The cattle all but galloped into their field that morning, bucking and bellowing as if it had been an eternity since they had last been outside. Small calves scarpered after them eagerly, so happy to once again get out into the bright island sun which they had been deprived of for at least twenty-four long hours. Maybe more, even, the poor little drama queens.
The young mare at the gate rolled her eyes and nudged it shut behind the last straggler. The sight of them falling around would have been terrifying for anypony with less experience than she, but she was more than used to the crazy antics of her small herd. It was with that confidence that she then grabbed the bucket at her side, already filled to the brim with corn, and took a few slow steps backwards. After a moment’s hesitation, she shot forwards and leapt. The fence did not so much as brush against her.
She did not waste a second. She sped around the cows and weaved among the calves, throwing corn from the bucket with a small flick of her neck. Such a feeding routine came with ease from many a morning practicing, ever since her days as a mere filly. What with this being her first year in control of her parents’ farm, she wanted to do it right.
With that task complete, she grinned and trotted from the paddock chirpily. As per usual, she carried a certain bounce in her gait as she moved. She flicked her ears idly and swayed her head slightly in time with the soft tune that she had begun to hum. It wasn't long before the cows’ low moos accompanied her quiet performance.
Wait.
She stiffened and spun on the spot, tail clamped. She then stopped to stare at her girls, who returned her attention impatiently. A few snorted or pawed at the ground, whilst the bull began to throw his head slowly. And it was no wonder, she realised with great horror, for every corn kernel and blade of grass had now turned a horrid shade of black. And it was spreading like wildfire, with even her own fur darkening and beginning to disintegrate before her eyes.
“What the-?” she started, suddenly weak at the legs as she scrambled backwards towards the fence. But there was to be no salvation, for the wood had already begun to rot before her eyes, softening by the second. “Mama! Papa!”
She yelped and spun on the spot, suddenly aware of the painful bite of the chilly spring air against her almost featherless hooves. The cows, too, screamed; they charged for the gate, yelling and bucking as they rammed into it heavily. It held for the first blow, but only barely, and at their second frenzied attack it shattered.
And then, in a flare of bright white light, everyone froze in place. The colour flooded back to the world, and hair regrew in a matter of breaths. The posts of the girls’ paddock, too, stiffened and hardened; the cows were sent huddling in the centre, staring at their owner for some sort of guidance.
It did not last long. As she stood there, heaving and sweating and shaking, she could only watch as they realised the corn was fresh once more and began to tuck into it. Oblivious.
Ignorance is bliss, as they say. But she could not feel that relief, for all she could now see in her mind’s eye was the way her fur had literally fallen out before her own eyes.
“Quit it already,” she murmured whilst she clambered slowly, carefully over the fence. It didn't show any signs of what had just happened. “It's nothing to worry about. No one got hurt. It's harmless.”
But no matter how many times she repeated those words, over and over in her head as she fed the hens and the lambs and the goats, she couldn't believe them.
Something was coming—but what it was? No one knew.
She took a deep breath and then released it slowly, drawing small circles in the dirt beneath her hooves. It was cool and still slightly damp from the rain yesterday; in a word, it felt right. It wasn't dry as old bones as it had been a moment before.
It was right.
She smiled and stood taller as she forced her ears to prick forwards. With easily more determination than it had ever taken her before she then began to trot off, pushing off more with each step than normal. She was a cheerful mare, and one had to keep up appearances.
It was with that thought in mind that she began the pleasant trot into town, revelling in the beauty of the world around her. There was but a slight breeze now, just enough to blow the leaves of the willow trees which enshrouded the mossy rock path. A few small flowers stretched towards her as she passed. Their petals, velvety soft and painted with the bright hues of a world reborn from the clutches of winter, caressed her legs each time she brushed past; every now and then, one would so stealthily tickle just in front of her shoulders and draw a small squeak from her lips, or would otherwise assimilate themselves into her mane and tail as if they had always been meant to be there.
It was not the shortest of journeys, but it was one that she made every day at least. After a few weeks of trotting the same path, it became less of a painful workout and instead could be considered to be a therapy of a sort. Always the same, just as she liked it. She had her little routines, and stuck by them to the letter if she could. If she was to be careless and stray from the norm… Well, things could get chaotic.
Despite the early hour, the marketplace was already beginning to fill. A few mares trotted about with small foals in tow, eyeing the reddest home-grown strawberries and the largest, darkest-shelled eggs, all while keeping an eye out for the mainland delivery; it was the first of the month, a day eagerly waited for by all. It was trading day, when the island’s elders permitted the lifting of the ban on imported goods.
