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// At the Hut: 1 
// Story: A Diamond, in the Rough 
// by Kentavritsa 
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“Knock, knock, knock..” is heard as I pat the door of her hut.

A moment late, a Zebra’s hoof-steps are heard from within.  She is clearly light on the hoof, so it is never all that much noise from within; to hear, in the first place.

No, she had not been sleeping; for what ever reason, she may have had.  I do know, even a Zebra needs her sleep.  She is just like any other Pony, in this regard; even if her coat carries stripes, and her mane stands on end as if scared.

I had not chosen the destination, more than I had chosen my fate.  My path had been cut short, and my fate, had been cut short.  Who, or what is behind it; I have no idea.

While I had known Discord to be quite cruel, and sadistic; I had come to learn, he had no use or amusement from a Dead Pony.

King Sombra is a Despot, who thrives on fear; in the interest, of maintaining control of his poor subjects.  Just as discord; he has no use of a dead Pony, incapable of fear or service.

Nightmare Moon may be feared; but just like Discord and King Sombra, she has no use of a dead Pony.  A Dead can not look up to her, adore her or love her for who she is and what services she is rendering.  I would have been safe, under Nightmare Moon; now I am not feeling very safe, as I had fled my home and the life I may have had.

Queen Chrysalis, and her Changelings may be cruel and suck the love out of me if she had the chance; but she has no use of a Dead Pony, more than any other creature.  A dead Pony, can supply her with no love.

“Wait?” I ponder; "Why exactly, am I knocking on this door?” I continue.
I can’t stay here, for long.

My thought, cut short; by the voice of a Zebra, known and loved by all in the village of Ponyville.  She is after all Zecora.

“Clip, clop; clip, clop!” I hear, from behind the door; as Zecora is trotting over to the door.

There is a pause, a momentary silence; before the door opens, and the Zebra stands behind the door.  I see her peering out, watching me.  I am quiet, for but a moment.

I am feeling quite awkward, but the fright is the dominant feeling of the moment.  I shiver; more from the fear; than the actual chill, of the air.

“Diamond?” she exclaims; “Do come in, before I hear the din!” she adds.

“Zecora!” I respond, as I step into the hut.

“Thank you..” I mumble.

She closes the door, behind me; the noises of the forest, expelled and shut out.

Now she turns around, facing me; staring at the cold body, pressed tight against my chest.

“Daughter premature, let us her life secure!” she offers.

“Thank you, Zecora..” respond, dare saying nothing more.

“How did she know?” I ponder, shivering.

In as sense, I had entered the eye of the storm; as I entered her hut, accepting her protection.  Against what may be out there, still; lingering silently, biding its time.

Should I have been following the news, to know what had befallen upon me?  Is there a new threat, lingering in the village, in Equestria?  I do not know.

For an instant, I am safe; caring for the one left behind, my younger sister.

I have nothing, and no Pony to turn to.  I am alone.  Yet, this one zebra had taken me in.  She is prepared, to help me; saving the one faint glimmer, of the hope I have left.

“She is in need of care, from the one who still date!” she points out.

“I had taken the time to pick her up, to hold her close; even knowing, she was slowing me down!” I realize.

Yet, where could I have gone, to whom could I have turned; alone and with nothing, carrying the shame of letting my sister remain where she were?  Alone.  Her mother dead, her father ass good as dead; even if he had not been touched, by the blade cutting the family in half.

“I have what you need, if you are prepared to forsake every trace of greed?” she offers, in her usual Zebra-rhyme riddle-logic I can barely understand.

Yet, I am grasping for straws; out of panic, and out of fear.

“How could I possibly respond, answer her?” I consider; “How could I possibly let her down; when offered the one chance of deliverance, and an option to save my face?” I continue.

“You have?” I inquire; “What do I need to do?” I continue.

I watch her gather ingredients, to whatever potion she is preparing; watching, in awe and in shock.

“She is in need of stable feed, if you can carry the deed!” she pushes forth, presenting me with a cup, containing what she had brewed.

“Do I drink?” I inquire; “Can I swallow?” I ponder, in shock.

She just nods, quietly: offering me a brave smile, as encouragement in my dire position.

Of course, I am about to give up something; prematurely, and before the proper time.  I am left alone, with options fewer than none.

She wants, for me to drink up; for me, to do what had become my fate.  I am the only Pony, I can ask to carry the burden.  My face, already pale; goes light and grey, ashen white.  I know she is watching, knowing full well my fate.

