouses, burrows, nests… What a charming and functional home! Much like her own study, everything with a purpose. And out of the corner of her eye, up among the ceiling beams—

“Hello, little one,” Luna said, flapping up to the ceiling to scratch under the chin of a small brown bat. It stirred and cooed at her. “Magnificent creatures, but rather misunderstood, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes!” Fluttershy replied, her eyes instantly afire. “They catch harmful insects, pollinate so much—” She cleared her throat, and finally the tension in her shoulders slackened.

“I am afraid I do not quite share your affinity with all animals, but I do enjoy a rapport with the nocturnal ones.” Princess Luna clicked her tongue at it, and the bat nestled into its perch again, then went still.

Fluttershy stood, and any trace of a tremor left her. “Please excuse me a moment, Your Highness. I’ll put on some tea.”

“That sounds lovely. And it is Luna. Just Luna.” With a nod, Fluttershy left for the kitchen, and Luna settled onto the couch. A few birds and rodents eyed her curiously, but they all sat in a silence only occasionally punctuated by the clink of mugs and the rush of water into a pot.

Most of the room’s decorations served the animal population—little homes, places to perch, ropes to climb. A spray of rose petals on the end table lent a splash of color and fragrance, but like almost everything here, they served double duty—a gopher hopped up and made a snack of the closest one. Even on the wall, a half-eaten birdseed sculpture in the shape of…

Luna held her tongue until Fluttershy returned with two steaming cups balanced on a tray between her wings. No, on one only—the other hung by her side, with an ugly bruise near the shoulder, now that Luna could see it clearly. That poor mare.

She levitated the tray onto the coffee table to save Fluttershy the effort. Then she leaned forward to breathe in the tea’s herbed scent. Black tea. Strangely appropriate, and very possibly intentional, but Fluttershy’s grin betrayed no joke. Luna waved a hoof toward the birdseed and rolled her eyes at the face she recognized in it. “Is Discord here?”

“No, not today,” Fluttershy replied into her cup. When she noticed Luna’s gaze on her injured wing, she blushed and folded it closed with a wince.

“I apologize for not arriving sooner, Fluttershy. Perhaps I could have prevented that.”

Briefly, Fluttershy’s body trembled, but she didn’t shrink away. “Wh-what’s wrong with her?”

Luna sighed. “That is precisely why I wish to speak with you. Have you told anypony what happened?”

“No.” Fluttershy shook her head and patted the white rabbit that crawled into her lap. “I had to think about it first, and I didn’t want to start rumors. Besides, I might have… deserved it…” Her eyes averted to the window.

Luna’s hoof immediately shot forward to cover Fluttershy’s, which flinched back as she jerked her head around. “No! Do not ever believe that! You quite possibly were trespassing, but for a good reason.”

In case she might find solace in whatever Fluttershy had seen out there, Luna glanced out the window herself. “Twilight did not deserve what happened to her, either,” she whispered. “Neither of you did.”

Fluttershy hid behind her teacup, but she did slouch into the cushion.

“I must ask that you keep what you witnessed to yourself.” Luna sat up straighter and allowed herself a more authoritative tone. Fluttershy paled—regrettable but necessary. “For her sake. My sister and I only now understand what has caused this, and I believe Twilight is resisting it with all her might, but nopony can sustain that degree of effort indefinitely. Her strength—”

“Will she be okay?” Fluttershy set her drink down. “I need to know.”

Was this the same timid creature who couldn’t open the door? Her jaw set, her eyes glinting like spearheads, her mane brushed back behind an ear.

“Y—” Luna let out a sigh. “I do not know. I will do everything I can to help her. Including—”

Fluttershy knit her brow and stared back in the silence.

“I will do everything I can.” Had she hidden the waver in her voice? “I do not wish to alarm all of her friends when I have nothing but speculation. I assume you have talked with them?”

“Yes.” Fluttershy nodded. “We met two nights ago, in the library, before…” She barely flexed her sprained wing. “Applejack and Rainbow Dash only noticed her acting funny. Pinkie didn’t say anything. Rarity… I don’t even know about her. She kept trying, like something was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t find it.”

Luna took a sip of tea, if only to maintain an air of routine. “Even without your stones, the power of the Elements still pervades your group,” she said, waving a hoof toward town and the castle glittering over it. “Reduced, but still present.”

For the first time, Fluttershy formed a warm smile. “I know.”

“Gather your friends again. Share your friendship with her and each other. It will help. Just do not alarm them needlessly. If we have news, I will deliver it personally.” The tea had cooled enough that Luna could swallow down the rest of it.

“I-I will.” With a shrug, Fluttershy pointed her muzzle toward the door. “But only five of us, counting Spike. Rarity left for Canterlot already. She said that something told her she needed to be there. Do you know why?”

Luna frowned. “I am afraid not.”

The low sun outside caught her eye, and she stood to leave, but—that intense gaze. Of course.

“I did promise you an explanation, but it is only for you, and I must apologize for its vagueness—I do not understand it well myself. But your friend’s magic is uncontrolled. It seeks its own ends, and she increasingly agrees with it. We must find a way to restore her… conscience, for lack of a better word.”

Fluttershy had reached for her tea again, and now fumbled to set it down without spilling it. “Oh dear—” she gasped “—I might have t-told Rarity that Twilight hurt me. But nothing more! I p-promise! I said I hadn’t, b-but…”

Luna nodded gently. “It is alright. Keep a vigil, with your friends, through the night,” she said, draping a wing over Fluttershy and drawing her close. “It will help.”

She rose and walked away as the sun neared the treetops in the distance, then turned to look back over her shoulder from the doorway. “This is quite possibly the most important test Twilight Sparkle will ever face.” And with her wings flared, she leapt toward the sky and the spires of Canterlot.