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The Infinite Blue
Pumping her wings for what felt like the millionth time, Scootaloo ground her teeth in pain. Below her stretched an endless abyss of icy sea, its cold waters nearly featureless at this height, providing no thermals or air currents of any kind. Nothing at all to give relief, to let her rest, glide, and give her burning flight muscles more than a few seconds of rest. But she pressed on.
It'd all started out so innocuously. In the years since they'd first met, Rainbow Dash had managed to become friends with the reclusive A.K. Yearling. The archaeologist-turned-author, no longer as spry as she'd been in her youth, spent most of her time abroad on more mundane and traditional archeology these days, and had invited the ever-eager Dash to come visit her latest dig site. Scootaloo had talked her way into the venture shortly after that. It'd seemed like such fun at the time.
But then the storm had hit.
It was a mess. The ship had taken the full brunt of a typhoon, and its crew had been woefully unprepared and undertrained for weather of such strength. Supplies were jettisoned; ponies were swept overboard; the mizzenmast cracked. Dash, ever the hero, had rushed into the fray. Rope in her teeth and wings beating fiercely, she'd fought to keep the broken rigging up long enough to help a few underneath escape the inevitable crush of sail and spar. But only a few. The sailcloth they'd eventually stitched back together still held dark red stains in several places, and Dash herself had lost a wing and fractured a leg in the attempt.
That was over a week ago. The ship had been becalmed ever since, the tattered sails that could be salvaged not enough to catch the feeble breezes. As the remaining fresh water ran out, and the injuries turned toward infection and worse, it became clear that no rescue was forthcoming. The journey had, supposedly, been nearly complete by the time the storm hit. So, as the only pegasus still able to fly, Scootaloo had determined it her duty to try to find land, or at least help.
She'd been warned about the dangers of oceanic flight before: the lack of landmarks for navigation; the lack of geography to provide updrafts or thermals; the absolute lack of anywhere to land and rest at all. But there was no choice in her mind, so the young pegasus had departed, setting herself on a heading the ship's navigator estimated to be the shortest path to land. If he was right, and she stayed on course, it'd be a dozen hours in the air. But that had been over thirty hours ago.
At twenty hours, Scootaloo knew she'd already flown longer than ever before. She thought of turning back, to maybe rest and try again another day, assuming she could even relocate the ship before her wings gave out. But then she thought of the ponies she'd left behind. The bosun's crushed foreleg had been sawed off with carpenter's tools, the strong earth pony breaking his own teeth as he bit down on a dowel in pain. She'd seen the doctor letting putrid infection out of Dash's own leg at least twice as well, and she knew the saw wasn't likely far behind. She'd seen the little unicorn colt with his mother too. On the fifth day, he'd started saying how thirsty he was. By the sixth, it was all he said, at least when he wasn't crying. By the seventh, he was only whimpering. By the time she departed on the eighth day, he'd no longer been making any sound at all.
So now she pumped her wings, for the millionth and first time. The burning pain made her bite her tongue, the taste of blood at least a momentary distraction from the pain... and the fear. She was lost. She was alone. Nothing but the deep blue above, and the even deeper blue below. Nothing but blue since she'd lost sight of the ship itself more than a day ago. What she wouldn't given for another color; just the faintest hint of green, brown, or even gray. A smudge of dirt on the edge of the world was all she asked. It had to be there. It must be there. Just one more length forward and she'd save them. Just one more pump of the wings and she'd see it. She knew it'd be there, just past the infinite blue.
It'd all started out so innocuously. In the years since they'd first met, Rainbow Dash had managed to become friends with the reclusive A.K. Yearling. The archaeologist-turned-author, no longer as spry as she'd been in her youth, spent most of her time abroad on more mundane and traditional archeology these days, and had invited the ever-eager Dash to come visit her latest dig site. Scootaloo had talked her way into the venture shortly after that. It'd seemed like such fun at the time.
But then the storm had hit.
It was a mess. The ship had taken the full brunt of a typhoon, and its crew had been woefully unprepared and undertrained for weather of such strength. Supplies were jettisoned; ponies were swept overboard; the mizzenmast cracked. Dash, ever the hero, had rushed into the fray. Rope in her teeth and wings beating fiercely, she'd fought to keep the broken rigging up long enough to help a few underneath escape the inevitable crush of sail and spar. But only a few. The sailcloth they'd eventually stitched back together still held dark red stains in several places, and Dash herself had lost a wing and fractured a leg in the attempt.
That was over a week ago. The ship had been becalmed ever since, the tattered sails that could be salvaged not enough to catch the feeble breezes. As the remaining fresh water ran out, and the injuries turned toward infection and worse, it became clear that no rescue was forthcoming. The journey had, supposedly, been nearly complete by the time the storm hit. So, as the only pegasus still able to fly, Scootaloo had determined it her duty to try to find land, or at least help.
She'd been warned about the dangers of oceanic flight before: the lack of landmarks for navigation; the lack of geography to provide updrafts or thermals; the absolute lack of anywhere to land and rest at all. But there was no choice in her mind, so the young pegasus had departed, setting herself on a heading the ship's navigator estimated to be the shortest path to land. If he was right, and she stayed on course, it'd be a dozen hours in the air. But that had been over thirty hours ago.
At twenty hours, Scootaloo knew she'd already flown longer than ever before. She thought of turning back, to maybe rest and try again another day, assuming she could even relocate the ship before her wings gave out. But then she thought of the ponies she'd left behind. The bosun's crushed foreleg had been sawed off with carpenter's tools, the strong earth pony breaking his own teeth as he bit down on a dowel in pain. She'd seen the doctor letting putrid infection out of Dash's own leg at least twice as well, and she knew the saw wasn't likely far behind. She'd seen the little unicorn colt with his mother too. On the fifth day, he'd started saying how thirsty he was. By the sixth, it was all he said, at least when he wasn't crying. By the seventh, he was only whimpering. By the time she departed on the eighth day, he'd no longer been making any sound at all.
So now she pumped her wings, for the millionth and first time. The burning pain made her bite her tongue, the taste of blood at least a momentary distraction from the pain... and the fear. She was lost. She was alone. Nothing but the deep blue above, and the even deeper blue below. Nothing but blue since she'd lost sight of the ship itself more than a day ago. What she wouldn't given for another color; just the faintest hint of green, brown, or even gray. A smudge of dirt on the edge of the world was all she asked. It had to be there. It must be there. Just one more length forward and she'd save them. Just one more pump of the wings and she'd see it. She knew it'd be there, just past the infinite blue.