//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: From Canterlot with Love // by Sagebrush //------------------------------// Early the next morning, while the day was still young and dark and undecided about what it wanted to be when it grew up, the faint timbre of a reveille began to filter into Storm’s room through the glass.  Though it was scarcely audible, his ears flitted in response to it, and a small part of his mind, a part that never really slept, began to stir his body into a Pavlovian set of motions.  He sat up, groggy and not entirely conscious, and dragged himself, along with most of his bedspread, off of the mattress and around to the foot of his bed where his barding lay.  His body slipped into its peytral; his head ducked into its helmet.  Then eventually the rest of his brain, feeling left out, caught up and overrode the autopilot.  He blinked a few times and took in his surroundings, before placing his helmet back down and his peytral beside it.  No bunks, no barracks—only the alarm tone was the same; it was coming from outside. Storm approached his window and pushed it open with a dubious splintering that he hoped wouldn’t echo in the cost of checkout.  Brisk, predawn air wafted in, and he breathed it in deeply, feeling some of his lethargy leave him.  Above, a few of the more stubborn stars glimmered softly; below, a few yards down the hill, Check Mate played his trumpet, his back turned to the building. Carpe diem, Storm thought to himself.  I guess one way to seize the day is to lie in ambush until it finally shows up. He left his room for the dimness of the hallway, just as Crack Shot also happened to do so. “Morning,” said Storm. Crack Shot, bleary-eyed, stared at him.  “Is it?” he asked. “I know how you feel.  But since we’re both up, we might as well head downstairs and say hello.” The two ponies descended the stairs into the tavern of Pimento’s, where they found the pony himself sweeping the floor of spilled food, spilled salt, and maybe even a bit of sawdust that happened to be mixed in.  A few candles had been lit to supplement the low lighting from outside.  When he saw them coming down, he gave them a firm nod. “Mornin’, fellas,” he said. “Is it?” asked Crack Shot. “Morning, Pimento.  Getting ready to open?” “Nossir, I won’t be opening properly until later in the evenin’, after everypony’s recovered from the last one.  I just prefer to make an early start of it when I’ve got guests stayin’ the night.”  Pimento leaned his broom against the wall.  “Speaking of which, your friend is outside if you’re lookin’ for him.  Bit surprised to see him up so early though.  The beds alright?” “No problems here,” said Storm. “Yeah, but it was nicer when I was actually in one,” said Crack Shot. “I see.  Well, that’s good to hear.  Tell you boys what: since y’all are up, I’ll start fixin’ something to eat in a bit.” “It won’t be any trouble, will it?” asked Storm. “Don’t you worry about that; as Kettle will tell ya, a complimentary breakfast comes with the room, though usually by the time he gets up, it’s a complimentary lunch.  You go on and catch up with your buddy now.  I’ll get things started cookin’.” “Will do.” Pimento once more picked up his broom, and Storm and Crack Shot exited the tavern, their breath curling in gray wisps outside of it.  As they followed the sound of the trumpet, Crack Shot yawned largely.  His breath clouded and expanded into nothingness before him. “So, did you do the whole pied piper thing when Check started playing, too?” he asked. “Heh, yeah.” “Freaky stuff, dude.” They found Check Mate on the eastern side of the hill where Storm had first spotted him; Crack Shot called out to him, interrupting his performance. “Hey, Check!  I think the roosters got it covered out here!” Check Mate lowered his trumpet and turned to face them.  He gave a wide wave then trotted up to meet them. “Good morning, Storm, Crack Shot,” he said brightly. “Morning, Check,” said Storm.  He looked at Crack Shot expectantly. “Eh,” said Crack Shot, shrugging.  “Anyways, what’s up with the wakeup call, dude?  I don’t think they’re expectin’ us at PT.” “Ah, I apologize.  You see, I had hoped to keep my proficiencies whetted while we are away, which is of course why I brought this.”  Check Mate levitated his trumpet; Crack Shot eyed it like a smoking gun. “I suppose I wouldn’t expect anything less of you,” said Storm.  “Still, nopony would hold it against you if you slept in, especially after a day like yesterday.” “Which, you know, also included part of today,” Crack Shot added.  “Technically speakin’ and all.” “Well...”  Check Mate’s face flushed slightly and he fidgeted with a forehoof. “Well?” repeated Storm. “Well… I also thought that, perhaps, you two would appreciate the opportunity to watch the sun as it rises?” “Ahh, gotcha.”  Storm smiled and took a seat on the grass beside his friend.  “Well, what the hay, that sounds alright to me.” “Heh, fine.  But you do know we’ve got sunrises back home, right?”  said Crack Shot, sitting on Check’s opposite side. “Yes, I know.  It’s just that, well, I’ve never seen one anywhere else before.” The three of them made themselves as comfortable as they could in the chill, and looked towards the horizon.  A mist hung over Fiddler’s Plain, making both the hills and the farmlands they framed dreamy and ghostlike.  It hid everything farther out, save for the shadowed mountains in the distance; it drifted and pooled, waiting for the sunlight to come and melt it all away. “Dang, would Celestia hurry it up already?” said Crack Shot with a shiver.  He didn’t have to wait much longer. The navy backing the mountaintops began to ebb from them like a tide, and soon the flickers of the remaining stars extinguished like candle flames, washed away along with it.  Slowly and smoothly, the sky became a rising gradient of grays, on top of pinks, on top of salmon oranges.  Then, finally, the sun crested the faraway peaks, spilling light, rich and red and indomitable, across Fiddler’s Plain and bringing out all of the colors the guardsponies had missed when they had arrived late last night.  Crack Shot whistled appreciatively. “Wow…” Storm breathed, now that he saw it all for the first time.  The hills were covered in tiny wildflowers, patched over with mottles of purple and white.  In fields, what he assumed to be wheat caught the sunlight and turned it out in umber and brass.  Beyond them, as the mists vanished, thick evergreen woods revealed themselves, the distance dulling their color into verdigris.  And above it all, the sky was clear and blue.  There were so many colors!  He felt like he had been given a glimpse of nature’s palette. It was remarkable. He remarked. “Alright, that was definitely worth getting up for.” “It was, wasn’t it?” said Check Mate.  “And tomorrow the sun will rise once more, over and across infinite horizons, subtly, or markedly, but in one way or another different from today.  Just think; by dint of location, or company, or seasonal vicissitude, each day it is a phenomenon wholly unique and irreproducible.  And it will hold true for all of our yesterdays, for all of our tomorrows, long before we were here, and long after we are gone…” “Check,” Crack Shot groaned, “it’s way too early, and my stomach’s way too empty for you to get all philosophical.” Check Mate laughed.  “I apologize; I didn’t mean to upset you.  What I mean to say is just that I’m glad to have experienced it with the both of you.”  He stood up slowly.  “Well, shall we head back inside?” The three returned to the tavern, where Pimento had laid fresher and lower sodium sawdust across the floor.  A sweet aroma wafted out of the kitchen, and the inside of the tavern had warmed since Storm and Crack Shot had left it, no doubt from Pimento’s cooking.  At the sound of the door closing, Pimento stuck his head out of the kitchen to greet his guests. “Good timin’, boys.  Take a seat where it pleases you, and I’ll be out with your vittles in no time.” The guardsponies took a battered table near a window; Crack Shot exhaled onto the glass and began tracing figures where it steamed. After a few minutes, Pimento approached the table with a tray full of wooden dishes and set it between them.  Round, folded pastries of some variety that Storm couldn’t identify were placed on small plates, and beside them a serving bowl of pecan rolls.  There were stacks of pancakes topped with minced walnuts, strawberries, and large, softened pats of butter (there was also maple syrup, though Storm did his best to ignore it). A large, dewing pitcher of iced cider stood in the middle of it all, along with three mugs.  