Nopony could draw like Mama.
I remember her face perfectly even though it’s been ‘bout seven or eight years since she and Pa passed on. She had a beautiful coat the same color as ripened peaches, ready to be plucked, and wore her leaf-green mane up in a nice, neat bun to keep it out of the way while she worked the fields. Many a time, she and Pa would come back, sweatin’ like hogs in summer time, both wearin’ tired smiles as they sat on the porch and leaned against one another while drinkin’ lemonade.
But most of all, I remember those warm, sunny Friday afternoons we spent out in the fields together, layin’ on our bellies in the lush green grass while we listened to the birds singin’ and watched them flit through the orchard. and then we’d draw some of them together, she always took the time to teach me and show me how to make my lines nice and neat.
Mama loved birdwatchin’. She used to say she fell in love with Ponyville after bein’ raised in Manehattan ‘cause of two things: Pa and the birds. Course, he’d tease her and say she loved them more.
Then he’d take off runnin’, hootin’ and laughin’ his head off while she chased him ‘round the farm with a wooden spoon for tellin’ tales on her.
I miss them both, though I miss Mama most of all. So I never stopped goin’ out into the fields, findin’ a good spot, and layin’ myself down to watch the birds play after Mac and I finished workin’.
Nopony could draw like Mama. But I could darn sure try, and try I did. I came out each and every Friday afternoon after work, totin’ a bottle of lemonade, a sketchpad, and a few art pencils in my saddlebags, ready to get to watchin’. For years, I watched the birds play and sing all by my lonesome.
Then I started watching another type of flier: pegasi.
The pegasi were always the masters of the sky in old tales, and when I was a filly, we didn’t have too many of them in Ponyville. Sure, we had the weather team, but only one or two ‘round my age. and they were all more interested in flyin’ or yuckin’ it up with their fellows in the clouds back then, since our lil’ town has always been more of an earth pony farmin’ community. That’s since changed, right after she showed up.
I remember the day I first saw her in Whitetail Woods all those years ago. By the stars ‘n tides, I’d never seen anythin’ like her.
She was gorgeous. Delicate shoulders, a sort of pleasant homeliness to her build with her smaller frame and wide hips, not to mention that flowing mane and tail that seemed to taunt and tease ponies to stare, despite her wishes. Her eyes, shinin’ to the brim with kindness and love for those ‘round her even then, bored into mine for a second or two, then she ducked her lil’ head and tried to hide herself beneath the most beautiful set of wings I’d ever seen.
By Celestia, if I coulda untied my tongue in time, I’d have begged her to let me draw her. Or just let me feel a bit of soft downy feathers against my hoof. Lookin’ back, it’s for the best I hadn’t.
She’s still gorgeous, but she hated modeling. So I had to be a bit discrete when I drew her.
But that’s just fine with me. I ain’t exactly the best artist, so I can’t really do her justice. I just let her think I’m drawin’ the birds.
“Headin’ out to the Woods?” Mac asked me as I passed him by, with my saddlebags thumping against my sides. A small knowing smile was etched upon his face, he raised his brows in that darned way he knows just makes my hair stand on end.
I can never lie to Mac. Shoot, I can’t hardly lie to anypony, least of all Mac. Not after that lil’ thing at the hospital all those years ago.
Still, I played it cool. “Maybe,” I said, eyin’ the stalk of wheat he was rollin’ ‘bout in his teeth. I pushed back the brim of my hat, and countered, “You goin’ to the station to wait on your mare—I’m sorry, your baker friend?”
He nearly dropped his stalk. Bright red ears twitched, like he was tryin’ not to let me see them pin back. Mac shuffled his hooves in the dirt, then muttered, “Eeyup.”
I grinned. Got him. With a low hum, I passed him and flicked his nose with my tail. “Well, treat that mare right, or you might have Starlight after your tail. and you know she’ll give you a zap.”
Mac winced, nodding before he shuffled off toward the path into town, toward the train station.
I chuckled to myself and trotted along my own way. There were birds in Whitetail Woods waitin’ to be watched. Not to mention, a beautiful pegasus to be sketched.
Hopefully, she was in a singin’ mood today, not a skittish one.
Most ponies would think it cliché to compare their girlfriend’s singin’ to a chorus of angels with birdsong accompaniment, but they’d never met mine. When she sang, the birds didn’t just trill at random like when they were goin’ back and forth between themselves.
