Fillyshy


                                            (originally written: 14/2/2017)

                                            (this was the first chapter of what was supposed to be a multipart story; but it ends openly and works as its own short story)


                                            >I was ten years old when I returned to Ponyville to live there and where, two years earlier, I had discovered that my destiny would be to care for the animals under the skies of Equestria.

                                            >I was never a great flier, and I was often bullied for that when I was still going to flight school, where my grades were poor and where my only friend—when she was not busy with her admirers of course—was Rainbow Dash.

                                            >So when my parents asked me if I’d be happier attending school and living in Ponyville, where my destiny would be as close as a walk to the forests surrounding the town, I felt almost like I had been thrown a life line just before I was going down with a sinking ship.

                                            >My father and little brother had to stay behind, so it was only my mother and I that had moved into my grandmother’s old cottage in Ponyville.

                                            >I spent that last month of my summer vacation either helping mom move us in or going out back to play in the forests and valleys, that were only minutes away, with any friendly group of critters who happened to be there that evening.

                                            >With the happy memories of both my first day on the ground and my first romp with the woodland critters in my mind, I went into the woods expecting to find maybe a dozen of them or so to speak to, if I was lucky.

                                            >By the end of the day, I couldn’t believe just how many critters actually lived there.

                                            >It seemed to me like there was a family of squirrels living in every tree, a family of gophers in every burrow, and in the crook of every branch laid nested a mama bird with her babies.

                                            >By the time the first couple of weeks had passed I still hadn’t been introduced to all of my new friends.

                                            >Some of them even remembered me from when I had fell from the sky two years ago, and they had always wondered if I was ever going to come back.

                                            >Those critters were happy to see me again, since they told me that they didn’t usually see anypony come into the woods unless it was to gather herbs or chop down some trees.

                                            >A lot of the animals actually wished that there was somepony that could take care of them all.

                                            >That was when I did something really stupid.

                                            >Coming home later that day, I leaded my own little parade made up of dozens of critters and birds.

                                            >When we got to my house I turned around and told them all to scream and shout loud enough for my mother to hear, and in a second the air had become thick, swirling with the combined noise of their squeaks and screeches and songs.

                                            >My mother threw the door open and, looking around in a panic, stopped and stared bewilderedly at my happy congregation.

                                            >She calmed down once she saw how happy I was, and after straightening her glasses and taking a better look at what I had done she started to smile.

                                            >I eased the animals forward so that I could introduce them to my mother, and as we got closer her face began to color and she wiped her eyes in happiness.

                                            >Or so we thought, until she doubled over in a sneezing fit that knocked her out of her senses.

                                            >From there I was able to discern that my grandmother that had once lived here must have been my father’s mother.

                                            >After that I had to go straight to the bath whenever I came home from playing with my critter friends.

                                            >This I did not mind. I was more sad that because of my mother’s allergies I could never really share with her the thing which I loved to do best.

                                            >The woods began feeling lonelier to me for a while after that, and I was angry that she had had such a negative effect on the place which I loved so much and held so sacred.

                                            >I told this and many other secrets to the critters, who were always good listeners and who never told me to speak up or made me feel ashamed or judged.

                                            >They, too, seemed to understand what I was feeling more than anypony else did, even though we could not communicate through words.

                                            >I could see my reflections in their pure eyes, as black as sight behind resting eyes, and I think they could see themselves in my own blue eyes too.

                                            >On the morning of my first day of school I ate too quickly to enjoy my breakfast and tried to hurry out the door before my mother said:

                                            >“Fluttershy, would you like it if I walked with you on your first day?”

                                            >I stopped just shy of my exit, my saddlebags barely strapped on due to my interrupted haste.

                                            >I looked at her hopeful and nervous face, which was eager for me to say yes, and felt every nerve in my body recoiling at the idea of what she had suggested.

                                            >I could still remember how badly she had embarrassed me last year when I agreed to let her come with me on my first day.

                                            >She went into the classroom and spoke to my teacher about how, even though I was a year older than them, I was not as quick as the other kids and I might need a little extra help that semester because I had barely passed my classes last year.

                                            >Rainbow Dash, and a group of friends which she had made that summer, were standing not even ten feet away from us and I could hear her new friends snickering at me, the dumb girl that was taller than everypony else, and my mother, the bespectacled dork that had to repeat herself whenever she was speaking to somepony outside our family.

                                            >I wasn’t about to let her embarrass me in front of my new classmates, too.

                                            >“That’s nice of you to offer, mother. But, um, I think I’d like to go by myself, if that’s okay with you.”

                                            >“Well, if that’s what you want, dear,” she said, her smile shrinking.

                                            >We waved goodbye to each other once and she stood out front after I had exited so she could watch me leave.

                                            >I didn’t look back for fear that I would see a sad expression on her face.

                                            >All I wanted on my first day of school was to make a good impression on everypony.

                                            >Instead, though, I got lost on the way. I had only been to the schoolhouse once with my mother, so that I could be enrolled, and I thought that I would remember the way to go.

                                            >But as I walked further in the streets, shouldered among the suffocating crowd of ponies commuting to work, my mind had started to fog and the town was rendered unfamiliar to me.

                                            >Later I heard the peal of the schoolhouse bell echoing throughout town, and like a bird separated from its flock I heeded towards the sound of that call, only to get lost further in places unfamiliar.

                                            >Finally, I decided to ask for directions.

                                            >For what felt like hours I looked for a friendly face to approach, but no matter how hard I searched I just could not find any birds or critters to talk to.

                                            >I grew wary of the eyes of the ponies around me and I imagined that they were watching me, questioning why I was not in school.

                                            >My heart sought refuge from their stares, which I found by ducking into an alley and hiding between the garbage cans that lined its shaded walls.

                                            >When I had calmed down and could think again, I began to wonder about what I was going to tell my new teacher when she asked why I was late.

                                            >I hoped she would not humiliate me with some punishment on my first day.

                                            >But looking at myself from outside, and seeing how I was hiding among the garbage for fright of my anxieties, I felt as if I somehow deserved punishment of some kind.

                                            >All my life it seemed to me that I had something wrong with me and in thinking this way I began to hate myself.

                                            >I addressed the pathetic and weak image of myself before me with scorn, and asked it cruel questions that had before rested hidden in the darkest and most shameful spaces in my heart.

                                            >Why are you not a good flier, Fluttershy?

                                            >Why are you so stupid that you got held back a year, Fluttershy?

                                            >How come you can’t make friends with other ponies like the normal kids can, Fluttershy?

                                            >I thought spitefully this way until my chest felt beaten and hollow. I had drained myself of all my energy.

                                            >All my bad feelings were gone and I felt empty now.

                                            >I wanted to cry, but I would not let myself do so.

                                            >Down the alley I was in, I could see the faint sliver of a house; it was as unfamiliar to me as anything that morning, but it was now the focus of my attention.

                                            >I imagined that an average family must live there, and that that family was made up entirely of normal ponies, all of them happy and friendly with everypony that they met.

                                            >I tried to imagine myself as part of that happy family, but my feelings told me that I would not fit in, and that they would be embarrassed to have such a weird and shy pony as a daughter.

                                            >Wishing for a better view, I got up and walked towards the end of the alley, whereupon I saw that the house actually looked empty, and that in front of it was a for rent sign.

                                            >I folded my ears and stepped backwards to go back to where I was hiding when, suddenly, I heard what sounded like an inquisitive meow coming from behind me.

                                            >My ears perked up instantly.

