[Anna experimentally flexed the hand of the new robotic arm that Pam had whipped up for her. She would miss the sloth arm, but somehow having a mechanical left arm just felt right to her. After the Pony Pals cleared their web browsers’ histories] and cookies, they went back outside with [the intention of finding and killing that damn cat]. It was safe for the horses and ponies to go back in the barn. The girls led the ponies inside, [licked] off the snow, dried them off, and [discussed their plans for dismantling the patriarchy]. The whole time Anna was helping with the ponies, she kept [sharpening her dagger] for the cat. She didn’t see him anywhere. [Nor did she see Acorn. But she didn’t worry — she was used to Acorn vanishing for weeks at a time and then suddenly returning, covered in assorted viscera and miscellaneous cruor. “Cruor” is a good word, she thought to herself as she absentmindedly crushed a rock into fine sand with her robot hand.] “We have to sleep in my room,” Pam told [Pawnee] and Anna[, with a not-at-all subtle wink at the two of them.] [“We can share my bed].” Anna didn’t care [much for Pam’s sexual advances. No matter how attractive Pam might be, standing there in the moonlight, her hair still flecked with ash, her eyes bright and sparkling, her lips half-parted and strangely inviting... but no. Not tonight, at least.] Tomorrow she could search for the cat [and explore the complexities of her developing adolescent sexuality.] Anna was the first Pony Pal to wake up the next morning. She [had had terrible dreams — if they could even be called dreams. Ever since she had died, everything was different. It felt as if rather than returning to life from the Other Side, she had traveled straight through and come out the other end, returning full circle to her starting place. The Other Side of the Other Side. No one could possibly understand what it was like to awaken from that slumber that should have been eternal. “Is this mockery of life, this half-existence, really better than death?” Anna whispered to herself as she gazed out the window at the falling snow, swirling a snifter of brandy with her robot hand, the other hand pressed longingly against the windowpane. Shape without form, shade without colour, paralysed force, gesture without motion. She took a sip of her liquor. But not even spirits could give her the temporary relief of oblivion that they were once able to offer. Perhaps because I have no Spirit of my own, she thought.] #DetectivePony #Feminism