Dry Seeds in a High Wind I
The rain was light and the wind was high. Good weather for wings. The little ponies of the Caulkins, the rock farmers and the miners, the masons and smiths, and all their sons and daughters all went to work on time and put their ores in order. They knew autumn was winding down into winter. Next month the representatives of the Pegasus Empire would be along to collect their due. A healthy stack of crates climbed up the back of houses and spread themselves around the mountains’ feet like wooden garlands.
So when a trio of pegasi bearing the mark of the Empire breached the horizon, their new armor glinting grey in the sun, everypony took notice. A soft, rankled burble of fret ran from house to house, crawling all the way into the high mountain caves.
Sunshower found her father at the tip of Sill, the same place he could always be found when the wind was high. Yarak’s tattered ears gently twitched as they angled themselves towards the eager gale. His face was set in a peculiar, almost tender sort of way. His eyes were not watching the pegasi, but the proud object trailing behind their wagon: a black banner emblazoned with blue wings, the feathers raised high in a scimitar curve. Long orange tassels at the tip flared like sheets of fire.
General Yarak squinted his rheumy eyes to see better. His right wing twitched limply at his side, rising and descending like a hound that could not find a place to sleep. The stringy feathering at his fetlocks kept getting caught in the rocks as he kept realigning his hooves.
Sunshower could not help glancing at his left wing, curved limply along his back. Her eye followed the white, bald slash that ran from the crook of his wing down into the curve of his ribs. Her ears dipped a moment before she remembered herself and brought them up to a dignified height and moved her eyes to meet his.
“Our sisters are here.”
“Yes. So they are.”
Sunshower blinked as the envoys moved into a landing formation. The lead pegasus was blue, her red and yellow tail floated in synch with the tassels. “Thistle Whistle is leading them. But that makes no sense, sir. It is too early for the envoys to come.”
Yarak’s eye never left the banner. “Do you know of any other pegasi bearing those colors and carting air wagons?”
“I do not, sir. But it is only mid-November.” Sunshower sat on her haunches with a little frown. “They are not due for another six weeks. Just after Pegasopolis’ second snowfall. I do not understand why they are so early.”
“Poor scheduling and incompetence.” The wrinkles in the general’s face bent into a scowl. “It is what becomes of making weather shepherds out of warriors. In the hooves of Gale’s soft senators, I would not be surprised if they tried to tie in winter at the top of summer.” He sighed and looked at the long, long, way down Sill. The walk would take hours.
“Sir.” Sunshower held out a wing as her father rose to leave. “Allow me to see what it is they want. I will correct their miscalculation before they unsettle anypony.” Earth ponies were steady workers and often even-tempered, but notoriously set in their ways. She would not let her sisters embarrass themselves by getting into a row, nor allow the workday to be interrupted any more than necessary.
Yarak slowly blinked his brass eyes at her.
“There is no reason you should be hassled just because they cannot keep track of the schedule. And I am never averse to meeting with our sisters.” She looked down at the envoys and tilted her head curiously.
“There must be some reason for this miscalculation. Our clouds misbehave, perhaps it is the same way with theirs?”
General Yarak shook his head. “What troubles our clouds do not trouble theirs.” Sunshower looked back at him, but before she had the chance to respond he continued, “They will not accept that they are early. Attempt to reorder the schedule instead.”
“Yes, sir. I can handle them.”
“Are you sure of that?” Yarak blinked slowly again. “You have been distracted as of late.”
“I am positive, sir.”
The two pegasi looked towards the ground, where the sky wagon settled into the wingless stirring crowd. Thistle Whistle's sharp voice piped in the distance.
The general nodded. “Go, then.”
“I will not disappoint, sir.”
It was dark. It was dark and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and something was hurting him. He gasped as he broke upon something sharp—a knife, needles, a talon, long black thorns, his own broken ribs curving inward to pierce his lung—and the world was dark but his eyes were blinded by white light.
A galaxy of rainbow coats and wide, frightened, curious eyes stared. When he tried to shut his eyes he couldn’t breathe but he shut them all the same. His ears shrank against the clatter of chains and screaming, dying iron in the faraway dark as the darkness turned bright and burned and he couldn’t run, did not even know what direction to run to.
