//------------------------------// // 6. Paint Your Heart // Story: Out of Love // by Carapace //------------------------------// Though it did sadden her to miss out on a prime opportunity to lay in a bedpod and cuddle with Aspire, plans to meet up and have lunch did offer Sure Stroke a nice little carrot to help make it through the morning. Especially after Esalen and Toola Roola rose and said their goodbyes as they left to start their first day under Caress’s tutelage. Leaving her alone in an empty house. Sure Stroke wrinkled her snout. She was never really one to enjoy such quiet. Certainly, when she’d first come to the village, she’d been shy and stayed off to the side, away from the rest of her classmates and friends, but there was at least some sound. A light breeze rustling through the leaves and blades of grass, the laughs and chittering mirth of her classmates playing a short distance away, woodland creatures scurrying about in the boughs of her favorite tree, or the faint sound of birdsong. Being alone in an empty house made her feathers twitch. Such silence was just unnatural. Unpleasant, even. So the decision to snatch her saddlebags off the hook and head out herself came only a short while after her friends had left. The warmth of the sun’s light washing over her coat as soon as she stepped through the front door brought a smile to her face, and put a little bit of a pep in her step and swish in her tail as she headed down the dirt path through town toward Aspire and Esalen’s old house. Toward Faith. Naturally, her walk took her through the village center, where friends and fellow villagers were already milling about to start their days. She exchanged smiles and quick pleasantries with each, and a laugh at a group of colts maybe three or four years her junior nearly took her out at the knees, frantically galloping or flying in the direction of the schoolhouse, a few muttered curses toward Sweet Treat’s treats tasting so good. Some things in Respite just never changed—ironic, really, given half the populace. As she turned to offer greeting to the ever-stoic Rock Solid, Sure Stroke felt her shoulder brush against another. She turned, an apology on the top of her tongue, but quickly died before it could be given voice. Her smile slipped. Prim ’n Proper looked down at her as she always did—her eyes narrowed, her snout wrinkled and turned upward as if she smelled something foul, and a posture of one who caught a stay dog making a mess on the floor. “Two and a half years, and you still can’t learn manners?” she drawled. “How incredibly unsurprising.” A spark of irritation flickered within her chest. Sure Stroke blew a breath through her nose, but managed to fix her sweetest, most insincere smile in place. A regular practice when dealing with Prim over the years. “Oh, well, you know me,” she said loftily. “Being rude, taking the time greet ponies, minding my steps so I don’t step on any foals hurrying along, and, y’know, going out of my way to bump into the biggest snob around.” Nostrils flaring, Prim lowered her head, finally level with her. “Delightful. I’m sure you’ll do wonders working with Faith.” With a shake of her head and a scoff, she levitated her ever-present clipboard into view and glanced at it for a second. “Speaking of which, she was looking for you to help plan things out for your session today. Sweet Treat’s shop. Starting off your trade late already?” “Actually, no.” Sure Stroke’s smile was sweeter than Aspire’s tea, she cast a meaningful look at the sun. “Unless I’ve suddenly lost my head, I’m on time. Heading to Sweet Treat’s shop around nine as agreed upon to meet up and discuss our first session together with a group.” Raising her brows just slightly, she stepped by her longtime pest and gave a mock shrug of her wings. Her ears were perked, ready to savor the fruits of her parting shot. “But, what do I know? Such a shame you can’t grow up with the rest of us and move on from foalhood grudges. How incredibly unsurprising.” Sure enough, she heard that sharp breath, the beginnings of an angry growl just before Prim caught herself and fought to keep appearances. The same interaction they’d had since almost the day they’d met. It wasn’t her fault Prim was still stuck in the past and petty about one misstep about Respite culture. Then she saw Toola’s face, younger and with just a bit more foal fat in her cheeks, looking at her sternly, a rare moment without that bubbly smile. No, it wasn’t her fault Prim was stuffy or petty. Her steps slowed. Sure