//------------------------------//
// Well-watered minds 
// Story: House of the Rising Sunflower 
// by kudzuhaiku 
//------------------------------//

Much to Sundance's surprised astonishment, the bunkhouse was empty. For a short time, he stood just inside the door so that he might enjoy the coolness. There was no conditioned air here, just a trick of science and nature that he barely understood. Something about convection cooling? Also, there was the fact that much of the bunkhouse was underground. Whatever made it work, it was effective. While not downright frosty, it was cool enough to make his dock tingle pleasantly and when he raised his wings from his sweaty sides, he shivered not from cold, but from pleasure. 

The empty room had a few toys scattered about, but it wasn't messy. It looked lived-in, which was important, Sundance supposed. Hollyhock managed the place well enough; while the toys and the bed covers were wrinkled, he saw no crumbs, no dirt nor debris. While he stood there, he reminded himself that he had promises to keep, such as retrieving a surplus of yarn for Gerard. It would be an act with its own reward, surely, because if supplied with yarn, the young griffon would most certainly make scarves, hats, and even blankets. 

All of which would be useful come winter.

Lost in thought, he felt the cool air circulating around him as a light breeze flowed through the open vents in the ceiling. His own domicile was rather warm, though cool air could be felt creeping in the darkened stairwells, perpetually in shadow where the sun never shined. With a sigh, he lowered his head, spread his wings a bit more, and then he allowed the residual heat from his moment of anger to cool away completely. The feverish sensation—the consequences of his own fury—retreated from his ears and after he blinked his eyes a few times, he felt better. More normal and less feral. 

With his good mood fully restored, he turned about and set off to find his missing orphans. 



 

"No, Milord, I don't know where Holly and the orphans are. They went off with Puddle Jumper on a nature walk together. I think he called it a 'school field trip' or some such nonsense. Earwax and Potato went off with them. And so did Lamp Black. He probably went along to find stuff he needs, though it could be because he's taken a shine to young Ochre. Colt's a painter, ye ken." 

"Hmm," Sundance hmmed, and he nodded at Privy Pit, thankful for her assistance. 

"Ol' Lampy has a limp. I'm surprised he went. Fool must be in a good mood. He doesn't get to talk about paint and inks and such so much. Made himself a friend, he has." 

"And I haven't even met Ochre yet," Sundance remarked. 

"Well, you got Milord stuff to do, Milord. Can't always deal with our day-to-day goings on." 

"I suppose you're right… but I still need to get to know our orphans. It's important." 

"If you say so, Milord. It's nice that you take an interest in the lives of us peasants. Better than the last Milord." The old mare snurgle-gurgled for a short time, and then spat out a tremendous wad of yellow-green lung-butter after her mention of the previous Milord. 

"Lamp Black is hurt?" asked Sundance, who just realised what it was that Privy Pit had said. "Why is he limping? Does Corduroy know? Is he alright?" 

"Ol' Lampy pulled a muscle when he was pounding down Hoe Hum's potato cellar door, Milord." 

It took several seconds for this sentence to make sense, and when it did, Sundance wished it hadn't. He recoiled in what was almost disgust, while battling to keep a straight face. "Well," he somehow managed to say, "I hope he has a speedy recovery." 

"He's a goer, ye ken. Even after he pulled a muscle, he finished the job. That's some dedication." 

"It is," Sundance agreed in the most polite manner he could muster, given the situation. 

"Sometimes," Privy Pit said whilst she leaned in closer to Sundance, "you get an itchy asshole. It's just one of those things that happens. Now, you can squirm, or walk funny, or wiggle your tail about… or you can find a nice fella who'll give your asshole a good stretch. Kills the itch. Hoe Hum's asshole is always itchy and she—" 

"That's more than I ever wanted to know," Sundance said, making a polite-as-possible interruption. "I really must be going. Milord business. Must find my missing orphans." 

"Alright, Milord. Good luck." 

"Thank you, Privy. Go and get out of the sun. It's hot enough to bake your brains." 

"Too late, Milord. My brain's been soft boiled." Privy wore a goofy grin and there was a gleam of mayhem that twinkled in her eyes. 

Thoroughly disgusted by the conversation, and unable to think of root cellars the same way ever again, Sundance hurried off in search of his missing herd of orphans. 



