//------------------------------// // Honest Work // Story: Where Rock meets Earth // by Sipioc //------------------------------// I stride the path. I keep it steady, but it weaves naturally in a wave around the shape of the land. I feel every stone, every hard patch of mud, but it all yields on to me in my stride. The yoke holds firm the plow parts the earth. I am Rockhoof, Shield bearer to the Mighty Helm, and the Pillar of Strength to old Equestria. Titles I hold with pride; mean nothing in this work. This honest work. I can’t help but smirk to myself at the realization that despite this lack of excitement, this is not a bad life for an Earth stallion at’all. It has been a over a thousand moons since the Pillars and I were set into our enchanted vigil over the darkness. So much has changed in the land we once called home. Even my old village, barely recognizable to mine eyes. Still, I find comfort in the glimmers that come to the surface. It is in the faces of these new country folk, I see it. Flashes of culture and tradition, as well as the sturdiness of their forebears that would do their ancestors proud in this new world they made for themselves. But the land? The rock, the very soil itself? It remains the same. A familiar calling that only the Earthen tribe can truly understand. The construction of the tall metal and stone structures compare little to that of the wonders the good earth provides. It is here I hath found myself yet again in this, the ‘modern’ age. The morning hath waned to early afternoon, and though I have been at this task for hours, my mettle remains stalwart and my strength holds true. Taking a moment from my labors, I survey the bounty they hath brought. Row upon row, of well plowed fields. Neatly and primmly waiting to be cultivated by loving hooves, to grow strong and true. To cover this new world in an all too familiar green. A swell of pride takes me, in this purest of trades. Not a month past was this but a tangled assortment of rocks and scraggly trees. The task of clearing the forest was done with care and thought, no heedless smashing, no desecration. Rocks crushed to manageable stone for the neat wall around it. Lumber stocked and cut, for the upcoming winter, with the following winter to be covered as well. Stumps likewise removed and given to those with the passion and the artisan skill to mold them into a new form, be it furniture or other craft. Though I sweat, the heavy band upon my brow diverts the stream of exertion from my sight. With a shake of my long mane I cast beads of toil about, returning it to nurture the very ground in which I work, and thus making our bond that much stronger. To the north, I see the vast expanse of green that will soon mirror what I make now. Row upon row of Apple trees. Apple. Ambrosia of old, a symbol of nourishment then as it remains now. But for me a reminder of where my newly awoken life hath led me. Not long after the defeat of the pony of Shadows, and our reconciliation with good Stygian, did I set out with the other Pillars to discover what wonders this new world had to offer. Adventures anew were had, stories of our feats were etched into long-unused memory, and new songs to be sung for the new halls of the royal court as well as the mead houses of today, or ‘coffee shops’ as they say. Still, there were times I found myself lost in this new world. When the path of the Pillars brought us back to the Kingdom of Friendship; back to our comrades and descendents, the Elements of Harmony. A ragtag bunch of mares, only equal to ourselves in our unique fellowship, I would imagine. ‘Twas only natural for us to find kinship with them and their ilk. But ‘twas Honesty what bewitched me. Strength she had, not unlike my own, but a strength of heart and spirit is what alighted me to her from the moment I laid eyes upon her. Though a mountain of a stallion I am now, I lived much of my life as but scrawny whelp. ‘Tis’ no shame in being one if one had the grit and savvy to speak one's mind, but old habits do tend to carry over. But perhaps that worked in my favor. Upon our return to humble town of Ponyville, Pinkamena Pie of Laughter, took it upon herself to organize a night of merrymaking for the lot of us. Starswirl, the old billy goat as he was, attempted to head her off. The pink precocious one would not be denied as one by one, she soon conscripted myself, Flash, Mist, Somm, Meadow, even Stygian to her cause. The old codger soon had little choice to partake in the festivities, and in turn that soon spilled out into the streets. A ‘block’ party as they call it. All of the citizens of Ponyville, young and old, rich and poor, celebrating the reunion of the champions, old and new. One could not help but feel the warmth in the very streets that night. It would on its own been intoxicating enough, but old habits die hard as well. The memories of my folly to the mighty Cherufe, then likewise temporary expulsion from the Helm may have been centuries ago, but tis a failure that still has bite on me. ‘Tis why, when a drinking contest was laid before me, I politely declined. Then came Honesty. Applejack of Honesty. Generations of good and dependable mares and stallions shone true in those emerald eyes, as did their unmistakable sense of pride. The greave cast against me, I set aside my fear of shaming my namesake for the opportunity to show this young filly how pride could get you into trouble. ‘Twas a teachable moment, as Starswirl would say. Now, one should know, the modern taste of drink does little to compare to the now antique pallet I doth possess. I hath lost count of the draft, but judging by the others stallions and mares about, it must of been more than a little. Yet, sweet Honesty, held her wits, and her drink strong, even if the redness in her speckled cheeks said otherwise. Another draft came and went. Than another. I can’t be sure what happened between that and the next, but I do know I was the victor in the contest. The next waking memory was sunrise. In a bed not my own, to sight of a golden haired goddess laying pressed to my chest. Applejack of Honesty, I imagine awoke with the similar shock to the sight of myself. As awkward as it should of been I couldn’t help but shake the sense of serenity in being with her. I hath caught the eyes of more than a few of the members of the fairer sex; by my spade, after a few glasses of her favorite wine even Mistmane would attest to the pleasence of my form. Still, back then my sights had always been set upon the road, adventure, and standing with the Pillars. Even in this time, I had felt lingering eyes upon me, passes of fancy being brought to me. I paid them no heed. But in that moment? In that moment, I wondered. Did she feel the same? Bah. Listen to me. Waxing like a bard of thoughts of fancy when there is work to be done. Daylight waits for one, and I am not she, I return to the pull of the yoke. But I would be fooling myself if my face didn’t betray a hint of what my heart felt as a came to the next bend.