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// CHAPTER XL: Miles To Go Before I Sleep 
// Story: Special Illumination 
// by ponichaeism 
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	The night was pure torture as it descended over Clover. She lay in bed fretting over what would happen come midnight, refusing to give in to the temptation to close her eyes, even for a moment, out of fear that her aching body would betray her and drift off to sleep. But she wouldn't allow herself to move, either. Though her father slept heavily, and in fact she could hear his snores right through the wall, she wasn't so sure about Starswirl. 
She thought he was asleep, because when she'd rummaged in his saddlebag to 'borrow' the pocket clock that was now laying on the pillow in front of her snout, he hadn't stirred at all, which made her even more suspicious. He was keen and had a habit for tricks, she knew, and she wouldn't put it past him to fake being asleep and then follow her. Much as she'd done to him, of course, that night he'd gone into the woods. But this was different, she told herself. Bothrin Tor lay in the exact opposite direction from the dark and scary forest, and the moon was still bright enough to guide her way in the night.
When the pocket clock finally hit thirty minutes to midnight, and she was half-crazy from having only its ticks and tocks for company, she crept down the stairs and to the door, trying to remember where all the loose floorboards were before they could creak and give her away. Once her hooves sank into the grass outside, she perked her ears up and listened for the sound of a mad stallion galloping through the night. Half of her grew bold at his absence, the other half longed for it so she could call off the midnight meeting. 
But for the first time in her life, she might have an actual friend now. And if Starswirl's attribute things really did help ponies come together, then she was going to keep her promise.
The fog bank had hit town sometime in the night, and now it pressed in around her and concealed anything farther than fifty feet away. The nearest houses were just dim shapes behind the veil. After thirty seconds of quiet concentration, she heard hearing nothing but absolute silence. Something bold inside her told her to stop wasting time and go on. She made to close the door, but the sight of the sad Starswirl sleeping caught her eye. Though he had seemed more like himself that day, she could still tell he was deeply worried. Her heart gave a wrench at the sight of him.
Softly she closed the door, keeping the handle held down until the jamb was secure in its frame; then she ever-so-slightly raised it. Turning away from the mill, she threw the hood of her cloak up over her head and set off into the sea of swirling mist.
Though she tread as light as she could, her hooves clopped loud enough in her ears that she thought she would wake the dead. She told herself it was just her nerves, but when she passed the Cider Horse she swore she heard something slither through the darkness and jumped so high she thought she'd slam her head into the waning moon and take another chunk out of it. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself and continued on her way.
When she set hoof on the dirt road leading out of town and winding over the hills to Cornish Fields, the lack of sleep hit her hard. A dull ache dwelled in her head as her eyes itched and burned. But she pressed on into the fog, with only the moon shining behind the veil to light her way.


She heard the ponies before she saw them, although with the dense fog that was to be expected. She heard a muffled, high-pitched giggle from farther down the road running alongside the tall, sturdy rows of corn. She looked back, but there was only the straight road swallowed by the mist. She crept to the fence and wormed her way under it, then backed into the stalks of corn. She wondered if this was Cornish Fields, or if she still had a ways to go.
She bent her knees and put her belly to the ground as she watched, but she was so sleepy  the ground felt as comforting as the softest pillow, and before she knew it she'd nodded off. It was only another giggle that roused her, making her jerk her head up so hard she rustled one of the corn stalks.
"Did you hear something?" a familiar voice asked nervously.
Golden Harvest, Clover thought. More mischief, I bet.
Sure enough, she spied the blonde filly and two of her friends paused on the road just past the fence. One had a paint brush in his mouth, the other a bucket of paint that she lower to the ground and let go of to speak.
"It was probably just a crow, Gold. Or maybe a fox."
"Maybe," Golden Vein replied, although from the way her leg was lifted, she was clearly spooked.
"Maybe," the colt echoed.
