//------------------------------// // Calm Before The Storm // Story: A Slave's Freedom // by Soaring //------------------------------// The kerosene lamp brightened the room, while the world outside grew dark. Mr. Burr sat in his chair, his feet propped up on a smaller padded chair in front of him. The weekly Ripley Advertiser was open proudly in his hands, the large newspaper full of articles of his hometown. His hands gripped it tightly, while his thumb rubbed the top of it with care, tempted to turn the next page.  On the other hand, Dyson stood still. His eyes were looking on at his master, while his long, lanky arms dangled at his sides. “Sir.” The vocalization made Mr. Burr pause, his thumb stopping its caress, while the grip on the paper loosened. “Yes, Dyson?”  A big old brown clock chimed in the farthest corner of the room. Dyson’s eyes darted to it. “I-I… wanted to ask you ‘bout Mr. Stockton, sir.” Silence reigned for a moment. Dyson couldn’t see Mr. Burr due to the paper that was blocking his view. But then, the paper was folded shut, set aside on his footrest. Mr. Burr gazed at his slave, and smiled. “Oh?” He got up from his chair. “Why do you ask?” Dyson twiddled with his fingers. “I… was worried, sir.” “Worried?” Mr. Burr let out a hearty laugh. “Dyson, you and the rest of those negroes don’t need to worry about Mr. Stockton. He’s absolutely harmless to you lot.” “It’s not that, sir…” Dyson’s voice trailed off, his eyes flickering between the clock and his owner. “You looked like you were goin’ punch him. I didn’t want to have to yank ya off him.” That nearly killed Mr. Burr, his hands holding his belly tight. “B-Boy you’re going to kill me with all this talk!” He took a seat back in his chair. “Mr. Stockton’s just grating on the ears sometimes. He tends to… say nonsense that I don’t take kindly.” Dyson tilted his head. “What did he say, sir?” “Nothing worth mentioning,” Mr. Burr said lamely. He bent down to grab his newspaper, and took a seat back in his chair. With a quick flick, his paper was opened again. He waved at Dyson dismissively. “Like I said, don’t worry about it. If there’s anything he says that worries me, I’ll let you know.” “Thank you, sir.”  At first, Dyson took a bow, and moved towards the door. But just as he was about to grip the handle to the door, he stopped and turned back. “Master?” “Yes?” “Are ya goin’ to the Crossroads tomorrow?” Dyson heard Mr. Burr breathe deeply, making him shiver. “Yes I am, Dyson.” He set his paper aside. “Gotta after losing a couple to last year's storm, remember?” Unfortunately, Dyson did remember. His gaze traveled to the floor. “I-I do, s-sir. Hope they be real nice. We be needin’ those new hands.” “Mhmm.” Dyson saw the back of his master’s head bobbing, while his master’s hand turned the page. At first, Dyson thought that his master had nodded to his response, but then he heard his master’s voice hum to a beat, a beat that Dyson recognized. He was about to ask him why he was humming it, but Mr. Burr beat him to it. “You know, Dyson? I miss your mother’s tunes. Reminds me of my wife playing her piano,” Mr. Burr said. He hadn’t turned around, but his head was no longer paying attention to the paper in front of him. The night sky was much more interesting. “I do too, sir.” Dyson stood frozen, his feet numb. “Momma’s really good at piano.” “That she is, which is why I need you to do me a favor. Could you tell her I’d really appreciate it if she’d start again?” He turned to see Dyson’s stalwart stance. “She’s the only negro woman I ever heard play that well on a piano.” “I’ll tell her, sir.” “You better,” Mr. Burr said with a smirk. “She needs to start practicing. I’d like for her doing that so I don’t have to read in here anymore.” “Is that why you come out here?” Dyson asked. Mr. Burr shook his head, before he turned to his paper once again. He grimaced. “I feel… my wife’s presence here. We used to come in here once in a while to get away from everything.” He paused and flicked to the next page. “You remember that?” Dyson walked towards him. “Definitely, sir. I came out to serve ya both a few times. That was…” He paused, counting on his fingers. “Five years?” “Six. Six years, boy.” The paper crackled a bit. “You came with your family that long ago. And she’s been gone for three less.” He plopped his feet back up on his other chair. “Anyway, when your mother does her playing, she makes the house feel more… home-like. It don’t feel so empty, you know?” Dyson wanted to say no, because he had never had that problem, but he nodded anyway.  “Knew you’d understand. You a smart working negro. That’s why you don’t work as much out there.” “I know, sir. I appreciate your kindness,” Dyson said with a smile.  “I try, even in these times,” Mr. Burr said, before putting his paper down. He looked at the clock and saw the hands tick-tock their way near twelve. “Whelp, looks like it’s time for you to get some shut-eye.” “You not headin’ to bed, sir?” Dyson asked as he opened the door. Mr. Burr shook his head. “No, boy, I’m too absorbed in these news articles to go to bed just yet. But you need to, so don’t stay awake for my sake.”  “Alright, sir. I’ll be gittin to bed. I’ll be up for mornin’ harvest!” Mr. Burr laughed. “Hope so.” Dyson bowed and exited the room. “Good night, sir.” “G’night, Dyson,” Mr. Burr replied. When the door clicked shut, Mr. Burr smiled, and turned the page. The sun woke me up, not Dash. There was a problem with that: she had told me she would keep watch. I didn’t need that much sleep, so the fact that I even got what felt like forever made my mouth open wide, letting out a tremendous yawn. Rubbing the sleep off my eyes, I turned to look for the colorful-not-horse, whose rainbow mane was resting on the same grains as I. And she was, fast asleep… ...snoring. I nudged her, furious. How could she fall asleep? She was the one who warned me about this place’s monsters, and here I was, nudging her in hopes of waking her up! Her body just wiggled to my touch, while her snores remained unaffected, loud as can be. “Dash.” I said with a bit of venom. I prodded her with a little more force, nudging her side with my knuckle. It got her to mutter something in her sleep, but she wasn’t budging, her hooves curling under her belly. And that’s when I saw it: a tuft of fur on her belly. It looked so fluffy that it could be the way to wake her up. I smirked and glazed my fingers over it and—  “W-Wha, huh?” Rainbow Dash mumbled. Her eyes darted to and fro, before she craned her neck to me. ‘I… Dyson?” She tilted her head. “What are you doing?” “Tryin’ to wake ya up, that’s what,” I said. “You were supposed to wake me up when ya wanted to get some sleep.” The mare let out a very sharp yawn. “Sorry about that, Dyson. I didn’t even know I fell asleep. One moment I was thinking about what I’d do when I get home, and the next you’re tickling my chest.” Dyson smirked. “Well nearly punching you didn’t even wake you up. Hell, you’d probably sleep through a stampede if I let ya!” Dash giggled, before letting out a short blow. “Sounds like something Applejack would say.” She frowned. “Probably be worried just like the rest of the girls when they find out I’m missing.” “Best be on our way to meet ‘em, right?” I said, my hand outstretched.  Helping her apparently earned me a confused look, a raised brow that twitched at the thought of me being nice, so I decided to continue, “Need help up?” She stammered out a reply, “S-Sure.” She put her hoof in my hand, letting me pull her up. It was an awkward tug, but she soon found her bearings. Unfortunately, her wing kept reminding her how not-okay she was, making her wince. “I hope my wing doesn’t get infected. That’d stink having to be grounded at the clinic for a whole month.” She rolled her eyes, and stretched her uninjured wing. “I can’t tell you how much I hate that place. It feels like I keep visiting it every week with a new injury!” “What’s a clinic?” Her brow really twitched at that one. Was that something I should have known? I just stared on as that left brow trembled uncontrollably. “Dyson, when we get back, I need you to talk to my friend, Twilight, because if you don’t know what a clinic is… I wonder if you even know what medicine is.” I shook my head. “Can’t tell ya that either.”  Dash sighed. Her grit teeth and ruffled muzzle made her look like she wanted to punch me. Maybe not knowing things she knew made her irritated. Or maybe she was alone with something she never knew existed, while having to deal with a broken wing. She’s stuck with me: a slave who she ran into while flying, and with no way out in sight, it's probably got her all rattled. These are only possibilities though, I don’t know her well enough to just assume, much like she doesn’t know me well. She walked away from me, staring out beyond the cave. I walked beside her and looked down at her. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” “How did you get up here without wings?” I wiggled my fingers. “These work hard, Dash. I just climbed my way up.” She turned to me, her mouth and eyes wide open. “With me on your back?” “Dash, you is light as a feather on a chicken,” I said, earning me a glare. I put my hands out in front of me. “It’s true! I put you over my shoulder, and climbed. I didn’t know this place, so I made sure to be not near the ground, that way nothin’ would snatch us!” I looked down at the gorge below. I could see the water trickle down. “Guessin’ ya want down?” She nodded. “But the ledge is way too thin for me, Dyson. I don’t know if I can walk on it.” I smirked at her. “Wanna find out?” “Is that a challenge?” “Take it as ya may, Dash,” I reply, seeing her matching smirk. “I just givin’ you my thoughts.” She stepped forward, and placed her hoof on the ledge. She was right, the ledges around us were extremely thin. This was where I stopped, since I knew trying to go higher was pointless—all the ledges were too thin for my fingers to get a good grip. So I just settled in this cave, hoping that nothing would snatch us. We were… high up, just not even close to half-way. This place was huge.  I sat on the edge of the ledge, and prepared myself to head down. Meanwhile, Dash looked above us to confirm what I already knew: “Dyson, we can’t go up either. Those ledges look super thin—” “Yeah, but them down there don’t look like they ain’t meant for climbin’.” I began to dangle over the side. “Ya ready?” “Dyson, I can’t do that with hooves.” Right, she’s like a horse. “Okay, well,” I said, pulling myself back up. “Git on my back, and wrap your hooves round my neck.” “Okay,” Dash said, doing as I told her. She draped herself over me, her forelegs wrapped around my neck. “Like this?” I smiled. “Yep, just like that.” I got back on the side of the ledge and began to descend. “Keep a good hold on me, alright?” “I’ll try.” Her voice sounded anxious. Was she thinking I was going to drop her? “Don’t drop me.” “Not plannin’ to,” I replied, wearing a smirk. The climb down wasn’t rough as she thought, but it didn’t mean that her added weight didn’t add any strain. And I bet she wouldn’t admit it, but she was whimpering the first few times I dropped down. It wasn’t something I would make fun of her for, but from what I’ve gotten from her, she’s very prideful, much like Mr. Stockton. And if Mr. Stockton was anything to go by, she didn’t have the guts to admit it right away. By the time we were closer to the bottom, my fingers were rough, and my muscles felt worked. I decided to check on my passenger to see if she was okay, but her fidgeting told me a different story, one of fear. “Ya alright back there?” “S-Shut up,” she stuttered. I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Just checkin’ to see you ain’t colder than a wagon tire.” I swing my body a bit. “Careful, goin’ for ‘nother swing.” That got her to tense up, as I swung myself from one ledge to the next. “Why did you do that?” “Look to your left, Dash.” She saw what I was seeing: a larger ledge directly to our left. It had a way down that didn’t involve me getting strangled to death by a worried horse. She gasped, and said, “Just one more swing, Dyson, you can do it!” I smirked and told her to hold on tight. And tightly she did, but she wasn’t worried anymore. I saw that excited smile, before I took the plunge, swinging to the next grey ledge. We landed just fine. Although scraping my knee was not part of the plan. I winced slightly, but it was just because the minor injuries hurt the most.  Dash hopped off my back, and kissed the ground rather graciously. “I have never ever said this, so if you told anypony, I’d deny it outright.” She hopped in front of me. “Got it?” “Understood, Dash.” “I’m so glad I’m finally on the ground.” Hearing this was different. Never had heard someone say that they were glad to be on the ground. I get the feeling though. It felt good to finally not have to hear another person shouting at me to do something. So far, I did stuff on my own, or, well, with someone, that is. “Me too, Dash.” I took a gander at the raging waves ahead of us that were racing down the unexplored valley. “Me too.”