There were even some bowls of muesli-topped yogurt to give the illusion of healthfulness.  It was the type of breakfast that would get you through a long day, providing you took a nap immediately afterwards to recover from it. “Just holler if you need anything else; I’ll be in the back washin’ up.” Pimento returned to the kitchen, leaving the guardsponies to figure out where to start with the gargantuan meal.  Check Mate took one of the yogurt bowls, Storm took one of the strange pastries, and Crack Shot took one of everything. “Pimento’s a bit gruff, but he sure makes quite a spread, doesn’t he?” said Storm.  He took a bite of the pastry; it tasted like a mix of cinnamon, apple, and what he guessed to be some sort of minced sweet pepper. Check Mate sampled his yogurt and smiled.  “Quite.  With culinary capabilities such as his, he could do very well in the city.” “I dunno,” said Crack Shot.  “Maybe if he served stuff in smaller portions with a two-digit price tag.  Oh, and a sprig of parsley on the side.”  He took a deep draft of his cider and set it down with a gasp.  “Dang, that’s cold!” Eventually they finished their meal with nothing left on the table, save for the tray and dishes.  Check Mate had finished first, satisfied with just his yogurt, though Crack Shot had been happy to eat whatever he didn’t finish, and whatever Storm wasn’t quick enough to get to.  Check stood from the table and levitated the dining ware to the counter. “Thank you for a delightful meal, Pimento!” he called out.  “I’ve left your tableware up here, if that is alright!” Pimento stepped back out of the kitchen.  “That was quick.  Everything to your liking?”  He looked at the empty bowls and plates and gave a toothy grin.  “I’ll assume that it was.  You know, I like fellas like yourselves: ponies with big, hearty appetites.” “Er, ah, ahem, yes.  Well said,” agreed Check Mate, with a level of innocence that leads to indictments. Pimento gave him a sidelong glance.  “…Right.  Anyways, it’ll probably be another few hours at least until Kettle’s up.  What are y’all gonna do until then?  Know anywhere you wanna go around here?” “Back to bed,” Crack Shot announced.  Three pairs of eyes watched as he marched up the tavern’s stairs and out of sight.  There was the sound of a door closing. “…Well, I guess you can’t really blame him,” Storm noted.  “But since you ask, would there happen to be a store around here?” “There’s Hazel Nut’s about a couple of miles or so south of here.  You’re not lookin’ to buy anything too fancy, are you?” Storm wasn’t sure what constituted ‘fancy’, but he said, “Just a bottle or two of ink.” “Hazel’s your mare, then.  Gotta let you know though, she can take you aback if you aren’t ready for her.  She’s a bit of an, uh—“ “Nut?” Storm suggested. Pimento frowned.  “I was gonna say intimidating character.  Anyways, don’t let me scare you; she’s honest and she’ll cut you a good deal if she likes you.” “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.  What do you say, Check?  Care to do some shopping with me?” “Certainly; that would also allow the other half of our ensemble ample time to catch up on their rest.  However, before we depart—Pimento, would there be somewhere to freshen up?” “Upstairs, left, the two doors at the end of the hall.  There should be towels in both of ‘em.” “Ah, good to know there are showers out here—” Storm caught himself, feeling he could’ve worded that better; Pimento’s basilisk stare confirmed it. “—erm.” “’Showers’?  Oh no, I don’t know none o’ that fancy city talk.  Round here, folks just mosey on down to the crick once a month and—yes, we got showers!” Storm’s ears pinned back.  “Aheh, um, sorry about that; that didn’t come out right at all.” “Mmhm.  Well, don’t fret over it.  But yes, we do have the luxury of running water.” “Well, sure, I didn’t mean to imply that—“ “Just ain’t any of it heated.” --- The shower hadn’t been as numbingly cold as Storm had expected it to be.  Numbing would have been welcome.  No, every single nerve of his had remained fully responsive, screaming to let him know as such.  But after it was over, and only after it was over, he felt it a satisfying shower.  