//------------------------------// // Hootenanny // Story: House of the Rising Sunflower // by kudzuhaiku //------------------------------// There was something that almost felt a lot like momentum now. With lunch finished, there was the afternoon to look forwards to—but afternoons were too short and the sun set far too soon. Sundance wasn’t sure how Grandmother Oak would make it up to the raised foundation, but he trusted that his subjects had a plan. They were smart and capable, when left to their own devices. A drainage trench was currently being marked out, a shallow, sloped depression that would be filled with gravel, clay, and fine sand. This would be the base foundation for Paradox’s future home—a home that seemed to be the very heart of the future of the barony. Grandmother Oak, a dying tree, was almost worshiped. How strange it was, that a tree could die and be aware of it. Stranger still was a tree that caused dreamlike states and shared memories with a lewd, spice-named unicorn. As for the rampant mysticism which ran amok, Sundance satisfied himself with his owl, which looked more and more like an owl with each passing day, and less like a pincushion. Owlister had feathers now, with speckles and splotches of colour. Such rapid growth entranced Sundance, but then again, he only had his pony-perspective concerning growth and aging. “Do you feel the magic of the tree?” Sundance kept his voice low as he asked his question. “What can an owl feel, anyhow? How much has your connection with me changed you? Are you something more or less than an owl now? I imagine that owls live in the moment, with no awareness of time. Is your connection to me a blessing or a curse?” Owlister let out a rather reassuring hoot; which is to say, Sundance found himself understanding the very nature of said hoot, and its intention. He thought of his grandmother’s stories about pegasus ponies that could talk to animals and wondered if perhaps this was an aspect of Princess Celestia’s bloodline. His family had magic; some might even say deep magic, and his mother had a powerful stare. More and more, Sundance found that he could talk to owls, but could not wrap his mind around how it was possible. Was this what Turmeric meant by experiencing a mystic moment? To have something inexplicable and mind boggling happen, something that defied explanation? Something beyond mere science? Paradox clearly spoke to her cat, and Geiger evidently had some strange power of telepathy. What about Owlister? “Owlister, how well do you understand me when I speak to you?” In response, the owlet hooted, and then made a chirring sound by rattling his beak together. Sundance contemplated this reply, not understanding its meaning, only that it was some manner of acknowledgment. He felt tiny claws gripping his scalp, mindful claws that did not sink into his flesh. Some kind of test was in order, Sundance decided. “Owlister… summon the other owls, so that I might address them.” Sundance felt silly saying it, but a test was a test, and knowing the outcome might prove useful later. He sensed annoyance from his animal companion, and felt something that was almost a stream of thoughts, something about broad daylight and how rude it was to be awoken at this hour. But Owlister obeyed, and raised a ruckus. The owlet hooted and made irate, indignant owl noises that defied description. This lasted for but a short time, as once another owl woke up, then that poor soul transferred the call, and this owl—unseen—was a whole lot louder than the wee owlet. Within moments, the box canyon echoed with an owlish cacophony, a bewildering sound of irritated, annoyed owls roused from their slumber. The Greater Equestrian Shrieking Owls lived up to their namesake, and their discordant screams of axe-murdery fury consumed the air, which left the sounds of a peaceful afternoon utterly destroyed. Burrowing owls emerged from their burrows, the nooks, crannies, and crevices of rock they called home. Greater Equestrian Shrieking Owls took to the air, each of them making quite a hullabaloo to rouse their fellow owls. All around Sundance, the air was filled with the sound of flapping, hooting, and terrific axe-murdery screams. There were so many owls that the sky darkened, and a shadow was cast over the barony. An army of owls answered the call, and vast swarms of them landed upon Grandmother Oak. As for the peasants, some of them freaked out, and understandably so. But the owls kept coming. Owls from outside the box canyon flew in, a never-ending stream of predatory insomniacs. They landed on roofs, on Grandmother Oak, on every available surface. Soon, the barony was crowded with owls, and still, they kept coming. Tiny burrowers, big burrowers, horned owls, owls of every description and variety. Even owlcats and owlcoons could be seen among the incoming teeming masses of owlkind. Thankfully, no owlbears. “What have you done?” Paradox shouted as she took cover inside Grandmother Oak. “What