23

MIDNIGHT

STAR HEARD THE CRUSH OF HOOF AGAINST BONE, but he felt nothing. I’m dead, he thought, but then the lone bird whistled again. Star raised his head and saw the shocked expression of Thunderwing.

A flurry of feathers rained between them. Star blinked, more confused than ever. But then he saw that the feathers were blue, and his heart skidded to a halt. His eyes followed the path of the falling feathers in time to see a chestnut filly with a flaxen mane and tail tumble across the rocks and fall head over tail off the plateau. Star’s thoughts shattered as he realized what had just happened: Morningleaf had flown into the path of Thunderwing’s hoof and had taken the blow meant for Star.

Time raced forward, and Star flew to the filly just as she crashed onto the grass. Morningleaf landed in a crumbled heap; her right wing was snapped in half, and droplets of blood splattered her feathers. But it was the sight of Morningleaf’s neck that caused the canyon meadow to spin for Star. It was broken, and her head was twisted and impossibly facing the wrong way. Her small body twitched as if it had been struck by lightning.

“Morningleaf?” Star cried, gently rubbing her shoulder with his wing.

She blinked at him, squinting like he was far, far away.

Silverlake and Sweetroot landed next to them. Silverlake couldn’t speak. Sweetroot quietly and swiftly inspected the injuries.

Morningleaf wrinkled her brow. “I can’t get up.”

“Shh,” said Silverlake. “Don’t try.”

Morningleaf rolled her eyes to look at Star. “You can’t win when they set the terms, Star. Remember?”

Star’s thoughts collided in rage and grief. He couldn’t answer.

Silverlake laid her head next to her filly and sobbed.

“Don’t be sad, Mama. Look over there; I see Grasswing.”

Silverlake looked and then shook her head. “No, sweet filly, I don’t see him.”

Echofrost and Bumblewind forced their way through the crowd and settled next to Morningleaf. “We’re here,” said Echofrost.

Morningleaf wheezed, straining to breathe while the light in her amber eyes began to fade. “Good,” she said.

Star wiped his eyes, his tears falling freely, and then he saw the spirits, like colorful lights. It was Grasswing and Lightfeather. They flew down from the night sky, landed, and leaned over Morningleaf. Star blinked, looking around him, but none of the gathered steeds appeared to notice the spirits. Star wondered how he could see them. In so many ways, he was not a regular pegasus.

“Lightfeather!” Morningleaf said with delight.

“No, no,” cried Silverlake, dropping to her knees and looking blankly past the spirits at the stars above. “Please don’t take her.”

Star blinked, blinded by the glowing presence of Lightfeather and Grasswing, and then the spirit of Morningleaf rose from her injured body. Her blue feathers shimmered with light, and her head twisted around until it was once again properly aligned with her neck.

Star felt like he was floating, like there was nothing left in Anok to hold him in place, to give him purpose, like he could blow away with the wind.

Lightfeather touched noses with Morningleaf and then she looked at Star. His mother’s unfathomable eyes pierced his mind, and it was the opposite of floating—it was like she’d pushed him off a cliff. He fell into the past, bouncing off memories as he dropped into a deep, black canyon—he saw Crabwing gulping oysters, the twins playing chase, Brackentail jeering at him, Thunderwing striking the ground, Mossberry telling stories, and then he saw himself, a long-legged colt unable to fly.

The speed of his descent made him dizzy until he reached the night he was born, and then his brain jolted to a halt. He saw Lightfeather lying in her grove with him; his tongue was blue and his eyes were closed. He watched like it was happening now in front of him. Lightfeather massaged his chest with her wingtips, but nothing happened. She grew frantic, and then she bit his ear, and the pain slammed him back into his body where he took his first breath.

Star flashed forward a few hours, and there was Lightfeather whispering secrets into his ears until the very last minute. Her words tumbled through him so fast he couldn’t make sense of them.

“I can’t hear you,” he said, and the sound of his voice pulled him up and out of his thoughts, racing him back to the present. He rocked on his hooves, off balance. The glowing spirits of Lightfeather, Morningleaf, and Grasswing reared together and spread their wings. “Wait,” Star cried, and then they cantered into the sky and flew up to the stars.

“What are you seeing?” asked Silverlake.

Star blinked, suddenly aware of the sounds around him: the sobbing, the terrified nickering, the confused bird singing, and the shuffling of hooves. Only a second had passed, and everyone was staring at him. He looked down and saw Morningleaf’s crippled body quiver in the grass; and then it stiffened, took a final breath, and relaxed into empty stillness.

“Morningleaf is dead,” he said with words as heavy as boulders, and yet inside he felt hollow, like the dry husk of an insect. Wails of grief rose from Sun Herd, and he could almost see the hope floating out of them, following Morningleaf to the golden meadow. Star felt the Sun Herd steeds give up.

He spread his wings over his best friend and let his tears wash her broken body. He was stunned by the depth of his sadness, which seemed to encompass the whole world, not just his best friend. The onlookers backed away, and even Silverlake moved so he could say good-bye alone.

After a long while Star stood and tucked his wings. His tears had created a wreath of white flowers around Morningleaf’s body. Above him, the Hundred Year Star flared a final time—it was midnight.