//------------------------------//
// What was 
// Story: Appleoosan kind of love 
// by Gabriel LaVedier 
//------------------------------//

	Braeburn fiddled with his bowtie before the mirror in his room, snorting softly in frustration. He twisted and turned the thing all around, but did nothing except tangle his hooves up with the oddly-shaped band. "Consarn it. How do ah do up this thing?"
"Why would you even bother with that awful thing?" The voice from the doorframe was slippery and amused, a smile actually felt through the words. Braeburn turned to look, finding his uncle standing there, in all his smiling glory. Bad Apple, the exiled scion. A warm caramel coat hugged his lithe body, while his mane was deepest black, slicked back with shining pomade, not a hair out of place. On his body was a white shirt with a ruffled chest, a black waistcoat and a black suit coat. At his neck, a black piece of lace tied in a bow. On his flank, the mark that exiled him: an apple, with bright red skin, a wedge cut out to show sickly green flesh within. "A bit of lace will always do you better."
"Uncle! Y'all came!" Braeburn dashed into an embrace with the older stallion, squeezing him tight. "But ah thought Silverstar said..."
"Oh never mind him. I know his type better than you might know. He's not going to get on me. He knows a good pony when he sees one. And knows that the ponies I snookered were cheaters. Even if he was really a hard-flank, I'd never dare miss your wedding. I'm the only one in the family to see it."
Braeburn's enthusiasm suddenly found itself dampened, his head hanging sadly. "Awww uncle, ah can't thank ya enough fer comin' here ta give me a lil bit a moral support. We're gonna need it."
"Well, as I said before, there are fine ponies in this fine town. And not all of them are Apples. Hardly any are kin. The vast majority will support you, even if a few fear Apple family power pushing down on them. And then there's all of her kin that will be there. I understand they are very much in favor of this. Good. Take heart, my nephew. It's not as bleak as you imagine."
Braeburn nodded slowly, scratching on the ground with his hoof. "Ah guess yer right, uncle. Gonna be a good crowd comin' in ta see the sights. Somma them ain't none too happy. But Celestia herself ain't got no problems, and even gave it a nod an' a smile. An' ev'rypony in town wants ta keep her happy."
Bad Apple dug around in a saddlebag and pulled out a bit of black lace, long enough to make for an effective bow. "Here, nephew. Go ahead and put it on. It may not suit that tuxedo, but neither does that hat. So it should be alright."
Braeburn took it with a nod, quickly sliding it under the collar of the shirt and tying it off at the throat, forming a slightly-lopsided bow. Once it was finished, he finally noticed that the bottom seams of the ribbon were rigid, and extended along the lace a bit. "Uncle..?"
There came a soft laugh, and a wave from the caramel conpony. "Ignore that, nephew. It's better if you don't ask. Just know that if you ever face a locked door, you have a solution close to hoof. Meanwhile, best keep getting ready. You're expected."
"Yes uncle. Gotta give it mah all. Gonna make things a whole lot better, even if t'aint what Granny Smith wants..." Braeburn went back to the mirror, to fuss with his attire.
Bad Apple silently slipped out of the door and crossed town, through the ponies crowding around and decorating the place, with assistance happily provided by the local buffalo. He had his hooves aimed towards the back of the general store, which had been set up as the bridal suite.
In there, Little Strongheart was blushingly looking at herself in the mirror. She had never been better groomed in her life. Her fur had been scrubbed, brushed, and conditioned into perfection, hanging in soft waves on her lithe, gracile body. Her headband and feathers remained on her head. It was not at all interrupting her other head-accoutrement, a filmy veil, which was flipped back to allow her to see herself being made over. Her eyes had been shadowed and eyelashes enhanced with mascara. Light touches of blush and lipstick had been applied, in amounts that suited her face. On her body was a lovely white gown, fitting slightly oddly on her form. "I feel this may have been a mistake..."
"Oh I do hope not." Bad Apple was there at the door, leaning against the frame, his presence causing the three mares in the room to jump a bit. "I'm looking forward to this."
"Oh! H-hey now, who are you? Where did you come from and what are you doing here?" He was suddenly confronted by a light-colored mare with a messy mop of bright orange atop her head, a country hat precariously perched upon it.
"Please, please, peace!" Bad Apple didn't even flinch, just smiled his snake-oil smile and slowly strolled into the room. "I'm on the groom's side for the wedding. More specifically, well... she knows who I am. I'm certain Braeburn has informed her of me."
