Inside a convenience store, Yearling sat at a plastic table, eating a hayburger by the glass walls through which she could see Bristle under the morning sky.
The odor of cold, conditioned air drifted through the premises, somewhat strong but otherwise invigorating. On the racks was a great range of things: potato chips, salad dressings, dozens of eggs, fake leaves, chart templates, assortments of straws, second-hoof windows, vintage newspapers, rolling pins, vast lawns, chilly sodas, and ice cream, along with tons more.
Happy cashiers took customers' orders, wearing uniforms of red and white stripes like barbers in a barbershop. Yet, a sense of unease could be detected in the small talk they engaged in.
"They're all in prison now," one of those cashiers said, putting several items into a paper bag and hoofing it to the sharp-eyed mare in front. He went to the cash register and took out some bits. "Starlight Glimmer is too late to get them out in time."
"Eh, we're safe and they're alive, so that's good," Limestone Pie said, looking at the contents of the paper bag.
"Didn't you hear the number of casualties?" he asked, mentally counting the bits on his hoof. "There's about thirty killed, I think."
"That's sad," she said, closing the paper bag, an ear covered by her gray mane as normal. "Now, where's the change?"
The cashier sighed and gave the change.
Limestone poured the bits into the bag then walked away, holding it with her mouth.
A five minute trot from Bristle was a fenced off cottage with a short mailbox by the door. Unlike what the rest of the town was surrounded with, the cottage had not a single blade of grass in sight around it. Instead, there was dry, dead ground and plenty of rocks. Over there, by the hills, were mined caves.
Limestone knocked on the door, still biting on her paper bag.
The door opened.
Marble Pie smiled, saw the paper bag, then nodded before stepping aside and giving way to her sister.
Limestone clipped the bag to a hanger by the door and walked the wooden hallway down with Marble.
"Did you set the table up with the flowers and the candles?"
"Mm-hmm," was Marble's answer with a shy nod and a shake of her long gray mane.
"Do you have all the ingredients ready for dinner tonight? Did you read up on the cookbooks I sent you?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Did you make sure Ma and Pa won't be here when he comes by?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Where did you send them off?"
Marble pointed at the door.
"You sent them off to teach ponies how to cook rock soup this very night?! How did you pull that off?"
Marble smirked at her.
"I'll not ask. So, from now until tonight, we have to act normal. Move the rocks where they're supposed to go, mine other rocks, manage the crystal business with the table outside. Give Ma and Pa no sign about what we have in mind."
Marble nodded, smiling.
The morning and the afternoon had come and gone.
It was sunset with a pink sky.
The cottage's front door lurched open, showing Limestone ushering her father and mother outside on the stone path in the barren brown front yard.
"Don't hurry things along!" she said to them, trying to hide her restless condition by prematurely waving goodbye to them. "You know, rock soup takes quality time to make, and ponies might get lost if you go too fast."
"We have rightfully understood thy favorable advice," Igneous said, slowly nodding his head at her, "but it is repetitious, for we already do know the things of which thou hast told us."
"Surely," Cloudy began, fixing her glasses a bit, "it hast not left thy mind that we have become skillful in the art of preparing our rock soup according to the age-old recipe passed down from generation to generation."
"Yeah, I'm sure!" Limestone said, grinning. "I just wanted to make sure you don't make a bad first impression."
Cloudy smiled—a little. "It is comforting to us that thou still show thy filial affection for us."
Limestone kept waving at them, then glanced at the left.
In the horizon, approaching the cottage, a lone figure.
Nearly choked and continued waving at her parents. "Hurry up! They'll get angry if you show up late!"
"Then, farewell, our firstborn," Igneous said, taking his hat off.
He put it back on and the two trotted away from the homestead, on the path toward Bristle.
Not a minute had passed and they encountered the stranger by the horizon, walking the opposite way.
Igneous scrutinized that figure as they came closer.
The pony in question was a young gray stallion. His hair was brown; mane had long yet straight bangs. His cutie mark was a stick standing in a mud puddle.
On him was an apathetic face. He looked uninterested.
"Good afternoon, sir," Igneous greeted, waving a hoof. "May I ask of thee what thy name is and where art thou going?"
The stranger stopped. "I'm Mudbriar," he answered in a formal accent. "I'm currently going to the next point on this road which we are now standing on."
Igneous and Cloudy stopped, looked at each other, then looked back at him. "What dost thou mean?" Igneous asked, lightly muddled.
Mudbriar pointed at the path before him. "You see, you've asked me about where I was going. Well, if I were to resume my walk for one second—" he took a few steps forward "—you would note that I have achieved my present goal of advancing on this road. However, in order to reach my destination, I have to continue this process for an as-of-yet undefined number of times. So, technically, the correct question to ask of me is—and, I shall be adopting your mode of speech—'Where shalt thee end up after thy walk?'"
Igneous still looked muddled. "I shalt apologize for not comprehending what thy hast just spoken, but we art those who value punctuality and we art required to attend a class for cooks for the single purpose of teaching them our traditional method of preparing rock soup."
Mudbriar nodded. "Your apology is accepted."
"Then, farewell, stranger," Igneous said.
The parents were off.
Mudbriar kept walking down the path under the setting sun.
Finally, he reached the cottage.
