> Phlox
>  by Astraia Cantata
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter the Only
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Phlox

In a hamlet town called Ponyville,
Before the reach of Everfree
There was a modest cottage
At the river’s bended knee.

There lived a lonely stallion, 
With a coat of tawny fur,
A mane darker than twilight, 
The ruby eyed Larkspur.

His was the job of tending and keeping
The town’s park and garden collection.
He had no complaints; the ponies were kind
But few showed any overt affection.

He would say nothing, but his poor heart
Was coming apart at the seams.
For to be a bridegroom, husband, and father
Were all that had made up his dreams.

Was fate so cruel that the ladies of town
Hardly gave him a second glance?
He would say nothing, though his soul cried
For someone to give him a chance.

But dreams have a way of becoming truth
Though we may not see why, how or when;
And soon enough, fate’s strings would be pulled
And that’s where our story begins.

It was early morning after a dread storm
That Larkspur took a fateful stroll
That led him beyond the sleepy town’s edge
To a softly meadowed knoll.

He spread a towel over a small muddied patch
And sat on the still soggy ground.
He planned to watch the sun break the clouds
But a soft cry made him look around.

Just over the top of this tiny mole hill
A world of destruction did loom:
Branches torn off and upended trees
Lit by morning twilight gloom.

Amidst the wreckage, a tiny voice cried
And Larkspur heeded its call,
Until a broken cradle he found,
And inside a treasure so small:

A treasure with two wee angel’s wings, 
The exact color of vanilla cream
Dusky rose streaking her lavender hair
And jade eyes shut as if in a bad dream.

There lay a filly, mewling and weak,
Bleeding and stricken with pain.
He abandoned his plans; he had to act now.
As he lifted her out, it began to rain.

The heat of the sun did not burn the clouds,
But clung to him in her absence,
As running, the sweat crept down his neck
This innocent life in the balance.

She breathed still, though painfully
When they finally reached the town,
And Larkspur cried for a doctor or nurse
Before, in exhaustion, tumbling down.

There were no records of the girl
At the hospital or town hall,
And though they sent word to Canterlot, 
No answers returned at all.

And so, in such an unusual case, 
An unusual choice must be taken.
At the dawning of the next day,
Larkspur a father would waken.

He was of course astounded,
How could such a thing be? 
And little did he mention,
His heart now torn in three.

This was not the way he imagined
His wishes finally coming true.
There were still some things he wanted,
Were they things he’d never do?

But as he sat and watched her sleeping
And her little wings did flutter
As in her dreams she took flight
The sight caused him to stutter.

This little bundle of joy was now his,
With hopes and dreams of her own
Still as of yet to be discovered, 
And she need not find them alone.

For as long as they were together, 
He would love her, and guide her way
He'd protect this precious flower
‘Til her own life carried her away.

And this his resolve, he signed away
All hope that life could be the same.
He would not refuse, and should he regret
He had only himself to blame.

He brought her to his home
And named the girl Phlox Rain,
In part for the storm that brought her
In part for the color of her mane.

Larkspur loved her all that he could;
He poured into her his life.
All the dreams went up in smoke:
An immolated sacrifice.

But as time went by he learned 
His heart could grow more dreams
For him, and for his little girl. 
She all things could redeem!

Finally came the first day of school;
A day he learned to dread.
He walked her there, hiding his fears 
As she, exited, raced far ahead

He walked to town, the house was too far,
To wait for the school day to end.
Restless, he looked for some work to do
Some beds that he had yet to tend.

Some say it’s unhealthy to bottle up fears,
Emotions in general, it’s true.
But Larkspur could not bring himself
To give little Phlox the view

Of a stallion so angry that he must be 
Both mother and father to her;
That for five years no one offered a hand;
That things were the way that they were.

The pattern continued the rest of the year, 
And Larkspur became a master of disguise
As he proudly watched Phlox’s progress
With a trace of desperation in his eyes.

But he pushed it aside, for little rain’s sake
She did not need to know his pain.
Phlox knew very well that he loved her 
So he packed away all his feelings again.

There soon came a day he could not help her
When she wanted to learn to fly.
He, an earth pony, could help her no more
Than a tortoise can take to the sky.

So he enlisted the help of a friend
From a time long gone by
To teach his pride and joy the joy
Of what it means to fly.

This stallion, strangely nameless
Stared at the little filly, 
Now a lanky awkward thing
Who thought his glances silly.

She learned quickly as if born
To pierce the endless sky,
And her laughter at her success
Brought a tear to Larkspur’s eye.

He thanked his friend, though wary
Of his lingering steadfast glare
Upon the child he called his own
Of which she was unaware.

More time went by, too quickly,
As school and cuteceñera passed, 
She grew into her own, a mare
In floral knowledge unsurpassed.

He knew soon would come the suitors,
They’d be knocking down the doors.
His little girl was lovely
And she would not find them all bores.

Still, at the first knock of the door,
He was surely unprepared,
For it was no brash young colt
But a sealed telegram there.