Stroke sighed and looked down at the ground. Slowly, she glanced back over her shoulder to watch her former classmate stalk off in the direction of Queen Euphoria’s home. Two years, and still the same song and dance. Maybe she hadn’t quite moved on either. Sure Stroke faced forward and shook her head. “Just brush it off,” she muttered with an anxious flick of her tail. “Focus on your first day, not the town pest.” Her good mood soured, she forced herself to think happier thoughts as she trotted onward—Aspire’s chittering laughter, his smile, the way he held her close, anything to perk her up before she got within range for Faith to taste her emotions. And, once she caught sight of that familiar changeling mare, with long golden mane tied in its usual ponytail and molten gold eyes, seated at one of the outside tables to take after-meal tea with Skydancer, Sure Stroke knew she’d have to be quick about it. As she drew nearer, she saw their happy smiles as they chattered away, laughing and chittering and chatting with one another like friends since fillyhood rather than the pair who fumbled to find common ground two and a half years prior. Their voices were light and cheery as they spoke, and the way her mother’s feathers fluffed in embarrassment made Sure Stroke’s brow arch. “You’d look lovely, Sky, dear,” Faith insisted. “It’s just a little circlet and a different way to braid it! With your mane, it’d go perfect! I could even style it like the old changeling way to complete the look. Drizzly would love it!” Skydancer’s face flushed. “That’s easy for you to say,” she replied sheepishly. “I’ve always sort of just kept mine like …” she trailed off and gestured toward her long, wavy orange-red mane. The changeling patted her hoof. “It’s a different style, yes, but trust me. I can show you later on, I think I have a few of my father’s books laying around. If not, Aspire will have them.” She rolled her eyes and drained the last bit of her tea. “For strictly educational purposes, I’m sure. Not at all to see if he can’t entice your daughter into doing up her mane.” On cue, she flicked out her tongue and gave a low purr before turning to greet Sure Stroke with a nod. “And what perfect timing. How was your first night living with my troublemakers, dear?” Sure Stroke had to hide something else this time. The heat spreading across her cheeks as she bit her bottom lip didn’t help matters at all. “It was …” She ducked her head, resisting the urge to hide her face. “It was nice. We had a rather cozy evening together.” Again, that forked tongue flickered. Faith’s brows raised. “I’m sure you did,” she drawled teasingly. She set her teacup down on the saucer and rose, turning to smile and bow her head to Skydancer. “Let me know what you think, Sky, and I’ll be happy to lend a hoof if you’d like. But for now, I’m afraid I’ll need to skedaddle before I’m late late for your daughter’s first day.” Faith paused to wink at Sure Stroke. “Usually, it’s the apprentices who’re late.” Skydancer tittered. “Oh, yes!” She covered her mouth with a hoof. “You’d best get on your way, or she’ll make her huffy face like when she was a filly!” “Wha—excuse me!” Sure Stroke glared indignantly. “I did not make a huffy face!” “Oh, honey, one day I’ll show you the pictures.” Her mother’s eyes gleamed. “Aspire and Esalen’s antics gave me plenty of chances to catch a shot or two when you weren’t looking.” Oh, terrific. A variety. Sure Stroke laid a hoof across her eyes and let out a groan. “You’re horrible. And yes—” she moved her hoof enough to peer at Faith through one eye “—we have to get ready for a couple group sessions today, right?” Faith bobbed her head. “That’s right. Sky, have a good class session. After you dear,” she said, gesturing with a hoof. With a nod and a quick hug exchanged with her mother, Sure Stroke bounded along to fall into step with Faith as she headed up the path toward her home. One her hooves had trodden countless times over the years. Faith hummed a low note. Then, as they stepped off the path to allow a few fishers laden with tackle boxes and nets pass them by, she began to lay out her plan,“I thought we might try out that painting idea of yours. Well, I was wondering just how it might work with several ponies together as a sort of …” she trailed off, rolling a hoof through the air. “Bonding session.” Curious, Sure Stroke turned, her ears twitching. “A bonding session?” “Something to show them they’re not alone,” Faith explained. She turned, offering a small smile. “Sort of like how Aspire