Seeing Limestone there burst into a joyful grin. "Mudbriar!"
Mudbriar smiled. "Yes."
"Get inside," she said, motioning a hoof to the hallway.
Romantic.
That was probably the best way to describe the mood of the dining room.
The only table was covered with linen, the plates were of expensive ceramic, the candles were scented the smell of exotic cedar.
The food prepared beforehoof was of exquisite taste. Cinnamon bread peppered with raisins, corn and mushroom soup with diced garlic and onions, and fresh salad sprinkled with Balsamic vinegar. The dessert was one cakepie—a hybrid of cake and pie which had the look and flavor of cake but had the taste and texture of pie.
The windows were closed except for one and that was at the center of the wall facing East. One could see the empty, rocky landscape turn into reticent beauty, those rocks reflecting a tinge, a trifle, of the moon's soft glow accompanied by its many stars which shined upon this land, upon this cottage.
Upon boyfriend and girlfriend.
Marble sat quietly at the corner, watching the two lovebirds—technically, loveponies—enjoy their time together over a candlelit dinner. Though silent, she smiled.
Limestone and Mudbriar sat there, only a little distance between each other.
Both smiling.
Mudbriar picked up one of the candles. "Technically, this is not a real cedar. This is from the Luna redcedar, the scientific name of which is Thuja plicata, unlike true cedars which are classified under the genus Cedrus. But, I must admit, I do like the smell of this candle."
He put it back down.
"You said that you have three sisters," he asked, still with that formal accent. He looked at Marble sitting by the corner.
She turned her head away, avoiding him.
"I and Marble have already met," Mudbriar went on, looking back at Limestone. "However, where are your other two sisters—Maud Pie and Pinkie Pie?"
She gulped. "Ma and Pa sent them to the front a long time ago. They're famous Rock Troopers."
Mudbriar nodded. "Have you received any letters from them and written by them within, say, the last week or so? I would like to be in good terms with your sisters, to ensure that there will be no disagreements from your family about our...like."
Limestone blushed. "Yeah, I've got some letters. Pinkie writes to us everyday and Maud..." she gulped again, "Pinkie speaks for her."
"Technically, Pinkie writes for Maud," Mudbriar corrected. "Unless, of course, they are in close proximity with the ponies they wish to speak to—however, my accuracy on that assumption may not be perfect, for I do not know the personalities of your sisters, Pinkie and Maud, well enough to be precise regarding them."
Limestone coughed and brought out a long wrapped gift box. "Well, it's nice that you care for my sisters."
She extended the box to him.
"Here! I got something for you."
Mudbriar received it and unwrapped it.
Another box was inside.
Mudbriar opened it.
A short, leafy branch with green conifer cones.
He opened his mouth, short of gasping. Eyes grew wide, leaned back on his chair. "Is that a branch of Cedrus brevifolia—a true cedar? But, more than half of them have already been cut down—"
"You don't need to know," Limestone said. "I got it, and here it is, Mudbriar. I know that you like branches from rare trees."
"Technically, they are not rare but are endangered."
His smile grew.
"But, it is a precious gift."
He hugged it.
Took out another branch—a little twig.
Placed the two of them on the table.
Mudbriar gazed upon the branches sitting by his plate of salad. "They're very adorable together."
He bent closer to the twig.
"Do you like your new friend, Twiggy?"
Limestone scratched her head. "OK. That branch could also be a nice pet."
Alone in the bedroom, Limestone stood at the window.
Watching Mudbriar, that lone figure gleaming in the dark under the moonlight, walk away.
Disappeared over the horizon.
Her smile faded.
Eyes rested on the table.
By the lamp, a quill and a sheet of paper.
She drew in breath, sat down, and wrote.
Special Delivery looked at his watch.
Half past midnight.
It was cold, chilly.
He did not care for the cottage. All he cared for was the mail inside and he got it, turned the flag on the mailbox down, and flew away.
The mailpony landed by the fortified, heavily guarded gate just outside the forest. Watchtowers with spotlights shone on him.
"Show us your ID," one of the guards ordered.
Special Delivery held up his mailpony badge using his wing.
The guard hovered to him, grabbed the badge, inspected it.
Gave it back to him.
Made a gesture with a wing to his comrades at the towers.
They lowered their heads.
The gate swung open.
Special Delivery flew in.
Hidden inside one of the mountains beyond the forest was Sarcidano Base. A military compound built past the rocky slopes and the thick trees, it was close to imperceptible at night.
Past the barriers which separated the outside from the compound was the main hallway lit up by a myriad of lights on the ceiling. Notwithstanding the late hour, soldiers walked around, participating in their hourly patrol shifts.
Special Delivery flew to a mailbox by the door labeled "Mail" and slipped some mail inside from his saddle bag.
In the dark bed chamber, one candle was alight by the foot of a bed.
Pinkie Pie, awake alone in a sea of sleeping ponies in their blankets, held the letter close to her chest.
A tear went down her cheek.
Splashed upon the letter.
"How long has it been?" she whispered to herself, her voice stifled by the lump in her throat—her long pink mane partially hiding her watery eyes. "I've been away so long...Limestone already has a boyfriend...a-and, time moves so...fast..."
Wiped the tears.
Lied on the bed.
Tried to sleep beside her silent Maud.