I can’t find the Wound.

That scares me more than jewelry or pigeons ever could—even working together!

I could be back on Earth, bothering Twilight’s little colony and enjoying her weekly political scuffle with the human-things we’re renting space from.

But no, I’m spending an un-chaos-ly amount of time in Equus’s mantle, looking for a sneaky speck capable of jabbing me in the tail, and FSCHLOOP!

No more Discord, anywhere.

And the only defense I have against that infinitesimal abomination of gluttonous entropy, the “Wound in the World,” is to find it before it finds me, so I can stay the heck away from it.

Celestia and Luna are up above the surface now (where they say the Wound stays 99% of the time, but I’m too suspicous to learn math), making lots of noise, which they can’t hear, all their air being eaten. But down here, trying very hard to listen for something very quiet (and hopefully very far away), the racket echoing through the crust is distracting.

Dare I divert even a little attention to investigate the commotion? I’d say “no” for fear of my me getting FSCHLOOPED, but right now, frankly, screw rational caution.

They’re fighting. No surprise. After—how long has it been here? Three centuries? Thirty?—however-long bound intrinsically to a silent rock or mass-of-incandescent-plasma (and the dead world it orbits), just the two of them, I’m impressed they’re capable of speech.

I’m not tuned into Luna’s voice spell, but she’s probably shouting something like, “Curse you, Tia, I spent all century building this… little….”

Nevermind, that’s an entire city. Get her, Luna! But sculpting citizens, too? I’d say bordering on obsessive, but I shouldn’t judge.

And clumsy Tia broke the biggest tower. As per tradition, this means war!

It’s only a game to them, really. Luna’s not angry, but they’re not having fun, either. They’ve done this too often.

That’s why I bravely risk infinite life and mismatched limbs to visit them. They certainly need me more than Twilight and humanity.

This fight would be legendary, if anyone knew or cared. Celestia probes with beamy-things! Luna dodges, closes in to do something with her horn and a lot of light! Celestia counters by freaking exploding! Luna spins away, now hooks around, and—!

...Holy garbanzo.

All three of us freeze, transfixed by the mountain range Luna just vaporized.

That could have been Tia! Would have been, if she hadn’t dodged. Luna almost killed her!

I can tell this is new to them, but they still show neither anger nor remorse. Nothing… but curiosity. Their eyes meet; some nervous, wordless question passes. I’m paralyzed.

The battle rejoins, but more subtle and quick. No shouting, just concentration and naked excitement. They’re actually fighting to kill. Not murder, not suicide, just apathy.

Celestia’s really into it. She knocks Luna away, and, almost gleefully, burns Luna’s city to glass.

Uh oh. Luna’s pissed.

She ignores Celestia’s apologies, blocking the voice spell. She’s not stopping.

Celestia dodges everything, but Luna’s not just aiming at her. Continents away, libraries, observatories, laboratories—obliterated; Celestia’s every accomplishment since the Exile. Now it’s on for both of them.

Okay, time to refocus and—

Oh, no.

Luna once explained their early-warning system, something about shields and gas. Before her muzzle became a trumpet, she definitely said caverns were weak spots, but the Wound hates land, so whatever.

GUESS WHO WAS WRONG?

The Wound is rocketing up from beneath them. They don’t notice, still fighting. 

Screw caution, too, it’s time to intervene. I race the Wound.

I lose.

As Luna braces for Celestia’s charge, a crater rips out of the ground below, and the Wound clips her outstretched feather in the same flap—

—And nearly wrenches the wing off with it.

As the accursed speck flies off on its merry way, as oblivious to gods as to everything else, the fight is forgotten. Celestia’s charge becomes a rush to catch her crippled sister, and I suddenly feel like now would be an awful time to make an entrance.

I watch, instead, as they share a heartfelt moment. They gab about the purpose of life and the importance of love—I’ve heard it all before, and so have you, so I’ll spare us both.

I guess today they don’t need me as much as they usually do. I’ll come back in a week. Or a year. Come to think of it, that’s what I said last time, and that must have been decades ago.

Oh, well. I’m sure they’ll be fine.