She sang the melody, they took the harmony. And it filled my ears with sweetness beyond compare. If caramel apples, apple pie, sunshine, and pure sugar could be put to audio form, that was it.
Fluttershy stood before a baker’s dozen little birds—robins and bluejays, and I believe a yellow finch. Her ears stood tall and proud, ready to take in their tune, and her tail swished gaily. She glided about, uttering soft corrections and encouragements to keep them on key and time. Her pale, butter yellow feathers twitched and fluffed with every breath, every movement, every sweet word that passed through her lips.
My girlfriend was in her element.
It was with a heavy heart that I sidled up to her and whispered a greeting as I nuzzled her cheek, letting her know I’d arrived safe and sound as always. She turned and smiled brighter than the sun at noontime, and darn near melted my heart then and there. Fluttershy leaned against me, I felt her feathers trail and tickle my ribcage. “You mentioned not getting to see many yellow finches the other day,” she said softly.
I caught the part she left unsaid. She invited her finch friend along for my benefit.
On cue, the lil’ fella flitted over and landed on Fluttershy’s shoulder, looking up at me with pride gleaming in his beady lil’ eyes as he puffed up his chest and rustled his wings, trillin’ out a few notes. Almost like he was tryin’ to say, “Lookit me! I’m a pretty lil’ bird with beautiful feathers!”
Fluttershy giggled and brought a hoof to her lips. “Mr. Finch says he’s happy to meet you, and he wants to know if you like his feathers and singing.”
Close. Maybe datin’ Fluttershy had some of her animal chatter rubbin’ off on me. I tipped my hat to Mr. Finch. “Afternoon,” I drawled, “thanks for comin’ out.” My gaze flitted to Fluttershy’s eyes, then his again. “You don’t mind me drawin’ you today?”
The question was more for both of them, but she missed it. I breathed a little sigh of relief. No need to bring up those past issues with modeling.
Mr. Finch began trillin’ like a flutist. He took wing, zippin’ ‘round our heads a few times, then flew over to his spot on a branch nearest to Fluttershy. Somethin’ told me that if Dash were here, she’d nudge my side and call the lil’ guy a teacher’s pet.
A part of me bet he’d take it as a compliment.
Nodding my thanks, I took a quick look around for a nice spot in the shade and trotted over to sit in the shade of an old oak tree that stretched up taller than any of its fellows. A nice old tree like Golden Oak Library used to be. Once I settled in, I took my sketchpad and pencils out, along with my lemonade bottle and a cup for Fluttershy. For when she finished up, of course.
Nopony with a voice that sweet should go without somethin’ to wet her whistle after singin’ with the birds.
Fluttershy made to turn back to her birds, though not without shootin’ me one last smile and fluffin’ her feathers such that made my heart drum in my chest. By Celestia’s crown she was gorgeous. And darned if I wasn’t lucky to get to see her like this—content, relaxed, and in her element. That fool photographer would probably sell her left hoof to get just one picture of this. Just one picture, a glimpse of Fluttershy’s natural beauty and that lil’ somethin’ I couldn’t put words to as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
She hummed a slow, melodious bar, then began singing again.
I felt a mite smug as I began to sketch. This was somethin’ I didn’t have to share with anypony.
For a moment, I stared, unashamed as I watched her at work. Her feathers twitched and fluffed with every move, her wings would unfurl and spread as her voice rose to higher octaves, she held her hoof out and in front of her, like a conductor coaxing her singers with a simple gesture. Her body shifted, I felt my breath hitch as the muscles in her leg tensed and relaxed in concert as she began to sit before her birds.
My hoof practically leapt to grab a pencil of its own volition. That was it. She was stunning, so very natural like that. A small smile, just visible over her slender shoulders, her back facin’ me, and her wings unfurled and feathers fluffin’ just enough to give a good look at each of her soft primaries. Almost tantalizingly so.
There’s one or two pegasi ‘round town that might blush redder than Mac if they got a show as raw and intimate as this. So full of emotion and life.
Scratch, scratch, scratch went my pencil across the page, zippin’ its way along the paper like Rainbow rushin’ to clear the sky. Rough lines defined her body, the way she posed before the tree full of birds, and of course her lil’ choir and the tree itself. I took the time to put a lil’ detail into her feathery friends—at least givin’ a lil’ attention to them for lettin’ me do this time and time again.
