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Twilight Sparkle1,373 words
Fluttershy1,411 words

Fluttershy

The squirrel had been sick, and now he wasn't. He was gone, just like all the others. As I scoop dirt over his tiny form, I take a moment to look around at all the other little graves I have made for my animals. There are so many of them, so many dozens of little lives, here and gone in four or five short years. I sigh, perhaps this is how the Princesses feel, watching so many grow old and die, while hardly changing themselves. I look back to where the Squirrel's, namely Russel's, children are sitting, sobbing quietly as they watch their father join their mother in the earth.

Their mother had always been a rather delicate little thing, she had died giving birth to them. Their father had come to me for help raising them, they needed things he could not provide alone. It is strange, I must seem like a fixture to them sometimes, something that is just supposed to be there, there aren't many of the smaller animals anymore that can remember a time when I wasn't nearby. I cast the thought from my mind for a while, to continue with the burial service.

Squirrels have a rather strange little ritual to burials that has always slightly baffled me. They take a tuft of fur from the dead squirrel's tail and then wait until all but the head is buried, they're very touchy about exactly when. Then they place the tuft around the deceased's head and finish burying them. They are very secretive about why they do this, every time I've asked they've either started ranting angrily at me, or started laughing before refusing to tell me. It's all very confusing, but it's their culture, so I have to abide by their rules when it comes to the dead. As his children tearfully place Russel's fur around his head I watch stoically, I learned early on that the one burying the body is supposed to appear stoic no matter what, they refuse to tell me why this is either.

The smallest treads carefully up to his father's corpse, leaning down, he chatters something in Russel's ear before placing the tuft of fur next to it. They all look up at me an nod, I scrape the last of the dirt over Russel's head. His children look at each other a moment, before nodding and going their separate ways, they scurry off into the woods. I turn from the graveyard, I need to do something to clear my head. I have a little project not many know about, a rock garden, there's just something about it that makes me feel good. I've been working on one piece for a week now, only one more part and I'm done. I found a boulder close to the edge of the Everfree yesterday, it's almost as big as me and just what I need.

Not many would peg me as the type to keep a rock garden, I know Pinkie was surprised when I asked her about it, and it's about as far from living creatures as you can get. But it's relaxing to work on it and rather beautiful to look at. I've spent many weeks working on it, finding just the right stones, arranging them just so. I've had an image in my head, for the last few days, of what it will look like when it's done and I'm almost there. As I walk past the trees, I look around for my boulder, last time something moved it from where I'd left it. Oddly enough, they moved it closer to my house, so it was helpful rather than bothersome.

There it is, nestled between an elm tree and a juniper bush, right where I'd left it. Squaring my shoulders, I push at the stone. Most would think that I wouldn't have much luck, considering my low wingpower, but wingpower isn't everything. A near lifetime on the ground, wrestling around with some of my more rowdy animals and running through tight underbrush to escape less cooperative beasts, have made my legs strong as almost any earth pony's. A gritty sort of noise fills the air as the rock pushes up soil in front of it.

Despite my original goal of clearing my mind, as I push the buzz of activity in my head only intensifies. Tossing about random words like, "Disappointing", "Unsatisfactory", and "Abandoning". Why? The first two are things that I'm familiar with, words that I often use in relation to myself. But why is "Abandoning" refusing to leave? I haven't been abandoned, I haven't abandoned anybody. So why won't it leave? Why does it hurt so much more than anything else my head is throwing at me? I find myself snapped back to reality as the boulder clears the treeline, jolting forward a little. I get a glimpse of where I started, the graveyard.

I'm going to die.

Not right now, but it will happen one day. I've always known that, why is it important now? Why do I suddenly find myself unable to move? I tear my eyes away from the cemetery, backing up to look at the boulder.
"Abandoning..." I breathe. And it starts to fall into place. I've outlived the past three generations of my animal friends. Of course I seem permanent to them, of course they see me as the stable element in their lives. But I will die, eventually I will leave them, abandon them. I throw myself back at the boulder with new found purpose and anger.

I'm going to leave them one day, one day one of Mrs. Rabbit's great granddaughters will have to go through labor without my comforting hoof, without me there to provide water or to numb the pain with encouragement. One day, one of Russel's children's children will have to bury their father without me there to preside over the ceremony. One day I won't wake up to the familiar sounds of chattering, chirping, churring creatures, one day I won't be able to help. I can't be permanent like they need me to be. I hear the boulder clunk against another large stone and stop. Looking up, I realize that I've managed to move the rock into place.

But do I want to be? I sit down, staring at the completed scene. The grey boulder serving as a mountainous backdrop for the rest of it. In front of the boulder are several smaller stones, situated to mimic rolling hills. Between them, a rut filled with gravel to simulate a river. And beyond that, a large, flat stone for a plain. These stones are permanent, or at least, as close as you can get. Do they have dreams? Hopes? Fears? No. They simply are. Just earlier I was wondering if Celestia felt the same pain when she looked out over a graveyard and realized she knew most of those in it by name. Could I withstand being permanent? Would I want to?

Angel Bunny spots me sitting by the rocks, cocking his head in that adorable way he always does when he's worried about me. He runs over to me, patting my leg to catch my attention. I look down at him, the unwavering pillar to the stem of wheat, and he looks back, concern etched into his face. He knows he won't always be there for me, I can see it in his eyes, but he doesn't care. He just sees the one who takes care of him is in pain. I scoop him up into a hug, he doesn't need to be a pillar to help me. So why do I need to be to help others?

I don't.

I can't always be there, I can't always help, but that doesn't make me wrong or bad. I don't have to be the pillar. I am my own being. I do have hopes, dreams and fears. I need to stop worrying about what I can't be, or could be and instead simply be. I am temporary, and that's alright.

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