The Haunting
Admiral Biscuit
I woke up completely disoriented. I was cold and stiff and sore, and as soon as I opened my eyes it was plain that I was alone on the couch.
Milfoil and Windflower were both gone.
I wasn’t going to get into a panic this time. Milfol was an adult, and she could take care of herself. If Windflower could turn others into ghosts, she would have done it already. Since she hadn’t, she wasn’t going to.
Plus, there were lots of perfectly rational reasons why Milfoil might be gone. Chief among them was that the couch was not the most comfortable place to spend the night. She could have woken me up when she left, but she might not know that couches weren’t comfortable for people, and decided to let me rest.
But there was no reason to sleep on the couch, not when I had an actual bed, so I went upstairs and Milfoil wasn’t there.
I thought she might have gone to her house, and I thought about going over there. Even though I didn’t want to leave the house empty in case Windflower came back, but then she wasn’t likely to want my comfort.
I tried to consider it logically, which wasn’t the best thing to attempt in the middle of the night. If Milfoil had left because she was mad at me, she probably wouldn’t appreciate it if I came over to her house in the middle of the night and tried to crawl into bed with her. And if she had some grander plan and I just didn’t know what it was because she hadn’t woken me up—which there could be a perfectly good reason for—then she’d expect to find me again where she’d left me, so I got my blanket so I’d at least be warm and went back down to the living room.
The dead flower was still on the mantle, and I almost just threw it in the fire, but I didn’t. Windflower could touch it, could interact with it, and there were very few things that she could. Something made this flower special.
I thought that Milfoil had said that these plants would bloom in the spring again, and even if I was remembering wrong, it would have a better chance of surviving if it were in moist dirt. There were still some roots left on it, after all.
Loose dirt I had plenty of. One of the valerian plants surely wouldn’t mind if a few handfuls were gone from its pot.
I put it in the biggest bowl I had, packed the dirt around just firmly enough that it could stand up, and then set it with all the other plants, in the hopes that they might inspire it, and then I laid back down on the couch again and fell asleep again.
•••••
I woke up with a cold nose pressing against my cheek. I was already sort of awake, and vaguely aware that I’d heard the back door open and hoofsteps across the kitchen. I might have thought it was Windflower, except that this nose was still breathing.
“Milfoil?” I mumbled. “Where have you been?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she said. “Get up, we have work to do.”
“I don’t want to have to do work,” I mumbled, but I pushed off the covers anyway. “Do you want coffee?”
“And toast,” she said. “Please. Now, what did you do with the plant Windflower brought in?”
“I put it in a bowl.” I pointed over to the rows of valerian and yarrow.
“Good, that’s good. I might be able to save it.”
“I’ll cook breakfast.”
•••••
I got the toast done before the coffee, and I brought it out to her and held it while she nibbled at it. Cooking gave me time to think. She wasn’t rested, wasn’t groomed. There was snow on her coat and mud on her legs, and I knew she’d been up to something, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask what it was. I trusted her; she’d tell me in good time.
She’d replanted the flower with one of the valerian plants—I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that—and was giving it a thorough examination.
“It had gone dormant,” she said. “That’s how it was surviving outside in the snow. And normally in the spring, when the air warms up and the snow melts and the ground thaws, it would start to bring nutrients back up from the soil. It’s inside and starting to warm up, so it probably thinks that it’s spring.”
“So it’s going to try and pull nutrients through its roots.”
“But there are hardly any left. Not enough to support it, so it will starve and die unless I help.”
“By putting new roots on it?” Was that something that ponies could do? Some plants could be grafted, but I wasn’t sure that that was a thing that could be done with flowers.
“It can grow new roots, as long as it gets enough nutrition for that. This is going to be difficult and take most of the day and I don’t know if it will work, but I’m going to try.” She turned back to the flower.
•••••
By the time the coffee was done brewing, she was in full plant doctor mode, and I didn’t want to disturb her. She had both hooves in the dirt, crowded in next to the flower, and her muzzle lightly pressed against its stalk.