and Esalen reached out to you, dear. But, more geared toward some—” “Longstanding issues,” Sure Stroke offered. “Yes, quite. A bit of a way to show that we’re not weak or pathetic when we suffer and seek help. Or lean on others. Quite the opposite, in fact.” The young mare hummed a note. “It makes us stronger?” “In part, yes. But it’s not just seeking the help that makes us, and our patients, stronger.” The pair stepped back onto the path and continued onward. Faith’s smile was as bright as the very sun. “It makes us stronger when we admit we have a problem and need help,” Faith continued, “and in how we move forward.” Sure Stroke felt a bead of sweat rolling down the back of her neck as she gazed out at the ponies and changelings gathered in Faith’s backyard, their eyes were like a sea of colors, all focused on her before flitting away and shifting nervously. And why not? She was the new therapist, the new helper. She rustled her wings. They must all be wondering what I have in mind, she mused. And what the point of all the easels, supplies, and canvases are. Her eyes flickered from face to face, taking note of which belonged to villagers and which were visitors—ponies who came off the beaten path to find this strange village where all who sought help were welcome. Aside from her fellow villagers, there were some she recognized among the visitors, like Snow Flurry and Sleet, that couple with the darling little fillies. They seemed to have recovered well enough from that scare on the Long Night and were ready to tackle whatever brought them from the comforts of pony society to seek Caretaker help. The others of their like, she didn’t know by name, but sight. Each had been in Respite since that night, and just as curious to see Trade Day. But then there were the villagers. Some older, just a few years her senior, others closer to her parents or Queen Euphoria and Cool Breeze. They were changeling and pony alike, faces she remembered smiling at her every day she passed them by on the dirt paths. But one among them all drew her eye. She’d known that periwinkle coat, purple and white mane, and golden eyes since long before her lips could form proper words. Altocumulous? She tilted her head. What in love’s name was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be off monitoring his weather bits and bobs to keep an eye out for those summer storms? This wasn’t Cloudsdale, this was Neighagara Forest—right by the coast! Those storms could roll in from the sea anytime. Her cousin met her gaze for a second, blinking impassively. Only her years of practice reading him revealed the slightest little twitch at the corner of his eyes, right before his left wing shifted and he glanced at the canvas before him like it wasn’t blank. Avoidance. His usual tactic. Before she could think to go to him and try to pull the details out, Faith stepped forward with a bright smile on her well-polished face. “Good morning everyone,” she greeted, pausing politely to allow a rumbling group reply in turn. “Thank you all for coming, I’m certainly glad to see all of my usual patients with us today, as well as newcomers.” The changeling nodded politely to Snow Flurry, Sleet, and a few of the villagers. Sure Stroke caught a flash of pink as her tongue flicked to taste the air, her face not betraying the slightest hint of anything other than sincerity. “Before we begin, I would like to take this time to remind you, and inform our newcomers, that it’s perfectly natural to feel scared or uncomfortable discussing and tackling our personal issues, especially when first confronting them or bringing them to others for help. However, none here will think of you any less for having them. Some of you have been hurt, some suffer anxieties, some a simple longing for someone or something they no longer have.” Faith’s expression shifted ever so slightly. Her jaw set firm, a look Sure Stroke recognized from many times on the receiving end of that stern gaze. “If there is one thing I will tell you all, it’s that you’re not weak,” she said, annunciating each syllable so there could be no misunderstanding. “Whatever feelings you have, rooted in problems big or small, do not make us weak. They make us pony and changeling alike, they are a part of our being. My apprentice and I—” she gestured to Sure Stroke “—will help in any way we can, we will lend an ear or shoulder to cry on when needed, we will comfort, we will be firm when necessary. But we won’t allow you to think yourselves weak or foalish or nymphlike for being