 

Surrounded by empty sky on all sides, Sundance allowed his mind to wander. He flew above the peaks, held aloft by rising currents. There was beauty up here, a beauty not found when one flew over the city. There was no smog, no soot, just clear, clean air. Just empty skies, which suited Sundance just fine. From up here, he could just make out the changeling settlement—though he had no idea what they might be doing. The yacht was a tiny toy from this vantage point, a miniscule thing, and so was Castle Daybreak. 

If only his problems could shrink with height and distance. 

It didn't take long for him to spot his gaggle of orphans, which were gathered in the orchard. He attempted to drift in that direction, but the wind had other plans. Angling his wings, he tacked against the current, a neat trick that many pegasus ponies spoke of, but few mastered. As for himself, he'd learned how to do it entirely by accident, after a powerful gust of wind threatened to smash him into a water tower. 

Some pegasus ponies were fast; Sundance was not one of them. Other pegasus ponies could fly in almost any condition, any hazard; Sundance counted himself among these ponies. Treacherous winds assailed him, no doubt miffed about his tacking trick, but he used these annoyed winds to keep himself aloft without the need to flap his wings. It was lazy flying, gliding, which was sometimes the best way to roam the skies. Mastery allowed for a certain amount of laziness—a lesson that his grandmother had taught him. Fledgling fliers had to work hard so that one day they might be lazy. 

Then, with a slow roll, Sundance began his power-dive. 



 

A flat stone acted as a makeshift table and upon this rock there was a sturdy brass microscope. The orphans were gathered around this table, and each took a turn peeping into the microscope. Sundance, his wings folded, stood close and silently watched. All of his school field trips were to museums, art galleries, and one time, the zoo. City-dweller stuff. As for science, it was done in a classroom—and not out in nature. 

The orchard now looked a lot more like an orchard, though there was a lot of work still to be done. With the destruction of the beaver dams, the water flowed high and fast. It was deep now, with places that Sundance would be in over his head. Today's science lesson seemed to be all about the water, from what he'd gathered, and they were looking at samples beneath the microscope. The barony was a huge place and there was a lot that could be learned here. 

"The river has cooties"—little Lemongrass's voice was low and polite—"just like my sister. She's never kissing me again. Yuck." 

In wry response, Sundance replied, "Just imagine what you have." 

With a gasp, Lemongrass fell over into the tall grass, rolled onto his back, and laid there, seemingly dead. From behind him, Sundance heard soft, faint laughter from Hollyhock and some of the other adults. He himself maintained a solemn expression, though there was some good cheer on the inside, a good cheer that struggled against his many troubles. 

The new colt, Ochre, sat near the table, patiently waiting his turn. He was almost the same colour as Sundance. A unicorn, his horn erupted with a shower of sparks every few seconds, and he was forced to squint so that he might protect his eyes. He was on the heavy side, and the stocky colt sweated profusely in the heat. But, he seemed happy and comfortable enough. 

With his tongue now lolled out, Lemongrass continued to improve his act of playing dead.  

"This is why we boil water," Puddle Jumper said to the little ones gathered around the microscope. "And why clean water is so important. You should always be grateful for clean, potable water. It is a precious resource that Equestria squanders." 

"Yucky," Flax said with a shudder. 

"Giardia duodenalis can leave you quite ill. Unpleasantly ill. Some call it 'beaver fever', but this is a misnomer. Parasitic infection is the cause." Patient and kind, Puddle Jumper showed no outward signs of reaction when some of the little ones around him giggled. 

"We should bury the dead," Amber Dawn said in a near-whisper. "Because he already smells." 

Hollyhock, her voice hitching from withheld laughter managed to say, "He does." 

After a soft clearing of his throat, Puddle Jumper continued, saying: "The water here is a miracle of nature. This is one of the few places in Equestria where the weather is created in a mostly natural way. There is no real pollution to speak of, and we can experience rain in its natural state." 

"How?" asked Gisela, who now turned her full attention on Puddle Jumper. 

"This barony functions as a sort of natural weather factory," the soft-spoken teacher replied, and this caused a few gasps among his students. "It also cleans and purifies the water. A long time ago, there was a cataclysm that broke our world. Many of the natural functions ceased to perform as they should. Those that did were wild, dangerous, and unpredictable. Feral weather can have its own mind, and that mind is often filled with malice for living things." 

