That preview I promised

After All

Golden early morning sun cast a layer of warmth onto the small farm nestled in a peaceful gully under the towering western mountains that were too high for a pegasus to fly over and even the small ones were still snow capped this time of year. The cool dew covered morning gave the air a crisp taste and a sweet smell. Much like the everfree this frontier land was not tamed by ponies, the inhabitants lived with the land rather than subjugating it and those that had lived there for a long time could feel the coming spring rains. Today however the cloud cover was sparse as the birds brought never before heard melodies into the world to soon be forgotten by those who were already waking to begin their chores.

A cozy cottage with a thatch roof and birch walls sat at the far end of the farm opposite a small brown barn and large fields of wheat and barley. Raspberry bushes, assorted wildflowers and weeds crowded the outside walls of the delightful home, hugging the underside of the windows where they had been trimmed down to not block the view from the rooms. A tiny bird feeder hung off the edge of the roof on the left front corner, swaying softly in the barely existent breeze; a small black and yellow finch alighting on it and tucking into it’s breakfast. A little fenced area on the side of the house covered by a wooden awning had some chickens roaming around and picking little bugs off of plants, a bucket sat under a water spout attached to the wall in the corner of the little enclosure and caught little drips of water from it. The soft sounds of the water droplets accompanied each ripple drawing the attention of one of the chickens who shoved her into the pail to get a drink, disrupting the quiet of the morning.

Inside the smell of cinnamon and sizzle of a griddle accompanied the warm light, after a long winter it finally felt like spring, a light pastel green unicorn mare in her late middle age was cooking what humans would call french toast on a wood burning stove, a small metal chimney snaked its way up and out of the roof from behind the white stove. Her horn was lit up and busy squeezing oranges into juice while she hummed softly and pushed the toast around in the pan with the spatula in her mouth. She had to keep blowing up around the spatula to keep her wheat gold hair from getting in her eyes. The smell and humming made their way past the living room and down the hall, bouncing off the hardwood floor and walls made of the dark oak. The sound made it to the ear of the small human boy first and he rolled over, yawned and stretched. He tilted his head back and took a breath through his nose, the corners of his closed eyes and his lips curling into a smile. His eyes fluttering open he gazed around the room, after living here for three years he still hadn’t gotten use to it. Every morning felt like a dream waking up in a house that he could only describe as what he imagined Bag End must have been like and while he often thought of his home and worried about his parents and little sister he had come to terms with being here and tried his best to build a new life. He slipped out from underneath the big comforter and made his bed the way his parents had taught him before making his way to the washroom. The room consisted of a wooden tub, a small polished rock sink that sat on a wooden counter with a mirror behind it and door that led into the little toilet. While they had plumbing it was mostly drains the actual spickets being outside and the one in the kitchen. He grabbed the little bucket that his mom always filled up for him in the mornings and dumped most of it into the sink to wash his face with. He scrubbed with a little bar of homemade soap and a cloth before rinsing his face with the remained of what was in the bucket. He wiped his face off and looked in the mirror happily before pulling the plug out of the sink and running off to the kitchen calling ahead of himself to announce his presence, “Good morning mom!”

She looked over her shoulder smiling and tried to talk around the spatula as he rushed past her and grabbed his boots up off the ground next to the door, “Good morning dear, Hurry up food is almost ready.”

Tugging his shoes on Chris flung the door open and ran out to the little barn, the high grass kissing his legs with morning dew. He came to the barn and gripped the large door and tugged it to the side as he walked backwards dragging it open. He walked inside and looked over to animal pens; a single cow looked back at him from the second of five pens the others being empty, her name was Clarice. It mooed loudly and he smiled as he ran over to the opposite wall and tugged open a bag of oats and dried berries that laid next to a big stack of hay bails and some large farming tools such as pitchforks and shovels. Digging around in the bag he found the large scoop and used it to gather the food for her, it took three trips of him running across the barn to fill her trough thoroughly. She munched happily while Chris picked up a wooden pail and opened the gate to her pen. A small stool sat in the pen and he dragged it up next to Clarice and sat down on it, placing the pail under her udder. He patted her side and rubbed from side to side for a moment so she knew he was there before he began milking her. Up down up down up down, with the occasional moo from Clarice. He finished up while she was nearing completing her food and put everything away. He began to slowly make his way back to the house carrying the pail off to the side with both hands while leaning the opposite direction to offset its weight. He kicked the front door gently twice with his foot and it swung up, the knob golden with his mom’s magic. He waddled over and heaved the pail up onto the counter next to her before turning and heading back outside to feed the chickens.