//------------------------------//
// Make things worse for the nurse 
// Story: House of the Rising Sunflower 
// by kudzuhaiku 
//------------------------------//

How long had he been gone? Long enough for new construction to appear. The foundation for a wall was visible along the top of the waterfall ridge, and there were several circles where towers would soon be. A wall would be perfect for keeping certain intruders out, though there were things that could easily fly over a wall. Near the orchard, the faint outline of an airship could be seen, and after several moments of intense squinting, Sundance determined that the ship was directly over Celestia's cellar. 

Even from this incredible distance, he could see that it was a big ship. 

Since it was over the cellar, or at least where Sundance thought the cellar to be, he determined that it must be unloading supplies. Which meant that the stuff that Twilight Velvet had promised had arrived far sooner than expected. Sundance suspected that Mrs. Velvet had the supplies ready to go long before his whole adventure to the asylum, because she believed that he would succeed, and he was overcome with warm fuzzy feelings. Of course, this might not be true, but he very much wanted to believe that it was. He very much wanted to believe that his actions fostered a wealth of good trust in others. 

Far to the west, the edge of the sky was tinged with purple and pink. 

Without realising it, Sundance had gained some considerable elevation since leaving his companions behind. From way up here, everything looked different. He could see Cloudsdale, which had drifted south of Canterlot, but not quite over Ponyville. Cloudsdale was a storied place, and he wasn't sure what to think. His mother had nothing but awful things to say about Cloudsdale, and his grandmother absolutely refused to even talk about it. He could remember her clucking her tongue and getting her feathers ruffled if it was even mentioned. 

Drifting on the ever-shifting currents, Sundance decided that he liked living on the ground, a goodish place where he could be with other ponies. There was a danger, he reckoned, in living only with your own kind, hearing opinions unique to pegasus ponies, and never once stopping to consider the ways of the other tribes. Sundance valued the wisdom of the earth ponies and the unique perspectives of the unicorns. And then there were zebras and burros and minotaurs and diamond dogs—all of which brought their own perspectives to the collective table. 

This—this—was the wealth of his barony; he was certain of that. 

Swooping downward, he settled into a steady dive to speed his way home. 



 

Touching down amidst some wooden crates, Sundance had himself a good look around. It was a busy time, but Paradox stopped what she was doing and came over to greet him. She seemed a bit frazzled, or harried perhaps, with a damp mane and a sweat-slicked coat. It was more than a little warm, even this late in the day, and Sundance could not help but think about finding someplace cool so that he might rest. 

But that would come later; for now, there was stuff to do. 

"A lot happened," Paradox began. "Multiple airships arrived. Hoppy's greenhouses got delivered. She left with the ship, didn't say when she'd be back. Twilight Velvet's promised supplies arrived, and then some. She included an entire crate full of yarn and Gerard is beside himself right now. He has an order from the Crown to produce hats and scarves for the barony's residents before winter. Turmeric arrived on the supply ship, and he is overseeing the unloading of said supplies. We're still overrun with bunnies, which have been in the gardens all day, and some of the owls appear too fat to fly." 

"Oh," Sundance replied. "Bother." 

"One more thing… Corduroy almost had her thumb chomped off." 

"That's not good… not at all." Without saying, he already knew who was responsible, and he felt the muscles in his back go tense. Suddenly, he was in pain, considerable pain, and with his discomfort came annoying thirst. Beyond that, he felt irritated and upset, though he could not say why, exactly. 

At least the barony functioned well enough while he was away. 

"Thank you, Paradox." 

"Don't mention it. I find that I'm good at being in charge. The ponies here love me, and I love them, and they sort of feel like extended family, maybe because they are, and they like to talk about my parents, which is a bit of a problem sometimes, but I'm getting better at dealing with it. I think." 

"Always treat them like family and everything will be fine," he said to her. 

"Not all families are good"—she scowled, her gentle face marred by upset—"but your point is taken." 

"I have to go and deal with a member of our family that likes to bite." 

"Be careful," was Paradox's slow response. "And good luck." 





