"Berry! Great to see you. Come in."

The plum-colored mare remained in the doorway, her mane and tail drooping in bunches, as if it had been raining. It took time for the friendly words to penetrate her tense muscles and brush some of the panic out of her eyes. She stepped inside and stood just inside the doorway, blinking. The mare with the deep blue coat sniffed warily at the other's cherry-colored mane.

"Girl, you look like somepony drowned you in sorrow then wrung you out."

"I, I, I've made a big mistake, Happy."

"Anything to do with that smooth green stallion you been hanging out with?"

"...maybe."

"Told you."

Berry raised her eyes to meet Happy's. Her lips shivered, then buckled.

"Well. Bygones is bygone. Tell Happy your troubles."

They trotted into the center of the parlor and sat down on the sofa there.

"I just, you're, you know about—"

Berry stopped speaking and stared at Happy's cutie mark, a lopsided white circle, drawn hastily, so that the two ends didn't quite meet.

"Mistakes?"

Berry looked away. "Yes."

"Guess I do, at that."

Berry looked slantwise at her. "How do you handle it?"

Happy pursed her lips. "You one of them thinks my special talent is making mistakes?"

Berry shrugged.

"Oh, for—Step into my workshop. I'll teach you about mistakes."

The workshop smelled of turpentine. Stacks of mounted but unframed paintings leaned against one wall. There was a wooden table in one corner, covered with paint splashes of every size and color, and an empty easel against another wall, in the sunlight from the open window.

Happy hoofed through a stack of canvases, lifted one out. "See this fella here. What's he feeling?"

A stallion, dressed in formal evening wear, sat at a piano, hooves up and ready to play yet lifeless and inert as clay. His eyes stared, empty.

"Not much, I'd say."

"You'd be wrong. He just lost his marefriend, or maybe a chance with one. I wanted him sad. Does he look sad?"

Berry stepped closer to peer at the painting.

"No," Happy went on. "No, he doesn't. Look how stiff his back is, how straight he sits. I copied the pose from a sketch of a player at the High Tails. But a sad pony can't sit like that."

"But he is sad."

"Who's the artist here? He ain't sad. He's stuffed the sadness up inside him so he can keep playing happy music for the happy ponies. I was about to paint over those stiff shoulders and redo them when I saw they could be more awful than what I'd aimed for. I kept them and added those dead eyes."

Happy rifled through the canvases and pulled out a second one. A mare leaned forward to look at herself in a mirror. Her head was tilted appraisingly. Her eyes, reflected in the mirror, gleamed with self-satisfaction. But her half-smile had a strange twist.

"Now this one."

Berry studied this one longer. "She's pretty pleased with herself."

"Pretty pleased. Not completely pleased. Look at that smile trail off. My brush slipped. Now she's thinking, I'm good, but I can do better. Instead of just a smug bitch, she's a strong bitchy mare who's worked for what she's got. See?"

"I guess."

"Well I'm telling you. I'm a strong bitchy mare and I draw strong bitchy mares, so you best believe me."

Happy leaned the painting against the stack and looked Berry in the eye. "Now you understand what my special talent is?"

Berry shifted her weight from left, to right, to left. "Fixing mistakes?"

Happy rolled her eyes. "No, honey. I know which mistakes to keep."

"Oh... Oh!"

"Now I know this is just an artistic concept and probably doesn't help you any. But that's all I know about mistakes."

"I think you've helped some, Happy. Gave me something to think about."

"Look out, world, Berry Punch is thinking."

Berry giggled.

"Now don't strain your brain, Berry. Look until you see it clear, then go with your gut."

At the front door, Happy put one hoof on Berry's shoulder. "I know you got a strong bitch inside you, Berry Punch."

"Don't you forget it, Happy Mistake."

Berry walked away down the path. Happy's ears rose as she watched the angle of Berry's neck, the shifting of her hindquarters, the lift and sway of her tail. Happy hurried into her workroom, opened her sketchpad, grabbed a charcoal pencil in one hoof, and began to draw.