But then I went back to her. I worked a lil’ to touch up the lines, makin’ them more smooth, more defined. I took care to give her body a lil’ more shape—some rounding in her shoulders and nose, the curves in her flanks and the shadow to show a lil’ bit of toning. She wasn’t no flat figure drawn on some page, Fluttershy was a livin’, breathin’ mare right in front of me.
Any picture of her should try to capture that much. And I’d be darned if I didn’t do my best.
Mama would’ve made it look like she’d frozen Fluttershy in mid song, no doubt. Nopony can draw like Mama, though. Certainly not me, with these clumsy hooves of mine.
But Mama’s not here, and I don’t think Fluttershy would take to the idea of me buggin’ some big time artist to come over and do it with all the fancy, high-class skill they’ve got, so I’ll have to do for now. Even if she’s not exactly tickled with modelin’ to begin with.
I licked my dried lips. She didn’t want to model, I didn’t think I did her justice. What a pair we made.
I paid a bit extra attention to her wings—well, a lot more. Wings are special to pegasi. Intimate. I learned that the hard way when I was a filly, believe me. There’s nothin’ that’ll get weird looks and defensive glares with those wings folded tight so you can’t touch them than askin’ a pegasus you’re not close to if they’d mind you gettin’ up in their business.
Only reason I never asked Fluttershy was because Rainbow Dash straightened me out. That mare was mean as a copperhead if anypony messed with Shy back in those days. Still is, but the girls and I get a pass since we’re all friends.
With that in mind, I made darn sure to put my best efforts into those wings. Every feather, every shaft, I put my best into those wings. My tongue poked out of my mouth and I pinched it between my teeth as I worked to put a little detail in the vane. Funny thing about them, most ponies just draw full, perfect vanes. It’s kinda rare to see a feather without a little notch in it. So many little things can make the barbs push apart or break off, which goes into why they get preened so often.
You learn these things, dating a pegasus. And if you get to help preen, it’s a testament to the love and trust they have for you as a partner. Haven’t had that pleasure yet, but that’s fine. When it came to Fluttershy, patience and understandin’ went miles.
I didn’t notice the singin’ had stopped until her hoofsteps sounded their gentle cadence, thumping against the grass and dirt as she drew near. My heart skipped a beat, I moved quicker than a scalded cat to throw a hoof across my sketch. My cheeks burned, I’d bet my face must’ve looked like ripe Red Galas in the middle of Applebuckin’ Season.
Fluttershy stopped just a couple steps away. She blinked twice. “Are you okay, Applejack?” she asked, her voice soft and sweet as ever.
My tongue got tangled up as I rushed to reply, “F-Fine! Never better!” Cursin’ myself, I fixed a smile on my face. “Why do you ask?”
“You didn’t answer when I called.” She tilted her head, her brows knitted together in concern. I could almost read a question of whether or not I was sick straight off her face. “You seem like you’re a million miles away, if you don’t mind me saying, that is.”
I tried not to wince. Didn’t work. My poker face has never been all that good. She’d almost caught me. “I was just a lil’ deep in drawin’,” I replied. Not a lie, heavens no. Just not the full story. “You know how I can get when I’m sketchin.’”
Her brows raised, nearly disappearing beneath her bangs. She smiled brighter than the sun. “Oh! Oh, that’s a relief!” With a breathy, almost nervous chuckle, she shook her head. “For a moment, I was worried you’d gone and tired yourself out working in the fields again. I called you twice.”
Twice? Sheesh, I really had gotten lost. Caught starin’ at that gorgeous mare, tryin’ my darnedest to do justice to those wings. Mac would laugh so hard his ribs would crack. I returned her smile with a sheepish grin. “Nah, I’m fine. Sure, it’s been a mite hot without the rain the past couple days, but we manage just fine. Ain’t like Applebuck Season a few years back.”
She laughed—sweet Celestia, her laugh still sent my heart aflutter! “That’s good, then.” Her wings fluffed merrily, Fluttershy closed the distance, then sat down beside me. I felt her feathers touch my ribs again, one of her primaries teased a slow, lazy circle right beneath my shoulder. “How did they sound?”
“Beautiful,” I replied without a moment’s thought. Then I winked and rubbed my shoulder against hers. “But I think it might be ‘cos they got such a good mare leadin’ them along.”
