//------------------------------// // Respite // Story: Bardic Lore: Into the Wild // by Rose Quill //------------------------------// It wasn’t a building. It was a tiny hut surrounded by some carefully tended patches of herbs and vegetables. I was slowly approaching it when I heard a step from behind me. I whirled and lowered myself somewhat in the tall grass. Not too far back was a figure in a hooded cloak of light brown, the hood keeping the noon sun out of their eyes. The grass around them was tall enough I couldn’t make out their coat color or a tribe. “It’s ok,” a soft voice said, masculine and with a strange inflection. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m just curious as to why you be staring at my house.” I rose a little, still keeping the mysterious stallion in front of me. “I was coming this way and I saw your house in the distance,” I said, holding up my map. “There weren’t any notes on here about a settlement or anything, but it is a little old.” A chuckle came out of the hooded pony. “Isn’t everything, after a fashion?” He started walking forward, and I blinked as he came fully into the cleared yard. His coat was a zig-zagging pattern of black and white stripes, and just behind a satchel bulging with several root-looking contents was a strange whorl of jagged lines. His tail was twisted in strange locks and I saw a few tendrils of his mane in a similar style trailing from his hood. “What be the trouble?” he said as he lowered his hood. Threads of gray were mixed into his hair and his face a creased a little with age. “Never seen a zebra before?” I shook my head. “No,” I stuttered. He gave a rumbling laugh as he walked over to a barrel by the corner of his hut and dipped a hollowed gourd into it. After drinking from it, he offered it to me. “It gets rather dry out here. Please, drink up.” I took the gourd in my magic and drank some of the water and was surprised at it’s coolness. I gave the gourd back and nodded some thanks. “So,” he said as he walked into the hut and shrugged the pack off onto a low table. “What brings you out this way? Not many young fillies in the military without a cutie mark, especially of rank.” I frowned for a moment, then remembered I was wearing Golden’s old vest. Her rank and division patches were still attached to its sides. “Oh,” I whispered, touching a hoof to the dark, weather stained cloth. “I’m not… this isn’t mine. It belonged to a friend.” The zebra nodded. “Ah. Somepony important?” I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice at the moment. The zebra sighed and walked over to a firepit in the middle of the room, kicking a few stray sticks into the middle. He bent over and blew gently on one of the rocks surrounding it and a glyph lit up brightly, causing the assembled kindling to flare into flames. He dropped a few other large sticks in before turning to me again. “Well, I can’t very well be sending you off without letting you get a decent meal,” he said, going to pull some baskets of havested vegetables out from a cupboard. “Hardly more den skin and bones, you are.” I cocked my head at him. “Excuse me?” “No excuses,” he said as he opened a jar containing an aromatic spice of some sort. “No cause for a young mare to be near to starving.” “I’m not starving!” I protested, but was undercut by my stomach suddenly growling.” “Somepony seems to disagree,” he said with a smile. “Go ahead and rest your hooves and I’ll have some food ready soon. My name is Zeke, by the way.” “Azure,” I responded, removing my pack and settling on the roughspun rugs set around the room. He chuckled. “Pleasure to meet you, little filly.” I had never been more wrong in my life. It turned out I was ravenous, and I had never tasted anything so grand in my life. Even comparing it to meals with Golden I had never been so satiated in my life. The root vegetables and other products of the stew Zeke had made were seasoned in such a way that I could still taste them an hour later and the general smell lingered in the air. “So,” Zeke said as he set a clay mug down. “By your way, you’re trying to keep true to your mama’s dreams.” “She wasn’t my mother,” I said. “Nopony seems to know who my parents were.” “Girl,” Zeke said with a sad smile. “She may not have borne you, but she was your mama in all the ways dat be important.” He rose and went to refill his mug with the strange tasting tea he had brewed. “It seems dat fate has given you a basket fer t’carry water, yes, but you’ll get by.” “I’m sure it isn’t as simple as you make it sound,” I whispered. “Did I say it to be easy?” he chuckled. “Girl, nothing in life dat is easy is really worth it. Living way out here has been a challenge all these years, but it been worth every hardship.” “Why are you living so far out in the wilds anyway?” He smiled softly. “Dat be a long story, girl.” I quirked an eye at the old stallion. “But dose be the best ones t’tell,” I said, emulating his accent. He laughed deeply and leaned back a little. “Truth behold,” he said between laughs. “Well, tell my, little girl, do you know what a duppy be?” I shook my head. “Well,” he said, his voice taking on a soft but firm tone as he raised his hooves a little. “Duppy is what my folk call spirits dat play tricks on folks, things so full of hate and spite dat they seek to make life inconvenient. Worse den harpies, they be.” I leaned back and was wrapped up in Zebrican tales for the rest of the night. And I had never felt so alive.