here.” A smile flitted across her face. “In fact, by admitting that you need help, you’ve taken the first step to being stronger than you’ve ever known in your lives.” It was like she’d cast a spell on the crowd, like each word was laced with love and a hint of the charm prowess she’d inherited from her father, though Sure Stroke knew better than to suspect the latter. Each pony and changeling’s ears perked up, they stood a little taller, and looked around, no longer shifting about, but with a certain curious, supportive light. Propriety prevented Sure Stroke from humming her approval or reaching for her notebook. Faith had turned a yard full of nervous patients into a support group in a matter of moments. All because she tasted the slightest hint of nerves or shame. Like watching a master cloudsculptor at work. Faith turned to catch her eye. “Sure Stroke will now explain what we’ll be doing today,” she announced, then gestured for the pegasus to step forward. “Dear, if you don’t mind?” “Of course.” Sure Stroke gave a little nod to her mentor as she stepped forward to speak to her patients. Well, their patients, now. She cleared her throat, then continued on, “Hello, everyone. I’m Sure Stroke, and this is my first day working as Faith’s apprentice. Today, Faith and I would like to try something a little bit different with you all. Something that’s helped me overcome a lot of my own issues with shyness, sadness, and my old fear of our changeling friends’ fangs.” A fond smile flitted across her face. “In fact, there was this one little nymph who scared the feathers off of me so bad in the forest while playing hide and seek, I ended up scraping myself up when I tried to run from him. You’ll be happy to know that not only have I gotten over my fears, but, as my fellow villagers know, I’ve been dating him for the past two years.” Sure Stroke allowed a moment’s pause so the newcomers could appreciate the weight of her words. She wasn’t disappointed. Their eyes widened and ears twitching, she watched as Snow Flurry and Sleet shared looks and mouthed his very name. The villagers, meanwhile, gave fond smiles and chuckled. As if answering them personally, she nodded. “Yes, my handsome, brilliant Aspire scared me so back then,” she said, closing her eyes to savor those memories. How silly she seemed, looking back. With a contented sigh, she opened her eyes to resume her speech. “But to help myself get through my fear of Aspire, his sister, my changeling friends, and their fangs, I did what felt comfortable to me—I sketched my fears.” She spread her wings wide to gesture to the easels and canvases set out before them. “So, today, Faith and I aren’t going to ask you to tell us what you’re afraid of, what’s hurting you, or what you miss. We would like you to paint. Paint to your heart’s content.” In the back, an older stallion tilted his head. “What’re we paintin’?” he drawled in a vaguely Ponyville accent. “Whatever’s both’rin’ us?” “If you want, you may,” Sure Stroke replied. “But I’d rather you paint something that speaks to you. Paint whatever it is you feel. In short, sir—” “Apple Crisp, ma’am,” he rumbled. She smiled back at him. “Well then, Mr. Crisp, I’d like you to paint your heart for me. Not your literal one,” she said before Altocumulous could raise his hoof, earning a wry look in return. “No, not that. Paint whatever your heart tells you. And Faith and I will do the same, and we’ll share toward the end. Sound good?” The group exchanged looks, some curious, some interested, a few with a hint of lingering hesitation or doubt. But slowly, one by one, they each selected an easel and took up their respective brushes, and set to work. Alto seemed to linger a bit longer, his wings rustling and tail lashing nervously, despite that look of feigned nonchalance pasted upon his face. Their eyes met, his gaze impassive save for that little tell. After several tense seconds, his eyes flitted toward the last remaining easel. He shuffled over, his head bowed and ears drooping as he moved. It took all of Sure Stroke’s self-control not to walk right over and pull him aside. But she stayed strong. We wanted to do this as a group, she reminded herself. Pulling him aside in front of everyone would do more to hurt him than help, and possibly the others as well if they saw me doing so this early on. She’d make herself out to be a busybody and lose their trust, right after Faith had so carefully earned it for her. There would be time later. After he painted with the rest, if he chose. He’d come