Roses filled her cheeks and spread all the way to her neck. She ducked her head until her chin touched her collarbone. Dusty pink bangs fell over her face like a curtain, her own lil’ natural hidin’ place whenever she started feelin’ skittish. “S-So!” she squeaked, just like a field mouse. “Is it okay if I, um, take a look?” Fluttershy turned just enough to meet my eyes. “If—if you don’t mind, that is! I know you’re a little, um, shy about it!”
I sucked in a breath through my teeth. She didn’t do it on purpose, not that I knew at least, but those turquoise eyes of hers could pierce through even the hardest of hearts. I doubted I could say no if my life depended on it.
But then I remembered just what I was coverin’ up with my hooves. The burn arose in my cheeks again. I licked my dried lips, I found my eyes drawn to the blades of grass ticklin’ my legs. The page crinkled as I tried to subtly adjust so my left hoof covered a few feathers that managed to peek out from beneath it.
Her gaze flitted downward. “Oh, my!” she gasped, her eyes wide. “That’s quite a lot of detail in those feathers!”
My chin touched my collarbone, just like hers had. “Ain’t that great,” I mumbled, glancin’ off toward a few bushels of wildflowers. “Ain’t nothin’ on how Mama used to draw.”
I felt her hoof touch my wrist and give a gentle, comforting squeeze. She didn’t try to make me move.
She never forced it. She’d ask, but she never once pressed.
“I’m sure her sketches must have been lovely,” she said softly, her voice little more than a whisper.
I closed my eyes. “They were.”
“She taught you.”
It wasn’t a question, but I nodded. “Used to remind me to pay attention to all the little details so I could make things look more real. Always told me ‘bout shadin.’” I gave a short snort, and turned to meet her gaze. “Helped me see how just addin’ that little bit of shadow gave things depth, like you could just reach out and touch it, and it’d be there.”
Her smile could’ve melted the frost in the Crystal Empire, even durin’ the strongest blizzard. “Well,” she began, patting my hoof, “if you ever do want to share your drawings, I’d love to see them.”
My heart leapt into my throat. Swallowin’ a mouthful of spit did nothin’ to free it. A part of me, that lil’ voice that always nagged at the back of my mind and made me see reason if I ever thought of lying’ or shirking’ chores, spoke up. It chattered like an angry chipmunk, telling’ me all ‘bout how Fluttershy was my girlfriend and I shouldn’t be hidin’ things from her. I should share, just like I pestered her to do whenever she was feelin’ blue.
I bit my lip. I wasn’t exactly in the right regardless. I knew Fluttershy didn’t like modelin’, but I had nearly half a sketchbook filled with my pisspoor efforts to capture her beauty.
Ain’t guilt a buck in the mouth?
“All right,” I mumbled.
Fluttershy’s ears stood up. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ll show you. It ain’t all that good, mind you. I don’t really do it real justice.”
“Applejack,” she cited, squeezin’ my hoof again as a patient smile made its way across her face. “I’m not going to laugh at you.” Her eyes flitted to the page, right at that traitorous feather peekin’ out from beneath my hoof, then back to me. “You did a lovely job with the detail in that feather. I’d be happy to see the full picture.”
A nervous groan rumbled in the back of my throat. She had no idea just how wrong she could be.
Or how much she’d hate the subject. I never asked her permission.
Mama would’ve. Mama would’ve scolded me for not askin’ first.
My teeth nearly cut my lips as I withdrew my hooves. My ears drooped with every inch of the sketch I took in, I prayed that it wasn’t too bad. That she wouldn’t be upset that I just couldn’t do her justice.
Fluttershy gasped, her hooves leapt to cover her mouth. I let my ears lay flat and I reached up to tilt the brim of my hat down to cover my eyes.
“That,” she whispered. “That’s … me.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed at my shoulder, wishin’ the ground would swallow me up. And be quick about it. “Should’ve asked,” I mumbled half self-scolding, half in shame. “I know you hated modelin’ for that mare, and I know this don’t do you near justice even if you did, but—”
Fluttershy let out a choked scoff. She looked up at me, agape, then turned back to my sketch work. “Don’t do me justice?” she parroted. I thought I heard a small smatterin’ of offense in her tone. Or perhaps disbelief. Her feathers fluffed, that rosy hue spread throughout her face and into her neck, and even colored the tips of her ears. “I look like a …” she trailed off, lickin’ her lips. I felt her tail brush against my flank. “You made me look like … like I’m some sort of …”
“Angel,” I said before I could stop myself. The burn was back in full force. “I tried my best. I know I didn’t ask, but when I look at you, when you’re like this …” I rolled the pencil over in my hoof. “Yeah.”
