Slowly a man on horseback pulled alongside the dirt road. He kept his brown horse at bay, telling her to stay put, and hopped off. The horse neighed a reply, but it did not get a response. She snorted, before she laid under a giant oak tree, her head gracing the grass.
The man smiled, dusted himself off, and adjusted his black hat. He walked on the windy path in front of him, his shoes pitter-pattering against the dirt. The giant white mansion stared back at him, basking in the early fall heat.
After walking up the stairs to the front porch, the man took off his hat, and leaned against the railing. He wiped the sweat pooling on his head, slicked back his grey hair, and took a deep breath.
Knock. Knock.
The door rattled against its door frame.
“One moment!”
The man stepped back and hung his head.
The door handle jostled, before the door swung open.
“Hello, sir. How may I help ya?”
He sneered at the vermin, before clearing his throat. “I am looking for Mr. Burr, son.”
“Oh!” the vermin squeaked. “Ya must be Mr. Stockton!”
“Yes, that I am.” Mr. Stockton rolled his eyes.
“Lemme go git him. He be out back tellin’ ‘em what’s what for the harvest!”
The vermin scurried off into the house, turning briskly behind a wall.
Meanwhile, Mr. Stockton stood frozen, his face contorted. Customarily, when a slave answers the door, they should offer the guest the most comfortable seat in the house. Then, once inside, they should ask the guest if they would like something to eat or drink, before tarrying off to get his or her master. Mr. Stockton knew this unspoken rule, but the slave that answered the door did not.
Mr. Stockton frowned and stepped back out, his eyes scouring the landscape from the front porch. His sluggish hold on the railing made him look hunchback, while his grey dusty suit reflected the burning gaze of the sun.
He thought for a while. Was Mr. Burr really the best option to go to for learning more about slave handling? Although the man’s expertise on discipline was strong, if a slave was not welcoming, then they did not understand the ruling in the first place.
While Mr. Stockton’s mind was fielding whether to stay or leave, Mr. Burr was outside, managing the harvest. He watched the slaves gather the corn, their sweaty hands clasping onto each stalk with ease, while the cotton was picked slowly off in the deadly heat. A mother told her child to stay put, while she watched him hold the bag open to drop another small fluff-ball in.
Mr. Burr adjusted his pipe. “Don’t haul that over there!” he shouted, pointing at two slaves with a bag full of corn. “Over in the corn barn! Do you want to be sleeping outside tonight you—”
A tap on his shoulder made Mr. Burr spin around in anger. “And what do you—oh, it’s you, Dyson.”
“Yessir,” Dyson said, bowing. “Sorry ‘bout that, Master. I got down here to tell ya that Mr. Stockton’s out front wantin’ to talk.”
A scowl grew on Mr. Burr’s face. “Why didn’t you let him in?”
Dyson shrunk into his chest. “Sorry, sir. I had to git to ya before the work started to be all rough.”
“Alright, son,” Mr. Burr said. His scowl faltered. “We’ll have a talk about this later, ya hear?”
Dyson nodded. “Yessir.”
Mr. Burr walked past his slave, and ran into the house, leaving Dyson to walk amongst the stalks.
Quickly, Mr. Burr ran through the maze of his house, before spotting his friend on the front porch. “Mr. Stockton!”
The grey-suited man turned around. “Ah, Mr. Burr. You did not forget our arrangement?”
“No-no-no, Mr. Stockton,” Mr. Burr said, walking out onto the porch. “I had not. My mind was focused on managing the harvest.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I figure you’re edging to see what makes my worker’s tick?”
Mr. Stockton glanced to his left and sighed. “Not if they’re all like that critter that answered the door.”
“Ah, no they are not like that. I’ll be discussing with him about proper etiquette tonight.”
That got Mr. Stockton tilting his head. “Why not now?”
“Because it’s time to harvest! Disciplining on a more… stricter scale requires the right time and place.”
Mr. Stockton hummed. “I see. Do tell in time, yes?”
“Of course,” Mr. Burr said. “Now come, my friend! Daylight is burning.”
Mr. Stockton nodded and walked into his friend’s home. “Thank you kindly.”
The two men walked out back, much to the dismay of a critter looking on.
Safe.