"Yes. I know this stallion." Little Strongheart turned around and slowly moved over to the pony. She brought him into a strong, warm embrace, squeezing him with great force, almost making him squeak. "I am so glad you are here. You have made my future husband so happy, knowing that some family will be with him. I thank you."
"It's only right. I should be here for him because he is doing a wonderful thing. You will be wonderful for him. I know you two will be blissfully happy together. And I am going to be there for the two of you in an... official capacity."
The buffalo maid tilted her head slightly, looking curiously on her future uncle. "What sort of official capacity do you mean?"
In place of a verbal answer, the stallion reached into his saddle bags and pulled out a small, brightly-colored pamphlet, prominently stating, 'So you want to Hybridize' on the cover. The attending mares all giggled and looked knowingly at one another. "Sooner or later, you will need someone for this. And I am offering myself as the one."
The young cow looked over the pamphlet for a moment and then blushed, the redness showing past even her makeup. "O-oh... I see! Yes, that will be wonderful. It is most generous of you to donate your time."
"It is my distinct pleasure. It's truly the right thing to do. And don't worry about your dress. Even if it was cut for a pony, you're the one wearing it. He won't care how it looks on you, because he has eyes for you. Plus I would imagine he will very much like how it looks on the floor." Bad Apple slipped out of the room to a chorus of laughter and soft, scandalized squeaks from Little Strongheart .
Bad Apple was back out on the streets, occasionally lending a helping hoof to the decorators, sprucing up the town with a full measure of pride and commitment. It was his nephew, after all, and he wanted everything to be just so for the happiest day of his life.
The ceremony was being held in the center of town, which had been set up with flower-bedecked arches surrounding the altar which had been set with various objects significant to both ponies and buffalo. Behind the altar was spread the grand banner of the newly-united Equestria, glowing sun cupped by the crescent moon. Bad Apple was actually stricken by that image, for some reason. He was taken back to his childhood, to a moment with his brother Blenheim, 'I wonder if she's lonely.' Probably not. Not surrounded by courtiers and her sister. And the Grand Galloping Gala was coming once more. The second of the new era, when she was promised to be in attendance.
The grand banner was not mere window dressing for the sake of looking impressive. There was actually a member of the government present that day. Peppermint Pinfeather, the sitting Minister of Inter-Sentient Affairs. He was a slightly-heavyset and jolly-looking hippogriff. At the forepart he had the head and body of a booted eagle, and the wings thereof; his trunk was a lion's, but in a reddish tone with white accents; his rear legs were pony legs, with the same reddish-and-white tone; his tail was a lion's tail with a tuft at the end, and long pony hair growing from it, with a red and white striped pattern going down it. He wore a sharp, black suit and a small set of rounded spectacles on his beak.
He stood up before the assembled with a wave, receiving a thunderous stomping-ovation from ponies and buffalo alike. He cleared his crop and opened his forelegs in a grand, sweeping gesture. "Ponies! Buffalo! Friends, and truly united Appleoosans and friendly inhabitants of the land known as Equestria! You have become, in the eyes of Canterlot and your fellow citizens, truly notable and celebrated beings! On this day, this wondrous day to be remembered in the annals of our land, you unite two members of your respective lines, in a bonding of love, trust and mutual adoration. To unite hearts and communities, sealing with a kiss your close companionship, making your two groups one.
"Now I know... unification is never easy. Becoming one always involves a history of friction and prickling. Otherwise you would have been one at the start. But, it CAN happen. No matter how long you have been known to one another, or how recently it has become a matter of consideration, it takes only cooperation, understanding and, at long last, as the final step, love. The blending of two strangers to make one. The final act of unity. The ultimate unification of flesh, blood and heart. To make a bloodline without division. Oneness. Harmony. The thing for which we all strive." He clutched a talon to his chest, heaving an emotional sigh while tears built at the corners of his eyes. After a moment he resumed. "My parents, even in an enlightened age and place, knew the pain of friction, but came together. And even I faced a bit of a problem from the ponies around me. I continued on. And here I am. A government member, in a vital position. And it becomes my distinct and great pleasure to serve as the Equestrian government witness, to officiate this marriage ceremony. Speaking of that, we must get to it. But first, I understand the father of the bride and the officiator of the second half of this celebration wishes to speak. Chief Thunderhooves, the audience is yours."