Clover grinned to herself as she wrapped her cloak around her as tight as she could and pulled the hood way down over her forehead. Then, in as gravelly a voice as she could manage, she called, "Maybe not." Then she jumped up and rustled the corn as much as possible.
The three foals shared a look of absolute terror, then bolted down the road. One spilled the bucket of paint everywhere in her haste. As their hooves beat against the dirt, Clover couldn't help but cackle to herself.
When she finally arrived at the front gate, she looked up at the sign and saw Golden Vein's handiwork: the 'Fields' in 'Cornish Fields' had been painted over and replaced with 'Fools'. 
Not her best prank, she thought.
As she approached the farmhouse, she stuck close to the shadow of the corn and kept her hood drawn tight. She tip-hoofed between the chicken coop and the barn until she crept close to Junior Plenty's window.
"Took you long enough," he whispered, making her jump.
"Fat lot of good it did, seeing how much fog there is," she whispered back as she turned to see his head sticking above the windowsill.
"Sometimes it don't even reach the top of Bothrin Tor, so it's no good chickening out now."
"I ain't chickening out," she said icily.
He reached his foreleg over the sill. "Then help me out of this here bed."
She grabbed his hoof while he put the other one on the headboard for leverage and struggled to drag his useless legs over the threshold. He shifted his hoof to get a better grip, but the motion unbalanced him and sent his chest slamming into the sill. That unbalanced Clover in turn, who fell back onto the ground and dragged Junior with her. He landed atop her in the dirt and forced the air from her lungs.
"I'm awful sorry, I am," he said.
"Not as sorry as me," she croaked.
He managed to roll off her, and she heaved for the cool and misty air. But when she rolled over and pushed herself up, she realized her heart was beating fast, and it wasn't just because she'd nearly been crushed to death. She bent down and helped Junior right himself, only to see tears dripping from his eyes. He pulled away from her with a sniffle.
"Got some dirt in my eye," he said coldly. "Well, let's go, unicorn."
She felt the flame of friendship ignite in her heart. "I'm only half a unicorn," she said softly. 
"And I'm only half an earth pony," he replied, "but as it happens you got the half I don't have, and it looks like it's in mighty fine condition." To himself, he added, "Well, more than half, actually...." 
He seemed to realize he'd said that aloud at the exact same moment Clover realized what he was hinting at, and they both looked away, embarrassed. Clover had to suppress a nervous titter as she felt her cheeks burning.
"Well, let's get going," he said.
As she got on her knees and helped him onto her back, he crossed his forelegs under her neck, and she could feel his breath in her ear. Her heart fluttered at how warm he was compared to the cool, damp fog. Then it came time to lift him up, and although her knees wobbled as she strained to straighten them, she made it up. It wasn't like lifting something with her teeth, now that his weight was nestled in the crook of her back and supported by all four of her legs. Together they set off along the dirt road leading to the gate, among the corn stalks blowing in the soft breeze that sent the fog rolling across the skin of the world. To Clover, the ache of the sleep she had denied herself was gone, lost in her heart's frenzied beat and the promise she had to keep.


As the fog bank rolled through the trees, Nightshade felt the magic of the lovely, deep, and dark woods rub off on the airy mist and lend it some of the forest's primordial power. He breathed it in and felt the lightning-like tingle of magic in his lungs. He hoofed the edge of the treeline and watched the mist spilling out into the town. It would sustain him, he thought with a smile, sustain him all the way to his destination on the far side of town. He gave a glance at the mill where that accursed Carmine slept. 
Not yet. It was too soon, and he wasn't ready.
But that didn't mean he couldn't have a little bit of fun with his prey first. And so Nightshade the Enchanter began his midnight run through the town, relishing the brief flares of fear he felt as ponies woke from their sleep and energized him with their fear and terror. He rued that he didn't have the chance to revel in them. His power still wasn't unlimited, and he had a long way to go and promises to keep. 
To himself, mostly, but promises nonetheless.