The Day Has Come

>The last leaf of the tree, red as blood, dances slowly in the air before landing in front of the main burrow of the herd.
>Big Mumma, a stout, dark green earth mare and the smarty friend of the herd, makes the other fluffies gather around the moss-covered flat rock where she usually delivers her speeches.
>“Wast wed weafie faww fwom twee”, she tells the fifty or so ponies in front of her. “Dis mean big white time neaw. Next bwight time bwave wingy fwends gu to misshun fo’ hewd”.
>These words are quickly covered up by a stream of babbling coming from the herd: the younger fluffies, those who still haven’t seen two new grass times in their lives, are pretty excited by this, especially the pegasi; the fate of the whole herd rests on their wings, after all. The older fluffies, however, sound doubtful and concerned.
>After the initial enthusiasm dies down, Big Mumma talks again. “Wha’ wingy fwends be bwave ‘nuff to gu to misshun fo’ hewd?”, she asks.
>Twelve pegasi – the near-totality of wings-sporting fluffies in the herd – make a step forward. Some of them look worried, some of them determined, but each and every one of them wants to be the one who will save the herd.
>The last one in the line, a young, proud stallion with a powder gray mane and cyan fluff, is being hugged by a lilac unicorn mare that’s crying her little heart out. Judging from her swollen belly, she’s clearly pregnant. “Pwease, Sky, nu go!”, she begs him, burying her face in his fluff. “Misshun too dang’wus! Nu weave speciaw fwend Pewiwinkwe! Haf be daddy fo’ bahbes!”.
>Sky nuzzles her special friend tenderly. “Nu wowwy, Pewi. Sky bwave, and wingies stwong! Sky wun an’ twain wingies ev’wy bwight time”. He spreads his wings, proudly: they indeed look a couple of inches bigger than those of the other pegasi.
>Big Mumma nods. “Sky weawwy bwave. Ev’wy otha wingie gu to misshun weawwy bwave”. She then dismisses the herd, letting them go back playing, hugging and frolicking in the meadow and while she and her toughy friends gather grass and berries in the main burrow for the winter.
>Sky starts running around the glade, flapping his little wings madly and shouting “Go fas’!” and “Sky fwy!”. Periwinkle lies on the ground, looking at him with sad eyes and sighing every now and then. Soon she’ll be to round to move on her own, and after then she’ll have her babies for the first time… “Bu’ wha’ if speciaw fwend Sky no wiff Pewiwinkwe when bahbes come out?”, she asks to no fluffy in particular. “Bahbes nee’ dahdeh to pway, to gif huggies and keep wawm…”.
>That night, Sky sleeps soundly in the fluffpile; Periwinkle, next to him, barely closes her eyes. She just stares at the darkness, her ears perked; she’s listening at Dove, the last mare that had her babies in the herd, singing softly to her lone pegasus colt. She had two more babies, but they were taken away by a red doggie munsta along with her special friend. Trying desperately to fall asleep, Periwinkle can’t help thinking that she doesn’t want to end up like Dove.
>The next day is chilly and breezy, but the sky is bright and the sun shines, high and blinding white.
>The herd is clustered on the rocky place that has the “bigges’ jump” and the “woawing wawa” under it; fluffies don’t usually come to this place, especially foals, because it’d be very easy for them to fall from the cliff and go away forever.
>Not today, though. Today is a really special day, and every fluffy must be there and cheer for the brave wingies that will try their dangerous, really important mission. The twelve of them are lined alongside Big Mumma; they’re facing the cliff, while the smarty friend is looking at her herd with a solemn look on her muzzle. “Weawwy bwave wingies now gu to misshun”, she explains to those who are young enough not to have seen a special day. “Misshun weawwy scawy an’ dang’wus, bu’ wingies no scawed. Wight?”. The majority of the pegasi nods; only one or two of them are scratching the ground with their hooves, clearly regretting their previous decision.
>“Awia wan’ go fiwst! Awia wan’ go fiwst!”, a small, pink pegasus filly is shouting, jumping from a hoof to another.
>Big Mumma looks at her: her big, grey eyes are filled with something most of the younger fluffies of the herd have yet to know or understand. “Awia can go fiwst”, she says.
>“Yeah!”, the excitable filly exclaim. “Wuv fwy! Awia fwy so high!”. She takes a short run-up, and she jumps over the cliff, soaring in the sky, her wings outstretched.
>And then she falls.
>“NUUUUUUUUUUU! NU WAN FAWW, WAN FWY! WINGIES PWEASE HEWP! MUMMA PWEASE SAVE AWIAAAAAaaaaaaaa…”.