The great buffalo leader strode up to the altar to great cheering and stomping. He nodded his large head, shaking the feathers of his headdress, before beginning his speech. "My people, old and new, I may call you all my people now. We will be of one herd now. We will honor your Princess, respect her ways and yours, become one with you so far as we may while maintaining our own ways. You are our neighbors, our friends, and now, one of you will become my family. I welcome this, most openly. I hope for a long, warm period of peace and plenty!" The chief stomped his hooves to enhance his words, the audience hooting and stomping their hooves.
Peppermint applauded the chief's speech and stepped back up to the fore. "But, enough of the abstracts. The time has come for the actual event. Music! Let's get this show on the road."
The music began, a traditional Equestrian groom's march. Braeburn moved down the aisle, his uncle at his side. They were an odd pair. The riverboat-rider wearing almost the uniform of the rivers, while the farm pony looked incredibly awkward in his rented tuxedo and personal hat. The unifying detail about them, the black lace at their throats, somehow diminished all the disparity, making them look good. Once they were at the head of the aisle, the music ceased. Then Chief Thunderhooves nodded and spoke. "Good. Begin the music."
There was a sudden chorus of unfamiliar music, the steady thump of drums, with background rumbles from deeper drums occasionally, and the airy, ethereal whistle of pipes. All heads turned towards the back, several ponies gasping softly, Braeburn chief among them. There she was, Little Strongheart, veiled, in the beautiful white dress, her feathers sticking up to add a lovely artistic touch. She was alone, her bridesmaids already at the head of the aisle. As soon as she reached the head of the aisle the pipes stopped and all the drums thumped out once, loudly.
There were two ceremonies, both reasonably elaborate, embellished and enhanced with all the optional pieces for the sake of spectacle and grandiosity. The full Equestrian ceremony involved setpieces representing the six Elements of Harmony being passed between them with promises to fulfill the represented element interpersonally and in married life in general. For the buffalo celebration there was a great amount of ritual chanting, involving responses from the couple, with Braeburn allowed to answer in Equestrian, along with the scattering of dust, the touching of the couple with various desert plants, and the placement of a feather in each one's headgear, giving Little Strongheart three and Braeburn a single one.
The two ceremonies were concluded as one, with the exchange of golden rings placed on each other's left legs, and a kiss which inspired a gigantic, terrifically-loud cheering, thunderous stomping and the tossing of not a few hats and bonnets. The cheering was loud and long, and faded out slowly. But what did not fade was the kiss. That took a gentle nudge from Braeburn 's best stallion, both newlyweds pulling apart with dark, hot blushes.
The ceremonies done, all the town, ponies and buffalo alike, went off for the reception, leaving the happy couple behind, with Bad Apple by their side. "So... this is it. You did it. I never figured it would be you. Always thought it would be Big Macintosh. Or Applejack. At least she's engaged now. But you two... You two... congratulations." The stallion came into hug his niece and nephew.
The two younger folk hugged the stallion tightly and smiled at him. "Ah sure am glad you was here, uncle. Ah'm jes... ah... ah was so afraid. But y'all was right. The town came out fer me an' Lil' Strongheart. Ah can't thank ya enough."
"Yes,  I too want to thank you, very much, for standing with us so strongly. You have inspired my husband to strength and certainty, and that is why we are here." Little Strongheart gave a tearful kiss to Bad Apple’s cheek.
"It's my pleasure you two. You're going to go far. Don't forget to contact me when the time comes. You'll need me for... certain things." He gave a saucy wink to the couple, and got a scandalized laugh for his troubles.
"Uncle... y'all do have yer ways about ya. Ah swears ya have got an endless supply a'somethin' in ya." Braeburn shook his head with a wide grin and gentle nudge against Bad Apple's chest.
"I do it all to help those who need it. For example, I helped you AND your bride by reassuring her that her dress was perfectly fine, through assuring her that your concern would be more for the way it looked, not on her, but on the floor..." Bad Apple staggered back with the sudden force of Braeburn's laughter, Little Strongheart burning with a tremendous blush. "So, your wife is ready for your physical interest. Not that she isn't already, I'd guess..."
"Uncle..." Braeburn suddenly joined his wife in a blush, and fanned himself with a hoof.
"None of my business! None at all. Best get out to your wedding reception. You should get a chance to eat your own food. And they need you there to cut the cake. Plus, wedding presents!" Bad Apple clopped his hooves together and rubbed them, with a playfully-greedy grin.
