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At the Bottom

by wishcometrue

Seastinger stared out at the lake longingly. He desperately wanted to go for a swim, and technically there was nothing stopping him. But it wouldn't be the same.

When he had left Mt. Aris and Seaquestria behind, he had also left the pearl fragment he shared with his brother. His brother had insisted he take it, but he knew Sky Stream would find more use out of it than he would. Even now he felt like it was the right choice.

But it still felt like something was missing from his soul; his very identity. He was a hippogriff, sure, but without the pearl's power he wasn't a seapony. Half of himself had been ripped away. The first week had been fine. The second week he had felt longing, but it had been mostly okay. The third week had seen the start of the nightmares.

All of the pearl shards suddenly ceased working and everyone he knew and loved in Seaquestria drowned and sank like stones. His mother died moments before he could finish delivering her cure. The legends hadn’t been true and his journey had been useless. He shook his head. It was useless to get lost thinking about any of those dreams. More importantly, it was dangerous. He needed to stay focused on his mission.

He pulled his journal and a pen out of his backpack and flipped past notes about the Ambrosia Apple. When he had first started this journey he had mainly kept logs, jotting down useful information in his quest to find the only cure for his mother’s rare disease. After that second week on the road though, it hadn't been enough. After the third week he knew he needed to do something or he was going to lose it.

Seastinger had never been much of a poet back home, or really an artist of any sort--that was more Sky Stream’s thing. He still didn’t think he was very good, but it kept him sane when his mood and thoughts turned sour, and that was enough.

He bit his pen, organizing his thoughts. After a few moments, he put his pen to page.

Feathers ruffled and messy
Preening a reminder of what’s lost
I’m stuck in the mud
And there’s no way to get out

I’d rip out my wings
And claw at my neck
If it meant I could swim

If I swim I won’t drown
But I’ll drown if I swim
Like a seapony could

Satisfied, Seastinger put the journal and pen away and leaned back against the trunk of the tree he sat under. He shut his eyes and the cooling shade after a grueling morning of travel lulled him to sleep.