"It is this almost unfailing match between the theme of a Birthbrand and the professions, interests, or natural talents of it's bearer that probably gave rise to the legend of magic; the preternatural affiliation for gardening, perhaps, of a pony with a floral symbol might be exaggerated in the public imagination into a "magical" ability to make flowers bloom even in the depths of winter. Although the author is aware that this view is unpopular, it is her belief that...."

Wishawhirl was interrupted by a tapping at his door. Were those silly mares back? He rested his elbows on the massive old tome before him, rubbing his tired eyes. He could feel a headache gathering in the tense muscles behind them. The soft tapping came again.

"It's open," he called reluctantly.

The door creaked open. "Pinwheel?"

A tranquil shining face, the cool pale-blue of moonlight, peered hesitantly around the door. The pony's creamy blonde mane floated in gentle waves down her long, arching neck.

"Moondancer," sighed Wishawhirl in relief. "I thought you might be someone else. Those women that Bubblecup is always bringing over..."

"Just me," smiled Moondancer gently. "May I come in?"

"Of course. Clear yourself a space."

Moondancer walked slowly into the study and laboratory area.

"Studying in the dark? That candle's almost burnt out."

Wishawhirl glanced at the guttering candle, dripping wax onto the corner of the oak desk where it rested. He made an indeterminate humph.

"You'll hurt your eyes. Do you mind if I light this lantern?"

"Be my guest."

The lantern glowed into life as Moondancer adjusted it. The warm light drove the shadows into the corners of the room, behind stack of books, sneaking around the laboratory equipment.

"It's smoky in here, too," she added. "You should open a window. The night is very beautiful."

Wishawhirl stared blankly at the latched window nearest him as Moondancer tried to pry it open. The moon outside was blurry from the grime on the glass. The window gave way suddenly, opening outwards. A sweet, cool breeze blew into the room, lightly ruffling the corners of the open book's pages. The clean smell of grass and dew overtook the stuffy smokiness. A chorus of crickets and summer peepers sang a droning harmony outside: chir-chir. Chir- chir. Pee-per! The moon was now crisp and round in the window frame. Wishawhirl turned with an attempt at a smile to his friend, who was dusting clean a bench to sit on.

"Shouldn't you be at the nursery at this time of night, singing lullabies?"

She smiled back, tilting her head a little. "It's later than you think, my friend. Baby ponies are dreaming right now. Besides, we skipped the lullabies tonight. All the baby ponies wanted to hear Bubblecup's bedtime story. All about her big brother's moving light picture invention."

Wishawhirl groaned and slammed his face down on his book. What had she told them?

"They're all very excited to see a moving light picture," she continued, arranging herself on the bench. "I'm more than a little curious about it myself."

A muffled whimper issued from the book.

"Are you okay?" asked Moondancer with some concern.

"Yeah," sighed Wishawhirl, lifting his head. "Just...I don't know..."

"What happened?"

"Well, the Self-Amplifier doesn't work. It records light and sound pictures of whatever you show it, and stores them in the fractal crystal, I think. You can project them onto the wall, then."

Moondancer raised her eyebrows. "Wow."

"Bubblecup was here this afternoon with these awful mares, just reeking of perfume, and they all laughed at it."

"Yeah...?"

Wishawhirl knew she must wonder what the big deal was, since he normally didn't care if they laughed; he would usually just go back to the drawing board. His stomach twisted as he remembered his bobbing rump on the wall.

"Well, it recorded me, before I knew what it would really do." He hesitated. "And then, when it showed the picture back, you know, I could see...me. What I looked like."

He gulped, hanging his head down. Moondancer didn't say anything.

"Well, I looked really stupid," he muttered. "All excited about this thing that didn't even work. And I just thought, is this what I look like to everyone else?"

Moondancer slowly nodded her understanding. Wishawhirl took a shaky breath.

"And I guess no one thinks I'm ever going to figure this out. Maybe they're right."

"I see."

Wishawhirl listened to the quiet rustling from the wind and to the crickets outside. An owl hooted somewhere nearby.

"What are you reading?" asked Moondancer finally.

"Oh, just some old crackpot," muttered Wishawhirl. "She thinks Ponyland was never magical at all, that it's all superstition."

Moondancer laughed a little. "Why are you reading that?"

"Gotta know all the angles," he replied dejectedly. "In case they're right about something." He looked up, frowning in frustration. "It's just so frustrating, you know, that there are no really good records or writing from the time. The descriptions of magic are inconsistent and sometimes hard to believe, and no one seems to know where the magic comes from, or if they do they don't ever mention it. Stupid Dream Valley."

Moondancer leaned forward and fixed a penetrating gaze on him. "That pony is not right," she said firmly, tapping the book. "Our Dream Valley ancestors did have magic. And we can, too. I know it."

He met her starry eyes, piercing violet and blue, hope twinging in his heart. "How do you know?"

"I just do," she said seriously. "I feel it. It's important to me."

He slumpped, disappointed. "When I started, I felt it, too. But faith wears thin sometimes. I want proof. I want results." He slapped the desk for emphasis, as his voice rose. "Ever since I started to think about it, it just feels like something is missing from my life. Maybe when I was little I just thought it would just be cool to have magic powers, like any baby pony, but later I looked at my Birthbrand, and I thought 'This is my birthright. This is the birthright of every pony. There's some fundamental part of myself lying asleep.' I mean, what is this symbol supposed to mean? That I will have an affinity for pinwheels?"

"Maybe it's supposed to represent your thoughts spinning," suggested Moondancer. "Maybe it's more metaphorical."

He shook his head impatiently. "No, there is something missing from life here, and I know what it is. It's the Rainbow of Light! It's ponies who can take to the sky and ponies who can disappear into thin air! There's a spirit of adventure, the soul of Ponyland..." Wishawhirl's voice had taken on a hungry edge of longing. "There has to be a way to find those things. If there isn't...I don't know."

"You will figure it out, Pinwheel," Moondancer pronounced emphatically, sharing his intensity. She reached forward and set one hoof on his arm. "But you can't burn yourself out doing it. You need to remember to come outside sometimes, and see the stars. Come to the café. Walk in the forest. And you need a little perspective."

"What do you mean?" he asked, a bit taken aback.

"Well, all you can think about is how you haven't reached your goal yet. But you aren't taking any time to enjoy the journey! Look at the kind of discoveries you are making along the way! The Self-Amplifier didn't do what you want, but moving light and sound pictures...that's amazing all by itself. Maybe it's even more amazing that you made something like that without magic."

Wishawhirl considered this, absently staring at a moth that had come in the window and was fluttering erratically around the lantern. It made a small thunking noise as it threw itself against the glass.

"Don't you think it's silly, though?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Is it still here? I'd really like..."

She was interrupted by a loud rapping at the door.

"Wishawhirl!" came a call at the door. "Are you there?"

"Lot of vistors tonight," muttered Wishawhirl, getting to his hooves.