Steady Chanter was a wizened old unicorn, once a rich earthy brown with a shock of fiery mane, but now was bent with the weight of ninety and three summer resting on his faded grey coat and mane with a fleck or two of its old red. He sat in front of a crackling fireplace where the warmth of the flames could sooth the aches of his old bones. His foals, now grown and with foals of their own sat near the ancient stallion. The younglings had fallen asleep in the next room, and the last light of the setting sun shown in a window facing the west, built purely to catch the last glimpse of Celestia's dusk.
The old pony had a battered old guitar resting against him, nearly as old as he and the cords plucked by pure merit of a faded grip of magic. A cracked, tired voice, so rarely raised in song in his last years could still carry a tune, and did so then, humming until the sun had fallen. Then the stallion who had been without more than a muttered word that whole day began to sing in a calm and simple way, voice carrying more rhythm and cadence than melody.
"Once when I was small, I asked my mother why in the old stories, ponies came to Equestria across lands and mountains to find a place of summer and warmth the great seas surrounding Equestria were never mentioned. My mother looked to me and told me in a quiet voice, 'The story is not for foals, but it is why Equestria has no enemies.'"
"When I was grown I asked my Princess why in the old stories, ponies came to Equestria across lands and mountains to find a place of summer and warmth the great seas surrounding Equestria were never mentioned. My Princess looked at me and told me in a voice so sad, 'The story is not for my gentle ponies, but it is why Equestria has no enemies.'"
"Now that I am old, the foals of my foals ask me why in the old stories, ponies came to Equestria across lands and mountains to find a place of summer and warmth the great seas surrounding Equestria were never mentioned. I look to my foals and tell them, 'The story is not for foals, but it is why Equestria has no enemies, and why the grandfoals of my grandfoals will be safe under the white wings of the Sun.'"
He talked as much as sang to the tired old strings and curious looks on his children's faces, who knew by the determined look in the tired ponies old grey eyes that this would be the last song he would sing, and sing he did...
~*~*~
In the days of my youth I recall a story my grand-dame told to me,
A story she says was given to her by the mare who made the Sea.
Once there was a land to the East full of wolves with their sharp teeth,
Once there was a land to the West full of dragons above their fiery heath,
Fire and Fang claimed Her young,
Fire and Fang claimed songs unsung.
Fire and Fang claimed the speaking tongue.
Once in the land to the East, She bid the wolves hunt not pony fare,
Once in the land to the West, She bid the dragons burn not ponies there.
Fire and Fang turned Her away,
Fire and Fang continued to slay,
Fire and Fang held to their way.
Twice in the land to the East, She bid the wolves hunt not pony fare.
Twice in the land to the West, She bid the dragons burn not ponies there.
Fire and Fang cared not,
Fire and Fang stretched her taut,
Fire and Fang knew blood they saught,
Thrice in the land to the East, She warned the Wolves hunt no more,
Thrice in the land to the West, She warned the Dragons from her core.
Fire and Fang laughed and growled,
Fire and Fang taunted and howled,
Fire and Fang would never have bowed.
Thrice each she begged of them for Her own,
Thrice each she asked of them to atone.
No more would She ask, no more would She beg,
No more would She spoil wolf pup or dragon egg.
As the sun rose in the East She stood tall and proud,
As the sun rose in the East, no more would She be cowed.
The Fang knew Fire
The Fang knew Sunlight's ire
The Fang knew, from pup to sire.
As the Sun set in the West, high She held Her head.
As the Sun set in the West, the Dragons knew dread.
The Fire grew within golden tomb,
The Fire flew without wing's boon,
The Fire looked upon their Doom.
As Moonrise looked upon the East,
Pale was her face at Sunlight's feast.
And as she fell in the West,
There She stood upon Fire's crest.
And so She looked at Fang and Fire,
So She looked at the fields of Her ire.
No victory felt She,
For on Her others look and flee.
Fire and Fang were taken to their core
Fire and Fang knew nothing more.
Saw did She the horror she had wrought,
Saw did She the death she had brought.
Tears fell from fiery eyes,
Tears fell from ashen skies.
To pool and fill
Graves of ash and swill.
Cried did She,
to fill the Sea.
The graves of Fire and Fang.
~*~*~
The old stallion carried the tone of that even older melody to the last word when, on their own, the strings upon his old guitar broke, all at once, and he gave his foals a peaceful look. He had awhile longer left to watch his grandfoals grow, but nevermore would he sing.
His children, though, had been given an old, secret tale to tell their own when the time was right, and so it would be that the old stories would not be entirely lost, even if it was a sad tale to tell.