So many spikes. Spikes crawling out of round walls. Spikes jutting from heads. Making things as they should not be.
A pony’s head bobbing in the water. Speaking of songs of fire.
Static and wings and bells and teeth and tall, tall mirrors.
The soft, terrible sound of sand falling on sand and the snap of bones.
The bearskin was too hot and made him soggy with sweat. The heat built and built and built and it was so dark and he couldn’t breathe.
Then: quiet. Rain. The gentle echo of a scream fading into walls.
Cinquefoil opened his eyes to a dark room and the sweet and sour smell of marigolds, sweat, and candlewax. He nosed the wet thing flopped around his shoulders, wondering why the fur felt so light. He blinked and a green and yellow diamond pattern came into focus. Not a stifling bearskin at all, but a blanket. His own little cross-stitched blanket with the frayed little fringe at the edge. Cinquefoil tasted copper, his cheek stung when his tongue touched it. The fur along his muzzle felt damp. He still couldn’t breathe. Cinquefoil pulled his legs in close and pressed his back against the wall.
Just outside of his room, hooves clopped against the wood floor. A sharp line of light lit the foot of his door, leaking through the knotholes like a knife through a curtain. Was that light from a candle or a horn?
The stallion covered his muzzle with the blanket to hide the sound of his tattered wheezing. The blanket was useless. Whoever was on the other side of that door could surely hear Cinquefoil’s heart wetly thudding in his throat. He remembered he had not locked his door that night.
The light was steady; it didn’t fidget or dance against the shadows as it moved. The light was not from a candle.
He’d met four unicorns: two of them were not dangerous at all, one sought him terrible harm, and the last unicorn he was still unsure of. Out of those four, three of them lived in the house. Which was which? Cinquefoil shook his head against the panic dulling his memory and tried to recall the colors of their magic.
Voices at the door called out to him. Cinquefoil’s ears twitched in anxious anticipation of questions he wasn’t ready for. When he did not answer, the voices at the door tried again, then spoke softly to each other. A minute or an hour later, he heard hoofbeats on floorboards and the light went away.
Cinquefoil could not stop shaking. He told his breath to steady and his heart to relax, that he was safe, but his body wouldn’t listen. The blanket was too hot and damp, he felt smothered. Shaking off the blanket didn’t help. Cinquefoil shook the sweat from his coat and began to pace. He went six steps before the bed stopped him. He turned and went ten steps before a wall stopped him. Twelve little steps and another wall.
He snorted and flicked his tail. This room was too small. The walls all too close together and the roof pressed like a millstone. His pale hooves tapped against the wood. He could not help the absurd, awful feeling that the walls were getting thicker, getting closer like a pack of timberwolves, like a circular cage of thorns. Cinquefoil nosed the window open and stuck out his neck as far as it would go, taking a long drink of full, sharp air.
Rain soaked into his skin as he let go of the breath he’d been holding. The Caulkins curved around the little house, breaching up to catch the stars, cradling the wide and empty land stretching between them. Wide and grey, with no walls at all, and only the clouds and stars and maybe even the moon for a ceiling. The pony ducked back into his little room. He lay down in his blankets, then stood again. His hooves fidgeted as he looked at the window.
Cinquefoil fetched his oilskin cloak from the peg and neatly folded the blanket upon the bed. He took care to keep his hoof steps light and quiet, though the softness in the curve of his hooves ached for dirt and urged him to go faster. Wet open air rolled on his tongue as the door creaked open. He smiled and kicked into a canter.
Sunshower skirted the edge of her primary feathers with her teeth until they shone in the moonlight. She bounced in the spongy, wet fluff as she rocked back to inspect her work. The grey cloud undulated as rain pulsed beneath her hooves. Her feathers lay perfect, all aligned and in regulation.
She frowned. No. Not quite regulation.
There, at the edge: a yellow feather half a centimeter out of place. Sunshower twisted her head around and took the wing in her mouth. The least she could do was make these stupid wings fit to be seen. Sunshower still felt the soft understanding in Thistle Whistle’s eye pluck at her feathers.
When she'd tried to ascertain the reason the pegasi arrived too early without giving the farmers and miners time to gather their harvest, the envoy of the empire was not offended. She wasn’t even annoyed.