Since the village’s creation, every islander had taken pride in their heritage; each mare, stallion and foal had come from the same large group of earth ponies. They had fled the Vanhoover rebellions to find sanctuary someplace less dangerous, and to the present day the importance of self sufficiency was still maintained. It was an integral part of the island life and also the reason why every house was still made in the traditional, lacking-in-walls manner. In truth, though, it did work quite well. The island was not a cold place, to say the least; the fact that many ponies clipped their fur at the peak of summer was testimony to that, and even then the midday sun left many passed out on the floor at least once, if not more.
Amongst the slowly gathering crowds, one mare caught her immediate attention. A thin cloak was draped over the entirety of the pony’s body—give it an hour or so, and she certainly would not be needing that—and her hooves were fully covered by knee-high sandals. Such attire should have made her unrecognisable, but there was only one pony on the island with a tail so pearly white as that.
“Hey, Midget!” she called out, a grin upon her muzzle as she waved a hoof above her head. The white-maned mare simply continued on her way without so much as a glance back—but at the second cry of, “Chisana!” she turned around slowly. The mare sent a frown at her, and it was then that the latter realised her mistake. The scar across that pony’s eye was the thing of rumours.
“I’m over here, calf-brain,” a second pony yelled with a snicker, and she spun on the spot to see a tiny mare trotting up to her side. The small pony then laughed out loud as she reared up so as to drape her forelegs over the taller one’s back. “That mare who’s now staring at you like you're a complete idiot? That’s Magpait herself, you dolt, Giya.”
She was silent for a moment. “Wha-What?” she uttered, her head snapping between the two white-maned mares. She then backed up quickly, her chest rising and falling so relentlessly that she could have just run a marathon. A massive red blush was plastered across her cheeks as she squeaked, “Chisana, hide me!” and attempted to leap behind. But the smaller mare hardly stood taller than her shoulders, and for Giya to actually have succeeded would have been quite a feat.
“Okay, look, don’t sweat it,” she said as she nudged Giya’s side, turning the latter around. She now was faced away from the mare who watched on in bemusement. “Now, move those hooves… No, no, take it slowly, you silly filly! Keep it cool. Hey, hey, calm it. Magpait doesn’t know you, so just move—hey, steady there—normally. She’ll forget about it, I swear. That’s it, walk on, walk on, easy there…” Chisana grinned and nudged a stray lock of blue hair, deep in colour as the sea at night, from Giya’s face.
When they got to the opposite side of the market, she began to nuzzle messily through the recently set out stand before her. “Atta girl!” she said as she did so, her eyes focused behind her all the while on Magpait. The mare had since grown bored, it would seem, and had wandered off to continue whatever business she had—just as Chisana had promised. “See, what’d I say, you dopey mare?”
Giya blushed and looked away. She laughed ever so quietly as she drew little circles in the dirt absently. They quickly morphed into crudely drawn calves, of all things, to which Chisana snorted and fell to her rump, squealing as she kicked her hooves in the air in front of her. When she noticed that the taller mare was merely standing still, scowling, she quieted though and stilled. Shen then rose to her hooves slowly and shook the dust from her light grey-brown coat.
Behind them, the stand owner grumbled as Chisana began to drag Giya away, back in the direction they had originally come from. The latter moved with much more tension, now; she flinched at almost all newcomers to the market.
“Seriously, though, filly,” Chisana began, flicking her ears and letting her eyes dart about to and fro, quite evidently on the lookout for something particular, “how do you not know what Magpait looks like? I mean, I know she’s only revealed herself in the last few weeks, but her art is legendary!”
Giya scowled. “Yeah, Midget, I know who she is. Heck, I buy every carving of hers that I find! Well, aha, the ones that I can afford. It's just… I've just… I've never seen her before. And…” Giya groaned and hung her head. “Magpait’s such an amazing mare! She's selfless, giving away so much of the art that she does, and she sounds so modest compared to most of the powerful ponies on this island. But now I've blown any chance I had of getting to know her! She’ll think I'm a freak, Chi!”
The little mare rolled her eyes before she shot towards a half-unpacked stand. “She's an island treasure, filly. You never had any chance of getting to know her!”
Giya was quiet for a moment before she laughed slowly. “Yeah, I guess that probably is true…” she mumbled, trying to control her quivering lip. Before Chisana could pick up on anything, she then brushed her forelock from her face and turned away. “Anyway, I've gotta grab some hay. It's all I came down for, truth be told, so I should probably get on with it.” She began to take a step forwards but faltered mid stride. “Oh! Uh, you still up for the game tonight? Should be fun; plenty of ponies are coming.”