It would leave a stallion with a sort of triumphant feeling of masculinity; at least after they had toweled off, found a warm spot in the sun, and finally gotten their teeth to stop rattling. The towel that Storm had found was made of a thick, absorbent cotton; however, he had a thick, absorbent coat, so the furthest from wet that he was able to get with it was damp.  He gave himself a good shake behind the shower curtain, pushed his mane out of his face, and slung his bags over his withers; the bits in them clinked noisily as he did so. After hanging his towel to dry, Storm stepped out into the hall to wait for Check Mate to finish his shower.  It was not long before the sound of running water was silenced by the squeak of a knob, and soon afterwards the unicorn exited into the hall, a thin cloud of steam billowing just ahead of him.  This last fact was not lost on Storm. “Hey, I thought Pimento said there wasn’t any hot water,” he said conversationally. “I did find that to be the case; I merely improvised.”  Check Mate tapped the side of his horn. “Hm.  Convenient.” “And a notable cardiovascular stimulus.”  Check smiled.  “A warm-up by two interpretations of the expression.” By the time Storm and Check exited Pimento’s tavern, the chill had left the air, and it looked to be the beginning of a clement, unnoteworthy day, the kind of day that’s found at the intro of so many narratives with no idea how it got there.  The road leading south turned out to be even less of a road than the one coming in from the station, if it could have been called a road at all.  As it traced the curves of the hills, it was in many spots either crowded by long grasses into nothingness, or fragmented by subsidence, making it guesswork to follow.  Storm flew just above it to make sure they kept to it.  After they passed over another section of overgrowth, he called down to Check. “Hey, Check, did you finish that book of yours yet?” “No, I’ve still a ways to go, though I did read a few more passages when we retired to our quarters last night.” “Yeah?  I was just thinking about what Kettle said to Crack Shot.  You know, about nicking something off the side of the road?  You think he was serious?” “I do not think he had any reason not to be.  However, we may see…” Check Mate unfastened the one of the flaps to his bags and levitated from it the Pandect of Plant Life.  He took a long look at a flowering patch of grass growing to the side of the path, then began turning through the pages. “Ah, here we are,” he said, gesturing to a picture, “andropogon gerardii, colloquially known as ‘bluestem’.  According to this, it is indeed edible.”  Then he surprised Storm by leaning forward and taking a small bite of it, chewing it thoughtfully.  “Hm… a bit coarse, but slightly sweet.  Interesting.” “Really?”  Storm landed beside Check and eyed a stalk, before taking a tentative bite.  “Hey, that’s not half bad.” Its rough texture made it so that he had to work for the taste, but it was satisfying enough to make a meal if it came to that.  Thinking of a buffet just growing everywhere around them, of living off the land, would take some getting used to.  He felt like he should be given a bill.  After swallowing the bit of grass, he took to the air once more, keeping an eye on the broken road. In a valley at the base of a hill, Storm and Check found a log building with a roof thatched in straw or some other dried, unsettlingly flammable-looking plant.  Behind it was a grove of what Check identified as hazelnut trees, along with a pumpkin patch full of yellow and orange fruit.  It reminded Storm that Nightmare Night was not that far off.  In the middle of the garden was a scarecrow dressed in a stereotypical farmer’s garb: overalls, plaid shirt, and a straw hat.  A pair of crows had made a nest of it. “Think this is Hazel Nut’s store?” Storm asked.  If it was a market, it didn’t seem to be advertising itself as such.  It didn’t seem to be advertising itself at all. “Possibly, if the trees are any clue.  Either way, there’s no harm in asking, yes?” The two approached the door, an unvarnished slab of wood with a knob stuck in it as an afterthought.  Storm knocked on it, and then cursed to himself as he began picking out the splinters that had snagged in his fetlocks.  There were the clops of firm hooffalls, and then the door swung open, revealing a smiling earth pony mare that filled most of its frame. Now, to say that she filled the door’s frame implies that she was fat.  She wasn’t.  