Thistle Whistle just blinked her green eyes and sighed, a shrill whistle hissing through her missing tooth like a kettle. “I suppose it is not any fault of yours, Sunshower,” the envoy said. “Not entirely. What pony can tell the seasons apart living in weather wild as this? Perhaps it was unfair to expect simple earth ponies to keep up.” Thistle Whistle ran her tranquil gaze and low expectations over the crowd, but kept her face towards Sunshower. “Ponies of Caulkin, the weather is out of your hooves. We sympathize. Therefore, the empire will collect the materials you have gathered thus far. Expect our return in two weeks’ time.
Unlike unicorns, the pegasus tribe never perfected the art of lying. The gentle pity in Thistle Whistle’s voice and the understanding in her eyes was nothing but genuine. Sunshower’s ears flushed bright pink from the memory. There was no graver insult than pity. She could not even protest to defend herself, for nothing the envoy said was untrue.
Clouds of the Caulkins did not move when she shoved them, stayed full when she bucked them, and dropped whatever they pleased whenever they pleased, coming and going on a whim. There was only so much one pegasus could do, but Sunshower wasn’t sure if a full team of fifteen could corral this weather. She looked towards the wide wall of clouds that wreathed the tip of Sill. They were full and curdled as any cumulus, but her hooves went through them like candle smoke. A shudder went through the pegasus. And Sill was stranger still. How Yarak managed to linger there so long was a wonder. Sunshower couldn’t stand to be near Sill’s tip any more than absolutely necessary. There had been times her feathers forgot how to catch the air, her wings could not hold her up. More than once she’d fallen.
Sunshower flicked the thought away with a brush of her tail. Focus. She stretched her wings about for a fourth inspection. She studied the reflection of the underside of her wing in her armor. The feathers fanned out straight and glossy, no ragged edges, no bent quills. Satisfied, Sunshower folded her wings and sat.
It was either too cold or too wet for night insects. No owls lived in the Caulkins. The only sound was the rain beneath her hooves and the rustle of her own tail flicking against her legs. She watched the moon, yellow as a bad tooth surrounded by a milk splatter of stars, and sighed. The night watch was dull and Sunshower was glad of it. Dreariness meant peace, peace meant the earth ponies of the Caulkins slept well and were untroubled, untroubled ponies meant she’d performed at least one job correctly. But it was still dull.
Then, as if on cue, a sound from below. Sunshower rose and leaned over the side of the cloud, angling her ears. The hard, rhythmic clack of horseshoes on rock. And fast. Very, very fast.
Sunshower spread her wings and swept under the clouds. Her ears shot up. A figure flew across the rocks, a flap of green cutting through the gray, brown legs kicking out from beneath. The Mustangian was on the move. Nearly half a mile from the farrier’s house and gaining ground by the second.
Sunshower cut through the wind and the rain like a harsh word in a still room. She felt the light burn in her muscles and allowed herself a small, undisciplined grin. No lurking behind doors tonight, no skulking around secret corners or ducking into wall cracks. Nothing hid in the Caulkins for long. The Mustangian may have managed it for a time, but that time was up. Wherever his destination, he’d not reach it. He was fast, but he was in the open air and Sunshower knew the skies better than he knew the rocks.
Sunshower wheeled down and around him so low the mud dirtied her coat. As the stallion reared she swept to land adjacent, cutting off his path before he could gather himself to bolt. The Mustangian reared again and stumbled backwards. His legs danced under him as if they were unsure if they should stop or go faster. His eyes were wide and did not recognize her. The stallion opened his mouth to speak, but was breathing too hard from the run to get anything out.
The pegasus lifted an eyebrow at the tightness in his jaw, the shake in his shoulders, the way his strange eyes sank into his head. He blinked as he stared back, the panic in his red-rimmed eyes fading with recognition of her face. Sunshower sniffed the air: nothing but rain. She looked in the direction he’d run from: nothing but the mountain and Topsoil’s smithy.
“Earth pony, why are you so distressed? Are you in danger? Is there something you are running from?”
The stallion shook his head.
“Is there anything you are running towards?”
He thought, then shook his head again. His breathing slowed, though it still was not calm. His face looked so small under the hood. The cloak he wore was far too big, the oilskin pooled around his flanks to engulf him. Sunshower wondered how she never noticed that before. But it was not only that. Something had changed in his face, though Sunshower could not name what.