Chisana grinned and flicked her tail. “Wouldn't miss it,” she yelled back with a wave before she lost her muzzle in a pile of rusted old metals and rocks; with a laugh, Giya trotted away to begin her search as well. Unsurprisingly for her, it wasn’t long before she found a suitable market stall. The island’s climate was perfect for making hay, and so it was one of the few resources that wasn't often in short supply.
“Giya,” the farmer said, tipping his hat to her. She, in turn, laughed and began to look over the individual bales, sniffing each thoroughly for mold and tapping the edge with her muzzle, assessing its quality. Bunny hay was what she was after; though the cows and the ewes and the does wouldn't mind the courser stuff, she, for one, was sick of the roughage. If she had to eat hay, it had to be nice—even if it did usually cost her more than she should have been giving away.
“I’m liking the look of this one,” Giya said, giving a nod towards the bale at the end. She nudged it gently, admiring the delicate strands as she fiddled with them between her hooves. She breathed in deeply and then slipped a few small strands into her mouth, letting her eyes slip shut as she savoured them. When she peeked them open, though, she swallowed them quickly and shrunk a little under the farmer’s barely-contained snort.
“It’s just a bog-standard bale of soft hay, y’know,” he managed to choke out, but he calmed quickly enough. He reared up behind his stall and then leaned forwards so as to rest himself on top of a bale, his hooves folded in front of himself. “But, y’know, whatever makes you happy, kid. It’s yours, if you’ve got the stuff to trade for it?”
Giya licked her lips and stood a little taller, idly taking another mouthful of hay and munching happily as she rubbed her chin and said, “Wha’ oo won fur i?”
The farmer scowled this time. “Well, given that you’ve just taken a hunk out of it,” he said, “I’d best think of something quickly.” He tapped his chin with a hoof, looking her over. When his gaze landed upon her rump and cutie mark, his eyes then lit up. “Course, you’ve got your old mare’s animals now, right?”
Giya nodded, her body suddenly slouched. “My parents aren't doing so well, so… yeah,” she whispered, but that was as much as she would say. After a few moment of silence, the stall keeper then trotted around to the front and dragged the bale down from the counter. He placed it in front of her.
“Well, you have chickens, right?”
“Naturally.”
The stallion grinned. “Got any layers you don't need?”
“I need all my girls.”
There was silence once again for a moment, and the stallion hung his head with his ears fallen. Before he could pick up the bale once again, though, Giya stepped forwards and said, with her voice suddenly quieter, “I've got some young hens that aren't laying yet. Few months old; they should be working soon, but I can't afford to keep feeding them right now. There’s… uh, seven, I think. Maybe eight. How’s that?”
The stallion grinned and began to raise his hoof. “Two birds for a bale? It's nice stuff; you said so yourself.”
Giya shook her head. “No can do,” she whispered with a sigh. “A bird a bale, tops. They've got their whole laying lives ahead of them. And they're good stock. Nice breeding.”
The stallion was quiet, but quickly relented with a chuckle. “Deal, kid,” he said, extending his hoof all the way to shake hers, but she did so halfheartedly. When he took a step back, she then slipped the bale onto her back.
“Come grab the girls when you've got time—and bring the other bales with you then, if you can?”
The farmer nodded. “Sure.” He fell quiet once again and helped readjust the bale on Giya’s back, getting it into a more secure position. “Kid, I… I'm sorry I brought your parents up. They'll be fine, don't sweat it.”
Giya nodded slowly. “Hooves crossed,” she said, trying to force a smile on her face—but it was instead replaced by a curious gasp a moment later when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something: an old, rusted horseshoe, sat exactly where the bale had been before. She frowned and took a few steps closer, suddenly not even feeling the weight of the bale on her back. There was only this muddy, chipped horseshoe; for that instant, nothing else mattered.
“Hey, kid,” the farmer said, nudging her shoulder. “You alright in there? That’s just a horseshoe.”
Giya nodded slowly, but despite that asked, “D’you ever get the feeling you're missing some really big detail?”
The farmer cocked his head. “Not when I'm lookin’ at an old horseshoe, no,” he said. He scarpered back behind the counter quickly, his face a frown. “Go on, take it. I don't want a rusted old horseshoe on my stall.”
All of a sudden, Giya’s face lit up. Why? She didn't quite know herself, truth be told, but something just felt right when she picked up the old shoe between her teeth. She then beamed at the farmer and squeaked, “Thank you so much!” before she turned and ran off—only to collide head first with Chisana (or, head-to-chest) after. The hay bale fell to the floor with a thud, but Giya at least kept hold of the horseshoe still.