"Yes! I have been told we shall receive many lovely gifts to decorate our home!" Little Strongheart pranced in a circle with a bright smile.
"Well... don't getcher hopes up too high, darlin'." Braeburn gently placed his hooves on his wife's shoulders, giving them a warm rubbing. "Them folks wants to be seen and impress them other folk. But they ain't gonna be that generous when they ain't gotta be named. Prolly gonna be a powerful small pile of presents."
"Well, don't sell your townsponies short so quickly. Plus you get gifts from her family. I do know one thing for certain, you're not getting a gift from me." Bad Apple looked to the sky then stretched out casually.
"Wha? Uncle? What are ya talkin' 'bout? No gift? Ah mean, if ya wasn't plannin' on gettin' us a gift ya sure as shoots didn't need ta tell us that."
"Oh I plan to get you a gift. I plan to get you something magnificent. Thing is, there are no promises in my... let's call it a line of work and leave the more specific definitions to the ones writing tickets. It's all a wink and a hope. But I CAN promise you one thing, my kin...I will do my level best to deliver. But for now, I've gotta go and get to doing it." With a final hug to his niece and nephew, the enigmatic stallion trotted off slowly into the dusty distance, off to the mysterious lands that so often held him.
The two young ones stood there, just watching him go. After the dust began obscuring his form Little Strongheart drew her husband along. "Come. He was right. We have gifts and food and especially a cake to enjoy."
Braeburn stared off for a bit longer, catching the very last bit of his kinspony vanishing before he shook his head and familiarized him self with the phrase every husband learned by heart, "Yes, dear."


- - -


Time passed, the seasons and society rolling along with a lazy regularity. Despite the high-minded intentions of the grand ceremony and powerful words, things became merely cordial between the buffalos and the ponies, but there was at least peace and trust. The relationship that had spawned the initial focus, however, remained on the lips and minds of the finest ponies in Equestria, which kept some measure of attention focused on Appleoosa and made everyone there more aware of their status.
Braeburn had been changed, somewhat, but not too much. He was no longer working in the apple orchard, because the managers were kin, and they were instructed to have nothing to do with him. But as they did not own the town, and were still under scrutiny, could not just throw him out of town. He worked in the grain fields and occasionally the mine. He may have been slight and slim but he was still an earth pony and he still had his strength. It wasn't too bad of a life, it was hard, honest work, and it supported him and his wife.
Little Strongheart, for her part, had learned to cook and work wood, making her a natural for carving and working in a local restaurant. Her status as a local celebrity made it very popular, while her cooking and pleasant conversation made it very successful. The carvings she made on the side, as a kind of hobby, were snapped up by the Canterlot elite as genuine buffalo artworks of great significance, bringing in more bits. Between the two, their lives were far more than comfortable.
But there was something missing, and both of them could feel it. A kind of added coldness from the citizens of Appleoosa that were very much in the pockets of the Apples. The rest were most pleasant and cheery enough; the allegedly-unaffiliated were only cheery and agreeable when there were outsiders there that could press more strongly on their reputations than the Apple family members could. They wanted that “more", but kept in their heads the idea they could never have it.
One day, when Braeburn and Little Strongheart had the day off, as they often did in order to enjoy one another's company, there was a knock on the door. It wasn't exactly uncommon; there were occasionally buyers for woodworks, a reporter from one of the more distant dailies once in a blue moon, or one of the local occupants of the town wanting to shoot the breeze, sometimes a foal or calf looking to hear the story of their meeting again. It was a local citizen, one of the ones that had been distant and cold. He held out a gift box with a smile. "Hey there you two. Listen, I, ah... sorta dropped the ball on the wedding gift. So... here you go." After passing it off, he turned and cantered away.
"Powerful strange, that..." Braeburn looked down at the gift in his hooves. Where it was joined by a second, placed there by a blushing mare who turned and galloped away. "Ah'll be..."
"What is going..?" Little Strongheart was stopped by a small pile of wrapped parcels, deposited by a small collection of smiling ponies who ran off afterwards. "Is this a pony custom?"
"T'aint no pony custom ah know of..." As Braeburn contemplated the gifts, he noticed a pony approaching. "Cousin..." It was his kinspony, Rootball Apple. A brownish earth pony with a dark black mane shot through with white and red streaks. The main overseer of the orchard, since Braeburn had been moved along to his new situation.
"Braeburn..." The pony sheepishly stroked his mane and looked down at his hooves. "Well... y'see..."