The first thing that came to mind upon entering the infirmary was that it was too hot. It was not at all like the dome homes, but was more of a traditional stone cottage, albeit a rather largish one to accommodate Corduroy. An incredible sensation of fatigue overcame him as it dawned upon him that this infirmary could not last. Ailing patients needed stable temperatures. Come winter, this place might be completely uninhabitable. Yes, this place, at best, was temporary. Stone walls offered very little insulation. 

There was a bitter, pungent smell that came from the stone bowl in front of Corduroy, something that left Sundance feeling sneezy. She held a stone pestle in her left paw, and he saw that her right paw was wrapped in fresh white gauze. Her ever-present patchwork beanie was on the table beside her, and she was as clean and white as ever. If she had bled—evidence suggested that she had—she had already scrubbed away the stains. 

Before a word was said, Corduroy's eyes darted to the wooden shipping crate. 

"Thumb?" asked Sundance, which was an odd way to greet one's friend and nurse. 

"My thumb is fine," the nurse replied, and she turned herself about in her tall wooden chair so that she might face the pegasus standing in front of the door. 

"Paradox said you almost had your thumb chomped off." 

"Paradox doesn't deal well with blood. Not even a little. Sparrowhawk missed my thumb, thankfully. No, she got me right between my paw-thumb and paw-finger, the little stinker." 

There was a faint moan from within the shipping box, then silence. 

"Are you alright?" he asked whilst doing his best to hide the worry and concern from his voice. 

The nurse dog stared, her brows furrowed. She put the pestle down upon the table with a soft thump, eyed the wooden shipping container a second time, and then returned her attention to Sundance. Her brows relaxed as she offered a nod, and then she paused as she smoothed out a few wrinkles on her smock. As for Sundance, he spent most of this time fighting against the urge to squirm, for such was his discomfort. 

"Sparrow is doing better," Corduroy said. "She was remarkably lucid today. Some of her tummy troubles have eased up a bit. I blindfolded her and took her outside so that she could get a little sun. Hollyhock spent some time with her while the others were in class. Then she had a nice bath with Mbali, and Gisela groomed her. In my professional opinion, there might have been too much too soon, and Sparrow was overwhelmed. She was doing so well though. The mistake was mine." 

"She went outside?" he asked. 

"After being blindfolded, yes. She really seemed to enjoy the sun. Open spaces are something we'll have to deal with." 

There was another moan from within the wooden container. 

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Sparrowhawk?" Without knowing it, Sundance became his parents. While his tone was stern and firm like his mother, his expression was gentle and subdued, very much like his father. He was, in this moment, the best of what both of his parents had to offer. 

If only he could see himself. 

"Did you leave because I bit Corduroy?" 

It took Sundance some time to sort out this question, and then he replied, "I left this morning. When did you bite Corduroy?" 

"Did you?" she asked again, her voice muffled within the confines of the crate. 

"Sparrowhawk—" 

"Why did you leave? Was it because I was bad?" 

Defeated, Sundance wasn't sure how to answer, how to sort this out. How did he make her understand? This was a strange new sky for him and after the events of the day he wasn't sure if he had it in him to make sense of all of this. He stared at Corduroy, hoping for some kind of help, some much-needed reassurance, but his faithful nurse remained mute. A hot flash of anger burned through him, heating up his cheeks, his back, as well as the prickly flesh beneath his wings, and then the annoying burning ache was gone. 

"I can't do this right now," he said with a shake of his head. "Sorry. I'm so sorry. But I've had an absolutely horrible day and I can't deal with this on top of everything else. Forgive me." 

Before anything could be said, before Sparrowhawk could protest, he fled out the door. 



 

Just outside of the door, Sundance halted, stunned by his sheer disappointment with himself. A deep breath did not relieve him, nor did the second, and by the third his disappointment turned to shame. While he understood the importance of his own needs, he also understood that both Sparrowhawk and Corduroy had needs. But Sparrowhawk most of all. She was battered. Abused. Neglected. Still sick and going through a withdrawal process that he could not even begin to understand. 

Yes, he'd had a troubling day. 

