Chapter 5
Although he had no brothers or sisters, Storm Stunner had always wanted one growing up. Weekly, daily, and sometimes even hourly he would make it his habit to beg his parents to hurry up and start making the necessary calls to the storks, bees, birds, or whoever was in charge of little filly and colt production. Each time his father would then grin hugely with large, white teeth, ruffle his son’s mane, and tell him that one foal was more than plenty, and Storm, with the self-centeredness of youth, would always take it as a compliment.
But still, playing alone with his toys, bouncing balls to himself off of the walls, he would often imagine what it would be like. He’d dream up a little brother or sister who would play his favorite games with him, looking up to him and hanging on his every word, which effectively demonstrated just how little he knew about brotherhood. Now, waiting for breakfast with the other guardsponies in the living room of the main house, he was about to get a crash course.
It began with a filly’s shriek from upstairs, followed by Flip tearing down said stairs into the living room, Sprite a tail’s length away. Flip leapt from the stairs and over the banister, skidding into the front door with a thump when he landed on the doormat. He hastily scrambled to his hooves and darted past the sofa where Check Mate lay; the guardspony sat up and peered over the sofa’s back at the spectacle.
“Get back here, you brat!” Sprite screamed as she chased after Flip, whipping around the railing too quickly and righting herself as she stumbled. Airy soon came prancing down after, loving every moment of this.
Flip spotted Storm, who had been admiring a shelf of the foals’ crafts and was now watching all of this unfold with mute shock, and scrambled behind him. He wrapped himself around a hind leg and pointed a trembling, accusing hoof at his sister.
“Uh?” managed Storm, suddenly thrust from third party to participant.
“Arrest her!” Flip shouted. “I know my rights! She’s tryin’ to salt and batter me!”
“What?! I ain’t tryin’ to cook ya, but I am gonna tan ya!”
Sprite feinted to Storm’s left and Flip dodged to his right, and soon the chase was on once more, with Storm right in the center. There was probably some joke one could make, something about ‘the eye of the storm’ in there somewhere, but he would’ve been in no mood for it.
“Hey, uh, how about slowing it down there, guys?” said Storm. He then chuckled uneasily, killing any scant sense of authority this statement might’ve carried. He tried pressing into a wall to cut off their circuit, but didn’t expect that Flip would in turn try to leap onto his back to gain a height advantage. Luckily for Storm, the clamor did not go unnoticed.
“Y’all quit it and behave yourselves this instant!”
Allie stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her mouth set in a hard line. The foals froze in place and their ears flattened against their heads.
“Uh, do you mind?” said Storm to the colt pinning himself between his wings.
“Ah, heh, sorry ‘bout that.”
Flip dutifully hopped down, and Storm sighed in relief, retreating to his section of couch beside Check Mate, out of the line of fire.
“Sounds like everypony’s up!” Kettle yelled cheerfully from the kitchen. “Y’all want cheese in your grits?”
“Give us a minute!” Allie called back, before returning her attention to Sprite and Flip. “Now then, y’all should be gettin’ ready for school, not tearin’ up the house and treatin’ the guests like furniture, so what is the problem? Sprite, why are ya chasin’ your brother?”
Sprite scowled at Flip, her eyes puffy and red, and said, “It’s ‘cause of him that I can’t get ready for school.”
“Oh? And why is that, honey?” Allie asked, staring now at Flip who began to fidget sheepishly.
“Because he ate my homework!”
The guardsponies shared a look between them and silently agreed to say nothing.
Allie’s jaw went slack for a moment before snapping shut. “…He did what now?” she asked.
Sprite took a deep breath. “We’re gonna be talkin’ about plants in class today, and Miss Rye thought we should do somethin’ to contribute to the discussion, so she said that we oughta find somethin’ special to bring in, and I did, then he had to go and eat it!”
“It was just a clover!” Flip complained. “I can pick ya another one!”
“It was a four-leaf clover!”
“So?! I don’t see what the big deal is; it tasted just like a three-leaf one!”
“Mom!” screamed Sprite.
Allie sighed and then said, “Flip, you can’t just go and take other ponies’ property. It ain’t, ya know, proper. And”—she tilted her head towards Storm and the others—“I don’t think the Guard would think too highly of it.”
Storm caught the cue and said, “Uh, that’s right, yeah. It’s not proper at all.”
“Yeah, totes,” Crack Shot said. He scratched his chin in thought. “Unless you’ve got a warrant, or somethin’. Then, like, go nuts, I guess,” he added.
Allie nodded at the two of them, giving a brief smile before turning to her son. She watched, not saying anything. She instead waited to see what he would do, and if he would do it on his own, without any prompting on her part. Head lowered, Flip didn’t catch his mother’s small smile as he turned towards his eldest sister.
“Sorry for eatin’ yer homework,” he said. “If I’d known if it was that special, I woulda left it be.”
Sprite’s scowl softened but didn’t quite leave her. “…Fine. I accept, I guess. But I still don’t have anythin’ to present, and it ain’t like four-leaf clovers are sproutin’ up all over the place…”
Check Mate, who had said nothing up to this point, spoke up. “You say that your class will be having a discussion on flora? If you’ll allow me, I believe I have something that may be of aid in your present predicament.”
“…Really?”
“Well, perhaps. I shall just be a moment.”
Check Mate stood from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. They heard him greet Kettle as he stepped outside, before shutting the door behind him.
“Who’s Flora?” asked Airy. “I thought y’all were gonna be talkin’ about plants.”
Sprite shook her head and said, “‘Flora’ is how you say ‘plants’ when you wanna be fancy.”