"Ain't y'all s'posed ta keep yer distance and hold yer tongue 'round me 'n' mah bride? Didn't figger YOU, of all folk, fer the kinda trend-buckin' maverick y'all are seemin' right now. So what's yer game, Rootball? What more'r you gonna try 'n' take from me? Y'all can't take what matters, less'n y'all an' th'other kinfolk means ta do harm ta mah wife. In which case, ah'd love ta see ya try." Braeburn snorted, a kind of injured hatred in his steely eyes. All the lack and emptiness was gathered up in that gaze, transformed into daggers glared down at his kinspony.
Rootball deflated like an old balloon, not an ounce of fight in any nook or cranny of his being. He was nothing but the ultimate show of absolute submission and defeat. "We was never gonna do nothin' like that. We never hated yer lovely wife. We was jes... doin' as we was told."
"Yea. Y'all was good at that." Braeburn sniffed and started to turn away from his relative. "Gitcher carcass offa mah property. It's still mine."
"Braeburn..." A hock came out and hooked around Braeburn's leg. Rootball looked up with shining eyes. He was a being made of contrition, authentically, organically. "The word done come up. We need ya back at th' orchard. Ya was always good at managin' it; ya cared fer the trees and they always grew such good apples... Braeburn , she said we could see ya. You 'n' yer bride. Y'all are back on the family tree, right under yer momma. Right where ya was."
Silence. Long and heavy. Braeburn looked down, dry-mouthed, at his cousin, barely moving anything more than his head and eyes. “What are ya tryin’ ta say? The word done come up? Y’all mean..?”
“Yup. No restriction.” Rootball slowly rose and nodded sheepishly to Little Strongheart. “Ma’am. Have a pleasant day.” The stallion turned and walked away, leaving Braeburn and Little Strongheart silent and confused.
Over the next few weeks thin streams of back-wedding-gifts trickled in, along with contrite apologies from family and townsfolk. Things even came in from out of town, offering genuinely-happy sentiments for the union. But through it all nopony told them what had actually spawned such a sea change in an iron overlady like Granny Smith.
“Telegram! Telegram for Braeburn and Little Strongheart Apple.” The Pegasus mare at the door was a bright blue, with electric yellow hair. She was wearing a skintight uniform of red and darker blue, with a lightning bolt logo on the sides. “Man, no wonder they hired a super-fast delivery service. This place is the BOONIES.”
“Yea, well, y’aint gotta live here if’n ya don’ wanna.” Braeburn took the telegram envelope and passed along a generous tip to the mare, who zipped off with a smile. “Sassin’ ‘bout our town like that. It’s a beautiful town…” Braeburn opened the letter with a slight scowl, eyes scanning over the paper. As he read his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped, the telegram falling from his grip, leaving him staring at nothing.
“Dear? What is the matter? What happened?” Little Strongheart considered her husband, who looked out unblinkingly. She took up the telegram and began to read it, gasping softly.

NEPHEW AND NIECE STOP
WON YOUR READMISSION FROM GRANNY SMITH STOP
GAVE UP OWN CHANCE BECAUSE WAS NOT NEEDED STOP
ENJOY YOUR WEDDING PRESENT STOP
KNOW YOU WILL BE HAPPY STOP
SAVOR LIFE STOP
I CAN NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN STOP
B

“He… he… Granny Smith…” Braeburn worked his jaw and let out what few words that came into his head but swiftly flew out of his thoughts as they swirled around in his brain. “That’s why they was all so nice…”
“What does this mean? He may never see us again? I thought he was going to be… here for us when the time comes for our calves?” Little Strongheart looked over the message, a puzzled expression on her features.
“Well darlin’… he ain’t exactly… welcome in the family. Ain’t no explanation savin’ his griftin’ ways. But ah never believed… but, Granny Smith exiled him. An’ me. But now we’re in the family again. They can be kind and talk again. But we’re in the family, so we can’t talk ta him. He may as well be dead ta us.”
“Dead to us…” Little Strongheart mused on the statement, while she snuggled in against her husband, who had begun to softly weep.


- - -


Later still, things in Appleoosa had returned to a previous normalcy that made things more relaxed, warm and comfortable. With no restrictions against Braeburn, and with him back at his former position, the town hummed along with great energy and efficiency. And it made Braeburn exceptionally happy.