There was just something… enthralling about it.
“Giya!” Chisana cried, her face etched with a massive beam. She then whipped her head around and grabbed the roll of paper which was draped across her back, pulling it in front of her where she let it unravel before Giya’s eyes. “Isn’t it amazing?”
Giya forced a smile as she bent down to pull the hay bale back onto her back. She grunted before then saying, “Sure, Midget.”
Chisana pouted. “Hey, Gee! Don’t you see how amazing this is? It’s a real relic, and it only cost me a pearl!”
Giya’s mouth fell open so that her jaw crashed down onto the floor. “A… a pearl?” she repeated, her ears falling. “A pearl!”
The smaller mare nodded frantically so that her white mane was shaken up. When she paused to speak again, her hair was so fluffed up that she looked somewhat akin to a seriously windblown duckling. “Yeah, and I—”
“Chisana! That’s over two weeks’ pay!” Giya huffed and flattened her ears further. “I haven’t even so much as seen a pearl in the last few months! And you went and spent one on… on… What is it, you fool?”
Chisana beamed. “It’s a relic, I told you!” she said, trotting zippily on the spot. “See these runes? Well, they aren’t active as such ‘cos they’re just copies, as in, they weren’t drawn by a runist… Ah! But they’re still spot on, and see this ship here?” Chisana giggled as she pressed her hoof to the canvas. “Well, it’s a pirate ship! And it was powered by runes back in the day, ‘cos they’re scrawled all over the beams and everything! So it must be magic, right? Just imagine what I could find out if the copies around the edge are about this ship? Isn’t that great?”
Giya turned away with a quick swish of her tail. “Wow. Great.” She sighed and began walking away, her legs buckling at first as she adjusted to carrying the extra weight. “I’d rather buy a new cow though.”
“Ha!” Chisana said, snorting. “This scroll could contain the very secrets of runic magic, and you're worried about a cow?”
Giya rolled her eyes. “If that makes you happy,” she said with a smirk. “But that aside, I do need to get back. The girls need some of this hay and I’m starving and—” She stiffened mid stride, her foreleg raised. “Oh. Uh, Chi? Mind coming back to mine and lending a hoof quickly?”
“Giya…” The small mare sighed, but smirked all the while. “What did you forget?”
There was a long moment of silence before Giya even attempted to reply. “I… You see, it’s just that…”
“Spit it out.”
“I forgot to feed the chickens. And the ducks. And the sheep.” There was another brief pause. “Again.”
“Oh, wow. You almost impress me with your forgetfulness sometimes, y’know, ri—”
A short cough cut Chisana off, and both mares turned to the side quickly. They both knew that particular voice, even if Giya had mistaken her earlier on. Indeed, the island’s treasured Magpait stood there before the pair, a warm smile upon her face. Her pink eyes were shining with glee below the black hood of her cape. “Hello, fillies,” she said softly. With an artist’s steady hoof she fiddled idly with the feathers of her right foreleg.
Chisana’s eyes widened momentarily before she calmed down and grinned, raising a small hoof. “Magpait!” she cried. She grinned even more as the mare in question eagerly shook her hoof. “It’s an honour!”
Magpait rolled those bright, almost breathtaking eyes of hers. Why, Giya couldn’t help but wonder, did such a simple action make her legs suddenly feel like they were filled with air?
“The honour is all mine, little filly,” Magpait said, but she then turned her attention to Giya. “I am sorry. This must be a brief encounter, but I had a request to ask of you.”
“O-Oh?” Giya murmured, her breathing suddenly fast. Standing had never been so hard before.
“That old horseshoe you just laid your hooves upon…” she murmured, not quite meeting Giya’s gaze all of a sudden. When she did, her eyes were suddenly burning with a seriousness that did not seem befitting of her previous joy. “Might I have it? I am willing to compensate you, of course!”
Giya gasped. “Oh!” She lifted her hoof and glanced down at the rusty horseshoe which was now sat there. It fitted perfectly and her ears fell—but then she remembered who was asking and gasped with a squeak. It was fine; she could get another. “I, uh, y-yeah! You can horseshoe my have!” Giya laughed and grinned at Magpait, but stiffened when she realised what she had said. She glanced at the horseshoe and her glee fell further as she took a small step backwards. “No, I… I mean, I…”
Chisana snorted. “Excuse my friend here,” she said as she draped her hoof over Giya’s shoulders. “I think she might’ve had one too many bucks to the head from her cows.”
“Hey!”
Chisana struck out at Giya’s flank quickly, shutting her up. “What she wants to say is, she’ll get back to you. Right, Gee?”
