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What is friendship? Is it a passing relationship, a label, maybe a magic? Cosmic has been looking for an answer for nearly three weeks. How did his mother manage to make five friends in her second week? He hasn’t felt this under-educated since he was a foal.

At the crack of dawn, he finds himself in Golden Oak Library, returning for the same book he hastily skimmed yesterday. Determined, he resolves to read it cover-to-cover today. Cosmic strides over to the ‘History and Magic’ section, sifting through the familiar titles with the delicate magic of his horn. Regret washes over him for not checking it out yesterday; it was a book all about the last elements of Harmony.

After a moment, he lets out a scoff of frustration. With an only slightly frazzled grin, he approaches the librarian, hope mingling with his nerves. Cosmic politely asks her to look into the book checkout logs, and, predictably, some pony has it. Of course. He doesn’t recognize the name, but the librarian innocently directs him to you. You have the book he could need.

He takes a breath as he approaches you, recalling the little advice he received about appearing friendly.

“Hey, uh, can I have that book when you’re done. Or right now? Is it important to you?”

He’d usually be more patient, but this ‘magic of friendship’ stuff is getting to him. This past week has been tougher than usual, and he’s always carried a feeling of being a bit of a disaster.