The images of those bloodied bones were burned into his memory. But Sparrowhawk no doubt had even more traumatic things in her memories, and she was a foal. A foal. Overcome with emotion, he stood there and gave his bottom lip a good chew. His heart, even with it's unseen, unknown-to-him callous, implored him to turn around, to have compassion. While his heart was resolute, his knees were not, and they wobbled alarmingly beneath him. 

"Well"—he gasped—"fuck." 

"I heard that!" Corduroy shouted from inside the infirmary. "Little ears!" 

Swearing beneath his breath, he turned around and steeled himself to go inside. 



 

On the other side of the door once more, Sundance was greeted with silence. Pestle in paw, Corduroy was smashing bitter herbs in the stained stone mortar. A pungent medicinal reek wasn't the worst thing that Sundance had smelled today, but the sneezy sensation it caused was certainly annoying. Saying nothing, he moved over to where the wooden crate was, sat down beside it, and then knocked on the lid, which was wedged open with a pillow. 

"Did you leave because I was bad?" 

A sudden weight threatened to crush him and a pang of regret over his return thudded around on the inside of his skull, like a headache announcing its intention to have an extended stay. While the infirmary was warm, the stone floor was cool and pleasant. His ears pricked at the sound of stone grinding against stone, and the wet squish of pulped plant matter. Heart heavy, he pulled his hoof away from the crate while also collecting whatever was left of his courage. 

"I left before you were bad. Sometimes I have to leave. There are things that have to get done and I have to be the one to do them." 

"Why though?" 

"Because," he replied with gentle patience, "that's just the way things are." He dug deep within himself, needing more patience, and within him, he found the part of himself that was most like his father. "Why did you bite Corduroy?" 

"I didn't mean to." The whimpered response was extra pathetic and heart-wrenching. "Didn't want to. It just… happened and I didn't know it was happening. I was sad. So sad that it hurt. All of me was sad and it made my bones hurt and tummy and my head was full of sad aches." 

"But you had such a good day," he said while also opening the lid so that he might peer inside. 

"All the good stuff made me more sad. It hurt." 

Raising his foreleg once more, he made a gentle wave so that he might coax her out. When she didn't come out, he felt his patience stretch thin, and he stopped to wonder why. It couldn't possibly be her fault that his patience was in short supply. He too, had a rough day, and maybe he was also sad. Or maybe he was angry. He hadn't had much of a chance to sort it out. He waved again, slower this time, and his patience was rewarded. 

Sparrowhawk slipped out of her crate with a serpentine wiggle and then clung to him with parasitic strength. When he looked down, he saw that her ears were pinned completely back against her skull, the way the very young tended to be, those in intense pain, or complete submission. Slowly, so he wouldn't jostle her or spook her, he slipped a foreleg round her, slipped the other beneath her bottom, and then lifted her up from the floor. His current state of fatigue made it difficult to balance himself on his hindquarters, but he somehow managed to remain upright. 

"She's still a baby, you know." 

"I don't know what you mean, Corduroy." 

"Her emotional growth and maturity… it's stunted. She has to learn how to cope with stuff. All the stresses in life. All the things that you and I do every day, but don't realise that we do. She's never had a chance to sort out how everything is. Today was too much all at once for her." 

"Oh." Suddenly feeling very insecure, Sundance worried that he didn't understand these things himself, given how he'd just reacted. When she quivered against him, he worried that she might start crying. Or worse, bite him. The ogre didn't seem very threatening when compared to the tiny filly shivering against him. He could fight the ogre—and he did—but fighting Sparrowhawk was an impossibility. 

"How are you feeling, Sundance?" 

His mind replayed some of the events of the day, good, bad, and everything in between. It didn't take him long to realise that he didn't have an answer, because he didn't know how he was feeling. Saying that he was out of sorts would be an understatement. To say that he was hurt felt dishonest, because something deep inside went beyond mere hurt. Something had changed, though he failed to understand what, exactly. 

"I'm feeling a little horse," he replied whilst he hugged Sparrowhawk even closer to him. 

