Tikbalang didn’t see him again for a long time. The rain fell, then the leaves, then the snow, then more rain. Seasons passed without Plum coming back to work on her house. She did notice the passage of time, and she even counted the days. She was acutely aware of time, much to her annoyance. She didn’t mind its passage, but it was strange to her that she could keep track so well now.
It was two years before she saw Plum again, the summer vines climbing the walls of her house passing from a lively green to a solemn and darker one for autumn. He came not with his cart this time, but a strange package on his back, and he walked with slow and heavy steps. His beard was long, his hat was frayed, and his clothes unwashed. She went to open the door and greet him.
He watched the door open of its own accord and looked at her with sunken and unhappy eyes. He pulled the bundle off his back and cradled it in his hooves. “Tikbalang, I am sorry once again. In my foolish happiness I was blinded to the promises I had made to you as thanks for blessing my life. I forgot to fulfill my promise, and as punishment, you have taken my wife from me.” There was no malice in his voice, just a deep sadness. “I refused to come back after I realized what had happened, and for the past year I have sat blaming you for her loss. But it was never you. I made a promise, and I broke that promise.”
He held out the bundle, and Tikbalang could see that inside it was a sleeping foal, similar in colour to its father.
“I want you to meet my son, Glory Seed. I will come back, Tikbalang. I will finish what I started. I am sorry,” Plum Pudding said.
Tikbalang looked down at the foal in his hooves, and sighed. “I accept your apology.”
Tikbalang didn’t think he had anything to apologize for. He had a wife and a foal on the way. She wasn’t mad at him for forgetting her. In his position, she might have done the very same thing. She was a little upset that he thought she was the one who had punished him for his transgression, but there wasn’t anything she could say that he would understand. Her acceptance of his apology was what he had come seeking, and so she gave it freely.
Plum pulled his son back to his breast after he felt her speak, and hugged him close. He looked up at Tikbalang’s house, his eyes flickering over it and making assessments of where his neglect had left him. The windows were still intact, but the finish on the outside was even worse than it had been and the overhang on the porch was falling apart. It was only a little worse than it had been, but he still had a lot of work to do. Plum Pudding nodded to Tikbalang, then placed his son on his back, turned around, and walked away.
Tikbalang saw Plum Pudding coming as soon as the sun was up the very next day. He had his cart, and he walked right up to the door. She opened the door for him and he walked in without a word. He worked through the day, fixing rooms on the inside of the house. He even brought the correct wood for the window he had made a mistake on two years ago. When the day ended, he had made a good amount of headway on the house. He was catching up on maintenance with as much haste as he could muster.
As he left, he turned to the front door and bowed deep. “Thank you, Tikbalang. I will make this right.”
“I believe you,” she said in response.
He left without saying anything more.
He came back the week after that, worked hard and in solemn silence, and left with a quiet goodbye. The week after that he showed up, worked, and left. The week after that, he brought a small bouquet of flowers and offered it to her in addition to the work he was doing.
Tikbalang noticed that he had forgotten to remove the note placed in it with his name on it. It was from a mare named Angel Food asking him if he would like to come to dinner at her place. Not very subtle, but a little bit flattering. Mind you, Tikbalang did not have the loss of her special somepony still fresh in her mind, so she couldn’t blame Plum for not wanting to go.
She watched him work, sitting nearby as he hammered, sawed, sanded, and stained. He was throwing himself into his work with a fervor that was a little intense. Trying not to think, Tikbalang thought. When he left that day he was tired, sweaty, and silent, leaving without even a goodbye.
He didn’t come by again for another month after that, and only showed up for half a day.
“The harvest is happening, Tikbalang. I will be gone for a month or two as we get that taken care of, then I will come by, weather permitting,” Plum Pudding said. “Winter is upon us soon, and it will be difficult for me to come by, but I will make the attempt. If I do not show, it will happen in spring. Please forgive me.” He bowed deep at her front porch.
“I do not mind. Take all the time you need,” Tikbalang said.
He straightened up, his mouth a tight line, and nodded. He turned and left, cart rattling along behind him. As he left, Tikbalang shook her head. He was working himself too hard, and he wasn’t taking care of himself. It was a delicate position he was in, and she understood, but he needed a reason to keep himself together. She didn’t know how to tell him, though.
Plum Pudding didn’t manage to come in fall, as the snows fell early, and the heavy drifts kept the town locked in on itself. Coming all the way out to her house would have been difficult and foolish for a lone pony, so she waited, counting the days.
It was odd that she recognized time was passing. She remembered passing the winter months here in a similar manner, a long time ago.
She stopped, alarmed at the thought.
She remembered.
She did. It was a clear memory, floating in isolation among the rest of her thoughts. Winter months spent playing in the snow, sledding down the hill nearby. She would drag the sled back up with her magic when she was older, horn alight with weak magic as she struggled back up the hill.
Magic?
She brought a hoof up to her forehead, and sure enough, there was a horn protruding from her head.
She was a unicorn.
She looked down at herself, and for the first time in a long time, actually looked and recognized herself. She had hooves. She was wearing elegant shoes and socks that looked expensive. Not the kind you’d expect a pony to wear out in the middle of a forest. On her body was a simple loose garment tied at the middle with a sash. She pressed a hoof against her face and head and found a circlet of some kind with what felt like a gemstone in the center.
She had really noticed herself for the first time in what must have been years. How long had she been here? Why had she been here? Why didn’t she ever need to eat, drink, or sleep? Why was she living in the forest in the first place? What was her name!?
Tikbalang fretted over the realization that she was a pony, or had been a pony at one time, who lived here for a reason. Try as she might, she could not bring to mind any further information about herself, or her reasons for living here. It haunted her all through the winter months.