Chapter 4: Ro-Siings’ thoughts.
Great and Powerful Journal entry thirty-three.
The Great and Powerful Trixie isn’t particularly pleased to let her Great and Powerful Journal know that she seems to once again be travelling with the brick wall. He is as emotionless and condescending as before. Trixie tries to hold back on him. As much as Trixie hates him, Trixie hates being alone even more.
Trixie cannot remember the last time Trixie felt so vulnerable.
The Great and Powerful Trixie is normally so Great and Powerful that she didn’t want company, since she had it all the time from Trixies’ fans. That, and Trixie moved much faster than she was now since she had a caravan. Trixie misses that caravan greatly. It made so much difference on her hooves.
Trixie finds her hooves hurting quite often now. Trixie believes it’s from all the walking Trixie does now. If Trixie isn’t careful, Trixie is sure she will wear her hooves down to the bone and Trixie doesn’t want that. No, Trixie definitely does not want that. Trixie needs her hooves to perform!
Trixie is... Trixie will speak later. Trixie sees that damned stallion trotting towards her. Until later.
Entry 249. Midsummer still.
The days are starting to blur together, as though time itself was yawning as it went about its’ business. The days are long and pleasant, the nights cold and not so pleasant. I’ve had little trouble finding food, but a decent amount of trouble finding writing materials, since our monetary methods seem very different to these ponies. I haven’t any of these... ‘bits’ they mention often.
I have once again run into the blue mare Trixie, and she’s still as annoying as the day we met for the first time. Incessant chatter on how the ‘Great and Powerful’ Trixie will take Equestria by storm, and how I’m, and I quote, ‘as full of emotion as a brick wall is of water’. A curious thing to say. I have emotions, they simply don’t show unless I wish it. Her reaction to my trying to explain this was one of offense, as though somehow I’d said the worst possible thing.
I have held off offering her more food. She eats a pitifully small amount at each meal and I fear she will waste away to mere bones some day if she keeps up her rigorous walking with virtually no sustenance. I know she’s an irritating braggart, but she’s a pony all the same, and no pony should feel the bite of hunger, nor the sting of exhaustion.
That being said, she seems extraordinarily opinionated and voices these ‘opinions’ as often as she can, as though the world must know her opinion on every little matter that the world has to offer her. She’s strong willed, stubborn and tends to err on the side of... well I’m not sure. She talks almost incessantly, as though scared that if she stops, her entire world will crumble around her. She talks about most anything. Her cape, her hat, her supposed magical prowess and some sort of incident that happened at a place I’ve come to understand is called ‘Ponyville’ involving somepony named ‘Twilight Sparkle’. I don’t believe a word of it. Honestly, fighting off and Ursa Major after this towns’ resident Magician turned tail and ran? On her own? Without help? I doubt this. Ursa Majors are not to be trifled with and not one single pony besides perhaps the Alicorn sisters could possibly defeat one on their own.
It’s quite the chore travelling with her, but one I shall persist with. If nothing else, it gives me welcome company on the darker, chillingly cold nights. Oh, and by the people can she cook! I must say, even my mothers’ cooking pales in comparison to this mare. That’s nothing against you Mother.
I’ve given much thought to the last we met, and came to the conclusion that I overreacted at her reading of this log. For the sake of honesty, where is the point in writing all this down if there are none to read it? To leave a history of my travels? A detailed log of everything I do here in this land and the land I hail from? No, truly there is no point in writing this account if there are none to read it.
In light of this, I have decided to apologise to her on the dawn of tomorrow and hope she forgives me without too much fuss.
There is but one more thing I must get off my chest, even if only to the pages of this book.
For all the time I have travelled with her, and right now, by the campfire as I write this account, I find myself subconsciously looking at Trixie. I’m not sure of the reasoning behind this, but it intrigues me. By no means is she difficult to gaze upon. Far from it, she is one of the most beautiful unicorns I have ever laid eyes upon. But there is no reason for me to be continuously glancing at her, forced to catch myself before I start to stare. I have no feelings aside from possibly friendship with her, although a tentative friendship at best. So that rules out the possibility of any sort of romantic intentions. She’s clearly not in heat. I’m not sure. Perhaps these things shall sort themselves out in time.
Ah, but the way the shadows dance across her coat is nothing short of breathtaking. The shadows thrown by the fire strongly contrast her coat. It would make a masterpiece of a painting.
It is a pity I cannot paint.
If only it was that simple. I have no magic native to this land, but rather those native to the place I now call my homeland, that of the plains. This doesn’t include painting, since our people are more focused upon practical works of art. Pottery and the like. Oh, and the occasional necklace and many, many earrings. Of course, only the stallions wear the pendants, mares preferring to wear golden rings around their neck to protect themselves from predators. I must say, they’re rather dashing as well. I always wondered how one went about life with the feeling of cold metal around ones neck.
I will never know.