                                            >The meow had come up under my ears, so I looked low in the alley and saw that, on the side of one of the houses, a grate leading to the underside of the house had been opened and was lying flat on the ground, as if it had been pulled out and never put back.

                                            >I crouched down and looked into the dark entrance, and saw shadowed the careful movements of a cat, crouched as lowly as I was.

                                            >I said hello and the cat stopped at the sound of my voice. Then it sat down and, watching me in the dark, began swishing its tail round its body.

                                            >I told it who I was—reassured it that I was not there to do harm—and all about my predicament regarding the schoolhouse, and the more I spoke the louder I could hear the cat purr.

                                            >When I finished I saw the cat’s eyes for the first time. They were like two fireflies blinking at night and they looked just to the side of me at what I realized where my wings.

                                            >Then it meowed with confusion, as if it was wondering why I did not just fly to school.

                                            >Unfurling my wings and looking them over, I scrunched my muzzle, realizing that I could have easily found the schoolhouse from the sky rather than by my walking, and shyly said my thanks to the cat.

                                            >I heard it meow again, but when I looked for it in the dark it had already disappeared further beneath the house to where I could not see it.

                                            >At that time I was so anxious to get to school that it did not strike me until much later that that cat must have lived beneath that house, and that the first meow I had heard was different from the one that I had heard from the cat.

                                            >The first meow was littler.

                                            >I touched down onto the front steps of the schoolhouse.

                                            >I could see that the door was locked and from behind it I could hear my teacher speaking.

                                            >I was shaking inside when I knocked, and everything was quiet until I heard the dull thuds of hooves hitting the wood floor and approaching me.

                                            >My teacher was a very strict mare called Mrs. Prerank.

                                            >The first time I met her was when she answered my knocking, and she looked annoyed to see me and said nothing, only moving aside so that I could enter.

                                            >I walked in on my hoof tips, and hid behind my mane, aware of all the eyes on me but straying from meeting the faces attached to them because I knew that they must have all had amused expressions.

                                            >Mrs. Prerank and I stood at the head of the classroom.

                                            >“Everypony, this is Fluttershy. She’s new this year, having just transferred to us from Cloudsdale.”

                                            >That was all she said. My classmates all clopped their hooves together obediently, but Mrs. Prerank did not let me enjoy it for too long before she asked them all to quiet.

                                            >Most of the empty seats were near the back, so that’s where I sat, trying not to be at the center of anypony’s thoughts.

                                            >At recess I hung at the edge of the playground and watched my classmates flit from end to end of the grounds, like birds flying between the separate trees in the forest.

                                            >I knew that I had to approach one of them at some point so that I could make a friend, but I was unsure as to how I could do that without it appearing obvious to them that I was vulnerable.

                                            >Suddenly, I heard my name being called, and I was descended upon by a friendly group of girls who offered to show me around the playground and introduce me to everypony.

                                            >I was silent as I studied their faces, which seemed sincere to me, looking for any hidden malice.

                                            >They urged me on; I hesitated, until one of them pulled me into their group, promising that I would have fun.

                                            >I moved with them to appear inconspicuous, which proved impossible to do later on when the girls began approaching different cliques of ponies, where they pointed to its individual members and named them.

                                            >I did little more than wave hello to these ponies, but the girls I was with were curious to know why I was late and, urging me on, I decided to tell them the story.

                                            >One of the girls, a plum-colored filly named Cheerilee, was interested when I had brought up my trying to find the birds.

                                            >“You mean,” Cheerilee said, “you actually wanted to talk to the birds, or just find them?”

                                            >I felt a chill inside me, knowing I had slipped up.

                                            >In flight school, after I had returned from the ground, I made the mistake of telling some of the ponies in my class that I could understand animals; and they didn’t waste time in mocking me for it, saying that they were glad I had made friends with the animals since I didn’t have any other friends to speak of.

                                            >To Cheerilee, I replied cautiously:

                                            >“Well, I can’t actually speak to the birds,” I said. “But they listen easier to my voice when I speak to them. I can work with them, and hear the tones of their voices to find the meanings of their sounds.”

                                            >“So, you can’t talk to them?” she asked, losing her smile. She wasn’t getting it.

                                            >“They understand what I’m saying to them, without really hearing the words of my speech.”

                                            >She nodded seriously, and then said:

                                            >“So, in a way, you can talk to animals.”

                                            >The group stopped moving, waiting for me to answer.

                                            >I was almost ready to deny flatly that I had any talent with animals.

                                            >But it turned out that I never had to worry, though, as Cheerilee brightened up immediately after her speaking.

                                            >“That’s so cool,” she yelled, her eyes sparkling towards me. “I’ll bet that’s your special talent, isn’t it?”

                                            >I recovered quickly and nodded towards my butterfly cutie mark.

                                            >We started moving again, with the girls asking me all kinds of questions about animals.

                                            >“What’s your favorite animal?”

                                            >“My kitty doesn’t like it when we play dress up, is that normal?”

                                            >“Have you ever met a dog that liked a cat before?”

                                            >By the end of that one recess, I had a name to all of the faces of my classmates.

                                            >The tough-looking girl who had a farm accent was named Applejack.

                                            >The smooth brown colt that liked to sell candy at lunch time was named Caramel.

                                            >The girl with the sharp muzzle, who was the only pony that said nothing to me when we met, was called Spoiled Milk.

                                            >There were other ponies too, like Rarity, Mayor Mare and Derpy Hooves.

                                            >I had never met so many ponies in such a short period of time before or since.

                                            >By the time the bell rang for us all to go back inside my head was spinning, so overwhelmed with all I had just learned, that I did not think I could manage to concentrate on anything that we were about to be taught in the classroom.

                                            >For a little while throughout that first semester, I was popular.

                                            >At flight school I had to struggle to find a seat at lunchtime when Rainbow Dash’s table was full.

                                            >But here in Ponyville it seemed as if everypony wanted me to sit with them, and so I got to sit with a different group each day.

                                            >I think they liked that I was a pegasus more than anything else about me.

                                            >I didn’t really say nor do much to endear myself to any of these ponies in any other way, because I was always worried that if I acted like myself I would eventually do something that my classmates wouldn’t like.

                                            >I was one that was silently loved and envied.

                                            >When a ball got stuck on the roof or in a tree, I was the one they came to. I’d fly up and get it, with everypony watching, and they’d all cheer when I floated back down with the item in my arms.

                                            >They were interested in Cloudsdale and how pegasus ponies lived, and I tried to answer any questions they had as best as I could.

                                            >“Is it true that they make the weather in a big factory like my mom said they did?”

                                            >“What stops Cloudsdale from just drifting away like normal clouds?”

                                            >“When you go to the bathroom and flush the toilet, where does it go?”

                                            >My novelties as both a pegasus and a retriever soon faded, though, and after a while I was left alone.

                                            >I had hoped that I could have kept sitting with a group until winter had at least arrived.

                                            >But I also knew that I could not just hang on the edge of their pre-established groups forever, always being quiet and never having an actual conversation with any of them.

                                            >One day no pony had invited me to sit with them.

                                            >So I sat again at the edge of the playground, just outside of everypony else’s view, and I ate my lunch in silence, knowing that it was over for me as I watched my classmates bounce from end to end of the playground, like birds flitting from tree to tree in a forest.

                                            >My grades hadn’t improved at all during my transfer.

                                            >It was hard for me to concentrate in class. All I could focus on was how badly I wanted school to be over.

                                            >I never understood how to do the homework I was assigned, and I’d get frustrated working on it and just either ignore it or fill out wrong answers so that I could put it away.

                                            >My mom tried to help me, but even back in Cloudsdale she wasn’t very good at algebra.