“Ohh.”
Within ten minutes, Check Mate reentered the living room with the Pandect of Plant Life Pabulums and Panaceas floating behind him. He levitated it before Sprite, who slowly sounded out the title, her brows knitting at the more unfamiliar words.
“Although I am afraid it is no plant, this compendium does a fine job of detailing them,” said Check Mate. “It is filled with information that I am certain your class would appreciate. It was lent to me by a friend, and, if it would be of use, I would like to lend it to you for the day.”
“Really?” Sprite scrutinized the cover. It was no lucky clover, that was certain, but as that had gotten eaten, it probably hadn’t been all that lucky anyways. She smiled at Check Mate and said, “Thank you, sir, that’s mighty kind of you.”
“Yes, thank you,” agreed Allie.
“It is my pleasure.”
“Now hurry on up and put that book in your bag nice and safe so that you’ll be ready to go after breakfast.” Allie gave Sprite a light nudge on her flank. “Your uncle sounds like he’ll have it ready soon.”
“Yes, mom.” Sprite’s horn began to glow, and the heavy book, somewhat unsteadily, lifted into the air. It wobbled and bobbed behind her as she trotted up the stairs.
“And you two as well,” she said to Flip and Airy. “Make sure y’all got everything you need packed away for your classes: pencils, paper, homework, and anything else I forgot to mention. Go on, giddyup!”
“Yes, Mom!” said Airy and Flip, echoing their sister as they followed her up the stairs. That morning’s crisis averted, Allie exhaled deeply and sat back into a barrel chair, sinking into the elderly cushioning. She laughed to herself.
“I apologize about that, y’all. They can be a hooffull sometimes.”
Crack Shot snorted and waved a hoof dismissively. “You don’t gotta keep apologizin’. Little brothers and sisters are supposed to be friggin’ crazy. I should know: I am one.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, smiling. “And Check Mate, I owe ya. That one takes her schoolin’ seriously, thank goodness, so I think you just saved her a whole lot of stress.”
“Oh, it was really no trouble at all; I was much the same way at her age. I am happy to assist in a pony’s edification in any way that I am able.”
“I appreciate that. And I’ll ask her to be extra careful with your book and to make sure it comes back with all of its pages.”
“Honestly, I am not too concerned about that. It is securely bound, and the pages can resist both wear and wetting. I believe it to have been fashioned as a vade mecum of sorts, and, as such, to be resilient against the forces of nature themselves.”
“Forces of nature, huh?” Allie leaned into an arm of her chair, smirking. “Including kids?” she asked.
Check Mate gave a small chuckle and an equally small shrug as he returned to the couch. “Well, let us hope so.”
Kettle stepped into the living room, a linen apron tied loosely over his chest. His paisley handkerchief poked out from beneath it, and looked to have caught any spills before the apron had had the chance. “I’ve got the grits keepin’ warm on the stove, though we don’t want ‘em to overcook,” he said. “Are the foals comin’ down?”
“They’ll be down in a minute. I just have ‘em gatherin’ their things for school,” Allie said.
“Duly noted, sis. So”—Kettle turned towards the guardsponies—“you fellas ever stumble across grits in the city?”
Crack Shot bit his lower lip. “Uh, yeah, if I’m not watchin’ my step, I guess. Never would’ve thought about eatin’ it, though.” After a moment of thought he added, “Do you, like, pick out the bigger rocks first or somethin’?”
“I think ya might be missin’ the ‘s’ on the end there, pardner. Anyways, I think you’ll like ‘em. At least, I hope you’ll like ‘em. They’re what’s for breakfast today, and we’re gonna be hittin’ the fields right after.”
---
The day’s harvest was no different than the last few days’, which were no different than that of the first evening on the farm, save for the length. Crack Shot and Check Mate worked with Kettle near the silos, gathering and husking that corn which was to be dried or ground into flour; Allie joined them upon her return from dropping off the foals. Storm, comfortable in handling the longer trips at a quick pace, chose to harvest at the far ends of the field. It was on this day that he found the hill.
It wasn’t much of a hill, really, and probably more of a mound. It sat beyond the rows of corn stalks, nestled behind other, larger rises. He would not have even noticed it if not for hint of a tree extending from the top of it. On a whim he neared it, and, as more of it revealed itself, he was surprised by flowers spreading from its base to its crest in clusters of violent blue. The nearby grasses were kept trimmed, and a path was cut through the flowers towards the top of the hill, where the small, yellowing tree stood.
He guessed it to be a young maple, or oak… or aspen, or cedar… he really didn’t know much about trees. Walking around it, he found what looked to be the number six etched into its surface, just above another longer set of characters: letters or numbers that he couldn’t quite make out. The carvings didn’t look fresh, but neither did they look old. He decided that they looked maintained. They were scored shallow enough into the dead bark to avoid causing harm, but deep enough to be distinct, dark lines. He pondered over them, before concluding they must have been for purposes of identification, and giving them no more thought. His eyes returned to the flowers.
He knew little about flowers and even less about these. Viewed from the top they looked like five-pointed stars with crowns of folded blue and white at their centers. They were the bluest flowers he had ever seen, and there were hundreds, maybe thousands of them.
He made a mental note to ask Check about them, to perhaps bring back a petal after the day’s work was done, for comparison with the unicorn’s guide book once he had gotten it back from Sprite. However, by the time lunchtime rolled around, he had gotten back into the mindset of the harvest, and had forgotten all about them.
