Watts Onion yawned as he sluggishly got out of his bed, moving his hooves about in a slow way, smiling throughout though his eyes were baggy.
The uncurtained windows brought in the bright sunlight into the room—rays that illuminated the room with morning beauty.
The unicorn looked around.
There was no one else there; the beds were fixed.
A sniff. "Is that...pancakes?"
And out of the bedroom he went and down the narrow hallway of stairs.
Then, at the ground floor, there he was—right in front of the dining table, right there in the living area.
Batter Sugar and Cream Glaze's house was a yellow wonder, as if to complement the sun's routine everyday. Now, with the sunlight pouring in, the house was even more yellow, even more bright in both color and light.
There were photos of the couple all around on the wall—the couple wearing aprons in front of a brand new oven, the couple teaching several students about how to bake the perfect pie (complete with chalkboard), the couple holding a first-place baking trophy quite proudly in front of lots of camera flashes and a big crowd, the couple showing the first piece of bread that they were then giving to their foal, among other fond memories captured and cherished.
A few potted plants were there. On a shelf, there were some colognes and perfumes all with an oven's symbol on it. A few couches and sofas, a table, a piano on the side, and some more windows that gave a good view of the street in front.
In the dining area proper, the oven was in a prominent position. Above the oven was the trophy in one of the photos, standing on a shelf. The counters, tools, and equipment for cooking were placed at the walls—the dining table was at the center.
At the table were plates of pancakes—but each plate had a unique kind of pancake. While the couple had normal pancakes—standard pancakes with syrup over them—there was Isobar's pancakes, for example: pancakes doused in whipped cream, almost covered in it and not just on the top for the sides were covered in whipped cream, too, so that the pancake looked white and fluffy. The pancake itself was inside, past the cream coating. Wakes Week's pancakes were soaked in syrup—maple, chocolate, strawberry, caramel, vanilla, blueberry, raspberry; the pancake had become a steaming mishmash of syrup soup over pancakes. Dally News's pancakes were cut into definite, orderly slices and each slice was treated as if it was its own pancake: slices of strawberries and banana under normal syrup and whipped cream, topped with cinnamon—for each slice.
The foal's pancake was a normal pancake just like his parents' but it was heart-shaped.
At the empty chair, there was another plate of pancakes—garnished with garlic at the crust, it was decorated with slices of onion and onion chives. A bowl of salt was beside the plate.
"Hey, Onion!" Isobar yelled before gulping down the bite that was in his mouth. "You won't believe what these guys do with their pancakes!"
Wakes Week turned around to face Onion—she nodded, smiling.
Dally News looked to see him, too, while levitating a slice to her mouth.
"That's what you get when your wife's talent is in making the best pancakes in all of Equestria," said Cream Glaze. "Kind of a happy life, isn't it, a baker being married to a (somewhat) 'nother?"
Batter Sugar giggled at that. "You're calling me a somewhat baker? Like I'm not worthy of the title, eh?"
"You know I'm just joshing you," he said, pushing her gently aside while still smiling. "Care to explain for poor old Watts Onion here?"
Batter Sugar looked at Onion. "So, what I've done here is make pancakes based on your cutie marks and/or your talents. Remember when I asked you about what your cutie marks meant last night before we got you upstairs?"
Onion looked up for a while. Then, he gasped. "Yes, miss, uh, Batter Sugar!"
"That's because I wanted to surprise all of you with a pancake special," Batter Sugar said. "Isobar's cutie mark was wind and some clouds, so I said, 'Whipped cream looks a lot like clouds.' Wakes Week's cutie mark was an open umbrella, so I thought, 'She can help and guide foreign visitors even in the rain; maybe lots of syrup will help bring that umbrella aspect out.' Dally News's cutie mark was a quill and a photo, so I said, 'What about I treat the pancakes in such a formal, proper fashion just like how newspapers are so split and sectioned?' And, when it came to you, well, your cutie mark was an onion and lightning. I still haven't the slightest idea about putting in a form of electricity into pancakes—it always ended with me burning my mane!"
The ponies there stopped their dining and gave at least a little laugh at that.
"Anyway, since I couldn't handle electricity in pancakes yet, I had to emphasize the onion part of your cutie mark. So, I made a savory pancake—I hope you like it!"
Onion hung his mouth open at another sight of his pancake. (Everyone else had resumed eating.) He looked at the mare. "Wow! I, I don't know what to say—it's the pancake that's just for me!"
The mare nodded. "Anything to cater to anypony passing by Pace!" And, with that, she got her own slice of pancake with a wing and brought it to her mouth.
