//------------------------------//
// And in Your Past, 
// Story: My Dear Sister, 
// by Rudefeline 
//------------------------------//

 
Forevermore,
with the water rushing around confusing her, the eyes a blurred by the water. made it even harder to distinguish. This shifting of the water startled her. Her body perceived a lifting just before it faded. Something took ahold and lifted her. She fell into a blurry unconsciousness.

hey kid….kid...KID!

Her throat hurt and she squinted in pain beginning to gag. The muddy water then came swelling out of her mouth. She leaned to let it all out. The water took a few moments of her life before grime was gone, and she laid exhausted back on the fresh earth beneath her. Crickets chirped right next to her ear. She breathed ragged for a few moments.

“Whaddya doin’ wit’ tis litta one, Junior.” an old mare spoke in her forgotten accent.

Cub shifted her head. A stallion sitting next to her had turned his dripping wet head to the old mare “ Don’t worry none,” he looked to the river and pointed “she was just thrashin’ all about in the water.” the old mare nodded and slowly walked out of Cub’s point of view. Lanterns loomed on the path that the mare had walked. Cub could just hear a bassy tenor off in the distance. The stallion noticed her consciousness. “Oh, uh, hey there,” he waited for any sort of response. Cubs throat attempted to utter forth words, but a pain had replaced them. The pain made her scrunch her eyes. “It’s alright, I saw you comin’ down the stream here and being a JUST stallion thought a little lady like you could use a hand.” he said picking up an apple he had laid at his feet. She was a bit too frazzled to even become embarrassed. He noticed her obvious struggle to even react. He did not expect a deep red blush, but atleast something. “Let’s get ya up.” she failed an attempt to stand on all four of her hooves, but he supported her before she could return to the ground. She leaned on his side. He guided her to an wooden plank walkway. A few high pitched twangs could just be heard above the croaking of the bullfrogs. 

“Excuse me for whiskin’ ya away like this.” he let the filly rest on his as they walked. “You ever hear blues music?” he looked down to the timid filly. She gave him a few shakes of her head. “It’s real fun with everybody all around, you’ll see.” he said in a warm tone.

The path had been placed over many small land features; mud, muddy water, muddled grass. They crossed a stepping stone path and came through a gathering of branches that hid the true gathering. A few cabins stood hidden through the veil of low hanging branches. Two cabins sat looming over the crowded stage. The stage itself had a band upon it. There was a standing bass player with a rather large straw hat, and to his left an orange coated mare sat upon the edge of the wooden stage. She had a long case comfortably perched next to her. A small, white stallion manned a great piano in the middle and to the left of the stage. Two quaint benches were seating a group of older almost grown ponies. The benches were in audience of the stage and it’s inactive performers.

The cabin to Cub’s left had it’s lights on and a few young stallions moved to and fro between doors. A pair met and laughed at something one of them must’ve said. “This is our home.” the stallion who strode with Cub said “My name’s Clasp,” he paused looking at her “I’d ask you fer yours, but…” she attempted to speak, but only a scratchy whistling came forth. “exactly, well, anyway how ‘bout you sit down over there.” he pointed to one of the benches. “I gotta towel off.” She nodded and slowly trotted over to a bench. A few teenagers watched her as she walked.

Cub sat nervously at first, but soon settled among them. A few older ponies walked and talked to the those poor souls that were caught in that awkward middle point before adulthood. Cub was not ready for what was in store in her teenage years, like most. One adult strode next to the bench and looked at the out of place filly. Cub looked, imitating his questioning gaze. The little pony had strains of grime in her creamy white mane and tail, but otherwise looked like a regular unicorn. The young adult himself had a brilliant light blue coat and lighter blue tangles of mane. “Eh,” he murmured mindlessly sitting down next to the youth. “I think this is a good night for hanging around, especially ...” He looked around, Cub imitated his looks. He looked between the rows of talking ponies. He relaxed in his seat. “since seems like nopony is outta control and were all having a good time.” he closed his eyes in meditation. He did this for a time and opened a single eye at Cub “You don’t talk much, little filly.” Cub redemonstrated the grating whistle. “Ah,” he paused closing his eye “that’s strange.”

The audience quieted as the old mare from before walked on stage slowly, but with determination. “Heya young folks, I been wit’ this camp since I was ‘bout your ages, and I swear every year this place remains the same, no matter the doo hickeys you guys get,” she looked encouragingly at the many “but, every year I get to see a new generation movin’ on up, and it warm this little, old heart.” she smiled “I hope to see some a ya leadin’ this group in few years well, if mah bones permit me still bein’ up an’ about.” a good amount chuckled “Now, let's get some music on this here stage.” She said stepping off stage. A respectful amount of applause emitted from the crowd.

Clasp and the others took a place at their instruments. Clasp tuned his bango and took up seat on a short stool. He began to pick a ghostly little number. The standing bass joined in an irregular rhythm. A guitar backed up the banjo in the melody. A few got and began to dance at first slightly  awkwardly, but then a few more joined and the rest relaxed. Clasp began to sing in a bassy tone.
Cub looked around to the rising ponies

“You don’t have to dance if you don’t wanna.” said the sitting blue stallion to Cub.

She looked at the older pony, and in show of defiance hopped off the bench  beginning to shuffle around.

“That’s not dancing.” he said flatly.

She gave him a look of shattered glass.

“Hey missy,” he point his hoof at her, she shied back in his accusing stare. He laughed and she smiled “ Hey, uh, I think there’s another one about your size ‘round here…” he looked around the lively surroundings.

She spotted the young colt first and ran over to him. The colt sat contented on the bench before the young filly rushed to him. He bobbed backwards in surprise, but caught himself before falling off the bench. He then returned his attention to the filly. She was pointing at him with a smile on her face. He narrowed his eyes in wonder at the little filly. She pointed again at him and then the ground. He got off the bench and stood continuing his questioning gaze. She began to buck and rear up rhythmically. He attempted to do the same, but he ended up just falling hard onto his rear.

She helped him to his hooves and then he gave one more attempt at the rompus dance. He succeeded. They danced clumsily between the older ponies, the music urging them to give more energy. Others freed themselves. Dancing to swinging rhythms. The lanterns rocked along as well. From inside the cabins a few rather shy ponies sat by their lonesome. They envied the others a bit, but the sense of community kept spirits high. The program helped teenagers many a times. Cub just stumbled upon it’s magic for this single night. The sense of being together.
  
Apart from the celebrations the veil parted as the wind blew. Night had set in. One of the small streams below the wooden plank pathways nettled at a rock. The rock being drenched by the swift current. It inched itself along the side of a log that had long ago caught it. On the top of the rock a bit of soggy moss was carried away with every minuscule wave of water. The green, leafy grains floated on the uneven surface of the water further down. The log was partly water rot and would have its shape easily offended. A mild cracking could be heard and the log split letting forth the rock. The rock dipped and dived as it rushed further down the stream. It picked up pace and ahead a freshly built beaver dam stood and blocked one of the two branching streams. Rock came crashing in and just in the wrong spot on the dam. It’s wooden parts crumbled and fell into the stream. The water behind the rock lowered and the fervor of the stream died. Little chunks of gnawed wood floated in the dark water and the rock sank to the shallow depths of the stream where it rested. An hour later a beaver returned and looked to the vacant stream. He then scurried in the pitch dark searching for more wood to replace his home. A beaver lived a tireless life. Eating, sleeping, and repeating this cycle. Almost devoid of personal effects or at least very subtle, insignificant ones.