The stallion’s breathing returned to normal and he stopped trembling. Sunshower stood back and gave him time to explain himself, or apologize for the commotion, or become embarrassed or frustrated that he’d been caught. To do anything. But all he did was stand there in his cacophonous silence.
Sunshower could take no more. She threw back her head with an exasperated sigh. “Oh, for the love of— What in welkin is the matter with you?”
The Mustangian raised his head. The hood fell to his shoulders and Sunshower realized what was wrong with his face. She could look him in the eyes. There was no conspiracy in them, no prowling deceit. Just a pony. A skinny wild pony in the barren mountains, alone and scared.
“I don’t know,” he said.
Sunshower’s wings fluttered at her sides. She’d planned for a confrontation, maybe dive into a deadly fight, not… whatever this was. “Do… do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Not really, no.”
Sunshower flattened her ears. “It is more than an hour past midnight. This is why you have all those bags under your eyes, you do not get proper rest. Do you not know that a pony requires at least six hours of sleep? You should be sleeping.”
The Mustangian flicked his ears. “You’re not sleeping,” he pointed out.
“I am on watch. I have properly rationed out my hours to assure I get the sleep I require. I took three hours of rest at moonrise. I will take another three at moonset.” The pegasus tilted her head towards him and frowned. “I do not understand why you are so wan and afraid. You are not under threat, there is nothing to fear in these mountains.”
The earth pony set his shoulders and frowned back. “I am not afraid. I’m just… troubled, that is all. I felt like taking a run and so I did. Is it a crime to get a little exercise after nightfall?”
“No, but it is highly unusual.” Sunshower flicked her tail and shrugged. “But then, you are also a highly unusual pony. It is my business to account of unusual things, lest they become dangerous things.”
“Is that why you’ve been watching me?”
The pegasus shifted her wings and looked away at the clouds. “Yes. That is the reason.”
The stallion blinked curiously. “Am I a dangerous thing?”
“That is yet to be confirmed.” She turned towards him again and gave him a long look. “Why are you troubled?
“I was, um. I was dreaming before.”
“What? Is that all?” Sunshower’s voice flared out in a short, barking laugh with jagged edges. It sounded a little like a jackdaw. “You are a silly pony. Dreams live only in your head and cannot come out to hurt you. Not unless you allow them to.”
The Mustangian flattened his ears and sunk his head into his shoulders, sullen.
“Oh, come. A fact is a fact, no need to be offended by it.” Sunshower swished her tail and sat down beside him. “Listen. When I was a filly, unmarked and unfledged, I had troublesome dreams as well. They were of large silver birds with no feathers. They had stiff wings and rounded beaks and big black eyes. Some of them had stripes on their wingtips or smaller black eyes running along their side, little things moving about inside them. Other quiet nights I dreamt of jabbering languages that did not exist. It troubled me, for these things seemed real in my head though logic and sense told me there were not. ”
The mare smiled and shook her head at the memory. “It was all very silly and foalish, thinking back on it now. How worried it used to make me. Tell me what it is you dreamed of, Cinquefoil.” Sunshower’s smile faded. His name slipped out before she could remember to stop herself. The syllables still felt strange in her mouth.
Cinquefoil peered at her cautiously. “Why?”
“When you are fully aware of what it is you fear—or what troubles—then you will better understand it. In understanding you will conquer fear and fear will not conquer you.”
“Oh. That makes sense, I suppose.”
“Of course it does. It is the theorem of Wind Whistler. Do you know of her?” Sunshower flipped her tail thoughtfully. “No, that is a foolish question. Of course you would not. She was an ancient pegasus of the Old World. Her logic and wit were unmatched by any other pony, and so it is she my family follows. All our brothers and sisters in the Empire have a matron to follow and keep in their heart when they pass through troubled times.”
“I see,” Cinquefoil said. After a moment of silence, he looked Sunshower over from ear to tail with a little frown upon his face. “What do you want from me?”
“I have told you this already. I want to know what it is you dream of.”
“No. There must be something else.” He warily looked her over again. “There is always something else.”
Sunshower scoffed. “You have spent too much time amongst the unicorn tribe. What you witness is what you receive. I am all there is to me. What I want from you is for you to speak to me, so that I may understand. The confusion of you frustrates me.”