                                            >Only once did I ask for help afterschool from Mrs. Prerank, but her tactful voice seemed to whip me when my hesitance showed and her strict brow when I delivered a wrong answer pushed me down in my seat.

                                            >“No, no, no, my dear Fluttershy,” she’d say, groaning and leaning over me. “It is like this. Here. Watch me now.”

                                            >I started depending on my critter friends more and more for comfort, often spending entire evenings in the woods with them.

                                            >Whenever I had to leave, I always found myself wishing that I could just live in the woods, so that I could spend the rest of my life taking care of my friends, and never have to worry about things like homework, or loneliness, or being ashamed for my shyness, ever again.

                                            >The cold suddenly came in the nights, and our cottage was not ready for winter.

                                            >It was never warm now, and it was soon impossible to fall asleep in bed without shivering for a while, as I waited for my body to warm the sheets.

                                            >On my way to school I noticed now that the weather team was pushing the grey clouds together, like they were creating a sheet for us all to be under when the snow came.

                                            >My critter friends were all too busy getting ready for the winter to play with me now, and I helped them as best as I could, all of us promising that we would see each other again at the first sign of spring.

                                            >But on the last day when all the animals were snug in their burrows and holes, and the woods were silent but for the sound of the snow drifting to the ground, I could not help but feel despairingly heavy in my spirits when I trudged home from the woods for the last time that season.

                                            >Now that there was nothing to do in the evenings anymore, I always came home alone and always went straight up to my room.

                                            >In my solitude I sought out other ways to entertain myself after school, which led me to sometimes walk town, which I did with my head buried beneath my shoulders amidst the crowd of working ponies filling the streets on their way home.

                                            >When I first heard of the animal shelter in town, I imagined that it would be almost like a ranch where the animals could safely walk on the range, but with a warm bed and food waiting for them as they waited for somepony to come find them and love them.

                                            >The air outside was biting my cheeks and the wind sought to push the door open when I went inside the shelter for the first time.

                                            >I closed the door, but did not get farther than where I stood.

                                            >The shelter that I had envisioned was gone from the moment I noticed those black scuff marks on the tiles of the floor near the entrance.

                                            >Then I heard the defeated screams of the animals from somewhere in the back, and I could see that they were all trapped in kennels and cages.

                                            >The sight and smell made me recoil. It stunk in there, the odor of their waste never having left the air, no matter how much you cleaned where it had been dropped.

                                            >The insides were all either white or grey, like a doctor’s office; and in the whole of being there it seemed as if your eyes, growing accustomed to the air, were tinted yellow.

                                            >I had not moved an inch since I had come in and seen the marks.

                                            >There was a pony reading a book at the front desk.

                                            >She began eyeing me curiously when I came in, but her face had a bored expression on it.

                                            >Her coat was the color of a walnut, and her eyes and mane, which were white, seemed nut-colored too, like the inside of an almond.

                                            >She seemed to be the only pony there, and once she had taken stock of me she went back to reading the book on her desk.

                                            “You can look,” she said hollowly, “but if you want to adopt, you got to have a parent with you.”

                                            >Her unsympathetic words and aloof manner had steeled my nerves and, feeling my stomach twisting in knots at the sad and sordid reality before me, I stood silently for a moment before rushing out the door and trotting towards home in the blinding and unkind winter air.

                                            >I couldn’t believe that anypony could approve of what was going on there and call it a shelter.

                                            >The more I learned of it, the more that I likened it to a prison instead.

                                            >Once an animal was there they were immediately put in little cages, and could not get out unless somepony adopted them.

                                            >After I had a bath I told my mom at dinnertime all about how cruel I felt the shelter was.

                                            >“I know it’s not a nice thing to see,” she said, “but those animals don’t have any owners. And we can’t just have them all out running wild in the street.”

                                            >“But they should be happy while they’re waiting for somepony to come adopt them, don’t you think?”

                                            >“They’re safe, with food and a warm place to sleep, Fluttershy,” my mom said. “Odds are that they would not have any of that if they were out on their own.”

                                            >She was missing the point entirely, so I stopped arguing with her.

                                            >I just could not help but know that things were supposed to be better for those animals.

                                            >I heard later that the pony I had seen at the desk earlier had a wire cage for a cutie mark, and it upset me to know that the animals were being cared for by a pony that seemed to have no special talent at all when it came to caring for animals.

                                            >I had better success when I went and got my library card, and met Mr. Binding, the librarian.

                                            >He was an old-looking pony in his face, but he sounded young when he spoke, and he always wore a soft wool sweater, no matter what kind of weather there was.

                                            >His coat was a neat silvery-blue but the gravel-dust colored hair on his head, both on top and on his face, was always shaggy like a mop.

                                            >It constantly got in his eyes, the color of which I do not even remember.

                                            >He and I struck up a friendship right away, and he delighted in telling me stories about himself and the history of Ponyville, which was where his family had lived for countless generations.

                                            >“This tree,” he said, making a sweeping gesture around us in the library, “started out as a little sapling which had surprised my grandfather one day when he found it as a colt, sprouting up from underneath the floorboards.

                                            >“My great grandfather, sensing that there was magic willing the plant along, said that no pony was allowed to interfere with its growth. And since there was no place to go for it but up, that’s what the tree did, until it became as big as the house it was living in.

                                            >“Ponies in my class would always ask me, ‘Ain’t you the colt that’s got a tree stickin’ out the roof of his house?’ and I’d get to stick out my chest and say, ‘Why, I sure am!’

                                            >“My family and I hollowed it out, and it took us nearly twelve years to do it, but we got it done.

                                            >“It was my dad’s general store before I made it a library, though. I’m just lucky he needed to make so much shelving at first so he could stock his goods.”

                                            >I rented all kinds of books about animals, often filling up my saddlebags with library books rather than the homework that I should’ve been doing instead.

                                            >From evening until bedtime I would stay up to read about my friends in the woods, and the ones that were somewhere farther away.

                                            >Sometimes I would even force myself to quit reading so that I wouldn’t finish the book that night, because then I knew that I’d have nothing to do the next day.

                                            >But as the winter semester started coming to an end, and my grades only got worse, my mom made a new rule for me to follow: I had to come straight home after school so that I could do my homework right away.

                                            >That meant the end of my visits to the library.

                                            >Right when I got home I would sit at the kitchen table, my schoolbooks spread out, and try to make some kind of headway into my homework, often working until the sight of the blackened windows in the kitchen made me tired.

                                            >I began to dread not only going to school, but also my walks home, too.

                                            >Underneath my bed I had hid a small stack of library books about animals from my mother.

                                            >At night I would take them out and read them over and over again in the dim light of the table lamp on my nightstand.

                                            >I’d touch the pictures, remembering my animal friends, and wish that spring would somehow magically come early this year, so that I could have someone to talk to again.

                                            >I was glad when Hearth’s Warming break came and I could have an excuse not to focus on school for a while.

                                            >Mom and I took a flying carriage to Cloudsdale so that we could spend Hearth’s Warming Eve as a family.

                                            >But I was mostly excited that I would get to see Rainbow Dash again.

                                            >I had promised to send her a letter every other week or so, but I had been negligent in this duty, and I think I had only written to her once.

                                            >I accepted that she would most likely be upset with me, that is, until she realized that now she would get to tell me all about all the awesome things that she had done while I was away.

                                            >My parents pulled me into dad’s study so that they could have a serious talk with me.

                                            >I knew that, even though I had barely passed my winter semester, I was still in trouble with them over my grades.

