Living on the road means you don’t accumulate much stuff, and even though I had been in one place for several months, I had accumulated a few things that I really missed now. Like my toothbrush. And most of my money. I had enough in my bit pouch to carry me a few more days of traveling, but most of my pay had been banked in Beckwith.
Back with the spiders. And Foxberry.
Distance helped with the first, but not at all with the second. And although I kept my nose pointed away from her, there were still the occasional times when I could feel a tingle in my tail that was almost but not quite unlike having a spider climb up it. I mean there had been the occasional spider in the bunkhouse, mostly curious creatures who politely scurried away when shooed. And waking up to an individual (singular, not measured in buckets or bushels) had not been that bad, actually. There had not been any biting flies at Foxberry’s at all, so in that respect, the spiders had added a balance to my life that I had been seeking for a long time.
The conflict must have shown on my face, because I received a number of strange looks once I got off the train at Baltimare, and the manager at the stall and breakfast I checked into gave me a toothbrush without even getting paid for it. I gave it little thought, or at least until I looked into the bathroom mirror.
The mirror looked back. Twice. Well, far more than twice, because a spider had far more to look back with.
Nestled into the curl at the top of my mane was a spider of unusual size. To my credit, I did not react at first, but merely gave the creature a long look of deep consideration in the mirror, although I will admit my first consideration was that squashing it would leave a terrible mess to clean up. After all, it was not the spider’s fault.
“You know, you can’t stay there,” I told it.
Simple logic had little effect, but further observation made me realize why the spider was so large.
“You can’t stay there, ma’am,” I politely stated. “You and your children will need to find somewhere else. Like…”
Somehow, I did not think the owner of the stall and breakfast would react well to the mother spider being left behind when I departed, so I resorted to negotiation.
“I’ll get a box, and mail you back home. Would that be acceptable, ma’am?”
Still no sign of agreement, so I conceded yet another point.
“You can have part of my mane for concealment inside the box, since you like it so well. And I’ll pay for express delivery—”
Express delivery was expensive, and I suspected it would get even more expensive if the mailpony knew what they were carrying, and how many of them. More expensive than the few bits I had left over, for certain. There was only one thing left to do.
There’s a reason why they call trains that run at night the Red Eye, but it was less expensive, and I barely made it with my last few bits anyway. It felt odd to be walking in the dark back to Foxberry’s farm by the light of Luna’s stars and the occasional yawn. Although I could barely keep my eyes open, my hooves knew the path, and before I realized it, I was knocking on her door.
That also was an odd thing also, because Foxberry was always out among the fieldhooves, up before we rose and not going to bed until absolutely everything was done for the day. For all my time at the farm, her house was the place where she wasn’t, although it was late enough now that it could almost be called early, and if she wasn’t in the house…
“Wha?” The sleepy young mare had to be navigating by scent, because her eyes were still closed, or at least behind a loose curl of white mane tinged with cranberry pink.
“When I ran away, I’m afraid I took some things that belong back here, ma’am,” I said with another yawn. “Here.”
“Hmm…?” Foxberry took two attempts to brush back her mane before looking down into the open box, but the resulting smile was worth the entire trip. “Awww, aren’t they adorable?”
“I’m not sure… Well, as spiders go, I suppose.” That was as much as I was willing to admit at the moment, because I was about asleep on my hooves, but I did follow her out to a tiny little wooden shed beside the field and watched while she coaxed the mother spider into her new home.
“Can’t believe you traveled all the way back here just to bring me a spider family,” said Foxberry as she straightened back up. “And looks like you gave up part of your mane for her, too. That’s so sweet.”
She nuzzled closer and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before turning with a flick of her tail and trotting back to her house. “Did you bring me anything else?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Just me,” I said without thinking.
I eventually learned to appreciate the spiders.
Our kids are still learning.