"Especially when we have to get you your last breakfast before you head on to the forest before Winsome Falls," Cream Glaze said. "We're taking some of the food load off of you—want you to stay full for as long as possible out there—I don't know what's gonna happen past Pace, to be honest with you four."
"You don't have to worry about us too much," Isobar said, taking on a serious tone. "We're not here to hog your kindness; we're just here on the last stop to where we have to be for Princess Luna and for Equestria."
"That's good," Cream Glaze said. "That's good." He smiled. "Now, why not continue enjoying those scrumptious pancakes you won't find anywhere else?!"
And everyone there—including the foal—cheered at that and chowed down on their pancakes.
Later in the morning, after all the goodbyes from the family and some of the other citizens of Pace—including the mayor himself—the four took off, Watts Onion and Wakes Week pulling the cart, Dally News and Isobar—hovering about—scouting ahead.
It wasn't long before they entered the forest.
Like the forest before, this one was abundant with trees, bushes, shrubs, flowers, and other kinds of plants—plus the animals, too, for there were a lot of birds, a lot of rabbits, a few bears, and so on. Several rocks and stones were there, too.
The dirt path curved and winded about, travelling up and down small cliffs.
"How much do we have left before we actually reach Winsome Falls?" Wakes Week asked Onion who was still beside her in pulling the cart with its creaking wheels.
"I forgot." He grinned and looked at Isobar who was a little ahead, flying and turning his head here and there with a watchful and wary face. "Isobar! Do you have any idea when we're going to get to Winsome Falls already?"
"Four hours if we don't get interrupted," Isobar promptly replied.
"Four hours of just walking?!" Onion yelled.
"Heroes had to walk lots of miles before they can do their feats of legend," Isobar retorted. "You think the bad guys were the ones travelling to heroes' homes all the time?"
"Sometimes!" Onion yelled. "Daring Do, one time, had her house invaded by—"
"One," Isobar interrupted, still hovering forward but now facing his friend, "that's the exception, not the rule. As far as I know—I've heard from other Daring Do fans—she always goes to the danger, not the other way around. Two, Daring Do is not real—although, I could give it to you that she's your inspiration."
"Alright, Isobar, you win this one!" Onion shouted.
"And some more, right?"
Onion groaned. "What else do you want? You already have bragging rights!"
"Well, don't I win some and lose some?"
Everyone else stopped.
Onion groaned again, almost turning to whining. "Isobar!"
The pegasus stifled yet another bout of laughter as the four continued, with Onion complaining all the way about how "ridiculous and out-of-the-way your jokes are, Isobar!"
"You could say it's my second talent," Isobar boasted.
And thus, they continued.
After some time, they were still on the same dirt path—it had just adopted new ways of turning and curving and winding and bending. The animals did not pay much attention to the four travellers—they were busy with handling their own homes and shelters, with getting food and, for the birds on the trees, with chirping a beautiful melody.
"I'll get you, yet!" a voice bellowed.
The four ponies stopped. Wakes Week took on a defensive stance, Isobar stiffened his wings, Dally News lighted up her horn, and Onion was shaking and sweating anxiously.
"OK, everyone, keep it quiet," Isobar whispered. "We don't want to alert whoever that is."
"Maybe it's coming from that house!" Onion answered (still in a loud whisper), pointing at the brick house behind several trees.
"Look, I already saw that," Isobar whispered back, "but the shout came from over there!" He pointed a hoof to the side, away from the house.
"Maybe that's decoy!" Onion answered back. "From 'Daring Do and—'"
"Those books are not gonna help," Dally News said. "A couple of analysts have already stated that they find the Daring Do books to be, well, a little fantastical at best."
"Fantastical? What's fantastical about having an organized and trained force protecting the villain? Didn't we just have an encounter with such a force back in Pace?"
"Not this kind of organization and training, though," Dally News said. "I should know. I'm the one who talked with the analysts and co-ordinated them to make the article that's caused not a small bit of controversy in the Daring Do community."
"That's because we have analysts of our own and they're much better than—"
"Let's keep it quiet!" Isobar whispered, following with a shush.
Onion closed his mouth with a hoof.
"Listen!"
And everyone held a hoof up to their ears.
Just the song of the birds and the rustling of the leaves.
"Huh. It's gone now."
"You better get here, birds!" the voice yelled once again. "Get here and I'll give you a good owner—I promise if you just stay still and let me record your chirpings, alright?!"
"Oh, it's probably the crazy pony with the music stand," Wakes Week said. "Funny that he's here, though."
"You think we should just leave him alone?" Dally News asked.
"We've already seen who he is back there," Isobar replied—"he's probably desperate for money at this point."
"Uh, why doesn't anyone talk about the rock house that's just over there!" Onion yelled.
And everyone else looked at the house.