---
Allie broke early to get lunch ready and called everypony over for an outdoor meal a half hour later. Perhaps it would’ve been amusing if the menu consisted of cream corn, popcorn, corn on the cob, corn muffins, and other corn derivatives. It didn’t. Although there were a few pieces of corn that she had brought with her inside to steam, there were also chickpeas, broccoli, berries, and a bowl of nuts from Hazel’s grove. Allie believed in her farm’s product, but she also believed in a balanced diet. She just wasn’t that corny.
“We’re makin’ great progress out there,” she said, tipping a glass towards Kettle and the guardsponies. “At the rate we’re goin’, I reckon we’ll have everythin’ picked and ready to ship in a week or two, tops. I’ll tell y’all, it’s a relief havin’ the extra hooves.”
“We’re glad to be of service,” said Check Mate, plucking a kernel from his cob with a bit of magic, “though I do have an inquiry regarding our methodology. It’s common to clear away stalks as harvesting progresses, is it not? Is there a reason to leave them standing as we are?”
“Heh, good eye,” said Kettle. “Yeah, that usually ain’t a bad way to go about it. Thing is, it’s become a bit of a tradition to leave ‘em up. Somethin’ for the younger ponies to enjoy.”
“Oh?”
“Yep. Y’all know the paths we got set up to get through the fields? By the time Nightmare Night rolls around, it’ll be somethin’ for the young’uns in town to explore. A maize maze, if you will.”
“Hey, that’s kinda cool,” said Crack Shot.
Kettle grinned. “They think so too. Since distances between all the farms ‘round here would turn trick or treatin’ into somethin’ of a marathon, this place becomes party central for the earlier part of the night.”
“And what about later in the night?” asked Storm.
“Later in the night, the foals are in bed, and the adults are at Pimento’s.”
“Some of the adults,” amended Allie. “The responsible ones are back at home, watching over the little ones.”
“Well heck, we can switch off this year if you feel like you’re missin’ out,” said Kettle, knowing full well what the answer would be.
“I’ll pass, thank you.” Allie popped a blueberry into her mouth, pursing her lips at its tartness. “So how about you boys? After the harvestin’s over and done with, will y’all be able to stay for the holiday, or will ya be needin’ to head off?”
“I don’t know. Would we have to wear costumes?” asked Storm, jokingly.
“Nah,” said Kettle. “Usually I just lend Allie here my scarf and we go as one another.”
“Could we wear costumes?” asked Crack Shot, sincerely. Berry juice had stained his outer lips blue.
Allie rubbed the side of her mouth unconsciously where Crack Shot had stained his. “Well, uh, if ya’d like. Ya might have to improvise or visit Hazel for materials, though.”
“Right on.” Crack Shot gave a satisfied nod. With the important matters discussed, he dove back into his lunch.
“What about you, Check? Any objections?” asked Storm.
Check Mate gave this some thought, taking in a deep breath through his nose as he did so. The air smelled of autumn; of leaves and spice and the hint of bonfires. The nights were chill, and soon the days would be as well. Still, they should be left with enough time to finish their travels before the skies turned bitter, he thought. If not, what would another few days matter?
He said, “…Yes, if the completion of our tasks here coincides with the holiday, I think it would be worthwhile to participate in its celebration. However, we shall want to depart soon after, I feel.”
“Guess that settles it,” said Storm. “We’d be happy to stay the few extra days.”
“And we’d be glad to have ya.” Allie smiled. “Though if I might make a suggestion, I bet it’d be a good idea to get your train tickets in advance. Ya might save a bit or two.”
“To be honest, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. We’re not going to be leaving by train.”
“Oh? Y’all got one of them castle carriages comin’ to pick ya up?” asked Kettle.
“No, I think we’re just going to, well, walk.”
The table was quiet for a spell, save for Crack Shot’s mastications and the susurrus of wind through the stalks, both of which provided a kind of white noise. Allie canted her head, giving Storm a sidelong glance.
“…Walk, huh?” she said.
“Yeeeeep,” said Storm, aware of how ridiculous the idea sounded as it left his mouth.
“Well, we’re kinda in the middle of nowhere out here, as I’m sure y’all have taken note of. Do y’all got a destination in mind?”
“Norph,” said Crack Shot between mouthfuls of hazelnuts, feeling the elimination of three out of four cardinal directions to be clarification enough.
“…I see,” said Allie, and see she did. Looking to the north, past her fields, she saw plains, turning into woods, turning into mountains. She saw sky and she saw distance. She saw that theirs was not a typical vacation, if that’s what it really was. Out loud she said, “I guess there’s somethin’ to be said for roughin’ it.”
After that, the ponies ate in relative silence, replenishing their stamina for the rest of the day’s work, out there in the middle of nowhere.
---
It is difficult to work the fields without, at the end of the day, also wearing the fields. When the sun began to set, turning the tracts of corn stalks into fields of shadow, the guardsponies, Kettle, and Allie parted ways to wash up before supper. Now, outside of the guesthouse, the chickens were crowing dolefully. This was because inside of the shower room, Crack Shot was also crowing, and they didn’t think he was doing a very good job of it. Storm and Check sat in over-starched chairs in the middle of this ill chorus, awaiting their turn to rinse off.
“So,” Storm said, “this isn’t a song I would’ve imagined him being familiar with.”
“You’re gonna be pop-u-lar~!”
“Erm, yes, well, he may have picked it up on an excursion to the theatre some weeks back,” Check Mate explained. “Although he was skeptical about it, I thought he might appreciate an exposure to the arts—”
“I’ll help you be pop-u-LAR~!”
“—and it would appear that I was correct in that assessment.”
