The grub yawned again and opened his eyes. He stretched out his tiny legs, taking in all the precious sunlight.
He looked around.
The bonfire was gone. The changelings were gone. Actually, the trees were also different; they were placed differently. Weren’t there less trees last time he was awake? Sure, it had been dark, but he could feel it, somehow, that there were more trees now. Maybe that was normal, that trees sometimes came and went without any notice.
“Oh, you’re up.”
The grub turned his head around and saw a changeling slowly coming out from behind a tree.
He hissed at the stranger, showing off his sharp fangs.
“No, no!” this new changeling said, raising his forehooves up as he hovered. “I’m not going to attack you! I-I’m a changeling, just like you!” He waved his holey hoof in the air. “See?”
The grub stopped, watching that hoof go about.
He returned to hissing this older changeling down.
“No! Wait!”
The stranger flew to him and grabbed the grub, then held him close to his chin.
“It’s a new day,” the changeling said. “A lot of things to be excited about, but...not the bad kind of things.”
The grub then quieted down again, looking curiously at this unusual changeling.
“Ah, I almost forgot! My name is Thorax. You have a name?”
The baby looked at him weird.
Thorax frowned. “Right. You can’t speak yet.”
Thorax held the grub with a firm hoof as he traveled through the forest, careful to never fly above the dirt path. He encountered some of the local wildlife along the way: rabbits hopping around, deer prancing about, birds chirping a-now. The grub would point its tiny legs to this or that new and unseen creature, opening his mouth in young awe.
“These are ants,” Thorax said, pointing at a trail of such climbing up and down a tree’s bark. “They live in anthills and feed off both plants and dead animals, but you have to be very careful. If you make them mad, they can bite you and you'll get a boo-boo or an owie!”
The grub tilted his head.
Thorax smiled wider for him as they moved away from the ants. Those ants were not minding the changelings' business anyway.
After twenty minutes of traversing through the forest, they came upon a lodge hidden by abundant trees and many shrubs. Thorax could hear hooves shuffling, plants breaking and snapping, ponies speaking—also a fire crackling.
Thorax landed on the ground with a loud thud.
The talking and shuffling stopped.
“Who goes there?” asked a raspy voice.
“It’s me, Thorax!” the changeling yelled, still holding the baby on his hoof. “I brought a lost grub with me!”
Some more shuffling of hooves; whispers. “Hold on, everypony,” the voice said to the others there. “I’ll handle this—no, you stay there and eat your cabbages; I don’t want to hear about you leaving good food to waste.”
More hoofsteps. Then, the one and only door swung open and an old pony appeared, wearing shades and a goatee. “It really is you, huh, Thorax? Come on in! We’re a part-a-way through breakfast and Agliata’s sick missing you! And, you brought a grub, you say? Take it up with Kibble!”
A hearty breakfast it was. What was on the table was not exactly food fit for royalty but one would be wrong to think they could not fill their tummy with healthy goodness. Dandelion bread with cheese, carrot and garlic stew, deep fried corn with pepper and other spices, and a diluted but rich soup, all to be doused by fresh water from the nearby river.
Thorax did not have much to miss. Although it was true that the ponies were “part-a-way through breakfast”, they were busy with all kinds of talk: happy talk, serious talk, casual talk, trivial talk. They brought Thorax into their discussions and he would shift in and out of topics like a natural.
As for the ponies themselves, they were mostly Earth ponies save for one pegasus and one unicorn. The pegasus was Agliata and, true to her name, her cutie mark was a clove of garlic alongside a salt shaker. She would harp on about how hard cooking was when she was younger—“...and you had to be there and wait! Earth ponies had it better; their way of cooking developed patience, initiative, good character overall. While most of us cloud city folk moved to microwaves and toasters and microwaving toasters, Earth ponies down here stay close to their food and made sure the meals were home-made!”
Nobody would stop her because, from the looks of it, nobody was bored, not even Thorax.
Beside her were foals of varying ages, the oldest about to enter into marehood while the youngest required a high chair to reach the table’s surface. They talked with the adults—except for the foal—but they could not help but give Thorax a knowing glance or two.