Giya opened her mouth to contest, but she was quick to notice Chisana’s raised rearhoof and instead held her tongue before nodding dumbly. She glanced between the two mares at either side of her and let her ears fall. Sweat suddenly beaded on her brow and she began to fidget on the spot, something which Magpait seemingly noticed.
“It’s alright, little filly!” she cried, beaming. “I only wondered if I could have it; there are other places I can get a horseshoe, after all. Worry not, worry not.”
She turned tail and rose a hoof, waving quickly before she slunk off. She kept to the shadows with her head bowed, not talking to anypony. Giya whimpered as she did so before she spun on Chisana, scowling. “What was that for?” she cried. Chisana merely giggled.
“Did you hear yourself? Horseshoe my have? You weren’t thinking straight!” She snorted. “It’s a rusty old horseshoe but you obviously seem to like it, for whatever weird reason. No point giving it away just ‘cos you suddenly forgot how to speak.”
“I…” Giya frowned and rubbed her head with her hoof, then looking down at the horseshoe. It was, indeed, just a rusty old thing—so why did she feel like it was so special? And, even more, why did her brain suddenly go on strike like that?
“C’mon, girl. You’ve got animals to feed, right?”
“Sir!” a young stallion, his age only barely into double digits, squeaked from a large, marble arch. He danced about on the spot, his eyes flitting from one thing to the next. “Dato, Sir, there’s a ship approaching!”
“Calm down,” a second stallion, a few years his senior, said as he rose to his hooves slowly from his seat at the opposite end of the hall. His face was solemn and lacked any traces of happiness. His lips did not so much as curve at all, and his eyes were nearly void of colour. They were virtually grey, in fact, though a rich-brown tint could just be noticed if one was to stare for long enough.
But nopony ever did.
“I’ll see to the ship,” he said, his words slow and unenthusiastic. He dragged his hooves as he made his way down to the teenage stallion’s side; when he got there he forced a slight smile onto his face and tried to find some happiness in his heart to brighten his eyes, but his companion only looked away and scarpered backwards. He sighed, his shoulders falling. “Thank you.”
“N-no problem, Sir!” the younger stallion cried. Before anything else could be said, he had zipped out without a trace, only the slight wet marks of his hoof prints betraying that he had been there. Dato watched after him quietly, not even breathing for a few moments.
The stallion acted exactly the same as every other commoner on this Faust-forsaken rock. But it was no surprise; Dato’s heritage and status had that effect on ponies, both of his status and of the lowly.
“Another day, another ship,” he grumbled as he walked out onto the damp wooden dock. He watched in quiet contemplation as the vessel crept closer, gliding through the Sea’s great expanse. She was an intimidating presence indeed, those treacherous waters, but She was also the sole reason anypony had ever managed to settle here without starving. She had provided the settler ponies with oysters, one of the only reliable food sources of the time. Though there was most often enough to eat nowadays, their pearls were still regarded as the one and only form of actual currency.
Equestrian bits from the mainland were banned.
The ship which had, by now, reached the dock was nothing special. Slightly rusted at the edges and easily in need of a touch up, with its masts equally shoddy and the sails beginning to fray, it was just a bog-standard merchant’s ship.
Its crew, however, had a love for their job which Dato rarely saw in his daily meet-and-greet with the captains; they laughed and chatted happily as they carried the cargo from below deck, and when one pony got tired another would take their place. They took the wooden crates with care, never so much as letting them be jostled once. Many crews would have just flung them from the ship; it was at times like those that Dato watched on in horror as the highly-anticipated, once a month delivery shattered (quite literally) before his eyes. Though, truth be told, he wasn’t worried for himself so much as for the reprications a careless crew would later suffer.
Mainland merchants had a reputation for keeping their bits close to their side, and that was the same when it came to the goods they were trading. It was just a shame that it had to extend to him; for his whole life he had known that the family business would be given to him, but that didn't make him want it, and nor did it make him a popular pony. The majority of the islanders held a certain, to put it lightly, mistrust for the rich.
“This is your dock, sir, is it not?”
Dato stiffened and turned around slowly. Maybe others would have yelped or jumped or reacted in some other manner befitting a shock, but not he. He was beyond such enthusiasm by now.
“Of course,” he replied with a nod. Though his tail was clamped, he at least managed to raise his ears enough to make himself look somewhat interested for the mare who stood before him, a brand new saddlebag draped over her back and tied underneath her folded wings. “Is everything going smoothly with the delivery?”
The mare nodded. “But of course,” she drawled with a flick of her tail. “My crew are very dedicated to their job. And I pay them well.”