“I see,” said Storm. His ear twitched as Crack Shot hit a particularly high note, presumably with something blunt and heavy. “I really hope the actors gave a better performance than he is right now.”
“Well, to be equitable, they’ve the experience. We wouldn’t wish to deprecate our friend, of course.”
A rooster threw itself against a window, screeching and scratching madly at the panes.
“No, we wouldn’t want to do that.”
They sat there quietly as Crack Shot trilled from the wreckage of one song into another unsuspecting melody. Check Mate stood up and walked towards the staircase, and Storm raised an eyebrow.
“Off to stick your head under a pillow?” he asked.
“Ha! No, the mention of theatre merely brought to mind a promise I need to keep,” Check Mate said. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He climbed the stairs and came back down a minute later with the smart stone in tow.
“A letter to Luna?” Storm asked.
“To my parents, actually.”
“Ah, gotcha.” Storm yawned and hung his head over the side of his chair, watching Check Mate from the corner of his eye. He hummed to himself tunelessly as his friend began writing across the stone. “Hmm, maybe I should give that thing a try,” he mused.
Check Mate blew across the slab, sending a salutation on its way through the aether. “I will admit to its convenience,” he said.
A reply arrived a couple of minutes later, and he added as he read, “Although Febre would insist that this convenience is one sided.”
Sigh. Yes?
Check Mate’s mouth curved into half of a smile at both the speed of the response, and at Febre’s committal in transcribing the sigh.
If you have time to spare, I will try not to take too much of it. I would like to write a letter for address outside of the castle.
That won’t be a problem as long as you provide that address; I had a bit of an issue with your friend a while back. Something with street numbers, if it’s no trouble?
But of course, Check Mate wrote, followed below by the address of his parents’ residence.
After a moment which Check Mate presumed was spent marking the address to paper, he received another response.
Well, that’s a fancy part of town, isn’t it? Decided to trade in the silver spoon for some golden armor? Although, thinking about it, I suppose you kept the silvertail. You may go right ahead; I’ve got my quill and paper ready.
Very well, then.
Dear Mother, Father—
I trust that this letter finds you well. Crack Shot, Storm Stunner, and I have begun the first leg of our travels, and so far all is well. We have arrived in an agricultural community known as Fiddler’s Plain, located to the north of Canterlot. I recall, Mother, that you requested that I be forthright with the good and the bad in my experiences, and I shall honor that promise; however, I am content to say that there has been little of the latter thus far. There is a natural beauty, here in Fiddler’s Plain. Do you remember our trip to the Metroponitan to see that exhibit of Hoofson River School landscape pieces?
Well, imagine being in one. Imagine that all around you, from every angle and every vantage is a scene worthy of the canvas, a scene which no canvas could hope to contain. A scene that moves and rustles in scented winds, a scene that comes alive with birdsong and cricket cries, a scene that shifts in tone, in color, in personality as the sun crosses the sky and the moon replaces it. Yes, there is a natural beauty, here in Fiddler’s Plain. The two of you would enjoy it.
Crack Shot and Storm are enjoying their time here as well. The former had his doubts about coming here, but I believe that they have since been allayed.
Check Mate’s ears perked as Crack Shot laid waste to another show tune. He continued writing.
Although, I believe he may miss the ready availability of the performing arts in the city.
That is all that I have to say at present, though I shall stay in touch. I wish the both of you well. Please give my regards to Pennyworth as well.
With love,
Check Mate
The volume of words evaporated into a green cloud as Check Mate blew them away. Minutes later, Febre sent confirmation that he had taken the letter, and Check Mate sent back this thanks.
“Say everything that you wanted to say?” asked Storm, sitting up properly.
“Indeed I did. I wrote to them of this place and my impressions of it. My hope is that perhaps it will stir a bit of wanderlust in them.”
“You never know. Hmm, well maybe you do.” Storm leaned forward with a smirk. “So, were you sure to tell them about the night scene at Pimento’s?”
“My aim is to persuade them to travel on a journey of discovery, Storm, not one of rescue.”
“Hehe, right, right. Say,” Storm pointed to the smart stone, “I think it’s about time I gave that shot. Would you mind?”
“By all means.” The stone and stylus floated towards Storm in the faint shimmer of Check Mate’s horn and alighted on the arm of his chair.
As Storm gave the items a closer look, there was the creaking sound of a knob from the other room, and the hiss of running water quieted. Crack Shot stepped into the living room, steaming and sopping and draped in an ineffectual towel.
“All yours, guys,” he said. “Who’s up next?”
“Go for it, Check,” said Storm as he waved the unicorn towards the shower room. “Okay, let’s see. Might as well start with hello.”
Storm bit into the stylus, wrote a simple greeting, and then mimicked the other two, blowing across the words as he would a birthday candle. Febre replied quickly.
This isn’t Check Mate, is it?
No, this is Storm Stunner.
I see. Your writing is worse.
“Engh,” Storm groaned around the stylus.
“Consider it a rite of passage, dude,” said Crack Shot, reading the reply as he tracked a small river across the living room towards Check’s abandoned seat.
Well, if I could have you suffer to read it, Storm wrote, would you mind taking another letter?
I can and I will, I suppose. Be sure to include all the details the postpony would ask for.
Storm wrote the address to Nomde’s apartment in the upper-left corner of the panel and placed the tip of the stylus below it. Then he paused. This letter wouldn’t be going to Nomde; it’d be going to Febre first. How awkward would it be to write what was in essence a love letter by proxy? He considered putting off the letter, or writing something neutral in tone. But…
…But, then, what was love if not choosing to ignore those little embarrassments? He began to compose his letter.