“My dear?” Little Strongheart approached Braeburn as he lounged out on a sofa, humming pleasantly to himself while he flipped through the local paper. Good news and chili recipes. Plus a society page concerning the doings of the nicer and richer hobby farmers of the region.
“Yes, love? What’s on yer mind?” The paper came down to show off a smiling face, radiating perfect contentment. “Did y’all see this? Miss Bell done got herself involved with Howling Gale. Good on him! Ah always knew it was gonna happen. He did shoot her the nicest looks.”
“Yes, I heard much about it during the last tribal stampede. I gave him much encouragement. But… I need you to come with me. It will be a long journey, but it is one we must take.”
“What is it? Somethin’ the matter out in the tribe lands?” Concern immediately leapt to Braeburn’s face, the paper coming down. He rolled off of the couch and went to his wife’s side.
“No, there are no problems. But it… I wish for it to be hidden for now. I need you to trust me, and come with me.”
“Ah’ll always trust ya, darlin’. If ya say it’s important, and ya say ya wanna be mysterious, ah’ll follow ya at th’ ends of th’ world.” Braeburn swept a leg grandly, drawing his wife in for a passionate kiss.
Little Strongheart held tightly to Braeburn, taking the kiss as deeply as possible, and holding it nearly as long as she had on the day of their wedding. They parted with a gasp, and she blushed as she turned towards the door. “Th-thank you. I see, every day, how right it was to fall in love with you.” With a flick of her tail she leapt off, with Braeburn galloping at her heels, keeping pace remarkably well.
They broke from the confines of the town, and beyond the loose demarcation line that identified Equestrian exclusive land from the co-sovereign buffalo tribal lands. Normally ponies were allowed but given certain scrutiny if seen by buffalo, as their laws were largely ascendant within their territory, but Braeburn was by law and tradition one of them, so had no restrictions.
The tribal lands were very pristine, even more so than the pony lands. There were no built-up areas per se, though there were loosely-tended areas providing the necessary food plants, medicinal herbs and traditional gems. It was, in some sense, somewhat similar to how things worked in the much more traditional zebra lands. Equestrian ethnologists were having a wonderful time exploring the similarities and writing long papers on both cultures.
Though the land was flat there were still localized rises and divots that could obscure areas. One such gentle rise hid something off in a distance, what looked like a cactus grove intermixed with other native plants, and also large, standing stones. Their thundering hooves led them towards the cacti and stones.
Braeburn strode slowly as he approached the area, falling further behind Little Strongheart. There was almost a palpable aura of magic. He felt the land’s mana, his earth pony body nearly tingling as he strolled among the cacti and stones. It was so powerful. It was like being in the orchard, but with a far greater impact. “What is this place?”
“It is a sacred site to our tribe. It is here we honor those lost, and the great chiefs and stampeders, in legend and in our days. When a tribe member dies we honor them here. When a chief or medicine-speaker dies, we set a stone for them and let it grow. But as well, if one who means much has died, we may set a small stone and an object to represent them. And we who lost them may come and honor them.” Little Strongheart slowed and stopped, to allow her husband time to catch up to her.
The plants and stones loomed, adding to the immensity of the place, a pressing force of mana and history, making Braeburn shrink down a bit, in awe and respect. His trembling hooves took him to his wife’s side, finding her by a low, red stone. It was vaguely cylindrical, like a tiny version of one of the pillar rocks found in the local canyons. It was very unassuming, save for the single piece of decoration on it. A piece of black lace, tied into a bow near the top. “Ah see…”
“He walks Equestria. And we may call him to support us so we may have children. But as you said, when he told you what he had done for you, to us and your family, he is dead. We may honor him here, he who gave strength.” The young cow knelt down and touched her head to the stone, beginning to chant something softly in the buffalo tongue.
Braeburn stood and watched for a while, feeling the subtle drift of the heavy mana flow change. A unicorn probably felt such a thing all the time. But here there was so much, and of a type he knew, he could actually note the subtle ebbs and flows. He silently moved to his wife’s side, and went to the ground as well, bringing his head down to touch the stone. “Can ya… teach me that?”
The chanting ceased, Little Strongheart slowly sliding across the ground to press against Braeburn’s side. Her head came to rest against his, and her lips moved, slow and steady. Every syllable stretched and over-pronounced, made comprehensible and digestible to a foreign ear and foreign speaker. He repeated, just as slowly, with trembling and faltering. But they went on, slow and even, praising in unity the memory of a pony that was not gone, and giving honor to one vilified.