here for a reason, and Sure Stroke would respect that. He came to see her as a patient, not as cousins, so she would treat him as any other. Sure Stroke turned and stepped over to the pair of easels she and Faith had set up at the front of their group, turned so they could easily peek around the sides and check on everyone’s progress. With a smile and a hum, she took up her brush and cast a glance over at Faith, hopeful that she’d done well. Her mentor smiled back, offering a slight nod as she took up her own brush and floated her paints up to bear in the deep green glow of her magic. “Well done,” she praised softly. “I especially liked the bit about painting their heart.” The young mare felt her cheeks color. “I was just trying to motivate them to share whatever they felt.” “You did perfectly, dear. A natural if I’ve ever seen one.” Faith eyed the canvas before her, a rueful smile spreading across her cheeks. “Let’s see if I still remember how to handle a brush. I haven’t painted anything but dishes since I was a nymph.” Stifling a laugh, Sure Stroke shook her head and turned to face her own canvas, gazing at it as her mind’s eye summoned forth the perfect image for her to bring to life today. Aspire’s face floated to view. But with him, herself. A moment together, peaceful and quiet. The chance to wrap a wing around his shoulders while he leaned in to nuzzle her bared cheek, contented smiles playing upon their lips. Yes, she decided, dipping her brush into the black paint. That’s exactly what I feel in my heart right now. Sure Stroke smiled and drew back to survey her work, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow as the noontime Sun bathed her in its warmth. Without cloud cover, Respite could get as humid as the Cumulonimbus District during storm production. Especially during the summer, considering the lake and Neighagara Forest’s dense foliage. But her focus was on that lovely picture she’d painted. It was an image she knew well from their many times alone together. Aspire, giving that soft smile with a hint of underlying smugness and possessiveness as he let her wrap a wing around her shoulders and leaned in to nuzzle her bared cheek, right by the corner of her mouth. Their eyes both closed as they savored the chance to lay together and just enjoy one another’s company. She allowed herself a fond sigh and a smile mirroring the one she’d painted, then set down her brush. “All right, everyone!” she called, trotting around her easel to address the group. “Brushes down! Faith and I are going to come around to see how you all made out!” As she and Faith moved to check on their work, Sure Stroke let her eyes flit about from patient to patient, watching for any signs of discomfort or nerves. A few drooping ears here, a bit of a wince or sheepish smile and rub at the back of the mane there, nothing she hadn’t really expected. Amateur artists tended to regard their work as embarrassing. Especially when sharing. Nothing unexpected, that was, until she noticed Altocumulus and Sleet. Both pegasi were shifty, and not just in the amateur artist sense. Her cousin’s ears stood erect, his wings twitching at odd intervals as he gazed almost longingly at at the canvas. Longing after whatever image it was he’d crafted. Sleet, on the other hoof, was another matter entirely. The poor mare’s eyes were downcast, her ears splayed, and wings drooping low. Snow Flurry had come over to throw a wing over her shoulders and had leaned down to nuzzle and whisper in her ear. Words of comfort and support, no doubt, she gleaned from the worried look upon Snow Flurry’s face. Fighting to keep a frown off her face, Sure Stroke stole a glance in Faith’s direction, her eyes passing over images of loved ones, scenery, old homes, and—she had to wince—a black night and moon without the familiar shadow of a mare. She found her mentor praising the elderly stallion for a rather admirable attempt at drawing a bluejay, a smile creasing his wrinkled face as a tear rolled down his cheeks. She could see his lips moving, forming mumbled words she couldn’t quite make out. A few of the others had even wandered over to offer their own kind words. Which left Altocumulus and Sleet to her. Sure Stroke took a deep breath and held it a moment. She would start with Sleet first. That way Altocumulus wouldn’t clam up and get huffy at her for pestering him when she had others to worry about, or some nonsense, as he was so wont to do. Affixing a smile to her face, Sure Stroke put a happy little bounce in her step. “How