Hey there, Nomde:
I thought I’d write you a letter. Although, to be honest, as I sit here with pen in grasp, I realize I don’t really know what to write. I figure I’ll just keep on writing in the hope the words will come.
I guess I’m just used to our greetings being face to face, not hundreds of miles away, and I guess I’m used to not really having to think about it. I think I have a feel for our formula, though. By now in the conversation, you’d have said something teasing about my fretting over this, and I’d have made a sour face, then you’d have laughed and smiled softly and I’d have smiled too. And then it’d have gone from there, wouldn’t it?
The three of us are in a place called Fiddler’s Plain right now, currently working on a corn farm managed by one of the most interesting families I’ve ever met. We’ll be here for a couple more weeks or so, until Nightmare Night, and then we’ll be on our way.
Perhaps, after the three of us have finished our travels, you and I could go somewhere on our own little adventure? I don’t know, maybe; it’s just something I thought up just now.
Well, from reading above, it looks like some words did end up coming after all. I hope I’ll have the opportunity to read some of yours in the near future.
I look forward to what I’ll see while I’m gone, but I also look forward to whom I’ll see when I’m back. I love you.
-Storm
Storm breathed the words away and sat back, setting the smart stone on the arm of his chair. He sighed, and smiled, and wondered if he’d really be able to take any time off after they all got back. Probably not immediately, but that was alright. Life didn’t need to be rushed.
A flicker at the periphery of his vision drew his attention. He looked down at the stone.
Would you like me to add any XOs to the end of that?
Storm’s felt his cheeks warm.
Just send the dang letter, Febre, he wrote.
“So, what’cha writin’?” asked Crack Shot. The wide grin splitting his face said that he had a very good idea.
“Just a letter.” There was of course no point in evasion; Storm merely did it as a formality.
“To Nooooomde?”
Storm sighed. “Yes. To Nom—only one ‘o’, mind you—de.”
Crack Shot waggled his eyebrows. “So? What’d you write about?”
“I just wanted to let her know that she’s in my thoughts. Not whatever your eyebrows are trying to suggest.”
“Whatever you say, Romeo.” The sound of running water in the next room ceased. “Hey, sounds like Check’s finishing up in there.”
Check Mate exited the shower room and rejoined Storm and Crack Shot. Unlike the latter, he had taken care to dry off into his towel instead of the carpet.
“The shower is yours as you please, Storm. However—” He looked towards Crack Shot with a slight frown “—I must warn you that there was a dearth of hot water when I began mine.”
Storm groaned. “Ugh, really, Crack Shot?”
Crack Shot rubbed the back of his head guiltily. “Eheh, sorry ‘bout that. Guess I lost myself in the music. On the plus side, after writing that letter a cold shower would probably do you some good, eh?”
Check Mate’s eyebrows rose. “And just what letter was this?” he asked, as Storm trotted towards the shower room.
“Not whatever he’s trying to suggest,” said Storm before throwing the door closed behind him.
---
After supper, the guardsponies joined Kettle, Allie, and the foals to relax in the living area of the main house. In those few days they had spent living there, the guards had learned of another way rural life differed from the city. In the city, a family’s evening entertainment could be found in the form of plays, and cinema, and radio, and so on. Out here, where everything was an hour away or more, that entertainment came from each other.
After a bit of pleading, followed by a lot of pleading, Flip and Airy had been allowed to bring out their favorite board game, which traditionally guaranteed a scrap before the end of the evening. The premise of it was simple: acquire property, fleece one’s friends and family with exorbitant rent when they come to visit it, and leave them penniless and shamed at the foot of one’s gluttonous financial empire. The belief is that this will promote bonding and a good time to be had by all, although nopony knows quite how.
The board itself was dog eared and the rulebook long since misplaced; however, this was fine as the foals had devised their own set of rules anyways. Crack Shot was trying his best to pick them up as they went along.
“Wait—you can’t just move across half that board like that!” he said as Flip bypassed the one section of board where he still held any property. “Roll the dice!”
“Nuh-uh!” argued Flip. “I got two railroads, and the heck with all of it if I ain’t gonna ride between ‘em!”
“That ain’t how they work, little dude; they’re like the streets and avenues, kinda sorta. You don’t get a freakin’ movement bonus from ‘em!”
Flip stuck his nose in the air. “I am a busy pony with places to be,” he said. “I can’t waste my valuable time sluggin’ around in a thimble, just on account of some other ponies bein’ too thick to ride the rails and then figurin’ that others shouldn’t either.”
“Ugh, I need a glass of water. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Hold it!” said Airy as Crack Shot stood up.
“…What?”
“That’ll be fifty bits.”
“…What?”
“I own the Water Works. If y’all want a drink, y’all gotta pay. Now come on, fork it over!”
“What?! That’s not how the game works!”
“Airy, leave Crack Shot alone,” said Allie.
“Oh, I see how it is,” said Airy, crossing her hooves. “Pick on the hard-workin’ entrepreneur who’s just tryin’ to eke out a meager livin’.”
“Sorry, honey, but I gotta draw the line when you start starvin’ our guests.”
Airy harrumphed at this embargo and nodded grudgingly for Crack Shot to go ahead and get his drink. What was the point of having rules if ponies got to go around breaking them? Capitalism was dead.
While watching financial ruin fall upon his friend at the fiscal savvy of a pair of grade schoolers, Check Mate felt a tap on his side. He looked down to find Sprite with the Pandect of Plant Life beside her.
