//------------------------------//
// The importance of appearing nonchalant 
// Story: House of the Rising Sunflower 
// by kudzuhaiku 
//------------------------------//

There was nothing quite like ice cream, which seemed more a treat now that it was uncommon. No longer could he trot down to the corner store and grab a pint from the display freezer—which was the smart thing to do because an ice cream shop charged the cost of a pint for a single scoop. Sundance thought about these things in a way that he’d never considered them before, and during his meandering thoughts, he concluded that his barony would be a far, far better place with ice cream. 

Tarantula’s face was a sticky mess, and Sundance was terrible at cleaning small, fuzzy, sticky faces. He had no knack for it, but surely Corduroy could make things right. The burro colt seemed to be enjoying himself in his own quiet way, and as for Sundance, he found it amusing when the colt’s ears fell into his ice cream dish. It was cute, rather funny, and the colt didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest. 

“So, you actually like flying?” asked Sundance. 

At first, there was no response, the colt was far too busy lapping at the ice cream and chocolate sauce in his dish, but then at last came a perfunctory nod. A chocolate-dipped ear clung to the colt’s cheek and there was strawberry syrup just above his eye, but below his eyebrow. Yep, the kid was a mess and Sundance knew that he was going to catch an earful from Corduroy later. But that was fine—that was the way of things. She would grumble a bit and the mess would be sorted out. Life now had a pattern of sorts, a series of routines, and even with deviations such as a trip to Ponyville, certain things were constants. 

Talking to foals was still difficult. Sure, he had experience now, so it wasn’t quite as awkward, but it still seemed complicated somehow. It was something he had to work at. Amber would talk his ear off if he let her, but he had trouble keeping up his end of the conversation. It was even harder right now with Tarantula, because he knew hardly anything about the colt. Why, he didn’t even know the burro’s age—which as the colt’s caretaker, was something he felt he should know. 

Something in the back of his mind wanted to know what his mother would think of this. 

“So you like Hitut…” 

This got the colt’s attention and right away, he lifted his head from his bowl. A pale brown rivulet of chocolate and ice cream dribbled down his fuzzy chin, and his eyes were bright with interest. There was a clot of minced fruit, ice cream, and red syrup lurking in one nostril. Yeah, Corduroy was going to have herself a moment. 

“Wait… you can read, can’t you?” 

Almost hesitant, Tarantula nodded. 

“You’re kinda young… and you can read. Are you even old enough to be in school?” 

The colt shrugged and then planted his muzzle back into his bowl of ice cream. 

“How old are you?” 

Another shrug, but this one was halfhearted. 

“Huh.” Sundance floundered, and everything became increasingly awkward. “Back home, there is a zurro. His name is Gothcruz… which seems strange, but I understand it is a burro name. I think the two of you will get along. Maybe Cruz can help you connect with who and what you are.” 

The colt paused his lapping, and his eyes glittered with keen interest. 

“Well,” Sundance said, committing himself to his continued attempt to communicate, “I think you have an awesome name. Tarantula Sombrero sounds like a luchadore name, and that’s awesome. The sort of name that would strike fear into some dunderhead that nobody likes.” 

“What’s that?” asked Tarantula. 

“What’s what?” Sundance struggled to connect things. “What’s a luchadore, you mean? Well, kid, a lot of your kind grow up to be luchadores. Wrestlers. It’s kind of a big deal. They wear masks, and capes sometimes, and they’re sort of heroic figures in the square circle. My mom loves them…” When he thought of his mother, he paused to consider why she liked them. “She likes the message most of them have about hard work, good deeds, and heroic acts. But I suppose that’s true for any of the good wrestlers. Mom, she’s not big on the heels.

“You know, I could tell you all about this, and I don’t think it would help much. You and I, we’re going to have to go and watch a match. Maybe this can connect you to your culture, a bit. That’s what I want for you. Problem is, I don’t know a thing about your culture. Which has me stressed, kid.” 

The little burro blinked, but said nothing. 

“We need to get going,” Sundance announced. “I better hurry up and finish my ice cream…” 



 

A warm wind blew in from the west, which buffeted Sundance’s left side. There was bound to be some drift with this sort of wind, but Sundance sensed that his north by northeast flightpath was still good—for now. Behind him, his sky truck was loaded down with precious things, all given to him by Twilight Velvet. Some books, some toys, assorted sundries, nutritious snacks, a crate of tinned milk, and one burro that was having the time of his life. 

Tarantula’s ears flapped like windsocks in a hurricane and the young colt sat with his face pointed into the wind. He was grinning—so much so that Sundance wished that Fluttershy could see it. Teeth were visible. It was as if some radical, fundamental change had come over the tiny colt, as if some switch had been flipped from melancholy to ecstatic. While some were terrified of flight, Tarantula reveled in it, and Sundance resolved to take regular flights with the colt to keep his spirits up. 

Perhaps Tarantula was a future aviator. 

The western sky was ablaze with vivid shades of orange as the sun settled near the horizon. Green stretched in every direction below them; green trees, green grass, every good green thing that existed in the wide open spaces between cities and settlements. Feral creatures could be seen below; antelopes, wild goats, and a few lumbering giant boars that had no doubt ventured out of the Everfree to explore the open plains.  

“Go faster!”

This plea for speed could barely be heard over the roar of the wind and Sundance was surprised that he’d heard it at all. A little more speed couldn’t possibly hurt anything, but he did need to pace himself with the load he pulled. His wings carved into the air like sharp knives and the wind whistled around his flight goggles. Hind legs extended, front legs tucked against his barrel, his long neck straight forward, ears back, Sundance cut an impressive figure as he tore through the wide-open sky. 