I set the coffee down next to her, so she’d have it as soon as she wanted to take a break, and I thought about cooking myself some eggs, but then decided that I’d stay and watch her work for a bit. I’d never really gotten a chance to see what an earth pony could do with her plant magic.
•••••
Ever so slowly, the flower was changing. It was subtle; I couldn’t see it happening, but where the stalk had been brown and grey its entire length, now it was very slightly green. The curled-up dead leaves had fallen off one-by-one, and tiny little buds were in their place.
Milfoil had barely moved from her initial spot. She was completely lost in concentration. I wondered if she’d worked as hard on the plants I’d made sick from the cold—I hoped not, but I was afraid that she had.
She hadn’t looked away from her work, hadn’t touched the coffee at all. I didn’t know how long she’d been at it: I had no idea what time it was, just that there was sunlight streaming in through the window.
The plant was looking better, even to my untrained eyes.
Milfoil wasn’t. Her coat was still wet from the snow outside, so I left her side for a minute to go to the kitchen and grab some towels to dry her off with.
I probably didn’t do the best job of it, but felt like I’d helped her just a little bit, and there wasn’t much else I knew to do.
Since my blanket was still on the couch, I put it over her back.
•••••
The flower looked like it was going to live. The stem had turned a healthy green, and the leaves had grown out.
I put my hand on Milfoil’s back, and I could feel an odd pulsing hum that was almost like music. Like feeling a speaker vibrate on a piece of metal, almost, or an electric motor running.
That was something to concentrate on. Was she humming, too softly to hear? Maybe.
But the longer I listened, the more certain I was that it wasn’t her. It was something else, something deeper, something older. Primal. The song of the land, channeled through her.
I don’t know why I thought that. The rational part of my mind wanted to insist that she was just humming, and nothing more. But there was a ghost, and that alone threw rationality out the window. Plus, the humming and her breathing didn’t exactly coincide, and I thought they ought to if it was her doing it.
Furthermore, I wanted to believe.
Was that the magic that Milfoil had talked about? Was that what I was feeling? Was it the pulse of the universe, focused through her and unto a single plant that she was bound and determined to save?
Was I considering pushing away what I was feeling because it wasn’t a grand thing? I understood the power of a crowd, or at least thought I did, and I understood the flashiness of a unicorn’s spell or the miracle of a pegasus’ flight, but this was subtle and this was deep. It was like the unicorns and the pegasi touched at the edge of what was and what could be, while the earth ponies were down at the depths, understanding it and using it in a way that was subtle, slow, and immensely powerful.
I wanted to sing. Melodies floated through my mind, half-formed, just out of reach.
My hand was on her back, and the universe flowed against it.
The spell was broken when she spoke.
“I think that’s all I can do.” Her voice was raspy, dry, with a bit of a ragged edge to it. “I haven’t—”
“You did great. There’s coffee—it’s cold, but I can make some more. Do you want a drink of water? Does the plant need more water?”
“Yes, water for the plant, there should still be some in the watering can.” She backed off the flowerpot, shaking on her hooves. “I’m going to lie down.”
I thought she was going to go upstairs to my bed, or at least the couch, but she just laid down on the floor.
So, the human begins the path of Druidic knowledge...
And in the next episode of The Young and the Ghostly, Windflower brings in a whole bed-worth of dilapidated flowers.
While I'm pretty sure that without help, he'll never figure out what Milfoil got up to, I'm pretty sure he's not dense enough to let the current situation last. Though- *gasp!* -maybe she really did a number on herself, and our protagonist will have to invite over one of her friends!
I feel like pegasi weather manipulation or a unicorn spell that is not basic levitation as at least the same level of depth. With maybe a bit of a faster/flashier way of using it.
So Milfoil is the one who found Windflower's bed huh?
9429676 Yeah, if you do the Chaste Hero thing and carry her to the couch so she's comfortable, you better not make any crack about how heavy she is. Women of all species have a way of getting even.
9429651
It’s got to start somewhere...
9429676
Milfoil would not be happy.
There’s no chance he’ll figure it out without help. He’s kinda dumb sometimes.
He’s not dense enough to leave her on the floor, if he can manage a better solution . . . but can he?
Correction made; thank you!