“Oh, hello,” he said, smiling. “I see you’ve brought my book back in one piece. Did it serve in place of your clover today?”
“Yes, it did. Thanks again, Check Mate, sir.”
“You are very welcome.”
It could have ended with that, but after a moment she said, “Have ya read all of it, sir?”
“Well, not as of yet. I’m still working my way through it.”
She looked down at her hooves. “Ah, I see…” She lifted the book towards him.
“Why do you ask? Perhaps it has caught your interest?”
“Um, maybe…”
Check Mate chuckled and set the book back beside her. “Then, how about this? I would like to read through the book and familiarize myself with its contents for it has information in it that I feel will prove important regarding the latter leg of my and my companions' journey.”
Sprite nodded glumly and was about to say something like, ‘I understand,’ but then Check Mate interrupted her.
“However, that does not mean I need read through it alone. So what of an arrangement? How about if, once you complete your assignments and chores for each day, we read sections of it together? Perhaps we could even compare the entries to any local flora you might find that have piqued your curiosity. Does that sound acceptable?”
Sprite’s face lit up, although she was very demure as she said, “Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”
“Wonderful, I am happy to hear that.”
Allie smiled as she watched their conversation. It was the first time Sprite had really spoken to the guardsponies beyond simple pleasantries. It was nice to see her warming up to them.
“So ya said that a friend lent this to you, right?” asked Sprite, opening to a random passage in the book.
“That is correct.”
“Were they an earth pony?”
“No, another unicorn actually. Is there any reason you wish to know?”
Sprite nodded and gave a small smile. “No… not really.”
As Check Mate and Sprite began a section on deciduous trees, Flip and Airy were encountering the first stalemate of their young lives. The two of them had united against Crack Shot (another thing he insisted wasn’t in the rules), when, for whatever reason, he had become unbelievably lucky with his dice rolls. Between the two of them they had acquired nearly every piece of property on the board. Yet, that meant nothing when the only spaces Crack Shot was landing on were ‘Community Chest’s, ‘Free Parking’, his own two pieces of property, and ‘GO’.
“Aw, come on!” Flip shouted when Crack Shot landed on ‘GO’, again, collecting another two hundred bits.
They had run out of play money and had been forced into tallying their finances on a piece of scratch paper.
“Heh, what can I say? Lady Luck must have it bad for me,” said Crack Shot as he marked up his total.
Storm, who had been paying half of his attention to the game thus far, paused his conversation with Kettle.
He leaned towards Crack Shot and whispered, “Come on, give them a chance.”
“I gave them a chance and they took a chunk out of me, dude,” Crack Shot hissed back. “These kids are brutal!”
“Maybe, but you don’t want to be stuck in limbo the entire night, do you?”
Crack Shot thought about it.
“Eh, good point,” he said at last. “Might as well wrap it up, I guess. I can’t just forfeit though; I wonder what would be the fastest way to do it. Oh!”
When the dice came to him again, Crack Shot bounced them in the sole of his hoof, felt the weight of them, and then sent them rolling across the board. They landed in double fives.
“Just visiting jail again,” he said as he moved his piece safely past a cluster of overpriced housing developments, “they oughta know me by name by now, eh?”
Flip and Airy huffed. With doubles he had earned another roll; that was one rule they kept, though they were each individually considering revising it for players over the age of twelve. Crack Shot gathered the dice and, to the foals’ annoyance, once more rolled two fives. He moved his piece into the Free Parking space.
“Uh-oh, two doubles in a row! I sure wouldn’t want to get three and end up in jail!” he said in a theatrical manner that fooled nopony but the foals. He picked up the dice, kissed his hoof, and sent them tumbling. They landed in a hard ten, right next to the ‘Go to Jail’ marker, which just happened to be ten spaces away.
“Three doubles and I landed on the jail space?! Oh wow, what are the odds of that?!
Check Mate looked up from his book. “Actually, that’d be a rather interesting exercise in probability if one were to consider all possible—”
Crack Shot powered on. “Two jail sentences at once!” That must be like a life sentence or somethin’! Guess that means I lost and don’t have—er, get to play anymore!”
Flip and Airy blinked. They then cheered and bumped their hooves together. Though they hadn’t heard of that rule, they weren’t about to dispute a win.
“Wanna go another round?” asked Airy, gathering up the game pieces.
Crack Shot shook his head. “Heh, not tonight, kid. I need a break from all this relaxation.”
“It’s about time for you three to scoot up to bed, anyways,” said Allie, looking up at the wall clock. “Gather up your game and go brush your teeth; I’ll be up to read y’all a bedtime story in a bit.”
The foals did as they were told and marched upstairs, though not without some intense debate as to what this bedtime story should be. Allie yawned largely and slowly stood up.
“Whelp, I’m beat,” she said. “I’m gonna read ‘em their story and try not to hit the hay in the middle of it. How ‘bout you boys?”
“Piiiiii-mento’s?” suggested Kettle, lifting his eyebrows at the guardsponies.
Allie rolled her eyes and shook her head slowly. “You’re gonna knock twenty years off your life, brother of mine,” she said.
Kettle gasped in mock offense, putting a hoof against his chest. “Now what kind of stallion would I be if I didn’t drop by Pimento’s every now and then and let everypony know that I’m alive and kickin’? Imagine the heartbreak! Besides it’s… what day is it again—Thursday or Friday?”
“Friday,” said Allie.
“Fri-day,” repeated Kettle, stressing both syllables. “And you know what else starts with ‘fri’?”
“What starts with ‘fri,’ Ket?” sighed Allie, deciding to go along with it.
“’Fri-ends’ is what, Allie.”