>The herd stares at the empty spot in the pegasi row in silence and horror. Somewhere in the crowd a unicorn mare – Aria’s mother, Sparky – starts crying softly. Big Mumma lowers her head. “Awia bwave wingie, bu’ no stwong ‘nuff”. She then looks at the other eleven pegasi. “Who next? If no wan’ no mo’, jus’ go wiff hewd. Scawed fwuffy no mean bad fwuffy, hewd undastand”.
>A couple of fillies – probably Aria’s friends – go back to their mummas, sighing and sniffling, to be hugged. A lanky, nervous ochre stallion, however, makes a step forward. “Tudow be next”. He then starts running towards the cliff, but when he’s almost there he trips in his own hooves and fall from the precipice back first. The last thing the herd hears from him is a long, high-pitched “Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…”.
>After Tudor, three more pegasi try to take flight, only to plummet to death in the river underneath. Five minutes later, only Sky still stands there, waiting for his moment. He knows he can do it: his wings are much stronger than the other fluffies’!
>When he’s about to jump, however, a foal departs from the herd and starts racing towards the edge of the cliff; he’s a pegasus colt, maybe four weeks old, his teal wings flapping madly in the breeze. “Wingie fwends stupit!”, he’s shouting while running towards his demise. “No can fwy, just faww! Spawwow show how fwy now!”.
>“NUUUUUUUUUUU!”, Dove cries; she doesn’t try to stop her only son, she just buries her head under her hooves. “Bahbe, nu weave mumma! Mumma nee’ bahbe! Bahbe too wittwe to fwy!”.
>When Sparrow darts next to Sky, however, the stallion lowers a hoof on the colt’s tail, blocking his run. Sparrow starts crying immediately. “Huu-huu-huu! Why meanie sky gif bahbe ouchies? Taiw big owwies! Mumma, nee’ huggies!”.
>Sky just looks at him, smiling. “Spawwow too wittwe to fwy”, he tells him. “Mumma stiww nee’ bahbe”.
>Dove catches up with her baby, crying and hugging him tightly. “Nu wowwy, Spawwow, mumma hewe, mumma awways hewe, gif wuv…”. She then looks at Sky. “Thankies… Sky bes’ wingie fwend eva, Sky bwave and kind… Sky can gu to misshun fo’ sure!”.
>The rest of the herd, timidly at first but with increasing confidence, starts cheering for Sky to succeed. Everyone, except for Periwinkle.
>The cyan and grey stallion nods vigorously. “Sky fwy now!”. He jumps without hesitation from the cliff edge, and something different happens.
>He doesn’t plummet, or fall.
>Sky starts gliding.
>The herd cheers even more, encouraging the brave stallion. “Sky fwy!” “Go fas’!” “Sky gu on misshun!”.
>But after a few seconds, the enthusiasm dies down. Even the fluffies understand that something is wrong: Sky should be flying up, but he’s flying down.
>And straight into the other side of the canyon.
>The fluffies don’t hear the sickening crunch of the shattering bones, they’re too far away. But they see the tiny spot of boo-boo juice left by Sky on the rock wall, and his lifeless body falling in the river like an old rug.
>Periwinkle feels something inside her breaking. “N-nuuu… WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”, she wails, uselessly pounding at the ground with her stubby hooves. The whole herd joins her in the lamentation, hugging each other, trembling and bawling their eyes out.
>Even Big Mumma sheds a tear, faintly remembering the moment when Sky first told her “wuv mumma!”, last new grass time.
>No fluffy is in the mood for playing, today. They return at the main burrow, spent at defeated, to mourn on their brave wingy friends who died trying to help the herd surviving the big white time. Big Mumma gathers her herd around her, in a group hug that quickly becomes a fluffpile; maybe, in the nappie place, Sparky will see her Aria again, and Periwinkle will be with her special friend.
>The smarty friend stares at the entrance of the burrow, that in a couple of months will be obstructed by the snow. The big white time will take its toll as usual, making many fluffies sleep forever, especially foals. Periwinkle has just lost her husband, but she’ll be lucky if at new grass time she’ll have one still living foal.
>Before closing her eyes, Big Mumma thinks about the mission. One day, the herd will find a pegasus that will be able to fly up; and then he or she will go to the bright ball in the sky and hug it, and the two of them will become friends. The brave pegasus will ask to the bright ball to come to the burrow and stay with the herd during the big white time, and the bright ball will say yes, because the bright ball is kind and always make fluffies warm.
>And from that day – that glorious day – on, no other fluffy will never have to sleep forever because of the cold in the big white time. This is what Big Mumma thinks, before falling asleep with the rest of her herd.