9429698
As they say, different strokes for different folks. Unicorns and pegasi have different ways of focusing and using Harmony than earth ponies do. Earth pony magic is subtle, but can move mountains.
That’s a perfectly reasonably guess.
9429702
It’s almost like you’re reading the next chapter.
Earth ponies: heavier than they look.
9429734
As Applejack demonstrated in a Season 1 episode, earth ponies are composed of degenerate matter.
I think Milfoil asked Windflower to lead her to her resting place.
My question is though, do theyunite the remains?
What happened to the bits her uncle found? I got a feeling they were creamated, which means half a cute ghost pone.
Prot should tell Windflower some human fairy tales. Might be a good way to gain some trust from her.
Though he should stay away from little red riding hood. That might be a bit too late.
9429718
Well, he's certainly not cut out to be a Ranger. His abysmal Wilderness Lore and laughable Tracking attempt testify to that. Plus, EVERY time humans use Equestrian magic some kind of transformation is involved. Sounds like a Druid's Wild Shape is a possibility.
9429732
I really like Earth Pony magic defaulting to deep, slow, and powerful. Though I do think that you CAN do something that deep, for example, working weather, but it's really hard and it isn't something just anyone could do. That would be, like, riding the magic of a wild storm or shaping weather just by PRESENCE rather than the effective but small and rough work you do with the products of a weather factory. The weather in Equestria is so controlled, though, it's like trying to listen to a song on a construction site.
Incidentally, in this metaphor, a properly and Harmoniously managed weather system isn't so much a construction site as a Stomp concert.
I'm going to assume Windflower cannot touch foreign objects brought onto the property.
With further consideration, I don't think Windflower's "problem" has anything specific to do with her violent death or her uninterred remains. Spirits that find themselves unable to rest due to these reasons tend to be rather, stressed. Violent deaths in particular, generally produce ghosts that look as they did in their final moments in life. Terrified and in some state of dismemberment.
Obviously, Windflower is in no such state.
On the other side, spirits who require proper burial rites will often make deliberate efforts to lead others back to their remains, or to at least get themselves noticed. They don't want to remain, and that last bit of business is like a millstone about their necks, tying them to the mortal world.
But Windflower has gone years in quiet anonymity.
Here's a thought to linger on. Windflower was the first of her immediate family to die. She had no siblings, and both her parents and grandfather still live. Everything and everyone she knows is here. There is no one waiting for her on the other side.
As to the Magic, he's caught the first, most important whisper of it. There are many sorts of magic, just as there are many sorts or mages. But this magic, is a song. A rhythm and a cycle, the patterns of the world repeating themselves in a never ending dance. What always was shall ever be, and what has come before shall come again.
The world is full of magic. Winter turns to spring, small things become big. One thing always changes into another. Can you hear it? 'tis a drum-beat, a heart-beat. The Green Man sings his anthem, hear the forests and fields answer back.
So if he wishes to sing, he must first listen. He has a friend already, and she has a wonderful voice. If he asked, she'd surely teach, and together a fine duet they'd sing.
Oof, burning much more than mere midnight oil. What happened to make her so driven suddenly?
We half expected a hug from behind to see if more contact would make the music louder. 😉
Keep going! ;)
The plant came back, the very next day.
Dave gets to see the magic that can move stars and worlds, but does he know, remember enough about human advancements to be able to realise, if he has met or heard about her, just how much further Pinkie Pie goes.
Asleep on the floor? Not a good place, especially with teh draught in winter, now needs to get Millfoil back on the couch and warmed up.
Thats a lot of temporal power flow, computational overclocking there. Cooling will still be running full.
I don't know if I would've been able to just put my hand on an Earth Pony while they worked their Earth Pony powers if I was thinking it might break their concentration or something.
Corrections:
I think a tiny bit of my head canon has been blown. In a story I had a bat pony retire from the military to start an orchard. It made sense to me at the time. Bat ponies would be like fruit bats, wouldn't they?(they certainly wouldn't be insectivores). But can you start an orchard in Equestria without an earth pony?
9429874
It’s from all the cider they drink.
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9429914
That’s a decent thought.