The note relayed “good news” it seemed
Her family had been found
And would be happy to take her back
If he would bring her around.

All his world now fell apart;
His child no more his own?
That he had raised into a mare,
That under his watch had grown?

He could not hide the truth from her;
They would come if he did not.
So when she arrived at home at last
He took her to his favorite spot:

The meadow where he found her
And first heard her tiny cries.
He showed her the rotted cradle
In which she nearly died.

"It’s too much to take in", she said
He understood at least, 
She had known she was adopted
But there the common thread ceased

When they came (as he had known)
To take his Phlox away,
He was not shocked to learn
His “friend” was the cause of this dismay.

He led the dour party 
Of highborn pegasi three
To the humble cottage
At the river’s bended knee.

One, a mare with a high bouffant 
Seemed just her mirror image, 
Though with eyes of primrose pink
And a beauty mole upon her visage;

A stallion, not much older than her
With eyes that selfsame jade, 
Green coat and a gleaming smile
With black mane loose save one braid;

And then an older stallion, 
Best put as nondescript.
This was Phlox’s family
And here she would fit.

Larkspur tried so very hard 
Not to cry or fight,
Or brandish all the forms he signed,
Or say they had no right.

No, if she chose to leave,
He would not keep her here.
These ponies would be kind to her
That was immediately clear.

He called her from her room 
To meet her estranged family.
The unnamed mare was struck
By the lack of emotive glee.

“Aren’t you happy to see me Corone?
I’m your mother, you know.”
“Yes ma’am, I can see that. 
But my name is not Corone.”

The nameless mare just laughed it off.
“Of course it is my dear!
I should know, I named you.
You are my child to rear.”

Those words cut Larkspur like a knife
And he excused himself for a moment
Phlox- No, Corone, the mare had said
Had never known what “mother” meant

Perhaps it was better this way, he thought.
Now Phlox can have a mother,
And a father who can better provide
The nicer things of life for her.

The choice was left to Phlox, then
Where she would call her home:
Would she be Phlox in Ponyville, 
Or in Bell-Aer, Corone?

When he returned her bags were packed, 
But were those tears upon her cheek?
Did she truly want to go, 
Or was she merely weak?

“You don’t have to do this;
Those boys will have a start.”
Don’t go, my precious daughter
If you leave, you’ll break my heart.

“I will find the time to write them”
Daddy, please, just say the word
I won’t go if you don’t want me to.
“I’ll send my love by message bird”

Softly he embraced her, promising to write,
And watched her go, choking back tears
As away the five of them flew,
And he cursed himself for all his fears.

Corone waited for the letters
But they never did arrive;
And there was no one in whom
She could here confide.

Yes, they treated her kindly, 
But they could not understand
Her need for their affection,
Her desire to be on land.

There were no flowers in Bell-Aer
And she longed for them so much.
She drew pictures in her journal
But yearned for some to touch.

She sent a letter every day
By the family’s message bird
And prayed nightly to the moon
That it bring back any word.

When she could stand it no longer
She escaped by Luna’s light,
Trying to find a special lily
That only bloomed at night.

She had once read in her book
Of a Moonflower lily
That the place they grow in most
Is the heart of Everfree

She left a note, of course,
But they could not believe
That their genteel born Corone
Would have the gall to leave.

To find a flower, how could she?
What good were flowers to pegasi?
She had clouds beneath her feet
And open space to fly.

So the matron went to Larkspur,
Afraid he had contrived
Some new way to reach her
And return her to his life.

A storm brewed o’er the forest
When the mare showed herself inside
With anger on her features 
From the deep wound to her pride.

“Would you tear her away from us again!”
Slammed the note upon a desk.
“Is this how you repay us, 
For giving her what’s best?

“I haven’t seen her,” Larkspur said, 
“Or heard from her since she left
What’s this you accuse me of, 
When I’m the one that’s bereft?’

He picked the note up with a hoof, 
And as he read, his face grew pale.
“She is not here, but I know where
Send for help, there comes a gale.’

And he leaped up from the chair, 
And dashed him out the door,
For, if he did not hurry, 
He would hear from Phlox no more.

That mare did not believe him, 
Instead called for his arrest
And though the guards did rush him, 
He was gone in the forest.

Larkspur pulled to memory
The place he saw them last:
The beautiful moonflowers
He’d given her in the past.

Deeper, deeper, deeper still
To the tangle’s darkened heart,
‘Til finally he heard her voice
And ran towards it like a dart.

There he found her, shivering, 
Against a ruined wall.
Her wing was limp: broken.
She’d taken quite a fall.

And her timid voice was singing, 
To keep her mind from the pain,
Instead turning to the terror
Of dying alone in the rain.

“You there! Are you some mirage
These darkened boughs give form?
Friend or foe, or changeling sent, 
To kill me before this storm?”

“My little rain, don’t be afraid,” 
She reared up to attack.
“It will be fine, Daddy’s here,”
And he offered her his back.

“I promise you, I’ll get you out
Of this nightmarish place.
Trust me like you used to.”
A drop fell down his face.

