If there was anyone in existence who was lazier than Discord, than such a mantle could only belong to Braeburn Apple. This was not a natural sloth though. He was willing to work; there was just not much for him to do. He had more wealth than he could ever spend, no house to clean, much to his sorrow no bride nor children to comfort or care for, and he never had to worry about the weather or growing his own crops. The part of the forest he lived seemed to care for him as if he was its child: shielding his sleeping spots with branches and leaves so thick, rain could not hope to penetrate. Fruit and other vegetation seemed to appear when he hungered, and there was plenty of water for him to drink, which came from a spring that never dwindled. It also gave him a place to hang his cloak and rest his head when he was tired. Some would think a hammock made out of vines would be uncomfortable, but these vines grew in a forest filled with magic and other divine forces. As such, they were as soft as a mattress, but twice the strength of steel.
Truly he was lucky, for almost no other mortal had received such blessings and privileges. Then again, it was difficult to say if any other stallion had been allowed into the Fairy Queen's Forest, realm of the mysterious fairy race, or breezies for those more used to Equestria’s word. Fully grown, they were scarcely as large as a human’s finger. They fluttered about most of their day, growing plants and taming beasts, caring for their forest in a similar way to Thicket. But they dare not shy away from crafts and other mortal pleasures like the druid kingdom did. They could weave fabrics and forge weapons that could guard against nearly any spell or weapon.
Of such crafts, Braeburn owned two. Close to him was a harp that never went out of tune, and a lute that when strummed, hummed beautifully. The harp was woven from branches, with the strings made of silver. The lute was carved from an ancient tree, old and powerful. They were also enchanted, for the breezies thought it necessary for Braeburn to cast charms on others and the land, though those spells were rarely used. Around the forest was an impregnable wall of thorns and vines, which kept all but the mightiest creatures away. The only true way to enter the forest was to own something of the breezies, and that meant earning their trust.
As he snoozed most of the day away, there came a calling for him. "Braeburn!" The voice called over and over. Suddenly, a young girl ran into his clearing. She called his name a few more times before climbing into the hammock herself. Her name was Strong Heart, Braeburn and the breezie’s ward.
Strong Heart, whom Braeburn often called Little Strong Heart, was a bison, a very rare creature. Plagues and near constant war had decimated the bison’s numbers across the world, and now, only a handful of tribes existed, most in Equestria, and a few in Arcania, the homestead of the Gargoyles and Centaurs. Years ago, there was only one tribe left in Thicket, but, for reasons Braeburn and the breezies rather not say, they had all perished, leaving only Strong Heart to carry on their bloodline.
"Braeburn, I'm bored," Strong Heart grumbled, laying her head on his chest. "Can we go into town?"
Braeburn sometimes left the forest to go to one of the port towns to the east or west. Usually he’d find a tavern, play a song or two, and have a drink with whomever was there at the time. However, the trip often tired him out, and bringing along Strong Heart would surely strain him. "That's an overnight trip, sugarplum," Braeburn said, almost unwilling to move. He didn't even look up at her from under his hat.
"I know, and that's the best part! We can get dinner and breakfast the next day at an inn!" Strong Heart couldn't explain it, but inns and taverns had some sort of magic about them. Not the kind of magic that the breezies or forest had. The atmosphere and music had an energy that was lacking in a uniform society like the Fairy Queen's Forest. While the fairies' songs where gentle and soothing, and beautiful by every definition of the word, the music that Braeburn and other mortals played seemed to force everyone to dance and sing, cheer and laugh into the night.
"Ain't my cooking good enough?"
"It's good, but you can't beat those pancakes! A girl can only survive off simmered fruit and vegetables for so long. Besides, the town is so much more alive!"
"Girl, we live in a forest," Braeburn said as if to chide her. "There ain't nothin more alive than nature."
"You know what I mean!"
"I know, I know," Braeburn said with a gentle chuckle. "Tell you what, we'll go in a few days, you can even order dessert if you want, but fer now, I have a lot of nothing to do, and you know how hard it is to do nothing."
"A Few days, but I get dessert," Strong Heart said, humming to herself. "Deal."
"You gonna get off me now?"
"No, I think I'll stay and do nothing with you. Beats doing nothing by myself." And so, they stayed, swaying in the breeze. That is, until Strong Heart began to get restless. If there was one thing that she was terrible at, it was doing nothing. There was nothing in the world that was harder to do than nothing. Braeburn, be it either great skill or merely determination, had mastered doing nothing, but she was just a calf. She began to shift and stir, before finally saying, "Can you tell me a story?"
“Why would I do that when I’m trying to relax and do nothing?” Braeburn asked, trying his best to sound annoyed. He was failing miserably. In truth, he detested doing nothing, and relished the chance to sing a song or tell a story. Still, no sense in outright spoiling his ward.
Strong Heart began to piece together a response so flawless, that it was impossible for her not to hear a story. “You’d tell me one because I want one?”
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Braeburn said.
There was a sudden change in the forest as little creatures began to creep from the trees. They were small, about the height of a human child's finger and had antenna poking out the tops of their heads. They floated through the air using their fragile wings, all converging on Braeburn and Strong Heart. These little creatures were young breezies, hardly seven years of age. Their small voices rang clear with their demands. All wanted a story, agreeing with Strong Heart’s request. But not just any story, a story that that came from the outer world. The breezies all landed on Strong heart, using her as a seat as the hammock swayed in the breeze, all while Braeburn chuckled.
He could very well say no, and no breezie would argue. They had too much respect for Braeburn to do so. It was the same reason Braeburn had been given his comfortable life, for Braeburn held the title of Fairy Champion.
"Hold your horses, hold your horses! Just let me think for a minute," He said stifling a laugh. There was nothing quite like seeing Strong Heart covered in breezies. They were all as adorable as his littlest cousin, Apple Bloom. "Alright, my cousins love this one. Once, there lived a maiden far in the east-" As he began to weave a tale, drawing in the young crowd that had gather atop of him, Braeburn was sure that his life couldn't get any better. This would soon prove to be the least true thing he’d ever thought, but that was a tale for another time. For now, it was in the forest that Braeburn lived, and in the forest where he remained.