power is this? Who are you that you command the owls? Does Princess Celestia know about this development?” More owls kept coming. A parade of owlbadgers could be seen atop the waterfall, and they moved together in a huddled formation. Sundance could scarcely believe what he had done, and he understood why Owlister was annoyed with him. To call the owls was serious business. Now, thousands of solemn, feathered faces eyeballed him and Sundance realised that these creatures had come to the call of their baron. “Argh! What magic is this?” shouted Paradox as teeny, tiny burrowing owls invaded her sanctum within Grandmother Oak, and she was forced to dance around to avoid stepping on them as they crowded her legs. “They just keep coming!” It was at this moment that Sundance knew that he had far, far more subjects than just the ponies of his barony. These creatures, they were loyal. He could feel their thoughts, which were somehow relayed through Owlister. The owls were wise, just as the old folktales said, and they were harmonious. But the hybrids however—they were discordant creatures, chaotic and disharmonious, though they were still willing to serve, to obey. His previous encounters with the owls of the barony had not turned out like this. Lifting his head, he studied the crystal tree, which had to be the cause of all of this. Some of the ponies were trying to shoo the owls away, but to no avail. Corduroy waved her arms about as a persistent owl attempted to roost upon her head. Fluffing out his feathers, Sundance addressed his subjects, confident that they would understand him. “This was only a test. My apologies. Please, disperse. Know that there might come a time when I call upon you. Thank you.” The dismissed owls did not budge. No, more owls kept coming, the sleepy stragglers and those from farther away. Sundance felt a mental barrage pressing in on his mind, a vast multitude, a collective, The Great Shared Hoot. It was somehow both alien and familiar, strange and reassuring, but it was something that could not be understood, only experienced. Out of all the ponies and the one diamond dog present, Sundance concluded that something set him apart; he was a pegasus among earth ponies. The land had a connection to the earth ponies, the diamond dog, and even the unicorns, but he was a creature of sky. So, it stood to reason that the land connected to him through different means. Though not a smart pony by any stretch of the imagination, he was proud of his own mental gymnastics and the conclusion he had reached. Since he had their attention… “I don’t want another owlbear trying to eat my ponies,” he said to the gathered multitude. “If an owlbear comes too close, I want to know. Or anything else for that matter. If I’m not here, tell Paradox. Or tell Geiger so he can tell Paradox. Never again do I want to be taken by surprise.” The hooting and shrieking went echoing through the box canyon in response. He found he had more to say, and did so. “Let it be a crime to bring harm to the owls and owl-like creatures that watch over us. Do nothing to offend them. Treat them as you would Princess Celestia’s soldiers, with kindness, reverence, and respect. Let them stay in your houses, allow them to roost in your rafters. Do not shoo them or make any attempt to banish them.” At this, Paradox appeared quite distressed. “Let us work to restore our greatness, together. As one. Owls, work with us, and you will be counted among our number. With us, you have safety for your young. Within our fields, you will find food. We have more to gain from working together. Let mutual survival be our way.” After a moment of quiet reflection, he asked Owlister, “Do they understand me?” But the question was moot, pointless. Even as he spoke the words, he knew. The answer was already evident. The land provided. Somehow, the land provided. Since the crystal tree had sprouted, things had taken a turn for the weird. Now, Grandmother Oak had joined them, and though he did not understand the magic involved, he did understand that it had purpose. It was as if the barony itself had awakened, and was now marshalling its forces. The ponies, the earth ponies that lived here their entire lives, those who refused to abandon the land and had endured the worst, were now revitalised. The evidence was obvious, easy to see… why, even Sundance could see it plain as day, and he wasn’t the smartest pony. With the owls and his subjects staring at him, the vast multitude of eyes, Sundance had something of an epiphany about his position. As baron, The Baron, he was the speaker for the land. It didn’t need a ruler, it needed a coordinator, somepony who would respect and obey the will of the land. If he continued to do right, the land would provide. The crystal tree was proof of that, a signature on a contract. He’d signed that contract with his own blood, which had soaked into the soil. Closing his eyes, Sundance reveled in the moment and basked in the glory of the owls.