"And especially for pegasus ponies," Sundance added while his thoughts turned to the storm from the Everfree that tried to chase him. 

"Yes, especially for pegasus ponies," Puddle Jumper agreed. "Our kind battles the weather in all its forms." He took a deep breath, perhaps calming himself, and gestured with his wing at the babbling, burbling water near to them. "The water follows a cycle. What you see here is the middle." Foreleg extended, he swung it around to point at the snow-capped mountain peaks to the north. "It starts up there. With the snow. Pegasus ponies did not make that snow. It is feral snow. It makes itself. We'll get to that in a moment. For now, let us speak of the water. 

"The snow melts and flows down the side of the mountain in the forms of streams, creeks, brooks, and all those other poetic, descriptive names. These gather and collect into rivers, like the one beside us. These rivers carry dirt and sediment, which is why this orchard is so fertile. This is nature functioning on its own, without the assistance of ponies, which is quite a spectacular miracle, given everything that's happened. 

"Much of our soil has died due to the corrupting influence of that cataclysm that I mentioned. Earth ponies keep it alive, this is temporary, and places where there are few earth ponies dry up and become barren. Like Griffonstone. We're still trying to understand the how and the why. But here… in this place, fertile black soil is created naturally and is carried by the water. None of you understand how precious this miracle is, but one day, when you are older, perhaps you will. 

"This river flows for quite some distance, until it reaches the Sulphur Suckhole. Which acts like a big drain. Just like the one in a bathtub or in the bottom of the sink." 

For a moment, Sundance endured intense, almost painful shivers. He thought of what he'd been told by Birnen Streusel and Kant Apfel—about how ponies were thrown into the suckhole. It was a low place out in the middle of a marsh where many rivers and creeks and such all collected. For a moment that stretched for far too long, Sundance struggled against himself to make the shivers go away. 

"Once it reaches the Sulphur Suckhole"—a number of the little ones giggled this time at the second mention of the name—"the water goes down below ground. There are many such places around here, natural drains and caves where water flows underground. It is a unique feature to the geography here. But the water goes down and is collected into cisterns and from there it slowly flows through the rock and into an aquifer. 

"This is an underground filtration system, one that is precious and unique because it hasn't been contaminated with pollution. It is also unique in that it is quite hot. The water is boiled down there in the hidden places beneath this barony. That boiled water comes back up to the surface—which is a lesson we'll cover at another time—and that water evaporates in the form of steam. 

"If you look around you, you will see the rising columns of steam. There are also an uncountable number of geysers, steam vents, boiling springs, boiling lakes, bathwater hot streams, creeks, and brooks… there's a lot of hot water in this place. There's no other place in Equestria quite like it. All this hot water rises in the form of steam, and that… that is how clouds form and feral weather happens. This naturally purified water eventually becomes the snow that we see on the peaks and the cycle begins anew. Really, the whole process is spectacular. This barony functions as a natural factory for feral weather. Now, isn't that marvellous?" 

"But there are other places, right?" asked Pluck, who seemed keenly interested in everything said. "I mean, other places with feral weather? Other systems?" 

"There is Vanhoover," Puddle Jumper replied. "It constantly rains there due to some sort of magic anomaly. Which seems to be growing worse. But yes, it has a similar process. But the rains of Vanhoover are heavily polluted. They have acid rain, which is slowly dissolving the city. All of you live in a remarkably, perhaps miraculously clean place. As your teacher, I want you to be aware of the wonder to be found all around you. I want you to have some awareness of how precious it is. How valuable it is. And to be aware of the ease of which it can be ruined. 

"But not to worry, my students. I am positive that our baron will safeguard our most precious assets." With a slow turn of his head, Puddle Jumper focused his stern gaze on Sundance, and did not turn away when things became more than a little uncomfortable. 

"That's important… yes…" Sundance managed to say. "Don't have a plan just yet, but I'm working on it. And for the sake of honesty, that, uh, plan… that plan involves listening to others and taking advice from those who know more about it than I do." 

"That is a very good plan," Puddle Jumper said to his students. "A promising plan. A plan that should be praised. But for now, let us continue our lesson and learn more about our most precious natural resource… water."