                                            >The warm glow of the fireplace cast a shadow on their concerned faces, which were masked behind the weak smiles they wore to placate me.

                                            >The crackle of the fire made my skin hot and itchy, and I sweated in my seat for the only time that I ever would during that long winter.

                                            >They said that it seemed like being closer to my destiny had not improved my mood much at all over these last two seasons, and then they asked me whether or not I thought it would be a good idea to move back to Cloudsdale.

                                            >As much as I disliked being bullied back in flight school, I really hated the loneliness I had encountered in Ponyville.

                                            >At least if I lived in Cloudsdale again I would have Rainbow Dash as a friend.

                                            >I seriously considered moving back, and the only reason that I refused to do so was because of the promise I had made to my critter friends, before they hibernated, that I would come and see them at the start of spring.

                                            >Dash and I were in her room, looking at a Wonderbolts picture book that she had gotten for Heart’s Warming.

                                            >I had decided that I was not going to tell her about the offer my parents had made me to move back.

                                            >I just wanted to have a nice visit, with her doing most of the talking as usual.

                                            >The last thing I wanted was to get her all worked up about something.

                                            >Unfortunately, we had not even been together for five minutes when Dash said, “So, tell me about some of these new girls that you’re friends with.”

                                            >That was when I realized that the one letter I had written to Rainbow Dash had been written immediately after my first day of school.

                                            >She thought that I had spent this last semester palling around with Cheerilee’s group and getting to know them.

                                            >“Tell me about them,” said Dash, “and I’ll tell you if they’re cool or not.”

                                            >My entire being winced at the idea of doing anything of the sort that she was asking.

                                            >Because my friend Rainbow Dash, though she was certainly not the smartest pony in the world, could read my true emotions beneath any falsity or act on my part to cover them up as easily as if, right before her eyes, my entire body could change color with my mood.

                                            >“The new girls,” I repeated stupidly, trying to collect my thoughts. I had to be careful.

                                            >At first I repeated to her what I had already written in my last letter with an air of obliviousness in my manner.

                                            >Then I carefully began to fabricate tales which told of all the fun things my friends and I had all done together over the school year.

                                            >I continued in this vein with an anxious heart, desperate for her to believe me as I went on, and sad that the things I was telling her of had not actually happened to me, that all the slumber parties and funny stories and the long games that my friends and I had played together into the night were all only things which I had overheard my classmates recounting with each other, while I sat alone.

                                            >Soon my false speech had betrayed me to Dash, either because it was too detailed or too long or too unbelievable in some way of which I did not know, and she was looking at with a dully annoyed expression, as if she were a parent and I the child who had actively disobeyed her too often to really be angry with.

                                            >“Right,” Dash said, drawing the word out. “So, how many friends have you actually made?”

                                            >I folded my ears as silence blanketed over me. Dash groaned, and asked:

                                            >“Did you even try to make any friends?”

                                            >“For a while, I ate lunch with a different group of ponies every other day. But then they all started ignoring me.”

                                            Dash crossed her arms, clearly annoyed with me, and said:

                                            “That’s because you didn’t say anything to them, I bet.”

                                            >Hearing her speak so slightingly of me in such a flippant manner stoked a fire in my heart, the heat rising up to my cheeks as I turned to her.

                                            >“Well, and how would you even know that, little miss perfect?” I wanted to say with hushed venom. “Don’t talk like you were there with me, you who everypony likes, and who never has to worry about having no friends.”

                                            >I hid my anger from her though, turning away quickly from her eyes so that I could hide the shame coloring my face.

                                            >I knew that Dash, in her own belligerent way, just wanted to help me.

                                            >It was my fault that I had no friends, after all, and not hers.

                                            >She made me agree that I would try harder to make a friend at school, and, when I was leaving with my mother, she also suggested in a roughly-playful tone that I write to her more than once while I was away.

                                            >After fighting her blocking hooves away, I went in to give her a goodbye hug.

                                            >She returned it, making a loud show of how much she hated such sappy shows of emotion.

                                            >But I can read her in certain ways as well, and I knew that she was happy that I hugged her.

                                            >“Don’t leave me hanging on those letters,” she hollered one last time as I left.

                                            >On the carriage ride back to Ponyville, I looked out among the frosty white forests and snow-capped mountains that surrounded town, and I thought anxiously of just how I was going to keep my promise of making a new friend to Rainbow Dash.

                                            >I knew for sure that I could never find the will in me to just approach somepony I hardly knew, and talk to them with confidence that we would be friends.

                                            >But I could not just continue to be lonely out of cowardice, either.

                                            >Back when I was still invited to sit with groups of friends at lunch, I remembered one time that Spoiled Milk was speaking of a kitten that they had at their home.

                                            >The kitten, normally sweet and loving towards everypony, had lately taken a complete turnaround in personality.

                                            >Now, instead of curling up on their laps, it liked to hide in small dark places, hissing and swiping at anypony that came near it.

                                            >It barely even came out to eat its food anymore.

                                            >They had tried pampering it, brushing its coat, giving it fish to eat instead of cat food.

                                            >But nothing worked, and no pony could understand how such a sweet cat had gone bad.

                                            >I had some ideas on what it could be, though.

                                            >Based on stories I had read similar to Spoiled Milk’s I figured that the cat was in some kind of pain, perhaps infested with parasites or ear mites.

                                            >I knew I could have helped her, but I was too anxious to speak up, and no pony bothered to ask me my opinion of what to do.

                                            >Eventually, Spoiled Milk simply shrugged, and said:

                                            “Well, that’s what we have vets for, huh?”

                                            >They moved on with their conversation.

                                            >But my own mind, distant from theirs as always, lingered bitterly on that perfect opportunity I had to impress my friends, and that I had wasted entirely.

                                            >It was the only time I had ever really almost spoken to somepony without provocation and I liked to think that, if only I had said something to catch their attention in some way, then maybe they would have remembered me later when everypony else had forgotten, and I wouldn’t be as sad and lonely as I was now.

                                            >So what I vowed to do was this: If another perfect opportunity to make a friend like that one was to come along to me, then I would take it.

                                            >When we returned to town all of the snow had been cleared from the streets of Ponyville.

                                            >The sky would still be overcast for some time, but winter had officially been wrapped up in the minds of some.

                                            >I was anxious to see my critter friends, but we had gotten home late and my vacation had ended on that day.

                                            >Tomorrow, school started again.

                                            >With my new vow to make a friend set firmly in my mind, knowing that I would be observing them all as usual but with a hidden purpose in my heart this time, I felt strangely confident in myself as I walked to school.

                                            >I arrived on time but, to my surprise, no pony was out playing before the first bell like they usually were.

                                            >For a while I wondered if I somehow had been late or came on the wrong day.

                                            >But from behind the schoolhouse door I could hear the low buzz of conversation.

                                            >There was a new voice, too, which sounded like a colt’s and seemed to me to rise above the din, almost as if it was coming from a loudspeaker hanging from the wall.

                                            >It seemed to me as if my opportunity had come early following my aspirations, and I felt a bit anxious as I forced myself to open the door and ease it gently cross the threshold.

                                            >I couldn’t believe what I saw when I opened the door, so much so that I actually stood in shock in the doorway, thankful for once that no pony usually paid me any mind.

                                            >There at the end of the classroom, surrounded by nearly everypony in class and with Mrs. Prerank watching on warmly, was a strange creature, clothed and, smiling, addressing them all as they listened with rapt attention to the end of whatever previous narrative it was telling them.

                                            >When it spoke its last phrase, closure evident in its tone, my classmates all popped in peals of laughter that made the creature smile even broader.