Dato’s eyebrows rose into his forelock and, for a moment, he stood taller of his own accord. It was only a moment before realisation dawned on him, however, and he slouched very slightly. A frown formed on his face. “You pay well?” he repeated. She snorted.
“Well, among other… encouragement tactics,” she said with a quick shrug of her shoulders. She flicked her tail again, and this time it made a small whipcrack sound. “But, whatever the case, I am hoping this partnership of ours will be a beneficial one. I have a whole list of ponies who love the idea of homemade, hoofmade products from this oh-so-secretive island of yours.”
Dato nodded. He was quiet for a few seconds before he found a long-buried spark of his burnt out fire. It wasn’t much, and he certainly didn’t feel the excitement he was meant to have at the formation of a new, successful trade deal—but that didn’t matter. He was no actor, but he could at least fake a smile and an almost eager lilt in his voice.
“I’d never turn down a new trade partner,” he said. The mare beamed and trotted slightly on the spot, watching him with sharp eyes. “You must be quite eager to do business to actually go to the effort of finding this place. What with the old curse, and all.”
“Well, that at least explains why my first few attempts at reaching this island were… well, failures. I can’t say I ever heard of such a curse, though?”
Dato nodded as he struggled to contain the sigh which threatened to escape him. Why was. “It’s an ancient curse, back from before our village was formed. It stops ponies who know where the island is from finding it—but it’s finally starting to wear off, which is why we started trading. It’s tough, but a good captain will be able to find it.”
The mare batted her eyelashes. “Well, I do pride myself on being a most excellent captain!” she said, a smug grin on her muzzle. After a few moments she then let her ears fall slightly and she stood taller, her nose in the air slightly as she flicked her tail. “So, I do believe we have a deal to complete?”
Dato couldn’t hold back the sigh this time—but quickly masked it by flicking his mane and trying to grin. “Of course,” he said as he turned on the spot, dragging his hooves back into his office. It was dark and cold inside—being on the seafront, it needed walls to protect it from the icy spray—but he didn’t mind. It tended to fit his mood, anyway, he thought ever so bitterly.
Dato slunk around his desk after pulling out a chair for the mare. He stood and waited stiffly, with as much patience as he could muster under the circumstances. He didn't care much for trade deals, but he had no choice in the matter; it was his business, whether he wanted it or not, and it at least paid the bills. Paid them generously, it should be noted. He didn't want for anything.
Well, anything materialistic, at least—but such was his life. He was used to it.
“I do not intend to be here for long, Sir,” the mare said as she sat down, the action making the chair squeak slightly. Dato winced at the sound, rising slightly from his own seat so that his weight was not on it at all. It only made him appear more eager, that he knew.
“I second that,” he replied. He let his eyes settle on the mare’s firmly, but she was not the sort to cower from such forwardness. She was a businesspony, as was he. “The delivery is as we agreed?”
“Certainly. And as you will see, I have upheld my end of the bargain, so I should hope you have your trade goods lined up for me in return?” The mare leaned forwards in her seat but, at Dato’s quick nod, rose back up to her hooves and rummaged through her saddlebags. From it she procured a few small documents which she promptly slipped across the smooth, polished oak table. A quill quickly followed. After only a rushed skim read of the contents, Dato then took the feather between his teeth and signed it with a large, cursive D, to which the mare grinned.
“Done.” Dato pushed the paper back and then fell back so that he was sat on his haunches, his forehooves folded. Some merchants were sticklers for detail; he was only appreciative of the fact that this mare was not.
“Thank you very much, good stallion,” she said with a glance outside. She then trotted to the door and sighed, the sea breeze suddenly making her silvery mane fly around her. “Might I ask, are there any good hotels nearby?”
Dato froze. When he didn't reply immediately the mare turned around and frowned at him, her wings rustling slightly. From his limited knowledge of pegasus behaviour, he could only assume that she was somewhat disgruntled.
“Nothing to say? I should have expected as much.” She hung her head. “Any—ugh—high class inns nearby?”
Now that was a word he knew. Though he certainly didn't go there for a chitchat so much as to drown his woes for the night.
“There’s always The Barn Inn, just a short trot away? It's probably the most… reputable of establishments here. Doesn't often see merchant patrons, though.”
The mare shrugged. “I am tired of being at sea. A night at land would be good before heading home—and I am ahead of schedule, anyway.”
“And your crew?”
“They’ll be alright on the ship tonight, if you don't mind us docking for that long?” The mare batted her eyelashes and watched Dato quietly, her wings fluffing. He didn't need the encouragement; it didn't bother him.
