Why wasn’t I the one with the horn? I could teleport to class in a breeze. Pound Cake thought as he slipped through the team of weather pegusai moving a cumulus cloud. Rather than turn around them, he charged through the cold cloud.
The moisture in the cloud drenched his hair, his coat, and his satchel of papers. He hoped that the fabric would soak up the water before the moisture reached the valuable paper inside. If his mathematics paper was left dry, then he would not have to worry.
Pound Cake burst through the other end of the cumulus. He glanced quickly behind, noticing the unusually large hole he made through the cloud. The weather pegusai cursed at him. He didn’t have time to apologize; looking back too long would disrupt his flight pattern.
Pound Cake felt the tips of his wings pulse as he forced them to keep flapping. They were still lazy, heavy with sleep. He had to push them harder, as the outskirts of Cloudsdale were still a mile or two off.
A tingle of pain traveled down his left wing. He jerked downward.
First I don’t wake up early and then I cramp up!
He gripped his wing and continued to fly with the right wing. He tilted his body upwards to regain altitude. Pound Cake could still flap his cramped wing, but he couldn’t bring the wind down to push the air downwards. He continued flying, but at a greatly slower speed. His head tilted because of the uneven force, making the far-off cloud spin in dizzying circles.
He looked at his wings and satchel. C’mon, hurry up! Do you wanna be a Sky-Knight or not?
Pound Cake stood in front of his teacher, his hair and bag still moist from flying through the cloud. He stopped clenching his wing. Pound Cake tried to stop his heavy breathing as the other students stared at him. Some of them whispered and sniggered.
The teacher looked at the sundial near his lecture podium.
“You’re eight… no, nine minutes late.” his teacher frowned, “and I assume you had to rush to class, then?”
Pound Cake was silent. His eyes winced.
“A good pegasus is never late and a good pegasus never exhausts themselves. You know the rules.”
Pound Cake looked away from his teacher.
“Sit down.” The teacher said after a moment. “Ask for the beginning of the lecture notes from somepony next to you and don’t waste time.”
Pound Cake let out a sigh of relief. He gave a deep nod to his teacher— almost a bow. He picked up his hooves and swiftly found his seat amidst the crowd of gossiping students.
The teacher returned to his podium and ran his hoof down an open book. Before continuing his lecture, he looked at the group of students.
“Pound Cake,” he asked, “is your bag wet, by any chance? It looks darker than usual.”
“Not anymore,” Pound Cake answered without thinking, “I mean, I think it dried off a-“
The teacher smirked as Pound Cake grimaced.
“A good pegasus knows which clouds to fly through, Pound Cake.”
Comments by Kyronea:
A good pegasus knows which clouds to fly through indeed. Pound Cake doesn’t seem to be doing all that well in his quest for knighthood. (What exactly is a Sky Knight? Are they used to oppress the Air Peasants?) You’d think he’d know better than to be late. What a strict teacher though…how many notes could he have missed in the first ten minutes of class? Ah well. Hopefully he’ll do better in the future.