Mindful of his precious cargo, the sky trucker hurried home. 



 

A row of lights awaited him, along with one unicorn that pulsed like a beacon. He wasn’t too far off course, and saw the faint lights of the barony from miles away. The sky was now muted shades of blue and purple, with faint hints of dull orange and crimson to the distant west. He banked, angled his wings to slow himself, and extended his legs, which were in need of a good stretch. 

Paradox made the torches flare; he saw the brilliant intensity of the light increase until it was almost as bright as day around the runway. Photon manipulation, or something like that. Paradox was good at it, though he could not understand what she did. After circling a few times, and stretching his legs, he lined himself up with the runway so he could begin his approach. 

Corduroy stood at the far end of the runway. She was probably happy to see him, and she certainly wasn’t standing there ready to act if the landing became exciting. The wind was only slightly treacherous, and Sundance was confident that he would nail his approach. Down he came, almost coasting, almost gliding. He angled his wings with the undersides forward, splayed out his primaries wide, and cupped his wings to slow himself. 

Still a bit too fast, even with the headwind coming from the west, and the cross current from the south pushed on his left side. He felt a hard tug on the trailer, and with it came a faint worry. But worry was distraction, and he could ill-afford that right now. He dropped his rear half so his hind legs hung down further than his front legs, and then flapped like mad to correct his course. 

The sky truck hit the runway first, bounced a bit, and then his hind legs hit the ground running. After the initial bump, which really wasn’t much of a bump at all, everything else was smooth. He came to a stop without skidding, took a moment to dramatically fold in his wings, and then did his best to look as nonchalant as possible, because that was the most important part of any landing that involved even a modicum of risk. 

“I have returned,” he said to his boon companions, “with a burro.” 

“Drats.” Corduroy raised her paws up on both sides. “I was in the mood for Abyssinian.” 

“You alright back there, Tarantula? That bump wasn’t too bumpy, I hope.” Sundance began undoing the straps of his harness while Corduroy ignored him as she strode past. 

“Hi.” Corduroy used the Nurse Corduroy voice that she reserved for small foals and scared patients. “Oh my… what the… that can’t… what is all over your face? Who did this to you? How did this happen and why weren’t you cleaned up?” 

Sundance turned around just in time to see that Tarantula was pointing right at him—and Corduroy was already panting with frustration. Yep, he was in trouble, but that was fine. When Corduroy reached up and tugged on her own ears, he knew from experience that she’d just reached a breaking point—boiled over, so to speak, and would now begin venting steam. 

“The wind hardened whatever… whatever this is. It’s like a mask!” The frantic diamond dog tugged her ears a second time. “Hot water and soap, Sundance! Do you not understand how these things work?” 

“Tarantula, this is Nurse Corduroy. I think you’re about to get to know her. And over here”—he gestured with his wing—“this is Paradox. She’s our wizard, and also our librarian.” 

“That kid’s face is covered with chocolate,” Paradox said matter-of-factly. “And the wind did something to it. Good luck, Corduroy.” 

“Paradox, Corduroy, this is Tarantula Sombrero. And we need to have a chit-chat about him. Twilight Velvet is about to supply us with a bushel of orphans, but we’ll be getting regular supplies and a teacher in exchange.” 

Scowling, Corduroy lifted the tiny burro colt out of the sky truck, and Sundance worried. The colt didn’t like being touched, or so he’d been told. But Tarantula didn’t seem to mind. Corduroy’s immense size made him seem even tinier, and he was able to sit on her cupped paw. Sundance himself came up to Corduroy’s navel, but from the looks of this, Tarantula wouldn’t even come up to her knee. 

“I got ice cream,” Tarantula said to Corduroy. 

“I see that,” Corduroy replied. “It’s all over your ears.” 

“Is it bedtime?” the colt asked. 

“No.” The stern giantess nurse shook her head. “It is bathtime.” 

“Aw…” Tarantula wiped his face with his foreleg, but that only smeared the mess and made it worse. “I’m sleepy. I don’t wanna be by myself. Scared.” 

Corduroy’s face softened so much and so suddenly that her jowls sagged. She pulled the colt close—but was mindful of his sticky face—and cradled him in the crook of her massive forearm. “You can sleep in the infirmary tonight. I’ll keep you company. I have potions to make. But first, we have to get you clean. A hot bath will do you good.” 

The colt said nothing. 

“Are you scared of the dark?”

Tarantula blinked once, twice, and then made a single nod. 

Corduroy took off with a sudden lurch of movement, and Sundance watched her go. She was swift, not just because of her size, but because she was in a hurry to scrub something. It occurred to Sundance that Corduroy would derive great joy from keeping a collection of orphans scrubbed. They were bound to get dirty—this place was all dirt and nature without a lot of asphalt, concrete, and cement—and when it rained, everything turned to mud. 

“You brought back a lot of stuff,” Paradox remarked. 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “More books. Donations. Used books. Still better than no books. Some food, canned milk, canned butter, and other things.” 

“She’s… gonna scrub his face right off, you know that, right?” Paradox wore an expression of deep concern.

“Eh, he’ll live. I’m sure of it.” Even as he said it, Sundance worried, because he’d been the victim of more than a few scrubbings. “Everything needs to be put up and stored away.” 

“I’ll help,” Paradox offered. “So, tell me about this burro… you mentioned that we need to talk?”