What came next from her lips
Left the poor stallion confused.
“Why did you never write me?
You swore, that’s not excused.”

“What are you saying, darling?”
Though lightning struck at once.
“Phlox, I sent letters all the time,
Everyday at least once.

“It was you I never heard from, 
But I would not complain
If you simply were too busy, but
Perhaps your mother could explain."

Corone (or was she Phlox again?)
Could not believe her ears
But Larkspur would not deceive her.
Never had, all those years.

So, she leaned upon his back, 
As she had so long, long ago
Grasping the lilies in her teeth
With only one direction to go.

The creatures of the Everfree
Know not to get caught in the rain
For the storms here are deadlier
And running is often in vain.

The sky refused to give a light,
Save the momentary streaks 
Of lightning, and the earth itself
Moved at their fearsome strikes.

Larkspur plodded through it
Through mud and muck and murk
In all his life he never thought
He would do so much work.

Still, she needed him, and he
Could not live without his child.
He was exhausted, but pressed onward, 
Until they reached the edge of the wild.

Exhausted, he just dropped there, 
He fainted dead away,
And with what little strength she had
His Phlox dragged him out the gray.

There she met her frowning mother
Who screamed her displeasure
Joined by the sound of marching
As the guards trotted out a measure.

“I would have been safe, mother, 
Had I been able to contact
This pony I called father, 
Who’s brought me back intact.”

“But every letter I sent out
Came back with no reply.
How can that thing be, mother,
Because he’s told me no lies.”

Her mother did then stammer,
Then her eyes grew cruel and cold.
“He won’t steal you away now
That I have you again to hold”

Phlox eyed her jealous mother, 
And picked up her saddlebags
Full of the lovely flowers, 
That flyers deem as rags.

And asked the guards so kindly
To take them both away,
That their wounds be treated
And hoped they would obey. 

To her surprise, they took her
And bore Larkspur on one’s back
To a place of healing
Far from familiar attack.

And she watched him all night long,
Though her own pain was so great,
Praying to the sisters
That it not be too late.

Carried up by night winds
It traveled out so far
And, turned to fondest wishes,
Her prayer caught a star.

Who in turn told his princess
Of a pony cut with grief
And begged his lady Luna
To give her some relief.

What should little Phlox see
Before her wond’ring eyes,
Than a Sapphire princess
With teal carbuncle eyes.

At first she stood in silence, 
Then dropped upon her knees,
“Your majesty, have mercy,
Bring Larkspur back to me.”

“I’ve worn his poor heart rugged.
I’ve left him without a care.
Now to lose my dear sweet father
Is more than I can bear.”

It brought Luna a mem’ry
From centuries long past,
How, ignoring a child's wishes, she
Was one thousand years outcast.

"Sweet filly, you are almost
Now grown into a mare.
Do you need this stallion? 
What would his absence impair?"

“I’ve spent three months in luxury,
And found I did not care, 
With my natural parents
In a mansion in Bell-Aer.

“They loved me all that they could, 
And that, I can understand, 
But kept me from him that raised me
And the sweetness of the land.

“In a desp'rate moment, 
I leapt at a small chance
To find a happier place
To bring me some balance.

“And he went in to save me
From the wild and from myself,
And now he lays here dying
Too tired to help himself.”

The princess looked at her face,
Desolate and streaked with tears,
And lent a gentle tendril
Of mane to ease her fears.

“I am the guardian of sleep, 
And of dreaming and of rest
And, for a price, I can give
What will help him the best.

"But you, my dear, must promise
You will not leave him alone,
Or he’ll be lost forever,
And that cannot be undone”

“But what of my family? 
They searched for me all that time”
“You must choose for your self, child,
Before the midnight chime.”

“Do not fret, I’ll wait here.
Until you have made your choice”
Said the lovely princess,
With kindness in her voice.

Can I deny my mother,
She who brought me first to life?
Does she not bear first consent?
Her mind was full of strife

The poor girl wracked her brain 
Duty was to her who’d borne
But Larkspur bore her on his back
And had travailed all the more

And though Larkspur was humble
And had not riches or gold
The love with which he loved her
Made sunny skies seem cold

Then silently a whisper 
Brought chilling thoughts to ear.
There’s chance that he may live yet
For many, many years,

But what manner of life
Can it be called to lie, 
Upon a bed immobile
And lonely ‘til he’d die?

The picture formed in her head
Caused her to cry out
Against her fear and stupor:
The Moon turned her about.

“Restore to me my father, 
Who lies at the point of death, 
And I swear I will not leave him
‘Til he takes his final breath!”

And thus the words were spoken
And she took her solemn vow.
No laws or tribulations
Would separate them now.

She wanted still peace with
Those who had brought her to birth,
But they flew away, disgusted
That they were not chosen first.

Though it grieved her greatly,
She knew she’d not be alone.
She’d be forever grateful
To be Phlox, and not Corone.

And Larkspur lived out his days
In his cottage at the bend;
And though more could be spoken
Our story here must end.