                                            >I heard some of them address it by name and hang on its waist, embracing it even though it was taller than all of us by a good two feet, even taller than Mrs. Prerank by a good foot.

                                            >“Ah, she’s here,” I heard Mrs. Prerank say; I had no idea she was mentioning me at that time, but she was soon instructing us all to take our seats so class could begin.

                                            >The congregation round the creature had diffused and somberly took their seats.

                                            >I followed them mechanically, but my eyes never left the creature, which saw me watching it and nodded warmly my way as it took seat at a very large desk near the front of the class.


                                            >At lunchtime I watched from my edge of the playground as Cheerilee and her group of greeter ponies helped introduced him to everypony in our class.

                                            >No pony knew what he was, but they all seemed to accept him as he approached them and, when he left with the group to see the next clique of ponies, the clique he had just left would watch him for a while, then all turn to each other with excited interest, as if they had to all go over whatever it was that they had just talked about with him.

                                            >This happened with every clique he talked to.

                                            >For some reason it seemed as if everypony liked him, even though he was so strange looking, and I wondered why.

                                            >Was it solely based on his good nature, did they pity him, or was it something that I could never recognize myself?

                                            >What was it about him that everypony liked?

                                            >As he continued to win over our classmates, despite my confusion, I remembered how I had been in his position previously, how I had been the new kid that was being shown around;

                                            >and when I compared myself to him, when I saw how popular and well liked he was becoming when I had failed to make an impression on anypony when I was in his place, I began to envy his success.

                                            >A bitter taste trailed from up beneath my stomach, and I felt as though I were nauseous, as I let malevolent thoughts take hold of my mind.

                                            >I began hoping that, just once when he approached somepony, he would be snubbed, or confronted with a sour expression as though he were intruding, or that he would hear something slighting said of him when he turned around making it awkward to turn and confront them.

                                            >But then my heart softened when I saw that Cheerilee’s group was coming towards where I was sitting.

                                            >I realized that this could be my opportunity to make my new friend, which I knew was more important than petty jealously.

                                            >So I swallowed my bitter pride and forced a smile their way, just in time for the lunch bell to ring.

                                            >The group stopped in their places, and then turned around to go back to the schoolhouse, as if that was where they had been going all along.

                                            >At first I could not move from my spot to go to class.

                                            >I sat like a lump as I watched my classmates file back into the schoolhouse, a chill running up my body when I thought of how hateful my thoughts earlier had been, all directed towards someone that was only new and who was just trying harder than I ever had to make friends.

                                            >I sulked the rest of the school day, only brightening up when I started for home, the knowledge that my critter friends would be awake today spurning me on until my haste had me trotting through the streets.

                                            >When I got home I raced up the stairs and carelessly tossed my bags into my room.

                                            >My crashing and banging had rewarded me by placing my mother at the foot of the stairs.

                                            >She stared with annoyance at me as I trudged down to her. After a scolding she asked me how was school.

                                            >“It was fine,” I said. “Can I go out to the woods today?”

                                            >“Well, your grades have improved with all the work you’ve done,” she said. “I guess you can go out today.”

                                            >She stopped me when I tried to rush past her, though.

                                            >“What did you think of that new kid in your class?” she asked. “I heard that he’s a bit different.”

                                            >“He’s okay,” I said shortly. “Can I go now, please?”

                                            >Finally she moved for me.

                                            >As I got closer to the valley where I knew my friends had made their tunnels I was surprised to see that snow still covered this area like a frozen wet blanket.

                                            >I realized soon after that I had seen this very snow from up in the carriage yesterday, but all of the white spaces where snow had frozen to the ground had started to look the same to me after a while and so I did not recognize anything strange.

                                            >The forests, too, were still wrapped in their white winter coats. None of my animal friends were awake.

                                            >I went to see Mr. Binding, thinking that maybe the wrap up committee had made a mistake.

                                            >But he only hummed and nodded his head solemnly as I told him what I had found.

                                            >“Thing about that,” he said, “is we can’t move the snow over there without covering up the holes that the critters are sleeping in.

                                            “We’ve always just waited for the snow and ice to melt naturally come springtime.”

                                            >Hearing this depressed me, because dad had told me before that the grey clouds were not usually moved to let the sun in until March.

                                            >As long as the snow was covering them, the animals would continue sleeping, thinking that it was still wintertime.

                                            >I went out to the valleys and forests one more time, though, to try and wake up my friends.

                                            >At grey sunrise I had gotten up, went out to frozen valley, looked into their dark burrows and called to them.

                                            >They did not respond. But I kept trying.

                                            >I spoke so soothingly that it was barely a whisper, and I made demands with such force that I almost felt embarrassed when they went ignored.

                                            >I screamed to them, sang to them, bargained and even pleaded with them to please wake up so that we could be together.

                                            >But every time I spoke all I could hear was my own voice echoing back to me in that winter’s silence, and when the first shade of night tinted my sight I sighed and reluctantly flew back home.


                                            >“Hey, Fluttershy, let me ask you something,” Mr. Binding said to me.

                                            >I put down the stack of books I was renting, which included both books on polar animals and books to help form effective study habits, and walked up to Mr. Binding, who was sitting at his desk.

                                            >No pony was in the library with us but he leaned forward as if we were sharing a secret, and my forehead began to tickle by it being so close to his shaggy hair.

                                            >“Fluttershy, I’d like to know about your thoughts on that funny-looking boy that’s in your class.”

                                            >My eyes shrank and I backed away from him.

                                            >“What makes you think I have any thoughts on him?” I said, trying not to betray my agitation.

                                            >He smiled playfully at me and shook his head, making a gesture free of conviction with his hoof.

                                            >“I just want to know if you like him or not,” he said. “If you think he’s all right. I’m not trying to read your diary here.”

                                            >I looked him over carefully as he waited for me to respond.

                                            >“I’m just curious,” he said.

                                            >His smile was patient and he was rubbing the wool of his sweater with one of his hooves, a regular habit of his.

                                            >“Well, I don’t know him at all,” I said. “But I’ve seen him at school and I think that he’s nice.”

                                            >Mr. Binding nodded and then leaned forward again.

                                            >“He doesn’t ever get teased for being different, does he?”

                                            >“No,” I said. “He’s actually very popular, and has a lot of friends.”

                                            >“Oh, well, I’m glad to hear that,” Mr. Binding said, straightening up.

                                            >I turned back to my pile of books and began sticking them in my saddlebags.

                                            >“I’m happy for him,” Mr. Binding said. “That’s very good.”

                                            >“Yes,” I said, “that is good.” But I did not know whether I believed what I was saying or not.

                                            >A month had passed since he started attending our school, and I was ambivalent in how I felt towards him.

                                            >He continued to grow popular in class, and all the while I watched him do so with rapt attention.

                                            >I was always in the corner of his eye, but I don’t think he had ever seen me watching him.

                                            >No pony had ever introduced us in all this time passed and he never came to greet me himself.

                                            >I think he may have been avoiding me purposefully.

                                            >Either way, his thoughts were in polarity with my own: he thought little of me while I focused on him with confused analytical purpose.

                                            >I wanted to befriend him, and it occurred to me many times that I should be watching for the opportunity for friendship that I had promised myself to act on.

                                            >But I was too busy following his movements to focus on anypony else; and if I had ever had any intention of approaching him, it was now gone.

                                            >At lunchtime he was known to comingle with all of the different cliques and groups of friends that were spread out around the playground.

                                            >They all accepted him just as they had done a month ago.

                                            >In watching him, I had developed a strange theory which I thought helped explain why, despite his strangeness, he was so readily accepted by everypony when he first came to us.