She had offered me something; more than I could have asked of her, or any Pony else.  Yet; she had offered it to me, freely.  No hidden agenda, and no payment required.  Of course; I am already paying, more than I should be asked to give up.

I blink, trying to swallow.  The lump in my throat, refusing my effort.  There is but the one thing, left for me to do.  Picking up the cup in my free hoof, putting it to my lips; slowly tilting it, only for the first drop to land on my tongue.

My mouth, dry; cold and salty.

Drop by drop, sliding over the edge of the cup in my hoof; as I pour its content into my mouth, making the liquid flow over my lips.  There is a pang of a leafy taste, but with a quite bitter after-taste I can’t identify.  It just refuses to be identified. I can’t put a hoof onto what it is.

Drop by drop, slowly flowing over my tongue, reaching the lump in my throat; ignoring it, on its way down.

By the time, I can finally let go of the cup; I am exhausted, my hooves slowly sliding out from under me.

For a moment; I fear, she is to just lie there on her floor.  A moment later; she is lifting me up, carrying me to a cot by the wall.

I lie still, quiet.  The filly by my side.

My back up against the way, as I am cornered; with the filly before me, laying still, still breathing.  Weak, but holding.

As I watch, she is looking up; looking at me, as if asking for something.

What am I to do?  I lift a hoof, pulling her closer.  Now I feel her warmth, aided by my presence; her presence, warming me in ways I had never been dreaming of.  It is too early, far too early; a filly premature, by the side of a mare prematurely. Am I the mare, she will see as her mother?

I feel her muzzle, as she is muzzling my belly; seeking, for the one thing that saves her life.

Am I breathing, or am I holding my breath?  I have no idea.

Moment by moment, passing by.  She is still searching, for the one thing saving her life.

“Is she strong enough?” I ponder; “Does she know, what she is looking for?” I continue.

She is quiet, as she is moving forwards. She continues.  I feel her slowing, slowing down.  Is she tiring, giving up?  Am I imagining it.

Too tired, I am too tired.  I am trying my best, focusing the last I have; on the one thing, that still matters to me.  The one little filly, the one I had carried all the way out to where I am now.

I may be in the middle of the forest.  Is it the heart of the spirits?

Time is passing by, as the brew is doing what she had intended.

My body, changing; tuning me into the mare, ready to feed the daughter by my side.  I am taking the place, of a mother she could never have; offering her the chance, she had previously been denied.

Could I have denied her this one chance?

The small muzzle, shivering and cold; slowly moving forwards, to the destination.  I can still feel her, she is still there.  It is not too late; I had not made this sacrifice in vain.  Had I?  The mere question, crushing me.

Is it seconds, minutes, hours; or, is it an eternity?

There is something wet, as I feel her muzzling me.  She had found the spot.  Maybe, just maybe; it is not yet too late.

My body, preparing; changes slowly washing over me, approaching completion.  I had felt it, from the instant I had swallowed the brew; now complete, just in time for my younger and youngest sister. She had become my all.

With my mother dead, my father destroyed; what do I have left, but this one filly I am caring for?

Maybe, I am reevaluating who I am.  I can no longer be the filly I had always been.  Now I am forced to grow up; to be the mother of a filly who should have been my sister.

She will never learn the love of her father.

At least, I can offer her the love of the mother she should have had; even after everything I had already lost, and everything I had just sacrificed.

A new feeling is reaching me, as it is spreading through my body; the joy and the love of the filly I am feeding.

She had found, what she was looking for.  Apparently, she had known it all along.

Maybe she had been teasing me, lapping at the nipple?  Yet, the nipple had found its place, in her mouth; providing her, with the one thing I can offer her above all else.

“She is my family!” I ponder; “How could I have been abandoning her, now?”  I continue; “Saving her, is my salvation, and everything I have left!” I conclude.

I feel her lips, encircling the nipple; as she drinks her fill, warming me with the love I need.

“Am I alive?” I question the existence.

Time passes, as she is feeding; my life is forever changed, and the abandoned exhaustion turns into a different sensation of sleepy tiredness.

There is a sound, of a voice in the room; the voice belongs to a Zebra, singing an old lullaby in ancient Zebra-rhyme.  Even before she has finished, I am fast asleep; yet, my daughter is finishing her first meal.


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