“Yeah, sure,” he grumbled, but quickly stood taller again at the mare’s suspicious frown. It was then that his gaze fell on the mare’s seat, and he leaned in to pick up the scrap of white fabric—a scarf, it transpired—which now lay there. “Is this yours, Ma’am?”
The pegasus snorted. “Most certainly not,” she said, beginning to trot out happily. Dato shrugged and placed it back on the arm of the chair, but not before the mare began to leave. He stiffened and then shot forwards.
“Excuse me!” he cried, suddenly realising something he'd forgotten. “I’m sorry; I never caught your name, only that of your business. Uh…” He scratched his chin before finishing, “It was High Tail Traders, was it not?”
The mare nodded. “Yes, that is correct. And I go by Platinum Bit, though I rarely get called that over Boss.” She smiled. “Nevertheless, this deal should go well. I imagine we will be seeing more of each other in the future.”
Dato nodded, then taking a step back and watching as she left. When she had turned the corner and was out of sight, he then returned his attention to the scarf, wrapping it around his neck. It was a light and very slightly frayed thing, not really of any practical use—but something about it simply called to him. It seemed special, though why he felt that way he didn't know.
It looked pretty good on him, though.
The day had passed slowly, or at least Giya thought so, but such had not been a surprise. With the excitement of the game later on—it was only a few rounds of buckball, a mainland game which had been introduced a few years ago by a merchant’s son, but it was a rare chance to unwind—the drag had been inevitable. The joy as the teams assembled in the old cow field, though, was surely unbeatable.
It had been too long since Giya had simply taken an evening off to have fun. It hadn’t been easy, though; her mother and father, ailing and weakened though they were, had practically shoved her into the game and locked the gate behind her.
The whistle shrieked and the ball was thrown up. It rose seamlessly through the air and then plummeted, speeding towards the two waiting stallions. Each shot their partner a confident grin as they raised their rear hooves in readiness and braced themselves on their forelegs. And, when the ball was barely a metre from them, they struck out simultaneously. The larger stallion overshot, but his foe’s aim was true. The ball was sent zipping away from the impact; it sped towards the opposite end of the field where Chisana skipped excitedly, a bucket balanced on a harness on her back. She giggled as she jumped up and give a buck in midair, angling the container just right so that the ball fell into it.
She did not, however, consider the impact of the ball’s momentum. The moment her hooves touched the ground it sprung back out from the bucket, hurtling back towards the other end of the pitch. Half way down, the large stallion reared up and struck it with his muzzle, giving it the extra boost that it needed to just land in an elevated bucket.
“Score!”
Giya laughed from her position, sat at the sidelines. She, too, had a bucket harness on, but she was still drenched in sweat and panting from the last round; Chisana could take her place for now. The game was only designed for small teams and this match was a friendly one all the same. It didn't matter whether the best players joined in, for it was only a means to have fun with each other.
Caught up in the action of the game, it wasn't until the play paused for somepony to climb up and retrieve the ball from the basket—being an island of earth ponies could sometimes have its challenges—that Giya took note of a strange pony lurking at the outskirts of her fields. She frowned and shrugged off the harness quickly and, after checking that the players were still occupied—they were—she leapt over the fence and in the stranger’s direction. In the dimming light of the sun it was almost hard to make them out, or such was the case until she got closer. By the time she was a few metres away, her grin had fallen and a scowl was plastered on her face instead.
“Dato, isn't it?” she spat, ears pinned. He nodded quietly, but did not say a word. “What reason do you have, coming all the way out here?”
Dato’s head sunk slightly so that his pale yellow mane, the same colour as sun-soaked sand, fell into his eyes. Giya could only snort at the feeble, timid display and she struck at the dirt with her hoof. It was the hoof with the strange horseshoe on, she noticed idly.
“I knew there was to be a match, and heard the commotion,” Dato began. Not once did he meet her eyes, though perhaps she could not blame him. “I wondered…”
Giya snorted loudly. “Don't tell me you wanted to join us?” she snapped, a suddenly cold humour in her eyes. “Don't think I don't know what you and your lot are like. You're all the same, you high-horse merchants.” She stomped her hoof and then took a step closer, eyes narrowed. Dato, taken aback, yelped and scrambled away from her. “Why would we let you join in our game? These occasional nights off are all we have to look forwards to, really… Why would we let somepony like you spoil it?”
Dato hung his head and turned away, but stiffened at her repeated loud snort. Before he could say anything, though, she hissed, “Get off of my land.”