I sighed and gently laid her near the cave entrance, while I collapsed on the opposite side of it, propping myself against its walls. It was a small little hole in the huge narrow valley. It reminded me of the shed Master had out back. The only reason why I knew this building existed was because I overheard him talking about it one night, after dealing with a couple of richer white folk. Whenever he stressed about something, he’d go there to rest on his favorite reading chair. There would be that old lamp flickering beside him, the glass looking like a woman when she’s with child. And there would be the sound of silence, something that was far and few between on the farm.
Silence was hard to witness here, too: the water still raged on outside. It became part of the backdrop, as the distant sounds of a maddened demon pierced my ears. It made me wince as I heard how angry it sounded. There was no comfort here, just safety in an area away from the open dull space of this place.
I took a peek back at my plus one. The horse’s breathing finally started to calm, something that I was worried about before. Before, she had been breathing like she was running away from someone, but that changed a little while ago. She was just resting now, unaware of the screams of the night.
Well, until I spoke of her rest. She stirred, her eyes flickering and her neck craning to view her surroundings.
“Where a-am I?”
Her eyes settled on mine, which were wider than a wagon’s tire. She pointed her hoof at me. “What are you?”
The question caught me off guard. I never have been asked this before, so I just told her what I knew.
“I’mma slave.”
She nearly tilted her head off that neck of hers when she heard me say those words. “A slave? In Equestria?” She eyed me up and down. “Never seen a slave like you before.”
Equestria? That place didn’t sound anywhere near Mississippi. So there was no way I was even close to home. “I never seen a horse talk.”
“I am not a horse! I’m a pegasus, buster,” she began, scooting towards me. She shoved me with that hoof of hers, pinning me against the wet wall. “And I am one of the best flyers around! You’ll never beat me in a race, I’ll—”
Her little rant skirted to a halt when her broken appendage made itself known. “Ahh!” she screamed, before snapping to her wing. “What happened to my wing?”
“Ya don’t remember?” I asked. I got myself comfortable against the rough cave wall.
She tapped her hoof against her chin. “Well, I do remember hitting something…”
“Hitting me was the first something ya hit.”
“I did?” she said, groaning. “Then what was the second thing?”
“A huge rock. Saw ya layin’ on the other side, so I got on over and picked ya up.”
Her mouth formed into a small ‘o’. “Sorry for hitting you, if that’s anything. Just didn’t expect anyone down here in Ghastly Gorge.”
“Ghastly Gorge?”
She raised a brow at me. “Are you not from here?”
“Sounds like it,” I said, nodding. “I’m from Northern Mississippi, ma’am.”
“I’ve never heard of any place called Mississippi before…”
“And I never heard of this place either.”
She frowned momentarily, those eyes downcast and her ears deflated, but it wasn’t long before she scooted over towards me again and gave me a short smile. “Guess we’re going to go have to work together to get out of here, huh?”
“Looks like it.” I offered her my hand. “The name’s Dyson, ma’am.”
“Weird, but everyone’s got weird names nowadays.” That smile felt more real now, her pinkish eyes twinkling in the dark. “Name’s Rainbow Dash, but just call me Dash.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I felt her hoof in my palm. We quickly shook ‘hands’.
In the dark, I saw her grit teeth. “Never call me ma’am. Dash is good enough.”
I smiled. “Sounds good, Dash.”
Dash stood up, yawned, and stretched her hind legs. “Phew! All this crashing and stressing makes me want to sleep some more.” She turned to me. “But it wouldn’t be fair to you if I didn’t watch over you. Are you wanting to take turns sleeping?”
“Is it really that bad here?”
“Ghastly Gorge is an extremely dangerous place,” Dash began, sitting on her flanks. “There’s eels that jut out from the walls that’ll eat you if you’re too close, and hydras if you’re near the caverns—”
“Okay, I get your point.” I curled up into a ball. I didn’t want to imagine any of those things right now. “So do you want to get some more rest first?”
She surprised me by shaking her head. “Although I said I would, I don’t think I should sleep now. You’ve been watching me for probably a while now, making sure I’m safe. I wouldn’t be Loyalty if I didn’t let you sleep for a bit.”
I wanted to ask her what that meant, but my body failed to let me speak. A yawn escaped me, which made Dash chuckle. “And it sounds like you need it more than me.”
“Well if ya’re offerin’...” My voice trailed off as I slowly laid down on the rough grains of the cave. Although it was a bit wet, the ground was still dry enough to sleep on. “Thanks, Dash,” I added, mumbling it through another yawn.
As my body finally gave way, I heard her voice over the growls of the night. “Sleep well, Dyson.”
And I did as she said, drifting off into dreamland.