                                            >There was something strange and almost sophisticated about the way he approached ponies.

                                            >In approaching a clique, he seemed to have a social fluidity in both his manner and personality, which helped him to transform into whatever form would be suited best for whatever clique he was approaching.

                                            >He could scan a clique from a distance, and then, in joining them, seemingly blend in among them socially as if he had known that group of ponies all his life.

                                            >In approaching a group, I could see the way he changed as he got closer and closer to them.

                                            >He’d change his posture, the expression on his face, the tone of his voice, his gait—sometimes all at the same time before he’d sit with them.

                                            >He fit easily into many roles.

                                            >When he was with Applejack I noticed that he played rough and tumble, and that he solemnly acted almost as if he was her second in command when helping her organize the teams for their hoofball games.

                                            >Rarity and he had a playful relationship, with him acting as the goofy husband when they played house;

                                            >but I had also seen her pull him to a remote corner of the playground so she could gossip with him.

                                            >He’d crouch down so she could whisper something in his ear, and then the two of them would part to opposite ends of the grounds, occasionally sharing shrewd and knowing glances with each other if one caught the other’s eye.

                                            >He shared a unique relationship with every clique and seemingly everypony in my class.

                                            >He could look at a clique and could accurately guess the role that each of the particular ponies in that group played, like who was the leader, who was the brain, the comedian, the daredevil, the peacekeeper, etc.

                                            >Whether he knew it or not, I think that he had some kind of sense that guided him socially, and that this sense just happened to be stronger than everypony else’s.

                                            >I told myself that I watched him for purely objective reasons, out of a need to satisfy my own curiosity about him, and so that I could learn to be a more outgoing, friendly pony by studying his own mastery of reading social cues.

                                            >But sometimes I felt as if I watched him with a further purpose that I did not understand and could not fully confront.

                                            >The cold front I held towards him melted the more I thought of him.

                                            >Soon when I watched him, it seemed as if his successes were becoming my own.

                                            >When he told a joke in class that got a laugh, I would look around the room, judging roughly how many ponies he had tickled, and would feel prideful if that number was high.

                                            >Watching him eat with whatever friends he was with that day, I felt as if I were somehow there with him, that I was sitting next to him, surrounded by friendly faces—even though I knew logically that I was sitting alone.

                                            >But I did not ever feel lonely when I did this.

                                            >If anything, I was happier than I had ever been since I got back from Cloudsdale.

                                            >Hearts and Hooves day was coming and on Friday there was to be a party at my school.

                                            >My mother had bought me a package of valentines for me to fill out so that I could pass them out to my classmates.

                                            >I readily did so, happy now that I had gotten to know everypony by name on that first day.

                                            >I wrote his name out first, and then went on to fill out the rest. And as I did so I wondered why it was that I did not feel at all anxious or worried like I usually did on this holiday.

                                            >It was a regular terror whenever I had to face it in the past and I could not remember the last time I had filled out a card for everypony in my class.

                                            >I never did so in flight school, for I knew that my classmates before the party would all agree not to make out a valentine for me so that the only ones I ever got were from Rainbow Dash.

                                            >Sitting there now, filling out my cards, I felt strange knowing that such memories which used to paralyze me with fear now seemed to have no effect on me.

                                            >When I had finished, making a card for every one of my classmates, I saw that I had one extra card leftover.

                                            >I made it out to him, but kept my name off of it this time.

                                            >At school that Friday, as I joined the happy faces of my classmates and put away my bag of valentines to be opened and passed out at the end of the day, I saw seemingly from a distance outside my body that I was not scared and that I expected only the best to happen at the party.

                                            >At lunch, too, I watched him and heard as him talking to his friends, saying that he had been approached by many of our classmates, and that all of them had assured him that they had made a valentine especially for him.

                                            >This made me very happy to hear.

                                            >As the last bell rang we taped our pink paper pockets, which we had made in arts and crafts yesterday, so that they would hang off the front of our desks.

                                            >“You may pass out your valentines now,” Mrs. Prerank said.

                                            >Usually I would not have risen right away, but I was eager to join in the crowd and excited to pass out my cards.

                                            >First I went to his desk, but I had to wait behind a small line of three ponies ahead of me.

                                            >When it was my turn I smiled and slipped my valentines into his pocket, hoping that no pony could see that I actually put two in.

                                            >From there I moved down the rows, sorting through my valentines so that they would correspond with the names we wrote on our pockets. By the time I was almost finished some of the ponies whose pockets I came to were already sitting down and going through their cards.

                                            >When that happened, I would just leave mine on the edge of their desk and move on.

                                            >Once my cards were gone I grabbed a cookie from the snack table and watched from across the room as he took up his pocket, which was full to its brim with cards.

                                            >I wanted to watch his reaction when he saw my nameless card, but I was disappointed when a group of his friends urged him to leave with them.

                                            >I reassured myself, saying that he would surely be pleasantly surprised to see my mystery card and I tried to imagine what his face would look like when he first came across it.

                                            >When I finished my cookie and started for my desk, it was then, and only then, that I could feel that old past anxiety settling in my veins the same way that ice settles over a river.

                                            >I could barely move.

                                            >The ponies that normally sat in front of me were gathering up their valentines from the pile they had made on their desks and they blocked view of my own pocket.

                                            >But when finally they had contented themselves with their haul, and they moved from their desks, that was when I had to stop.

                                            >My eyes locked on what I saw, and I felt myself frozen in fear and humiliation.

                                            >From where I was, three rows separated me from my seat, but I could plainly see that my pocket hung empty off of my desk. No pony, it seemed, had thought of me that day.

                                            >I could feel the color draining from my heart.

                                            >Trying hard not to cry as my throat felt cold and lumpy, I told myself that it was not as big a deal as I was making it out to be.

                                            >When that did not work I said that maybe the ponies had made me valentines but just had not given them to me.

                                            >Some of the ponies in my class were ill that day, and I told myself that these were the ponies that would have made me a card.

                                            >Maybe somepony stole them while I was at the snack table.

                                            >No.

                                            >No matter what I told myself to keep away my sadness, it just seemed that all my attempts to rationalize this awful thing, which had happened to me again, simply rang pathetic to my ears.

                                            >I sat down in my desk, feeling lightheaded.

                                            >I told myself not to cry, but my body could not listen to me and I had to hide my face under my desk so that I no pony could see me.

                                            >They did not hear me because I was very good at crying silently.

                                            >When the worst of my sobbing had gone I thought of removing my empty pocket quickly before anypony could see it.

                                            >Wiping my nose, I raised my head and was surprised to see the classroom still mostly full.

                                            >It seemed strange that ponies should still be here after I had cried for so long.

                                            >Maybe I did not cry so much this time. It was hard for me to clearly say.

                                            >But I do remember that what happened next was that I ripped the tape off of my pocket, brought it up to my desk so that I could tear it to pieces, and then gasped in surprise when something slid out from the bottom of it.

                                            >It landed on my desk and did not look like a card but like a blank white scrap of paper.

                                            >I judged it to be trash at first glance, which I figured somepony had put in my pocket just for a joke.

                                            >When I could stare at it no longer I turned it over and gasped in surprise again.

                                            >It was indeed a card for me, and the name that I read above mine was his.

                                            >The card was homemade. Our names were written in crayon, his in black and mine in soft blue.

                                            >He had colored the card yellow like my coat and in the lower left corner he drew what looked like three pink butterflies flying upwards, with a dotted trail behind them showing where they had flown from.