“Don’t worry,” the changeling said after being noticed for the seventh time. “I’m not gonna bite! I just want to be good, that’s all.”
“You know I know!” whined Cotta Bread, the oldest one. “I was only looking because you’re still new and...I like new. Better than doing the same thing everyday.”
“Now, now, is that complaining I hear?” said the elderly stallion who had brought Thorax in. “We do the same thing everyday because our livelihood depends on it. You don’t see yourself complaining about eating everyday but it’s the same thing.”
Cotta Bread smiled a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Grampa.”
“Bean Pot, could you cut it out?” broke in Iron Starch, an adult stallion who picked up a slice of cheese with his blue hoof. “It’s good to teach the kids how to behave, but they’ve been out here for months! They want to get back to what's normal.”
“Well, son, I’d like to see you live normal and do your business while changelings abound!" his father shot back. "Try to sell your soda and chips to those flies, see if they like it!”
“Dad?" Iron Starch gestured towards Thorax. "There’s a changeling at the table.”
“He’s not like the others!" Bean Pot threw his hooves in the air and let them fall, feeling superior that way. "Why do I care?”
Thorax smiled at that.
Bean Pot turned to the changeling. “Speaking of you and others and not caring, I remember you said something about this griffon you wanted to bring here but can’t because he died. How’d he die?”
Thorax gulped. “A boulder fell on him while we were in a canyon. It was sudden and I couldn’t do anything because...well, he was already dead.”
Bean Pot shrugged his shoulders. “What a shame, but let’s not waste our time on the past! We’ve got a breakfast to finish! And you, Thorax, go help out in the field and take out the weeds!”
Thorax opened the door.
“Who’s that? Wait, it’s you!”
The mare got away from the crib and lurched the door open wide. “Don’t you forget Kibble Chip!”
Thorax was dragged into a hug. He patted the yellow mare on the neck.
“The baby’s doing fine,” she said, leading the changeling inside where he could see the furnishings fit for a baby: toys and diapers and books on the shelves, milk bottles sitting on the table. “I placed him right here—“ pointing at the crib “—and, so far, he’s having a blast—“
“No!” Thorax yelled, shoving her away and flying to the crib, passing by all the foal stuff inside. “You don’t put grubs in cribs!”
The mare got up, shaking her mane. “How rude! We’ve been using cribs for ages and they’ve never whined...a lot.”
Thorax took the sleeping grub out of his crib and placed him on the ground. “There. That’s better.”
Kibble did her best to not scream. “You can’t just put babies on the floor! What if I step on him?”
“You’re supposed to be placing them on the floor,” Thorax said. “Maybe not this floor, but you have to let grubs roam wherever they please. Let them climb walls, hang from the ceiling, even on yourself.”
Kibble held her breath. “OK, I get it. It’s a changeling thing. Biologies….”
Thorax nodded. “It’s the only way to make sure the grub has a good future...along with other ways by feeding it bugs—“
Kibble covered her mouth to prevent herself from vomiting. “I’ll take your word for it, Thorax. I’m sorry for not treating the baby—I mean, not treating the grub right. Is there anything you want me to do?”
Thorax rubbed his chin. “Not for now. He’s sleeping, but when he wakes up, I’ll call you. OK?”
“OK…wait, are you telling me to go out?”
Thorax smiled. “You could stay if you want to. See how a changeling takes care of a changeling.”
Kibble sat down on the floor before the grub. “I’m all in!”
“Shh!”
“Oh, right!”
Thorax sat down on the floor.
The both of them were looking upon the grub. That little, tiny, cute grub sleeping and dreaming.
Minutes passed, caretakers silent as the grub continued sleeping. At times he turned around and yawned, but he did not wake up.
“Thorax?” Kibble asked in a whisper.
His ears perked up. “What is it?”
“I’m very sorry if I’m interrupting your flow of thought or what,” Kibble said, “but...why are you so...um, different?”
Thorax blinked. “Excuse me?”
“What I said. Why are you so different?”
He leaned his head back, sunlight hitting his face through the window. “I...I’m not sure myself, Kibble.”