For a moment, she didn’t speak. She just looked at the sketch, then me. Back and forth, time and time again. Her feathers twitched and fluffed, ticklin’ against my side. “I don’t mind if it’s just you I’m modeling for,” she mumbled.
My heart did a backflip. I pushed my hat back and let out a relieved sigh.
But then she muttered, “I’m not that pretty, though.”
Not that—horseapples, she wasn’t. Complete horseapples.
I set my jaw and leaned in ‘till our noses touched. “No,” I said firmly, “you ain’t pretty. You’re the most beautiful thing in my world.” Fluttershy made to argue, but I wasn’t havin’ none of it. I cupped her cheek and gave her a slow, lovin’ lick, from chin to nose.
She squirmed, lettin’ out a shudderin’ gasp. Just like she always did. “A-Applejack!” she nickered breathily.
“Hush up, you.” I pushed my sketchpad aside and shifted myself closer to her. With a gentle push against her shoulder, I coaxed her to roll over onto her back. I threw my right legs across her body and laid atop her, pinnin’ her beneath me. With a grin, I swept my hat off and tossed it toward my saddlebags. “You’re my angel,” I said, “and can’t nopony tell me otherwise. Y’hear?”
She nodded once. “Mhmm.”
“Good girl.” I licked her nose again, then stole a quick kiss that drew a squeal and a fluff of those gorgeous feathers. Her wings unfurled and splayed out against the ground. I felt her breath quicken, her eyes went wide, and a smile tugged at her lips. Much better. “You sure you don’t mind me sketchin’ you?”
Fluttershy leaned forward and nuzzled my nose in a slow circle. I felt her tongue, warming moist, trail up my chin to my nose. My eyes fluttered shut.
“Not at all,” she whispered, her lips brushed against mine. “You can draw me anytime you like, Applejack.” Pausin’ to plant a fluffy kiss on my lips, she asked, “Do you want to finish that one, or—”
I laughed and shook my head. “Nah,” I said, openin’ my eyes so I could gaze into hers. “I got a real angel right here. Sketchin’ can wait ‘till later.”
She giggled, bitin’ her lip in that cutesy way that made my chest feel like butterflies were flutterin’ ‘round. “At home, maybe?” she offered.
“At home?”
Her eyes gleamed. “If you want,” she said, “I’ll model for you. Just you.” She looked down at her wings and gave ‘em a rustle, a lil’ show she knew would grab my attention. “Wings and all.”
Celestia, what did I do to deserve this mare?
Grinnin’ like a fool, I leaned in and nosed against her, tiltin’ my head in perfect harmony as we drew in for a kiss. Our eyelids lowered, I could feel her warm breath washin’ over my snout.
Then that darn finch had to open his beak. He trilled out a mocking tune that made Fluttershy freeze in place. Her eyes went wide as dinner plates, she buried her face in her hooves. Though not before I saw her blush return. She let out a laugh that sounded one part humor, one part embarrassed.
“What?” I asked, shootin’ a glare at that fool bird. “What’d he say?”
Slowly, she brought her hooves down enough that she could look me in the eye. A nervous smile spread across her face. “He said ‘oh, go build a nest already!’” she whispered.
I looked down at her. “Don’t that mean …”
She nodded once.
“Huh.” I turned my attention back to Mr. Finch and snorted at him. “Well, he’s got wings. If he’s such a lil’ chick that he can’t take seein’ a couple mares kissin’, he can fly off.”
Fluttershy burst into a fit of giggles as she translated my retort. Mr. Finch rustled his wings and turned his back on me. Then, with a scornful chirp, he took off amid the sounds of his fellow singers trillin’ playfully after him,
With our heckler gone, I returned my gaze to the beautiful mare layin’ beneath me. I smirked. “Now,” I muttered, “before we were interrupted, I think I was right ‘bout …” I leaned down and nuzzled her nose again. “Here.”
I can’t draw like Mama. But I never stopped birdwatchin’. Never will, either. After all, that’s how I met my angel.
And there ain’t nothin’ sweeter than kissin’ a real angel.
Nothin’.