"Looks like that does look suspicious," Isobar expressed, scratching his chin as he flew over to the house's single-door entrance.
Onion groaned yet again. "Don't you know that a house that's just sitting there in the forest is no ordinary thing in and of itself?! Maybe this is the mystery we're to solve!"
"Hold your excitement there," Dally News said as the three of them walked towards the house—Onion and Wakes Week still pulling the cart. "Let's not jump to conclusions just yet. The Princess specifically said that she was troubled with something in Winsome Falls, not near it."
"But, maybe this house could give us a clue!" Onion yelled.
"Uh, isn't that what we're trying to find?"
"Oh. OK. Sorry!" And Onion gave a sheepish smile at her.
Dally News rolled her eyes, although smiling.
Isobar knocked on the wooden door. "Hello? Hello? Anyone in there?"
The brick house looked par for the course—it was a two-story house with normal windows and a normal roof and a normal inside—the inside had tiled floors, carpets, small tables, pictures and trinkets here and there.
The door was yanked open.
"Uh-huh?" the mare over there asked, bothered. "Anything you fellows want?"
Onion bumped into view. "May I ask why you live in the middle of nowhere, ma'am?"
Isobar slapped his friend on the face.
"This is not nowhere, and that's a fact!" the mare yelled. "But, if you want to, what, come inside and try to take pictures of me so you can show your friends and say, 'Hey, I've got a picture taken by some insane lady who lives with nopony else at all in the forest!' then goodbye!"
"N-no!" Isobar said, holding his front hooves. "We're not here to make fun of you!"
"So, what is there?" the mare asked, putting on distrustful looks, eyeing the four with severity in her narrowed eyes.
Onion pulled out his medal. "We're in some royal business, ordered by the Princess of the Night herself, Priness Luna. We hope you understand our visit."
"Give me that!"
She yanked it out of the stallion's hooves.
"Hey, that's very valuable and precious—"
The mare turned it around, rotating it.
A look of astonishment on her face.
She hurriedly gave the medal back to the stallion.
"Get in!" the mare shouted.
"Uh, OK?"
And the four went in the house.
The Earth pony squeezed the orange with only her hooves, letting all its juice fall into the glass below on the table.
"And, why are we watching somepony squeeze oranges again?" Onion asked his friends who replied with mean looks on their faces, causing him to quickly look back to the mare.
She threw the crushed orange to the table.
The mare was orange in coat, light green in mane and in tail. Her cutie mark was a slice of orange.
"Before you ask me anything else," the mare began, "my name is Citrus Fan. That's one of the few things you're getting out of me for free. Let me skip over all the complicated stuff of the events that led me here to a lonely house in this forest—it had something to do with a thesaurus, a confusion over which law was which, stubbing somepony's hoof on accident, and crashing through a store's wall. That's all you need to know."
She glared at the four with her menacing stare, picking up another orange from a basket beside the glass.
"If you haven't seen the back of my house, you haven't seen my field of orange trees. Grow them myself. Turns out the oranges being near rainbow falls—which, I guess, you're going to, since everyone who goes by my way is going to Winsome Falls, no?" A pause. "Don't answer—it's obvious isn't it? The ponies who'd been with me realized I can't truly live all alone, so I decided to do one thing while I'm here."
He squeezed the orange, let the juice fall into the glass, threw the crushed orange away, and pushed the glass forward.
"Orange juice. Yes, I'm very serious."
"But, why?" Onion asked, gathering those mean (though less mean this time) looks from his friends again.
Citrus Fan grunted. "What else can I do here? I've my own problems to get a hold of—you think being isolated here is easy? I did not volunteer to for this. It is only a necessity."
Then, she grabbed an orange and crushed it on the table.
"Get what you want and get out of here," Citrus said, hoof still on the broken fruit. "I don't tolerate ponies who waste my time. If you want me to make you a whole box of orange juice, just give me twenty minutes—I'll press out all the oranges."
"No, no, no, ma'am," Isobar said, raising a hoof and half-standing up. "We'll just have a reasonable amount—"
"Define 'reasonable amount'!" the mare broke in, shouting. "I'm not OK with mere estimates—oranges don't come in mere estimates!"
"Uh, eleven?"
The mare threw up eleven oranges in one swoop, all landing on the table with minimal rolling—none went too far away from her arm's reach.
"Weird number," she mumbled as she got the first orange, squeezed it, and filled half of a glass with its juice.
The four silently watched Citrus Fan go on with her job; no breaking of a sweat and no huffing or puffing or any other sign of tiring down—she was unrelenting in her work.
Finally, after the first eleven oranges had gone and the second eleven were done through, eleven glasses of orange juice were on the table. Then, she got a pitcher and poured each glass of orange juice into the pitcher. She closed it firmly and flung it at the four—and Wakes Week caught it close, almost spilling on to the rest of them.