They really can’t unite all of them; there might not be all that many left besides the bones in her glen in the woods.
Ideally, ones with happy endings.
Yeah, that would not be a good one for her.
9429929
Oh, yeah, he’s got no chance as a ranger. Druid’s probably the best bet for him.
And then Milfoil gets pneumonia and also becomes a ghost.
And so we find out that bacteria have the power to turn people into ghosties in Equestria!
9430005
I think of all the tribes, the earth ponies generally have the slow, subtle magic--they’re kind of the foundation of the whole thing. I don’t think that you’d ever get that working weather, no matter what--not even in wild storms. Sure, maybe for a little while a pegasus would touch upon that in a supercell, for example, but those don’t last. An orchard lasts, generation upon generation. And I don’t think that’s how peagsi roll, anyway.
Unicorn magic is generally flashy and grand and quick. A spell is cast, and the effect happens. Sure, sometimes it’s really impressive, no question there, but it’s not subtle at all.
Also related:
--Cold in Gardez
9430024
That is a reasonably correct assumption.
9430064
The question is how long do they stay like that? How long was she trembling under the log in the woods, hiding from the wolf even though it was already too late, and then how long did she watch her former home from a distance, watching her parents pack up, watch her parents sell her things or give them away or just toss them in the trash? How long before she braved the empty house, before she got out some of her old toys and started to play with them because she just didn’t know what else to do?
Suppose she wants that, too, but she’s still skittish, still not trusting, because she still doesn’t really understand what’s happened to her?
Not years. I guess it was never explicitly stated in the story, but she’s only been dead for eight or nine months. Her parents pretty much packed up and left right after she was killed.
We don’t know that all of her grandparents are still alive (they’ve never been mentioned, although of course, some or all of them could have been dead before she was old enough to remember). But yeah, there isn’t necessarily anybody waiting for her on the ‘other side.’
Oh, very much so. The song of the land is ancient, and never really changes all that much. Plants and animals and ponies lend their songs to it in their time, and then they pass on and the cycle repeats.
“I thought about the twisted trees that lived by the shore and got shaped by the winds and the storms and each one left its mark on the tree and it grew a little stronger after each one and put its roots down a little bit deeper and still proudly held its leaves to the sky, and the sea tried to forget but the trees always remembered.”
--Silver Glow
Yes, very much so. Every season has its own magic, it’s own song, and everything grows, lives, dies, and the cycle continues.
She’s a fine teacher. He doesn’t understand yet, but sometimes he can hear the song, and that’s a beginning.
9430078
A feeling she had, maybe, or an inspiration . . . you’ll find out soon.
He should have thought of that. It probably would have.
Thank you!
9430123
And they didn’t even put it in a box.
Arkensaw Pinkerton did a chapter in Three Magics about how Granny Smith and Pinkie Pie see the world.
Earth ponies are heavier than they look, though.
Oh, yeah, totally. Luckily, Milfoil’s got a strong constitution and can handle it.
9430323
I don’t think it would. I think when an earth pony was in full concentration mode, it would be really hard to break that. Especially with a gentle touch.
Correction made; thank you!
9430726
Sounds reasonable to me.
Most likely, although it’s possible that there are other types of batponies who have different diets. I think in one of Celefin’s recent works, the batpony does eat moths.
I would say so. I mean, an earth pony is going to be the best at it, all other factors being equal, but we know from Fluttershy that you don’t have to be an earth pony to be good with animals, and Rarity could do weather work in the episode where they changed cutie marks. Plus, plants will grow on their own and we humans can do lots of stuff with them despite a lack of magic, so I’d say that a batpony totally could do it if he wanted to.
Interestingly, I wrote a story a couple of years ago where a Wonderbolt captain retired and bought a farm.
9431175
Earth ponies don’t get pneumonia.
The protagonist could go running out in the woods at night without a coat and find out if that’s true.
9431177
That is EXACTLY the story I was thinking of yes. I love that one.
So okay, can work with that. The weather is a different harmony woven into the seasonal rhythms if you let it be, much more loose and improvised and faster. But it still gets drowned out by the industrial weather control in most places, unless you've got a really good weather team that gets it. The biggest concession they'll make to the song of the land is to still have seasons.