He did as he was told without question. Once he had gone, Giya snorted once and stomped her hoof triumphantly—but found herself suddenly lacking in enthusiasm for her game. She let out a small sigh. It was as such that she found her hooves carrying her slowly, slowly from the fields and back to the house; when Chisana paused mid-match to ask where she was going, she only cried back, "I’m beat!” and crept away. Giya couldn’t help but cringe at the dull thud which then sounded when the ball then collided with the smaller mare’s cheek.
But still she continued on her way, moving each leg robotically. One, two, three, four. Breathe. One, two, three, four. Breathe. It quickly became a slow, rhythmic pattern which let her lose any interest she may have had, her brain shutting down. So much so that, when she nudged her way through the light front door to her parents’ home, she barely even noticed their worried calls of “Giya?” as she walked past. Instead, she merely carried on as if they were not there. She all but fell through the beaded curtain which separated her room from the living space, then collapsed on her rug. And then she simply lay there, still.
“Giya?” A somewhat croaky voice sounded as the curtains parted a few minutes later, to reveal an old mare. Her brow was furrowed and her teeth ground together ever so slowly. “Baby girl, are you alright?”
“Mhmm.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mhmm.”
The old mare took a slow step backwards, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears. “The game was for all of you, you know. Not just the others. We wanted to see you having a good time, baby girl.”
Giya shrugged and buried her muzzle deeper into the cover, slowly rubbing the rusted horseshoe which now lay in front of her. “Mhmm.”
There came no response but a small whimper as the old mare backed away slowly. Giya’s ears fell at the sound of the departure and the silence that she was then left with—but it didn’t last for long. Indeed, when she eventually moved a few minutes later and opened her heavy, tear stained eyes, she came to realise she was no longer alone with her bleak thoughts.
For a small creature, no larger than her hoof and cream in colour, with a single patch of brown on its belly, now floated before her. It made no sound, and only regarded her with quiet curiosity. She, in turn, eyed it carefully before letting out a breath and looking away—but, when it turned out to be more than a simple hallucination, she could barely contain her scream. In a flash she bolted upright and slammed herself against the wall, reared up and forehooves striking through the air. The little creature made no attempt to move, though, and merely smiled.
“Hey, hey, it's okay!” it chirped, wagging its tiny little tail. “I'm not going to hurt you! In fact, I’m here to make your life more exciting!”
Giya snorted and bared her teeth ever so slightly. Her green eyes flashed at the same time, a fact which the little creature didn't miss. It floated away from her slowly, paws raised as if in surrender.
“I’m only here to help you become a superhero!”
Dato sighed as he slipped into the cool water of his swimming pool, just as he did each night. But today, it did not give him the relief it so normally did. Something was wrong.
It was a few moments before he realised what, exactly, the issue was. The fine white scarf was still wound loosely around his neck, just about avoiding the water. He yelped and scrambled back, reaching up to take it off—but then a quiet voice interrupted him.
“If you want to be popular, you might not want to do that.”
“Wha—?” Dato began, spinning in the water. It was a quiet whistle which actually got his attention. “What are you?”
Something small, not so unlike the island’s native red pandas but rounder, looked up at him with dark, chocolate brown eyes. “I’m a pamilya. One of… seven, I dunno? But that's not important now. What is important, mate, is that I can give you powers. And I've never heard of a mare who could turn down a superhero coltfriend...”
Dato scratched behind his ears, kicking slightly away from the edge of the pool. The ends of the scarf got damp, but that didn't bother him particularly. “This seems like a scam,” he eventually murmured, after a few minutes of consideration. The little pamilya merely shrugged its shoulders.
“Eh, whatever. How am I meant to be scamming you, anyway? I've not asked for anything in return for my awesome powers yet.”
“Uh…”
The pamilya snorted and held out a paw. Dato batted it away quickly, though a tiny spark of hope flashed in his dulled eyes. The little creature leapt at the chance immediately. “You feed me, and I give you magic powers to save the island. You’ll be the most popular pony here. What d’you say?”
The little creature floated closer slowly until, with a whimper, Dato didn't really have any choice but to give in and hold out his own hoof. The pamilya’s paw was smaller than the nails which held his horseshoe on. “Well, I've got nothing to lose,” Dato eventually grunted. The little creature grinned—and then promptly fell from the air to snuggle up in the stallion’s mane.
“Great! You've got a good life ahead of you now, Mate.” It yawned loudly, then let its eyes close slowly. “And soon as you get me something garlic-y, I’ll explain how it all works. I like garlic. But until then, magandang gabi, Dato. G’night.”
Dato kicked his legs through the water slowly, stunned. Numerous times he attempted to open his mouth to speak, but to no avail, or at least until something caught his attention.
“Hey, little panda thing! How do you know my name?”
The only reply was a snore.