“I still don’t see why my distress should matter to you at all. It’s my business, not yours. And besides, I thought you disliked me.”
“The liking of you or lack thereof is of no consequence.” Sunshower’s wings fidgeted and her voice tottered as she argued, “Herding weather is not the only job of a pegasus. We also keep fearsome creatures and marauders at bay. We stop danger at the earth ponies’ doorstep, so that your folk may work in peace. That was the arrangement of your tribes. It was our first job and it remains our best job. Therefore, I will not have you be afraid while I am here.”
Sunshower’s voice locked back into step. She bent her neck to look him in the eye. “I will not.”
Little droplets flicked off as Cinquefoil raised and lowered his ears. Veins of water ran down the length of his neck, soaking into the lining of his cloak. Sunshower thought she saw that familiar firewater flicker in his eye. But it could have just been a reflection of starlight as the clouds parted.
“It changes,” Cinquefoil told her. “The dream never comes whole, but in little shards. Like a broken mirror that cuts me when I try to touch it. The shards never fall the same way twice, it always resets rearranging itself. And it does not only come at night. I don’t always know when I’m sleeping. There are parts of the dream that never change, though.”
The Mustangian opened his mouth, then closed it again, uncertainly. He sat quietly for a long time. Sunshower let him.
"Sometimes…" Cinquefoil’s face twinged and pulled at itself, at once a wide, twisted grimace and a tiny frown. "Sometimes my skin feels too small for me. It burns and it is hard to breathe. And...and my bones turn into other bones. I feel soft needles bursting out from my skin. I lose parts of myself and I gain parts of myself and all the time I cannot stop it. It hurts but there is something wrong with me because I cannot move. I must be either asleep or struck stupid, because as it happens I know and yet don't know that it hurts, this thing happening to me. "
His voice shrank and tried to hide in the rain. "I can never tell if that part is a dream or not. And that’s not the worst of it."
Cinquefoil watched Sunshower’s expression and he became quiet again.
“Why have you stopped?”
“I’m not sure if I ought to tell you”, Cinquefoil said. “You look like you don’t want to know.”
Sunshower snorted. “What I want is unimportant.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. This is how it works when ponies tell each other of their woe. There are obviously too many troubles for you to carry on your back, so I will take some of it upon mine. We will both be burdened, but shared between us, the burden is lighter.” Sunshower tossed her tail over her hooves. Gently, she sighed, “Your ignorance astounds me, Cinquefoil. Finish.”
The Mustangian sighed. “It isn’t always in fragments. Sometimes it is very clear and doesn’t hurt at all. There are nights or afternoons when I sleep or sit quietly with my eyes open, and there is peace. I am listening to the purr of pigeons and the lap of water on rocks. My kin are there. They scold and tease and bicker at me, but we know each other so there is laughter in it. I know who I am and where I belong. I believe that I’m under a sun that warms my shoulders, that I am there.”
“At home?”
“Yes.”
Sunshower’s ears twitched. “Cinquefoil, where is your home?”
“I don’t know.” His shoulders fell and he closed his eyes. “I knew a moment ago…or a month ago, I’m not sure which. It’s doesn’t matter. I don’t know now.”
“I see.” Sunshower regretted asking. She should have scolded him and gone back to the clouds to sulk and be angry. The more the Mustangian spoke, the harder it was to stay angry at him. She knew how to sort out anger, the correct spot for it on the mantle place, when to stoke or stifle it so that it could be used properly. But this…
Cinquefoil shrugged apologetically.
The rain clinked off Sunshower’s armor. She took a small step back from him to consider the correct protocol for this situation. Perhaps she ought to apologize to him. Or fly away without another word and forget the entire thing happened. Or perhaps she should tell him to suck it up and get over it or challenge him to a fight or sit here in the mud with him and both of them could just feel awkward, never saying a word to each other.
A cloud coughed thunder and the rain fell in hard, angry drops instead of thin sheets. Cinquefoil flinched at the sound and tried to shake himself off, but he was soaked again before the water left his coat. The inside of his hood was quickly filling with water.
Sunshower’s wings fidgeted once, twice, then she stood. Her right wing slowly fanned out over the earth pony’s head, the rain bouncing harmlessly over the waterproof feathers. It hovered unevenly, twitching in the tiny, endless space between her feathers and Cinquefoil’s mane.