9431203
I'm reminded of a series, Everlost. The main characters were ghosts. And one of the quirks was that ghosts appear nine months after they die. It's not a coincidence.
I love your description of the song of the land.
"You're a wizard Anon."
"I'm a what?'
"A wizard. With ponies and Ghosts and stuff."
9431367
So they'd be giving us even more tulips? We already get lots from them every year as thanks for helping them in WW2
Thaumoponics take a lot more than just a metal tray and some nutrient-rich water, but they also allow for much more responsive triage situations. Also, earth ponies are best arcane subwoofers.
In all seriousness, excellent scene. I love seeing earth pony magic in action, and this was one of the better portrayals I've encountered. Subtle, slow, and incredibly powerful; all right there in the name.
It would be really cool if he starts to feel things differently now after that show of Earth pony magic, maybe he will feel it himself without her help. This would not be immediate, of course not, but over time mind you. If it was me I would be immensely curious and try to see and feel, more of it. Now he knows what to look for to make this plausible.
9431258
I felt like Gardez wrote that one for me. I know he didn’t, but I like to think he did.
Yes; I think that’s a good interpretation. One of my stories features a pegasus who flies coastal feral weather patrols, and who also flies storms on Earth . . . that’s what she loves, even though some storms have killing lightning or make her crashland on a roof, or blow her completely off-course. She often says that’s what she was made for--not pushing around factory clouds, but being up in the wrath of Mother Nature.
Hmm, I’ve never heard of Everlost. I do like the idea of ghosts being kind of reborn . . . I suppose with equine ghosts, it would take eleven months.
Thank you!
9431389
i.ytimg.com/vi/XJmLW4XH05k/maxresdefault.jpg
9431711
I knew about that, and then I forgot about that.
9432156
Earth ponies see your pitiful attempts and raise you a whole damn forest. There’s not much they can’t do if they put their minds and magic to it--slow, yes, and not flashy at all, but super effective.
Earth pony roots go all the way down.
Thank you!
I really do think that in the grand scheme of things, they’re the most powerful tribe. Their magic is subtle, but runs everywhere. It’s slow, but strong. It’s harmony with the land--earth ponies and the land are one.
9432200
To paraphrase Futurama: he’s heard it; he can’t unhear it.
Sure, it won’t be something that happens right away, and he might not even realize that it is happening. He’s like the plant--he’s got almost no roots, but he can grow them, and he got a good kick from an earth pony in exactly the right direction.
He doesn’t really know what he felt, just yet. Maybe he’s got a little bit of a suspicion, maybe not, but now that he’s opened his mind to it--whether he wanted to or not--he can’t help but feel it going forward.
9434944
I always thought that if humans did end up in equestria we would be to magic what black changelings are to emotions a void that draws it in but unlike changelings it would be slow there may be subtle differences such as maybe our eyes glow what ever colour they naturally are when angry or say it would boost what adrenaline does making us 100× stronger, faster and more durable under stress(which includes leaping buildings in a single bound) which is fear, anger, excitement ectera.
Also, Windflower's hooves don't make noise.
Ooh. Not dead after all?
He can sense her magic? Interesting!
Remarks and corrections:
> couches weren’t comfortable for people, and decided to let me rest.
You know, ponies are people too, so I think you should use "humans" here instead of such a blanket term.
> and then I laid back down on the couch
> she just lay down on the floor.
Really. Justify it however you wish... you're doing something wrong there
10044911
You are correct
Not completely, and that’s enough for
Miracle MaxMilfoil.Yes, he can. At least when he’s paying attention and she’s dumping tons of it into a plant.
Hmm, I don’t know if he’d make that distinction, though. I could see it going either way.
Uh . . . I don’t know how to English?
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is correcting to “She just laid down on the floor” suitable, or is that making it more wrong?
10047268
Miracle Milfoil!
Don't rush her, human! You rush a miracle mare, you get rotten miracles!
I'm gonna have to answer that with "yes to both"
10047679
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Dammit, English is dumb.