                                            >Staring at the card I felt myself trembling inside as my heart quickened, seemingly leaping out of me with its every beat.

                                            >I forgot absolutely everything else at that moment except for my card and him how I felt about both of them.

                                            >He had been thinking of me.

                                            >When no pony else had any reason to pay me any mind, and he perhaps had the least reason of all to do so, he had been thinking of me.

                                            >He had made me this card, staying up late into the night perhaps, so that it would be personal and special and precious and mine.

                                            >I felt like crying again, but this time doing it so loudly that everypony could hear me because I was so happy, and my heart, like the wings of a butterfly, seemed to be floating up out of my chest with its every beat.

                                            >I held my breath when I looked up, following the sound of his laugh, and saw that he, too, was still in the classroom with me.

                                            >But he was rising up, and moving with his friends out the door.

                                            >I felt myself copying his movements as I watched him and, placing my card in my saddlebag, I left the schoolhouse.

                                            >I followed him from an inconspicuous distance and again shared in his feelings as I watched them.

                                            >But the mirth I tasted that came from him being with his friends seemed stronger to me than before, now that I had my own happiness to add to it.

                                            >As my heart glazed over in a feeling which was sweeter than honey I wondered again at that strange feeling in watching him that I for so long could not place, for it had come back stronger at that moment then it had ever been before.

                                            >But I only felt happy at that moment. Was that really the feeling, though, which I could not place?

                                            >It seemed so sad to me to think of that. Had I really not been happy for so long?

                                            >It was sad to think of, and I put it out of my mind after I heard him tell a joke which got a big laugh out of his friends.

                                            >I even giggled a bit beneath my breath at the thought of whatever it was he had said.

                                            >In town I came to a split in the road we were on.

                                            >One way was the way back to my cottage, but the other way was where he had gone, and so I followed him there.

                                            >I wanted to be as close to him as possible for as long as I possibly could.

                                            >The feelings in my heart were so delightful that I wanted them to always be in my breast.

                                            >It was impossible, but I wanted to fill myself full of such good feeling that I could, whenever I was sad, somehow dip into a reserve that I had kept of it and taste it in secret, so that I would feel better whenever things got to be too much for me.

                                            >Like I said, it was impossible. But I wanted it so badly, and it seemed to be there when he was around.

                                            >So I followed him, though I did not recognize that part of town that I was now in.

                                            >He stopped and after biding his friends goodbye entered a house which must have been his.

                                            >I hid until his friends had gone and then, emerging from my hiding place, I stared at his house as intensely as I had stared at his valentine earlier.

                                            >A window on the top floor began to glow and I figured that that must be his room.

                                            >I wished that I was in there with him, though the rational side of me wondered why. What would I be doing in there?

                                            >I had a sudden feeling of unease seep into my chest following such an interrogative question.

                                            >From someplace away from myself, I viewed my presence near his house at that moment as suspect, like I was breaking a law of some kind by being where I was and looking at his window in the way my eyes had been doing.

                                            >I felt I should have a purpose for being there, and I supposed that the least I could do was thank him for giving me such a nice card.

                                            >Yes.

                                            >I would thank him, I told myself, and then I would leave.

                                            >But my steps towards where he lived were heavy and I felt myself to be small and weak and scared when facing the enormity of my goal.

                                            >The nighttime sky fell on the earth’s eye and it grew hard for me to see.

                                            >Knowing that I had been out too long and that mother would be upset with me now, I turned to go back home.

                                            >But suddenly I heard the tentative meow of a cat from somewhere near me, which surprised me greatly, as I was used to not hearing any critter noises in town by now.

                                            >Following the sound, I came to an alley and traced the meow to an open grate, which led beneath one of the houses on the alley’s side and which looked like it had been pulled out a long time ago and never put back.

                                            >I recognized where I was now.

                                            >I crouched down and called to the cat, but the sound which responded was small enough to be a kittens.

                                            >No matter how much I called to it, it would not come.

                                            >But I could not just leave the kitten, which I knew could not fend for itself if it was alone.

                                            >So, crouching further and looking into the darkness, I saw that something was blocking the entrance.

                                            >I pulled it out.

                                            >That’s when I saw that the item was a bowl, and I could smell in it the faint scent of tuna, the smell now part of the plastic.

                                            >I heard a new noise coming from the end of the alley, and, turning to meet it, I gasped in surprise one last time when my eyes met his.

                                            >I turned away quickly but watched from the corner of my eye him staring at me in confusion.

                                            >As he approached me I considered running away, thinking I had embarrassed myself by following him home and letting him catch me lying on my belly in such a filthy alley.

                                            >The only thing that stopped me from running was the can of tuna that I caught sight of in his hand at the last moment.

                                            Can I have that please? he asked, holding out his hand.

                                            >I realized he was talking about the bowl, so I gave it to him.

                                            >He scooped the tuna out of the can with his fingers and filled the bowl.

                                            >Then he set it down outside the entrance and, pulling a small bell out from his pocket, he rang it twice and then put it away again.

                                            Come this way, he said, directing me to stand away from the entrance.

                                            >I followed him to the other end of the alley and he crouched down and watched the entrance intently.

                                            >Neither of us spoke.

                                            >A minute later the kitten emerged. It was a grey Siamese with white paws which looked like mittens.

                                            >The kitten hung around the entrance, not stepping out completely, and watched me carefully for a bit.

                                            >“Go on,” I said, motioning to the tuna.

                                            >The kitten licked her lips and then approached the bowl and began to eat, purring contentedly while doing so.

                                            >As the kitten did this I heard him hum next to me. He looked from me to the kitten a couple of times, and then said:

                                            I didn’t think he fully trusted ponies yet.

                                            >I was surprised that he spoke to me. But it felt easy for me to talk about the kitten.

                                            >“Why would you think that?” I asked him.

                                            Because he’s been hiding underneath a house all by himself ever since I moved here. I don’t think he was eating enough until I found him.

                                            >That made sense to me.

                                            >“There used to another cat that lived beneath there.”

                                            >He turned to me.

                                            Really?

                                            >“Yes. I saw her myself.”

                                            >I wondered what happened to that cat I had seen in the dark, and which I had forgotten about until then.

                                            >After a silence, he said:

                                            That was probably his ma.

                                            >It occurred to me that the cat could have probably died, especially during the wintertime.

                                            >But I did not want to say so for fear of making him feel uncomfortable.

                                            >“Well, maybe she’s safe in the animal shelter,” I said with forced hope in my voice.

                                            >He pursed his lips and made a sour face, though not at me.

                                            Nah. I hope not. That place is a terrible place to keep animals.

                                            >I had to bite my tongue not to turn and loudly agree with him.

                                            >“You mean because of the cages?” I asked in an ignorant voice.

                                            Yeah. Some of them can’t even take two steps before they have to turn around.

                                            >“That sounds awful,” I said. “I wish there was something better for those poor orphaned animals.”

                                            That’s why I’m taking care of this little guy myself, he said, pointing to the kitten. I can’t take him in the house though, or my mom would have a fit.

                                            >I wondered what his mom looked like, or if she was even a pony.

                                            >“My mom is allergic to animal dander. So I can’t have a pet, either.”

                                            >He raised an eyebrow at me.

                                            But isn’t that your special talent?

                                            >I nodded, and he raised both his eyebrows and turned away from me.

                                            Wow. That really sucks.

                                            >“Yeah.”

                                            >By now the kitten had finished her tuna and I called it over.

                                            >I scratched under her chin and she purred as she rubbed her face into my hoof.

                                            You’re living up to your talent.

                                            >“Oh, she’s an easy one, though.”