“Pronounced like that too?”
“Tomayto-tomahto. Anyways, who would I be to not give ‘em a visit accordingly? Maybe on some other day of the week, but not Fri-day; it wouldn’t be right.”
“Actually, ya know, maybe it is Thursday.”
“And I am pretty thirsty. Pimento oughta be servin’ that spiced cider of his, and I reckon that’d hit the spot just fine.”
“Mm-hmm, whatever you say. I’m gonna go tuck in the foals. If you are headin’ out, have fun and promise to be safe out there.”
“Will do. Take care and sleep tight, sis.”
Allie waved to the others and went upstairs to attend to her foals. Kettle turned towards the guardsponies, his face lit with the self-satisfied smile of a master at work.
“So, what do y’all say? Care to join a fella for a drink, maybe some salt to wash it down with?”
Crack Shot nodded. “Heck yeah, the night is young! Carpe, uh, whatever the word for night is. Nightem.”
“Noctem,” corrected Check Mate, “and I believe that I shall abstain from carousing this evening. Thank you for the invitation, though; I appreciate the offer.”
“Fair enough,” said Kettle. “How about you, Storm?”
Storm looked out the window and found his reflection staring back at him. It was dotted by softened pinpricks of starlight. “You guys go on ahead; I’ll pass for tonight,” he said.
“Suit yerself.” Kettle opened the front door for Crack Shot, letting in a cool draft. “Shall we?”
“Sounds good, dude,” said Crack Shot as he stepped outside, followed by Kettle. “You don’t think Pim sold out of that bangin’ chili of his, do you?”
“I doubt that’ll be a problem,” said Kettle as he closed the door behind them.
“Off to bed then, Check?” Storm asked.
“Yes, after a bit of light reading, I think. And you?”
“I think I’ll go for a bit of a late-night flight.”
“Really? Is flying not perilous at this hour?”
“Nah, it’s not too bad. Just as long as you stay well above the trees and hills, or anything else you could smack into.”
“Mm, I see. Well, although I respect your sangfroid, I hope that you will be cautious. I shall leave some source of illumination for you to find your way back.”
“Yeah, I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
Storm left the living room to Check and walked into the kitchen, where the aroma of the evening’s pumpkin casserole still hung in the air. He had considered asking Allie for the recipe, but figured he wouldn’t know what to do with it. He stepped out of the warmth of the kitchen and into the cooling night, fighting back a shiver as a gust of wind blew over him and through him.
“Nothing to do about that but get the blood pumping, I suppose,” he whispered to himself. He extended his wings, letting the night breeze run through his feathers and tease them about. Then, with a downward sweep, he took to the air.
Storm’s breath steamed and caught the moonlight as he climbed into the sky, higher and higher. Below, through one of the main house’s windows, the light of a paraffin lamp flickered and guttered, a dim, yellow star in competition with the thousands above. And those thousands of stars above; he felt like he could touch them if he only flew a little farther, that he could gather them up like shards of diamond and glass. Yet, as he rose, they kept their distance, remaining just out of his reach. Somewhere to the north was Luna’s new constellation, marked by a twinkling pair of red and blue points: a ruby and sapphire newly added to that field of gems. Perhaps they would guide them on their way. In the corner of his eye, a shooting star burned across the sky, a few miles away or hundreds, and burned into nothingness before he could think to make a wish.
How long had it been since he’d done this? Since he’d just flown for the sake of flying, without the purpose of getting somewhere? Easily weeks, possibly months, and certainly too long. He flew onward with no destination in mind but where the wind and his wings would take him.
As miles sped away unseen beneath him, he focused on clearing his head of all thoughts. Naturally, this filled his head with thoughts about how to go about clearing itself. Eventually, he gave up and focused instead on his breathing, not noticing as his mind went quiet. He breathed deeply, but he didn’t breathe hard. No, regardless of how strongly he beat his wings, or how high he flew, he never needed to breathe hard. Just slow, measured breaths would carry him as the thin, frigid air whipped past, stinging his eyes, numbing his ears, making him feel alive. He began to time himself intermittently, holding his breath for as long as he could, or until he got tired of counting the minutes.
Viewed from so far above, Fiddler’s Plain was a world of muted features, shadows blending and smearing together like watercolor, like a dream. Unlike the constellations formed of Canterlot’s streets at night, only a few lonely dots of luminescence punctuated the quiet landscape. One of them would be Pimento’s, though the others Storm could only guess at. Other farms, he thought, with the sudden realization that there was still much of this place that he hadn’t seen. He stole a glance back, making sure his own faint waypoint was still in view, that it hadn’t been extinguished by distance. After making sure of its position he returned his attention forward, whereupon he noticed a string of lights snaking its way through the darkness. He guessed it to be one of the EqueRail trains, possibly the one he and the others had ridden. He thought of diving towards it, of chasing after it to see where it would go, but didn’t trust his ability to find his way back if he did so. One after another, though with no particular meter, the scant lights of Fiddler’s Plain began to blink away as their owners went to bed, and he decided to make his way back.
Storm stepped carefully into the main house’s kitchen, mindful of Allie and the foals upstairs, and closed the door gently behind him. Check Mate was not in the living room, though he had left his field guide on the table in front of the sofa, perhaps for Sprite to look at in the morning. The paraffin lamp burned silently in his absence. Storm chose not to put it out just yet; it was light to write by, and he still had a journal entry to pen.