Jowls sagging, ears askew, the pestle held in her paw no longer grinding, Corduroy sighed, then said, "You can be thrown out, you know." 

"I think the daily grind has worn Corduroy down," he said to the filly pressed against him, and mere seconds after his words he heard a clunk as the stone pestle was dropped onto the table. "Did you at least say that you were sorry?" 

He felt the distressed filly nod against his neck. 

"Are you actually sorry?" 

Again, she nodded, and he felt the faint tingle of static. 

"If I leave, it's not because you were bad. Grown ups go to work. That's just the way of things. Though I guess things might seem different for you, because you were the work that grown ups went to. So things might be confusing. But I have to go to work. I'll come back though. And I'll be a lot happier when I come back if I find out that you haven't bitten somepony." He paused for a moment to consider, then added, "If something happens to me while I'm at work and I don't come back, because I got squished by an ogre or something, it's not because I'm upset with you." 

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Sparrowhawk exploded into tears. An absolute gusher, a raging torrent, a flood of sadness. Stunned, unsure and uncertain of what to say, Sundance sat there and became downright drenched by the deluge. He shook her—gently—rocked her a bit, and he tried all that he could think of to console her, but the small filly continued to bawl her eyes out while also howling loud enough to rattle everything in the infirmary. 

"What'd I say?" he asked. 

"You dodo—"

"Hey, I can fly, thank you very much!" 

Sparrowhawk's howls became akin to an air raid siren, whose sheer volume inside of the close confines of the infirmary were almost unbearable. Sundance tried to shush her, but that did no good—so he tried again for a second time. This attempt too, had no effect, and Sparrowhawk would not be shushed. The unshushable foal wailed like a banshee. Much to his own shame, Sundance very much wanted to stuff her back into her box and then fly away to avoid the consequences. 

The fact that he didn't spoke volumes about his character—but boy howdy, how he was tempted. 

"Look, I don't know what I'm doing here—" 

"And it shows," Corduroy said. 

"But I came back to try and make things right." 

"That you did." Corduroy turned about in her chair to face him. In a much softer tone she added, "She'll cry it out of her system eventually. After she bit me, she spent a good three quarters of an hour crying." 

"Oh… really?" 

"Really." 

His heart sank, but his resolve rose. "Well… let's hope that you're still tuckered out from the last go. I wish my father was here. He'd know how to fix this. Somehow, he gives his quiet to others. I miss him. I miss him a lot." 

Bouncing her gently, Sundance did his best to tune out Sparrowhawk's ear-piercing wails. 

"I think my father understood the importance of a good cry," he continued. "Don't think my mother did. She'd get upset if I did so much as sniffle and she'd give me a look. That look was my warning. My mother… she's a good pony. Just not one for crying, I guess. If you need to cry, that's fine. You just go ahead and cry. That's better than biting. I'm sorry about the ogre. I had a pretty rough day myself. I might've felt like crying at some point, but I didn't. Guess I kept it bottled in. Still bottled in. I came home and instead of getting some me-time, I had to come spend time with you, and that's fine. It's fine. This is what it means to be a grown up, I suppose. Putting your own needs aside to care for those who can't care for themselves. You've had a rough go of things, Sparrow… so here I am." 

The sheer volume of the deafening shrieks did not diminish; not even a little. 

"I'm still sorting this out myself," Corduroy said to him. "I thought about sedating her earlier, only to realise that she's spent too much of her life sedated, and that's why she has problems now. Sadly, this is what is best for her. Allow her to have her emotions, to experience them, the highs and the lows. Here, we have a low point." 

Fresh out of sarcasm, Sundance offered only silence in return.

"As a nurse, I never run out of patients." 

"And you complained about me," he remarked. 

Throwing both paws up into the air, the nurse shrugged. 

"Well, if I am going to be stuck here, can you please get me something to drink? And maybe something to eat? I'm famished." 

She nodded, her triangular ears bobbing. "Sure… I can do that. Give me a moment." 

"Thank you," he replied, while he also shifted himself around to get more comfortable. 

"Just don't tell her any stories about ogres while I'm gone, will you?"