"Heh," Citrus Fan let out. "Good catch. Just as I expected—sometimes." Then, her smile faded—replaced with that same old scowl. "Now, leave."
"Uh, thank you, Citrus Fan," Onion said as he and the rest stood up from the couch. "I'm sure the Princess will—"
"You send the letter," she said. "Now, leave." As if that was not enough, she pointed a hoof at the door.
A pause. The four stood there, eyeing the mare with a worrying look.
"What are you doing just thinking around? Leave!"
And the four left.
"That was encouraging," Onion commented as they moved away from the house, having returned to the dirt path that, from their points of view, had no end to it—for, after a long trudge or a long walk, it would always end with a sharp turn or a set of turns bunched up together, weaving through sturdy and stable trees. "At least we got some orange juice, though. That's gonna keep our energy going for a lot longer!"
"Don't you remember that Winsome Falls has a good enough natural supply of berries and other food?" Dally News asked. "Wakey here already picked up baskets of berries and fruits along the way—didn't you notice that?"
"What?" He gave the Earth pony a strange glance. "You really collected more food?"
"Yeah," she said, a joking smile on her face, "and you missed it. Probably because you were yabbering about how Daring Do is the perfect pony for the job. As if she's the one who portrays what a pony should do in our place."
"Hey, I didn't say everything she did was perfect!" Onion shot back. "All I'm saying is that she's mostly perfect!"
"How is that even grammatically correct?" Dally News asked. "Nothing is 'mostly' perfect. It's either perfect or it isn't."
"I won't let ancient rules restrain me from expressing myself!" Onion said, stopping and making a heroic pose.
Which made Wakes Week, who was still walking and pulling the cart, bump Onion with the cart. The stallion fell to the ground with a loud thud.
Snickers came about from the remaining three ponies.
Onion got up from his fall, brushing himself off from the dirt he had just gotten. "Very funny, guys. When I wanted humor to lighten up the trip, I didn't mean humor at my expense."
"Oh, so you're implying that it should be humor at our expense, huh?" Isobar said, taking an annoyed tone though still playful.
"You know what I mean!" Onion yelled. "Now, let's stop distracting ourselves and—"
"Stop kidding yourself!" Wakes Week said, joyful in her voice. "We're all distracting each other! And, why not? Isn't the journey fun, too?"
"Like I said," Onion replied, wearing a smirk, "not at anypony's expense."
"I thought you said 'at my expense'?"
"I've moved on from that."
And all four laughed at that before they continued on, pulling the cart through more of the dirt path and scouting out more of the area ahead.
The sun was now close to its height—late morning, almost noon. The shadows had receded to a short length, giving the forest a brighter and freer feel to it. More animals were awake now, adding to the noise of those who had been awake for some time already.
It was Dally who picked up the berries from the bushes and the fruits from the branches—levitating the pockets of food into the basket, her horn glowing that green. Isobar, at a slower speed with regular looks at the gathering unicorn, still looked about him.
Onion and Wakey, meanwhile, were talking to each other, pulling the cart all the while with its creaky wheels.
"Have you ever thought about what umbrellas meant to you?" Onion asked. "Surprised that I don't know? But, he said that I should be hanging out with you two more often and, uh, I think this is a good way to start that."
"We've already started," Wakes Week said. "But, it doesn't hurt to ask me that—better late than never, right?"
Onion nodded.
"Well," she began, "when I got my cutie mark, I was still curious about the meaning of it—why umbrellas out of all things? Sure, I've helped a few ponies out with my umbrella, but I've also helped them out without my umbrella—sometimes, a hat would do the trick of covering others from the rain. Was I going to be a weather pony even though I wasn't a pegasus?" She laughed—a kind, proper, formal laugh; yet, it was a happy laugh. "Heh, I would've sounded a lot like a filly who needed to go the Cutie Mark Crusaders, huh?"
Onion nodded. "Ah, those three fillies of Ponyville. Years ago, I only remembered one of them because she was related to one of the Elements. Now, they're getting lots of new, uh, what's the word for it? I don't wanna say 'blank flanks' but it's the only term that's coming to my head right at the moment."
"It's interesting, though," she said. "If I remember it correctly, 'blank flanks' used to be an insult straight at them. Now, they're reusing it in a more constructive way—turned the meaning upside-down and made it good."
"If they're still running about when I have a family of my own," Isobar quipped, beaming, "I'd more than happily pay them a visit with my foal."
The two pulling the cart nodded.
The four looked ahead.
A mailbox in the horizon, over there. And then, a clearing.
Sound of rushing water.