Wind Shear surveyed his garden. Everything he’d grown (or more accurately, ‘hadn’t managed to kill’) had been brought in for the winter, leaving everything looking just a little bit barren. Even the white wooden fence looked a little sad, though that may have been because he had never gotten around to fixing it from the time he'd flown back through that storm and it was still being held together with string (which was sagging and stretched and looked pretty sad itself). Or maybe it was because the rest of it looked a bit worn with age.
He felt eyes on his back, and he slowly turned around. Morning Glory stood there, just off his property, wearing a long pink smock. She didn’t say anything. He didn't say anything. They just stared at each other.
“Hey,” he finally said.
“Hi.”
There was a long pause.
“I like your outfit,” Wind Shear said, a teasing smile flitting across his face.
“Thanks,” Morning Glory said. “Borrowed it from a friend. It looks better on her, though, believe me.”
There was another pause.
“You're not yelling,” Morning Glory said softly. She cracked a half-smile. “That's comforting.”
Wind Shear snorted a laugh. “What, were you expecting a welcoming mob of torches and pitchforks or something?”
She shrugged. “Wouldn't have surprised me.”
There was yet another pause.
“Are you… mad at me?” she asked.
Wind Shear pursed his lips. “A little, but mostly because you ran off and didn't even say goodbye. Went looking for you, searched for forever, and I never even found a trace of you or your camp.”
Morning Glory exhaled through her nose. That was a pretty good sign. “And the innkeeper?”
Wind Shear barked a laugh. “Happy Trails is fine. Once she—and the rest of the town, by the way—realized you were real, she started doing a little marketing. Once her headache went away, that is. The mayor got in on it, too. So now you're the gorgony, local urban legend and unofficial town mascot. She's even selling these little novelty chocolate chip bread things shaped like your head, complete with two snakes wrapped around it. It's pretty good, actually, you should try it sometime.”
Morning Glory coughed. “I… hadn't expected that,” she admitted.
“Me neither. But she's been a good sport about it, and like any businesspony, she was not about to waste an opportunity like that.” He shrugged. “And that took some heat off me, so that was nice, too.”
Morning Glory cracked a smile, one fang poking out. “You know me, anything to help,” she said.
The was another pause.
“How's your writing?”
“Slowed down, actually,” Wind Shear admitted. “I'm missing my favorite prereader.”
Morning Glory smiled. “Your favorite, huh?” she teased.
“Only prereader,” Wind Shear amended. “I've never actually trusted anypony else to preread my stuff, not since Lacey Stepmare had a draft of her novel leaked by a pre. But it still counts.”
There was another pause.
“You know what I've figured out about writing?” Wind Shear asked. “Nopony wants to read stories about perfect ponies. They just don’t sell.”
“They don’t, eh? What does sell?”
“Ponies overcoming challenges. Ponies like success stories, especially if they have to fight for it.” He cracked a smile. “And you know what they say: truth is stranger than fiction.”
“And what about us?” Morning Glory asked softly, feeling strangely vulnerable and even more strangely alright with that. She pressed on, taking a subtle step forward. “Do you think we're supposed to be a success story?”
“I think so,” Wind Shear said, mirroring her step. “And I'm willing to find out if you are.”
Morning Glory nodded. “I am.”
He grinned. “Alright. So let's start over.” He held his hoof out. “Hi. I'm Wind Shear. I'm a writer. Originally from Cloudsdale. Retired here, un-retired when I met this amazing mare who made inspiration rain harder than a cumulonimbus, and I'm still writing. More or less,” he amended. “It tends to fluctuate between eating and writing.”
She chuckled and returned the bump. “Morning Glory. I’m a florist, born in Dodge Junction, moved to Appleoosa in second grade. Fell in love, almost got married, but he left me for somepony else the night before we were supposed to be married, so I thought it'd be a good idea to create a potion to turn her into a snake. Unfortunately for me, one of the snake skins I picked up turned out to be a cockatrice skin instead, and the whole thing blew up in my face and, long story short, I ended up like this.” She pursed her lips. “Did wonders for my self-esteem, let me tell you.”
Wind Shear cracked a sad smile. “No wonder you hate Appleoosa.”
“Still to this day I can't even stand the sight of apples,” she admitted.
“Fortunately for you, I've always been more of a pear guy.”
Morning Glory smiled a true smile, and both her fangs poked out. And she was not ashamed of that in the slightest.
Wind Shear chuckled awkwardly, and looked around. “So, uh, you want to come in, or just hang out here all night?”
“I'd like to come in.” She chuckled wryly. “I don't really have anyplace else to go, so I was hoping you'd say that.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“Then I guess you'll be wanting to stay the night, as well?”
“Just one. I can get my house rebuilt tomorrow, shouldn’t take long.”
“Alright. I can help with that.”
Morning Glory raised an eyebrow. “You know how to do lashings?”
Wind Shear hesitated. “Like a tongue lashing?”
Morning Glory chuckled and shook her head. “I can get my house rebuilt,” she emphasized.
“Right. Come on in. You can have my bed, I'll take the couch.”
“Ok. That's good, because plan B was stoning you and taking your bed anyway.”
Wind Shear choked.
“Kidding!” Morning Glory sang as she pranced past him and headed inside.
Wind Shear grinned as he turned and followed. He'd missed… that, whatever it was.