With a wistful sigh, Sundance watched as Silver Lining shrank in the distance and felt proud about how he had handled himself. A few deals had been struck and more deals would be worked out later. For now, he had the means to cull dangerous threats off of his land, something the previous baron hadn’t done, and Sundance suspected that he knew why. It was far, far easier to keep the peasants in line and at home if they believed that something dreadful would gobble them up. Sundance had no desire to rule with fear, and was of the belief that if given enough time, he could get these ponies to like him—maybe even respect him.
“Cucumber, a word with you.”
“Yes, Milord?” The old retainer strained to hold his head up and his ears stood half-erect.
“Silver Lining made an excellent suggestion during our lunch.”
“Did she, Milord?”
“Bees, Cucumber. I don’t know a thing about them, but we should have some. Some beehives… there’s a word for it, but I can’t remember what it is. We have all these crops and soon, we will have all these sunflowers. Some bees for honey would be great.”
“Sire, there are some wild beehives. We do occasionally get honey from them, so we do. Hmm.” Cucumber began to nod his head, his heavy eyebrows sank over his eyes, and the overall effect made him look sleepy. “Milord, there is an orchard some distance away, and bees can usually be found there.”
“Silver Lining said there is a demand and that medicinal sulphured honey and wax can be supplied to alchemists. We could be meeting that demand, Cucumber. It isn’t much, but it’s a start. I don’t know what one does with sulphured wax, but I guess it’s needed for magical candles. We’re sitting on a fortune in sulphur and this is a passive way to gather it as a resource without damaging the land. Let the bees turn it into a usable product.”
“Very good, Sire. Let us begin a project. It’s been bloody forever since we’ve had a project. Ya can’t go wrong with a project. It’ll break up the boredom, so it will.”
“Cucumber…”
“Yes, Milord?”
“Our orchard… what do we grow?”
“Oh, a bit of this and that. Pears, apples, plums, and a number of nuts, Milord. We sacrifice a lot of it to birds and rodents, but we get enough to be a treat. Why, for special occasions, ol’ Birnen Streusel will make a crumble, so he will. Just look out for Kant Apfel, Milord, bit of a rivalry there, and it’s best not to take sides. Apples and Pears are like oil and water, so they are.”
In the distance, Silver Lining disappeared completely.
“Thank you, Cucumber. Now, I’d like to continue getting to know everypony.”
“Very good, Sire.”
Farming was a new and novel thing for Sundance, and he was quite enamoured with the appeal of it all. It was a special magic all of its own, a wondrous, miraculous act of conjuring food from the dirt. There was a certain romance to it—an undeniable attraction for Sundance, who was raised in the city—and while he stood watching he began to work up the nerve to ask if he could try his hoof at it.
Dusky Plough, another draught pony of exceptional size, made it look easy. The plow seemed to slip through the black soil with the same smoothness that butter spread on toast. Unlike Plowshare, another draft pony, Dusky was not one for singing and was rather quiet as he carved new rows of fresh-tilled earth with an astonishing effortlessness. When Dusky reached the end of the row and was about to turn around, Sundance found his courage.
“Might I try?”
This was followed by an immediate silence, the sort of silence that indicates that reality is baffled at which sound to play next. Having come to a halt, Dusky Plough stood stock still, looking straight ahead, and Cucumber blinked a few times in surprise. A nearby stallion named Grimer Patch, who bore two baskets of seed corn on his back, spat out a greasy glob of tobacco juice and then sauntered off before he could get pulled into this mess.
“Really, I’d like to try to see if I can. May I?”
“Whadoahdo?” Dusky Plough asked Cucumber, still frozen in place.
“Milord, this is most unusual.” Cucumber cleared his throat, took a few steps away, and then turned to look at Sundance.
“I would like to try,” Sundance replied, explaining himself. “I wouldn’t ask any of you to do anything I wouldn’t try to do myself.”
“That is very kind of you to say, Milord, so it is, but this plow is very heavy.”
What did the little engine that could say? I think I can! Eager, Sundance pawed the dirt with his hoof and struck a majestic pose. “It doesn’t hurt to try, does it? Surely there’s no harm in trying, is there?”
“As ya wish, Sire, so be it.”
The wooden yoke was still warm from the previous wearer and Sundance stood still while Cucumber secured the straps. Sundance was on the smaller, slighter side, and much adjusting had to be done, getting the harnesses almost to their smallest point. All of this was really quite exciting and Sundance was raring to go. The plow had been turned and even pointed in the right direction to make things easier, at Cucumber’s insistence.
“Sire, there is a matter which I hesitate to bring up,” Cucumber said in the most refined, most cultured way the old unicorn retainer could muster.
“And what’s that, Cucumber?” Sundance replied.
“Milord, there is no shame in dropping a load while you strain. It is, uh, good for the soil and the plow will take care of it. No shame at all, Sire.” The old unicorn coughed for a moment, cleared his throat, and then tried to appear as dignified as possible. “Good luck, Milord.”
