reposting old green to get us off of life support

>Four hours past the estimated time of arrival…
>Where could he be?
>Your exhaustion was beset by the worry you carried; where once you sleepily wondered when Anonymous would be back, you now pace idly while pretending to read the latest peer-reviewed scientific journal from the Canterlot Institute of Magical Studies.
>The implication that magic could be used to directly interact with the previously-untouchable aether of the world would be far more interesting if the safety of one of your closest friends wasn’t in question.
>For a moment, you think about bouncing your erratic thoughts off of Spike again.
>A quick glance up the stairs and into the darkened corridor beyond reminds you that the poor sleeping dragon doesn’t need to be on the receiving end of another one of your famous one-sided ramblings right now.
>He’d been through three already tonight.
>With a hearty exhale, you tremulously set the journal down on a nearby table before continuing to pace around the living room of Golden Oaks in restless anticipation.
>For what seems like the millionth time in the span of these four hours, you work back through what Anon said his schedule would be like.
>His seminar in Manehattan started the second day of the week, so he had to spend the first day traveling to get there.
>The seminar lasted through the weekend, so he should have left for home today.
>All situations and mishaps taken into account, he should’ve been home by six o’clock, and at the very latest, by eight.
>And yet, here you are, wide awake at midnight, having paced back and forth across almost every inch of your home.
>You pause your endless march, listening out across the stagnant silence for any faint whisper of motion outside, of keys jingling or snow being packed down by his boots.
>Naught but the gentle pitter-patter of snow against the windows graces your ears.
>The sound of winter tapping on the glass grows louder as your thoughts continue to swell in their errancy.
>He brought a bottle of Spike’s dragonfire along with him in case of an emergency, so he should’ve been able to send a letter if anything had gone wrong.
>...unless something terrible happened and he didn’t have the opportunity to write a letter or use the dragonfire in time, but you’d have heard about it if something like that happened.
>Right?
>You’re only three seconds away from taking off into the night in a frantic search before a familiar bipedal rhythm upon the entrance walkway enters the soundscape, muted by both settled snow and thick wooden walls.
>Not a second later, the sound of a key turning in the doorknob brings your thoughts to a halt as it reverberates throughout the living room, a lapse in the otherwise tepid silence.
>Your head turns just in time to catch the door swinging open to reveal your missing companion, whose gaze meets yours almost instantly.