did we do, ladies?” she called as she drew near. The young mare came to a stop a few steps from the couple, a respectful distance, she hoped. Snow Flurry looked up and offered a half smile in return. “Oh, I think we did all right,” she replied, before turning to nuzzle Sleet again. “Sleet painted a lovely picture that sparked a few memories of some things.” Her smile faltered a touch as she tightened her wing’s embrace. “But that’s why we’re here! Isn’t it, Sleety?” Her head bowed so her icy blue eyes were hidden behind her bangs, Sleet gave a weak smile of her own and mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. Either embarrassment or shame colored her cheeks a dusty pink. Judging by the little flick of her tail and telltale show of wings itching to unfurl to cover her face, Sure Stroke would put good bits on the former. “May I see?” she asked with a little gesture toward the canvas. Sleet’s wings did unfurl just a little at that. But she nodded all the same. “It’s not …” she trailed off, her voice breaking. Sure Stroke stepped closer and placed a gentle hoof on her shoulder. “Neither Faith nor I expect you to give us a masterpiece, Sleet,” she said softly. “This is just an exercise to give you an outlet for your feelings. Okay?” A shaking breath, then another nod. The mare’s head dipped lower. “It’s not just that,” Sleet whispered. “It just … hurts.” Ears twitching, Sure Stroke glanced up at Snow Flurry to find her face a mask of mixed pain and concern for her wife. A pang shot through her chest. What had Sleet endured to pain both of them in such a way? Curiosity and worry gripped her chest like an icy claw. She licked her lips and turned to gaze at the canvas, her hoof still resting upon the mare’s shoulder as she took in her work. It was indeed an amateur’s work. Splotches of color and running paint stained the canvas here and there, clumsy lines, the work of an untrained or uncertain hoof, came together to form the image of a wooden object painted sky blue. There were four legs, each connected to another by a supporting piece, holding up a half-circle basket with cloud cushions and a fluffy blanket set beneath a mobile in mid spin, a storm cloud, a rainbow, and a trio of Wonderbolts hung over the empty cradle. Then she saw the name stitched in silver into the hoof-made blanket in elegant, flowing cursive: Cold Front. They weren’t supposed to be a family of four. They were meant to be a family of five or six. “He was a beautiful colt,” Sleet whispered. She raised her head, meeting Sure Stroke’s gaze with tear-filled eyes. “He had his father’s eyes, his jaw.” Her bottom lip began to quiver, tears rolled freely down those snow-white cheeks. “We lost Warm Front just a few months into pregnancy. An accident at the weather factory last year. And little Cold … was mine!” Her voice broke. She sat back on her haunches and covered her face with her hooves and wings, unabashedly sobbing at the memory. Snow Flurry was at her side immediately, wrapping both hoof and wing around her wife, nuzzling her mane. “It’s okay, Sleet,” she whispered, fighting back tears of her own. “They’re together, honey. They’re flying together, happy as can be. Warmy’s chasing after Cold Front in the sky beyond.” Sure Stroke’s heart broke for them. Two losses in such a short time, two wives missing their husband and a mother grieving over the loss of her baby colt. A pain she simply couldn’t imagine—and desperately didn’t wish on anyone. There was only one thing to do. She turned away from the painting and wrapped her hooves around the couple, unfurling her wings to offer a second layer of soft downy embrace. Even as she closed her eyes and tightened her hug on Sleet, the image of that empty cradle was there. Haunting her just as it had these poor mares. It was then that Snow Flurry’s control broke. She sat down with her wife, burying her face in that snowy white mane as her body wracked with sobs, her hooves clinging desperately to Sleet, as if to assure herself they were still together. That pain in Sure Stroke’s heart spread to fill her chest. Holding both mares tight, she sat with them, cracking open an eye to check on Altocumulus. A small measure of relief came when she saw Faith giving her an approving nod, then moved to speak with her cousin, her eyes widening and a smile spreading across her features at the image he’d crafted. Thank love. Her talk with Altocumulus could wait until next time. For now, there were two mares who needed someone. There were two mares who needed her.