With a bit of nervous laughter, Sundance dismissed the odd warning and was certain that everything would be fine. The wooden yoke was weightier than he had anticipated and left him feeling front heavy. A crowd had gathered, with many ponies ceasing work all together to come and have a watch. Many looked amused, some were shocked, and a small few appeared scared, though Sundance could not imagine why they would be afraid.
“Daylight is burning,” Earwig said while she gestured skyward at the sun.
“Yeah, Dusky could’ve’ad this row finished by now and yer just standing ‘round like a mute rooster,” Earwax added. “Give it a go, already!”
“Yeah, get movin’!”
Taking a deep breath, Sundance leaned into his harness, braced his legs, and pulled forwards.
Nothing happened.
Nothing at all.
The plow did not budge.
Determined to do better, he took another deep breath, threw himself against the wooden yoke, and redoubled his efforts. His hind hooves dug deep into the soil, his front legs, straining from his intense efforts, began to quiver. The hardness of the wooden yoke began to press into his neck, his chest, and his flesh began to ache from the dreadful pressure. Gritting his teeth, he gave it all he had and he could feel his groin muscles burning from the strain.
“I’ve pushed harder than that givin’ birth,” one mare shouted.
“Ha! Hoo, hoo, hoo! I’ve put more effort into pinchin’ a loaf!” Earwig called out as her sister, Earwax, began hooting with laughter.
Was his face burning from the strain or from embarrassment? Sundance couldn’t tell, and he refused to give up. The plow seemed stuck, immovable, even with all of his mustered strength, it wouldn’t budge. Unfurling his wings, he brought them to bear and began flapping, but this did no good. Flapping made things worse, because it pulled his hooves up out of the soil.
Perhaps the plow was stuck?
Digging his hooves into the ground once more, Sundance threw his back into it and gave it his all. Sweat beaded up along his back and his sides from his effort, his eyes went bloodshot, and stars danced in his vision as his brain screamed for air. One misstep almost caused him to stumble and he scrambled to remain upright. The pressure of the yoke on his neck was almost too much to bear and when he threw himself against it once more, he knew he would be bruised.
With a trumpeting, brassy pealing note that echoed through the box canyon, Sundance’s clenched pucker gave way.
“Maybe all that hot air will help him pull the plow!” Earwax shouted while she pitched over into the dirt and began to roll round, clutching her sides. Grabbing at her sister’s leg, the whooping mare pulled her sibling down into the dirt with her and clung to her while crying with laughter.
Giving it everything he had, Sundance only managed to stand up in his harness somehow, his hind hooves now several inches down into the soft soil and his front hooves pawed the air. Panting, he got down on all fours again, leaned into the wooden harness, and tried once more. Dirt compressed into the folds of flesh in his frogs, his sides cramped, and invisible searing-hot pins pierced the muscles in his back, robbing him of the wind in his lungs.
With a whistling, whooping inhale, Sundance collapsed into the dirt and then lay there with his insides on fire. The dirt was somehow both warm and cool against his jerking, quivering flesh and he pressed his cheek against it as he tried to quench the fever that burned him.
“Well, if he can’t even pull a plow, I bet he’s no good in bed, either,” a mare remarked as she snorted and walked away.
“Hoe Hum, shut yer pie hole,” a stallion responded. “All of you laughing… shame on you. When was the last time the last Milord lifted a hoof to help us?”
“Oh, here we go, ol’ Fallow, he’s being self-righteous again! Here comes a lecture about the glorious virtues of hard work!”
“Hard work isn’t always about what you finish, but how hard you try—”
“Oh, shut up, Fallow, nopony wants to hear it.”
“Privy, Fallow has a point—”
“You can shut up too, Goody Goody Spirits, ‘cause yer also a self-righteous little twat.” Snorting, the stocky mare trotted off while tossing her head from side to side while also whip-cracking her tail to and fro.
“A’ight, shows over, you lot. Back to work, all of ya. Earwig, Earwax, go laugh someplace else.” Cucumber’s knees popped like cannon blasts when he moved to help Sundance and he shot the two sisters a scathing glance of disapproval that the fallen pegasus didn’t see.
Every muscle in Sundance’s body now contracted, tensing in agony and every single nerve telegraphed a harried signal that something was wrong. Stars, whole galaxies of them, sprang into and out of existence in his vision. He failed to notice a soft nose nuzzling him and lay in the dirt, panting, wishing this moment of discomfort would hurry up and pass.
“Kant, give Milord some breathing room, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Go on. Off with ya, then.”
Sundance felt a gentle tug as the harnesses were undone and the gentle tingle of magic caressed his skin. The dirt in his feathers tickled his wings but he couldn’t be bothered to flap it out. Try as he might, he couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. He was a medical courier and he flew medical supplies around the city of Baltimare. This was a demanding physical job, hauling heavy loads from the supply depot to the various hospitals, clinics, and pharmacies. There was a certain pride in being able to do this job well, and Sundance was a pony who did an admirable job—his boss had even praised him, calling him strong and dependable.
But this plow? Immovable.
Lowering his head while he unbuckled the straps, Cucumber had a few kind words of reassurance. “Milord, I for one think you did a right noble thing, so you did, and I don’t think nothin’ less of ya. Good on you, Milord, for giving it your best effort.”