Sandbar went to put his front hooves in the water, but he stopped when he saw all the other foals doing it. They splashed at the crabs, pressed down on the backs of the manta rays, leaned so close their parents had to stop them from falling in, and generally made a whole ton of noise. Sweet Celestia, the noise. It was worse than a water park. Sandbar leaned over the edge of the touch pool and blew his mane out of his face.

His father prodded him on the shoulder. “Well? What do you think?”

“About what?” replied Sandbar.

“You know.” His father gestured towards the water. “Him.”

Sandbar looked down at the turtle, swimming in the same circle it had been swimming in for the past five minutes. It was about the size of his head.

“Well.” Sandbar thought long and hard. “It’s definitely… a turtle.”

“Aaaaaand?”

Sandbar screwed up his face. He leaned in close and pressed the turtle’s shell with the tip of his hoof, causing it to bounce off the sandy floor, and, as if a spell had been broken, it left its circle and swam away. 

Sandbar waved it goodbye. “I got nothing,” he said.

“You can’t remember anything?”

“Nope. Can we go home now?”

His father sighed. “Don’t worry, Son, we’ll jog your memory. We just have to be patient.”

“We can be patient at home.”

“Sandbar, c’mon. Why do you want to go home so bad?”

Next to them, a giggling filly slapped both hooves in the water, going after a fleeing manta ray. The splash struck Sandbar in the cheek. “Because this is boring,” he grumbled. 

“But all you do at home is stare at the ceiling. [i]That’s[/i] boring.”

“Ceilings are cool, Dad. Have you ever looked at one?”

His father crouched down to his level—Why were grown-ups always doing that?—and whispered, “C’mon, this is important. Getting your cutie mark in your sleep is a very serious problem.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“Yeah, well, nothing bothers you. I’ve read stories about foals who’ve had this happen to them, you know. All of them tragic.” 

Sandbar groaned.

“These foals, they can’t remember what dream they were having when they got their mark, and they wander around for the rest of their lives, aimlessly, trying to make sense of it. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

Sandbar stared longingly at the crowd of families around the touch pool. He was tempted to slip away while his father wasn’t looking. In a crowd this size, it would take him an hour to be found. Sandbar could blend in like nopony’s business.

Suddenly, he perked up. “I was drowning,” he said.

His father swallowed. “When? In the dream?”

“Yeah. I just remembered. I was… [i]We[/i] were drowning. You, and Mom, and me. We were in a shipwreck out on the ocean, and there was this storm, and we were sinking, and it was dark, and cold, and wet, but then this giant, [i]massive[/i] sea turtle”—he swept his hooves in a giant, massive arc—“came out of nowhere and brought us up to the surface!” Sandbar nodded. “[i]That’s[/i] how I got my cutie mark.”

“I don’t think being rescued constitutes a special talent, Sandbar. Nice try, though.”

Sandbar snorted like a bull and turned back to the water. “I don’t remember, Dad. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. You just need to get a closer look.”

“Huh?”

Without so much as a tap on the shoulder, Sandbar’s father picked him up and stuck him under his shoulder like a hoofball.

“Dad, wait—!”

Dad did not wait. He charged through the crowd of families, shouting, “Outta the way!” and bowling ponies over like they were pins. He caught up to the turtle, brushed aside the colt patting its head, and held Sandbar over it. The creature flew into its shell, leaving behind only bubbles. 

“You’re scaring it,” Sandbar said.

“And how does that make you [i]feel?[/i]”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Sandbar dropped to the floor, landing like a cat on all fours. He turned around. A blue-jacketed mare with a mean scowl was nose-to-nose with his father, who was shying away.

“Sir,” she said, “some of the other parents are complaining about your behavior.”

Sandbar turned away to hide his smile. Kick us out, please, [i]kick us out[/i].

His father sputtered, then said, “I apologize, Ma’am, but this is a cutie mark emergency.”

A pause. “But… your son already has his cutie mark,” the security guard responded. Sandbar felt terribly watched.

“Yes, he got it last night. While he was sleeping.”

The guard let out a horrified gasp. “No,” she pleaded.

“I’m afraid so.”

Sandbar rolled his eyes. He made to run away, but the two grown-ups boxed him in on either side. 

“Well?” the guard pointed at the turtle. “What do you think?”

“Nothing.” Sandbar pointed suddenly at the trembling, underwater shell. “Wait, look!” he cried

The grown-ups craned their heads in. “What?” said one. “What?” said the other.

“It’s a turtle!” Sandbar cheered, then deflated onto the edge of the pool. “Can I go home now?”

The two grown-ups scoffed, walked away from him, and began scratching their chins. 

“Say,” said the guard. “Do you think he needs to see an adult sea turtle?”

“Is there such a thing?” his father replied.

Sandbar rolled his eyes and followed them so he could hear.

“Oh, yes. In fact, I say we take your son to the VIP Room.”

“Is there such a place?”

“Absolutely. It’s on the other side of the largest tank we have. You can see all the same animals, but it’s more private. It’s technically not allowed, but…”

When she looked down at Sandbar, he pouted and shook his head as hard as he could.

“…This [i]is[/i] an emergency.”

Sandbar crumpled.

“We’ve no time to lose!” his father cried, and as he charged for him, Sandbar lifted his hooves and waited to be picked up like a good little hoofball.

[hr]

The sign on the glass said it was the biggest sea turtle for hundreds of miles. Well, yeah. Of course it was. The aquarium was hundreds of miles from the nearest ocean. But either way, it was the biggest turtle, no, the biggest animal, that Sandbar had ever seen. As it banked by the window, It reached from floor to ceiling. The lights in the tank barely made it past him, leaving the room dark, but with warping shimmers of green, blue, and orange.

Sandbar’s mouth fell open. He stepped back past the flanking grown-ups, who looked at him expectantly.

“Um.” He swallowed. “Can I… be alone for a second?”

Without a word, his father and the guard scuttled out of the room. When the door shut, Sandbar’s face fell back to neutral.

“Finally,” he grumbled. He walked up to the glass, spun around, and sat up against it, sighing like he’d crawled into bed. He tilted his head back, reached up and tapped on the glass right under the sign that said [smcaps]do not tap on the glass[/smcaps]. 

“Thanks for the assist, big guy,” he said. “Mind if I chill here a while?”

The turtle didn’t respond. It didn’t say a word. It didn’t wink, didn’t smile, didn’t pay Sandbar the slightest bit of attention. 

Sandbar stared at the ceiling. The shadows of fish swam across it every which way, like thoughts swimming in somepony’s head, but the turtle’s shadow never changed course. It only swam in an easy circle.

Just like in his dream.