She dared not think what would happen, should that wing go lower. If the tip of a fellow feather brushed the tip of his ear, if his breath tickled the soft down in the crook of the wing. Could her wing touch his withers without curling around them? She didn’t know.
Sunshower did not know much of this strange Mustangian from the far south, but she knew things were never the same after he touched them. One pony would rest her wing upon his shoulder, and another pony would lift it again. Sunshower did not know if she wanted to be that pony yet.
But if Sunshower folded her wing back, Cinquefoil would be wet. So she held it there.
Cinquefoil blinked up at the feathery umbrella, curious, and listened. For once, Sunshower was glad for his silence.
The rain pat upon her primary feathers like a snare drum. Tappa-tip-tap-tap. Cinquefoil’s ears twitched at the sound, his head gently bobbing in time. And then, in perfect-pitched tenor, he sang:
"Oh, our girl Jane was fine and fair
With rings on her ears and beads in her hair
But now Jane's got no hair at all
For her face burned away in the flower's fall
Trana-na-na-na, gone with the fall
Shattered and burned black, gone with the fall"
Sunshower screwed up her face and bent her head to look Cinquefoil in the eye. “That song makes no sense whatsoever. Flowers do nothing of that sort when they fall. Are the flowers falling from a tree or a tipped vase? And Jane is a dog’s name. Why would you pierce your dog’s ear or put beads in the fur?”
“Maybe it was an exceptionally dangerous flower?” Cinquefoil offered.
The pegasus smirked. “I would wager an exceptionally delicate dog.”
“A small fluffy dog sniffing flowers and exploding in-into chunks.” Images of decorated Pomeranians falling in many pieces went through Cinquefoil’s head, and the end of the sentence unraveled. It started as a snicker—really more like a sneeze—and build into a jittering ribbon of laughter.
Sunshower tried to swallow her grin. It just made Cinquefoil’s laugh tickle her ribs until her jackdaw trill of a laugh joined it. At the last minute, she remembered what time it was and put a hoof over her mouth. “You-you’re going to wake somepony up.”
“That’s alright, I’ll just explain about the exploding fluffy dogs. The miners will understand.”
Both ponies looked at each other in silence, then burst into barely-smothered laughter again.
Sunshower turned to him again when they were done. “I didn’t know you knew how to laugh.”
“Really?” Cinquefoil’s smile leaned sideways on his face. “I was just about to say the same to you.”
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Corrected version:
"Rumors say there are more of him, somewhere far away. A young and supposedly gifted mage called Star Swirl and Heartstrings, a gentle spinster, have joined him on a journey to find the rest."
Blast you, making me care about a ship.
3593798 If he wants to use the Oxford Comma, let him use the Oxford Comma. Unless you're suggesting the protagonist's name is Star Swirl and Heartstrings.
Bonding! Yay!
Oh yes, I've been waiting for this.
i.imgur.com/1ylIX6m.gif
MOAR ponies please
They're starting to care for each other. How sweet.
Pegasi arrival, deliberate or not? The Sill, progressive loss of magic. A bunker? A return of body to that which was before?
However did you come up with that ingeniously woven intricate plot line?
Amazing, as always.
Nitpicks and notes: (also, spoilers, I suppose)
cross-stitched blanked
blanket
curdled as any cumulous
cumulus
I had troublesome dreams as well.
Well, well, well... I don't know what this means, but it's very intriguing. why is a pony dreaming of human airplanes? Possibly relatedly, why is a phenomenon normally associated with human habitation (if I'm not mistaken) occurring at the Sill? There's an obvious conclusion to draw on the second part, but I don't know if it would be entirely correct. For the first part, rampant speculation is in order!
Our human is losing himself again, but at least he still sings human songs, though he doesn't know their meaning. On the other hand, didn't someone say previously that he had a terrible singing voice? the seapony gently added, “It is also very bad at singing.” Gaining a great singing voice isn't normally a bad thing, but ... yeah. And, of course, there is the more blatant fact that Sunshower is comfortable looking him in the eyes.