                                            >He knit his brow.

                                            She?

                                            >“Yes,” I said. “She’s just a big teddy bear, isn’t she?”

                                            >He blew air out his mouth like he was annoyed.

                                            Well I guess I have to change his name now.

                                            >The cat meowed, drawing it out with satisfaction.

                                            >“I don’t think she’ll mind very much if you keep calling her by her old name.”

                                            >He blinked twice towards me and the kitten.

                                            Is that what she said?

                                            >I smiled up at him.

                                            >“More or less,” I said, turning back to the kitten.

                                            Did you like your valentine?

                                            >I stopped petting her long enough for her to meow again.

                                            >“I thought it was wonderful,” I finally said.

                                            I liked yours, too, he said. I didn’t really like drawing the butterflies, since I thought they were kind of girly, but I did it anyway since they were your special talent.

                                            >“I appreciate that,” I said. “This is actually the first time I’ve gotten to interact with any animal for a while.”

                                            >He asked why that was and I explained about the woods and why they were still frozen.

                                            I don’t see why someone doesn’t just go out and wake them up.

                                            >“Yeah, somepony should do that next year,” I said, turning away so he wouldn’t see my muzzle scrunching.

                                            So, can you talk to the animals in the woods, too?

                                            >“Actually, that was my favorite thing to do after school,” I said, brightening up. “I loved telling the squirrels and birdies all about what I did that day.”

                                            >He was quiet for a bit, thinking about something, and I was scared that he might have suddenly decided that I was a loner weirdo.

                                            >An image of me raving in the forest and yelling at squirrels assaulted my thoughts suddenly, serving to make me further regret my words.

                                            Can I ask you something?

                                            >“Yes,” I said, fearing what he’d say next.

                                            How come you aren’t in flight school?

                                            >While not the question I was expecting, I had decided that it was equally humiliating, sharing a space in the category of ‘Things Fluttershy is Ashamed of’.

                                            >“I’m not a very good flier,” I said. “And there aren’t any animals in Cloudsdale, unless you count the stray bird or two that we sometimes come across.”

                                            Oh, he said. Well, that sucks. I mean the part about the animals, not about you.

                                            >“I know. Can I ask you something?”

                                            >He turned to me, his eyes looking me up and down before they seemed to defuse with tension and he turned away again.

                                            Yeah, sure you can.

                                            >“Well, um, I was curious as to who told you about my special talent.”

                                            Oh, he said.

                                            >He scrunched his face in thinking and hummed like he was at a loss.

                                            >Finally he turned to me.

                                            I’m sorry, but I’m not actually sure who told me.

                                            >I wanted to ask him to think again but, just then, I heard the sound of a door slamming open and his name being called into the night.

                                            >He groaned when the echoes of the door and his name faded away.

                                            That’s my mom. I got to go.

                                            >I didn’t say anything. I wanted to find a way to convince him to stay a little longer, but I couldn’t think of any good words that would help me.

                                            >He crouched down and held out his hand towards the kitten which, upon spotting the familiar scent, crept up to his hand and began to tentatively lick between his fingers.

                                            >When she had grown comfortable, he scratched behind her ears.

                                            This is how I’ve been getting her to come to me.

                                            >As she kept licking him he started to giggle, hiding his face from mine.

                                            It tickles, he said.

                                            >I started to laugh, too, almost as if I could feel her rough wet tongue on my own hoof.

                                            >Again I heard his mother call his name.

                                            Dammit, he said, getting up.

                                            >“I can put her bowl away for you and throw away the tuna can, if that would help.”

                                            That’d be great, he said.

                                            >The kitten rubbed up against his leg and he looked down and smiled at her, then, looking up, the brightness of his happiness seemed to shine on me.

                                            Listen, we both know how bad that shelter is. So how about, now that you’re in on my secret, this can be our secret pet that we share from now on.

                                            Does that sound good to you?

                                            >My breath caught in my throat. I could scarcely force myself to speak for fear that this moment between us would end too soon.

                                            >But I could feel that my breast was filling up again and was doing so in a way which had made all previous touches of happiness which came to me that day seem small and fleeting.

                                            >“Yes,” I said, looking at him. “That sounds wonderful.

                                            >He bent down and gently pushed the kitten towards me until I picked her up and held her in the crook of my arm.

                                            I’ll see you tomorrow then? he said.

                                            >“Definitely.”

                                            Okay, he said, starting for the end of the alley. I’ll see you tomorrow.

                                            >He reached the end and stopped to wave back at me, which I returned to him before he left again in the face of a third yell from his mother.

                                            I’m coming, I heard echo from around the corner where he had gone.

                                            >I creeped up to edge of the alley and peeked around the corner, where I saw the last of him turn into the lighted doorway of his house.

                                            >I caught a brief glimpse of a mare going inside behind him, shutting the door behind her with her tail.

                                            >I did not want to leave, and maybe I could have sat there watching for the light to go on in his window again, but I could feel the kitten squirming in my arm.

                                            >So I placed her down by the entrance and watched her run back into her hiding place before I pushed the bowl back in and threw the tuna can away in one of the garbage cans in the alley.

                                            >Just before I had left the alley I stopped and wondered if I should have agreed to keep the kitten as a secret pet with him.

                                            >Sure, the shelter was not an ideal place for any animal to be.

                                            >But I realized that my mother was right in saying that it was at least always safe for an animal to be there.

                                            >I started to worry about what would happen to the kitten if for some reason neither one of us could come around to feed it someday.

                                            >I shook away those thoughts, though, and told myself that I would bring them up to him later.

                                            >The fact that I would even be meeting him later seemed a dream come true to me.

                                            >Going over our meeting in my mind it seemed safe to say that he really liked me.

                                            >Maybe we could even be friends, as long as I kept playing it cool and didn’t do anything to embarrass myself.

                                            >All the way home my mind entertained all sorts of notions sent up to it from my heart.

                                            >The second I walked in the door I heard my mother call for me from the kitchen, exasperation clear in her voice.

                                            >I found her sitting at the dining room table, her eyes looking heavy.

                                            >“Where have you been for so long? I thought something had happened to you.”

                                            >Her words which once would have irritated my senses now seemed to fly right past me as if they were as harmless as a passing breeze.

                                            >“I’m sorry I worried you, mom,” I said; then, with pride in my chest, I added that I had been late because I was out with a friend.

                                            >This softened the expression of bewildered frustration on her face somewhat.

                                            >“Oh, I see,” she said, carefully going over her next words in her head. “Well, next time you need to tell me if you’re going to be out late.”

                                            >“I will,” I said. “Tomorrow, I might also be late.”

                                            >She said that that was good and then, sniffling a bit, asked me immediately if I had homework.

                                            >“Not this holiday,” I smiled.

                                            >I went upstairs to my room, happy for once that I could be alone with my thoughts.

                                            >The first thing I did was take out my card and place it on my desk. I stared at it lovingly for a while until, feeling the need to share news of my good fortune further, I took out a scroll and quill and began to compose a letter.

                                            >“Dear Rainbow Dash,” I said aloud as I wrote.

                                            >I wrote the letter several times and each time was like reliving our meeting over again.

                                            >Soon I felt sure that I could catch every detail.

                                            >I began trying to name all of the intense feelings, some of which I knew I felt and some I could only imagine that I had felt, which I sensed had poured over the both of us like a tender wave, coming out from the center of our bodies and spreading its golden influence throughout us both until we felt whole in each other’s presence.

                                            >I stayed working at my desk into the night until the windows had blackened and I could hear only our memories in the dying winter air surrounding us.