Upstairs in the guesthouse, Check Mate lay underneath his covers, breathing quietly; Storm took care not to disturb him as he retrieved his journal from the foot of his bed and snuck back downstairs and out the door. As he crossed the yard, thinking about the day and its entry, a thought struck him. He took flight once more, this time toward the area of field he had harvested earlier in the day. He wasn’t certain that he would find it, but after a few minutes’ search he caught sight of the… whatever kind of tree it was, and alighted on its hill. He reached down towards the navy silhouette of a flower and deftly plucked it by its stem, tasting a strange, bitter sweetness on his lips as he placed it into his bags. Then, satisfied in the security of its placement, he left the hill behind.
After bumbling through the indices of the Pandect of Plant Life, Storm finally found a description that matched the five-petalled flower lying beside him. According to the text, it was known as Gentiana verna, the Spring Gentian, and it was supposed to be very difficult to grow. Storm also learned that, according to one cheerful piece of folklore, death would come to whoever dared to pick it. He shrugged this off under the logic that death would come sooner or later regardless of which flowers one picked, though he resolved to give his teeth an extra good scrub that night, just in case. There was also mention of the risk of being struck by lightning if one brought the flower indoors, but what pegasus hadn’t gotten a good zap once or twice in their life—him in particular? He closed the field guide and placed the gentian back into a pocket of his bags.
His journal entry was a short one that spoke of siblings, flowers, and starlit skies, and it didn’t take him long to write. After gathering his writing implements, Storm put out the lamp and stepped outside as a rooster struck midnight. In the guesthouse bedroom, Check Mate dozed quietly in spite of this, although Storm made certain that his hooffalls were soft. After placing his things down, Storm took a seat at the edge of his bed. It was a nice bed. He presumed it’d be nicer than whatever they’d be making use of once they were on the next leg of their journey. But that was a worry for the future, and Storm’s present concern was sleep. He yawned, leaned back, and was asleep before his head had hit the pillow.
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And yet another great chapter appears! Nice work!
Mmm, I needed that. Your writing injects pure joy into me. Thanks!
Awww ... and here I was hoping it was Poison Joke.
Oh well.
Thanks for another great chapter!
-Silver
1330101
You know, it's interesting that you point that one out. I had a big (I may be exaggerating) back-and-forth about that very line. Some said 'hoof' given the setting, others cried 'hand' because they thought it'd be too ambiguous otherwise. The reasoning for the latter swayed me, although I will admit it didn't quite sit with me.
I absolutely love Check Mate's vocabulary.
Oh, and the story
1454693
Yessssss ... I love this.
1436957
Yeah, I'll concede that. The first story was meant to be a bit of an introduction to these characters, with more to be done with them if folks were interested. At the time of its writing, it was all in gdoc format, so all of the comments appeared on Daily and in a thread I had started on PonyChan. I received some very lovely feedback, though I felt (perhaps erroneously, I cannot say), that interest had begun to wane. Furthermore, around the time that I was writing what would be the last chapter, I was moving to a city about two thousand miles away, my belongings stuffed into a single, oversized, and unfairly put-upon bag, with no idea where I'd put them or myself when I got where I was going. So, with an ancient laptop and an unreliable hotel internet connection, I wrote Chapter 6 and ended the tale for the time being, notions of continuing the guardsponies' stories hovering at the back of my mind, along with the hope that folks would care to read them
.
"She just wasn’t that corny"
"A maize maze, if you will"
....nhhgggg
Here's to hoping that the folklore was just that.
But in a land of sentient, talking ponies, who knows.
Heh heh, X's and O's indeed.
-Delta-
Have I mentioned how much I love your writing? Because I really love your writing.
I do so love your writing style. It has s many silly sidenotes when appropriate, but at the same time when you need to convey beauty, wonderment, or deeper emotions you do a stunning job as well. Storm's letter was so sweet, and that mood was cheerfully but not inappropriately broken and lampshaded. The night flight was wonderful, and combined with some suitable music (Dragonforce was what I had on at the time) it worked marvelously. Over all this story is just so happy and warm and wonderful and I thank you for writing it.
Huray for updates! Wondering about what Sprite found in the book however, maybe a love note? Color me interested.
I love this story. A good slice of life fic is a nice change of pace from the epic stuff, and you write the characters and settings so well I feel like I'm there with them. Seeing this update is always a welcome bit of joy in my life.
I want you to know that you are probably one of my favorite authors of all time, and my favorite ponyfic writer. I wish I could write half as well as you.
I sometimes wonder why I keep reading this, since there doesn't seem to be any advancing plot of any kind.
Then I read sentences like "Crack Shot hit a particularly high note, presumably with something blunt and heavy", am reminded of your literary genius again, and decide to just enjoy the ride
I agree with all the other people here... the Equestrian Spring Gentian should totally be Poison Joke. But I guess that effects like that would probably be mentioned in the Pandect of Plant Life. Well, unless the plant was feeling particularly ironic and specifically didn't affect researchers planning to write down their findings on it
here i am, reading this at *checks time* 2 AM thinking; who needs sleep, i have ponies. and Nocte Diem thanks to this chapter!
thanks for the chapter mate!
...Crack Shot. Singing that Galinda song from Wicked?
Brilliant.
I think I know what Storm's Boots stand for. He's a traveler.
His body can carry him wherever he needs to go, for as long as it needs to.
I haven't enjoyed reading a story this much since I finishing Austreaoh.
Dem corny puns
.
. I had the same feeling about it.
1561450
I can't agree more about the reason you read this
Just the way you write a lot like Terry Pratchett just hooks me in
.
Monopoly is my second favorite board game next to Axis & Allies. Who doesn't enjoy a good time of bankrupting your family?