3593926 The comma Ether Echoes removed may be optional, but the one he added is not. Actually, the removed comma MAY have been incorrect, but it seems to add clarity to the sentence, so I wouldn't bet on it without doing research. I suppose the sentence could be "Star Swirl, a young blah blah blah, and Heartstrings, a gentle spinster, etc."
In any case, I believe the so-called Oxford comma would require a third item to apply; I don't think you can do it with only two items. But there may be some other justification for inserting a comma there.
3594089
Indeed, the urge to kick him in the face is slowly dwindling!
3594762
Whoops! Better correct those typos.
And nice catch, I didn't know if anyone would remember that line from way back in chapter two.
3594691
Thank you for that detracting one-liner. That criticism is very constructive and thought out.
The characters develop
. Liking where this is going ^^
Hm, what an interesting condition our Human turned Pony has. Previously he had forgotten what he was and started to turn into Cinquefoil which, honestly had no purpose because of his true nature. "You can change who you are, but not what you are. But it is Who you are that truly matters no matter what others say." But now his mind and nature are fighting the change that Star Swirl had done to him and it is a painful process.
I think I'll have to reread a couple of the latest chapters, because I feel like I've missed something here. Anyway, looking forward to the second part of this chapter!
So I guess if Cinquefoil ever gets a cutie mark, then it's game over for our little protagonist.
This chapter was really adorable! Please don't rip out my heart.
That song—"her face burned away in the flower's fall"?
Perhaps I'm reading too much into things, but... that kinda sounds like it could refer to a nuclear blast...
3596298 Whenever Cinquefoil mentions 'a flower' usually with 'of fire', the author means it an atomic blast. Cinquefoil still finds the term a mystery though.
That was a very adorable encounter.
Sometimes small characters have the best potential
3595778
If you read in earlier chapters, it's heavily implied that his pony shape is literally a shell or shield around his human body, so be prepared for some gore. Although, that would be in keeping with the last unicorn, if lady Amalthea's eyes start reflecting other people instead of a forest, she won't become a unicorn again
I especially like the detail of pegasus ancestor worship. At least, that's what it seems like. In any case, Wind Whistler makes for an excellent Athena.
...and now I'm suddenly reading more into that offhand comment about the absence of owls.
In any case, a very sweet half-chapter. I expect the other shoe to fall next time.
I like the bit about Wind Whistler as well, and forgot to mention that in my last comment. It suddenly makes Sunshower's personality much more understandable. The way you've set the pegasi up as seeing themselves to be protectors of the earth ponies is also interesting, and works as a nice piece of motivation since I can't see Sunshower's actions and motivations as being the same as Lir's.
Now I'm curious to know if there are any pegasus houses that use Surprise or Heart Throb as their matrons, because that'd be something to see.
Aw shit.
I'm all caught up. I need more this is good I ship it fuck I need more god ponies are my drug
Great, now I want the humans' (because his name is too complex) change to be permanent, so that I can ship him and sunrise
, because it is so adorable
, and also, I feel like her heart would break when she walked in, saw the torn remains of the pony form, and saw him in his human form thinking he killed said pony she fell in love with
. A delicious irony would be if his human nature negated the temporary effect and made it permnant all on it's own. 
I kinda want him to stay pony, he seems to be becoming more and more pony and less and less human
Another superb chapter
, you use a dialect/dialogue (not quite sure what it is) that I find in few other places but enjoy a lot
While your work is admittedly hard for me to follow at times
So kudos
Now on to the next part.
Edit: While I agree that Sunshower and Cinquefoil make an adorable couple
.
... I still hella want my human back
So Sunshower dreamed of planes when she was younger. Hmmmmm.
ship!!!!!
Looks he is still having the problem of remembering himself.
The one you fear cannot command his power as well as the others. A simple light would be beyond him. The light does not come from him.
3669730 Yeah, but if Sunshower is The Last Unicorn's prince counterpart, doesn't that mean she dies? I'm having Shakespearian deja vu all over again. This is what Romeo and Juliet would be as a tragicomedy. Which is an interesting thought, now that I think of it.
TSUN-FUCKING-TSUN, SUNSHOWER
Any story with Thistle Whistle in it is a good story. :V
3850380
I'm beginning to feel like the Roc wasn't killing humans. It made a lot of new ponies with fresh minds with old souls. Maybe what happened to our mc wasn't wholly Star Swirl's fault.