In fact, she didn’t look like she had an ounce of fat on her.  But she was big, like the word ‘matriarch’ had been coined with her in mind, and would’ve included her picture in the dictionary if it’d fit.  She was the dark red of cherry wood and looked like she was carved from it, with a mane of platinum curls that rolled past her shoulders.  She looked like she could carry the weight of the world and do it for reps.  Royalty aside, Storm didn’t know ponies could come in that size.  He realized that he was staring, and, to his embarrassment, that she had realized it too.  She winked at him. “Well, I’ve never seen you two before.  Can I help you boys?” she said in a deep hum, one as rich as honey. “Ah, yes,” Storm began, once the red had left his face, “we heard that there was a market down this way, run by a mare by the name of Hazel Nut?” “And just who told you that?”  The smile deepened.  Storm swallowed. “A pony by the name of Pimento,” said Check Mate.  “He runs a tavern just north of here?” The mare nodded, satisfied.  “That sweetheart…  I’ll just have to give him a discount next time I see him.  And by the way, just ‘Hazel’ is fine.”  Hazel turned in the doorway and waved them in with her tail.  “Well, come inside.” Walking in, Storm wasn’t sure if he and Check had just entered an agricultural supply or an armory.  Arranged in rows or hung on walls were enough pitchforks, scythes, axes, and species of saw to satisfy even the most discerning class of maniac.  He walked past a sinister-looking set of hooks that were far too large for hanging towels.  He asked about their usage. “They’re for hay bucking,” Hazel explained.  “You hook them into a bale so that you can toss it wherever you need it to be.  It’s not easy work though; a good-sized bale of hay can weigh over a hundred pounds.”  She gave the two ponies a long, appreciative, lingering look.  “Although I doubt that’d be a problem for a couple of strong-looking stallions like yourselves.” “My word…” Check Mate whispered. “So, you’re staying at Pimento’s,” she said.  It wasn’t a question. “For the moment, though that might change.  I think our tour guide might be bringing us home with him,” Storm said. “Tour guide?  Now who would that be?” “A stallion by the name of Kettle Corn.  Do you know him?” Hazel let out a warm, full-bodied laugh that shook the windows.  “Oh, everypony around here knows Kettle; that one could charm the skin off a snake.  Say… I don’t want to take advantage of you boys, but since you might be the only ponies I see out here for a while, would you be willing to lend a lady your assistance with something?” “Uh, what kind of something?” Storm asked. “There’s a deceased tree in my garden that needs to be felled.  It’s a bit much for me to handle, so I’d appreciate the help.  If you would be so kind.” Storm quirked an eyebrow.  He was surprised that Hazel would need the help with something like tree felling.  He doubted she’d need a tool for it.  Heck, he wagered that if she wanted to, she could wrap her tail around it and yank it out by— “But of course,” said Check. “We would be remiss as gentlecolts were we to refuse.” Well, that settled that. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?  In that case, let me show you two dears where it is.” Storm and Check set their bags down and followed Hazel through another door into her garden, and towards the hazelnut grove.  The pair of crows eyed the two strangers carefully as they walked past. “Huh.  Aren’t scarecrows supposed to, you know, scare crows?” asked Storm, as eyes like garnets stared into him. “Maybe your slower crow, but they’re actually quite intelligent creatures.  Especially those two.”  Hazel extended a foreleg and whistled sharply.  The two crows took off from their perch on the scarecrow and made a new one of her leg.  “This is Hugh and Mooney.  Say ‘hello’, boys.” Hugh and Mooney cawed loudly. “These two keep a handle on the termites and other pests, as well as any rotten fruits or seeds.  I couldn’t ask for a better pair of gardeners.  Okay, off you go, boys!”  She swung up her foreleg, and the two birds rode the momentum into flight, squawking what might have been a farewell.  “Alright then, where were we?” The dead tree stood near the end of a row extending into the area of orchard opposite Hazel’s store.  It didn’t need to be identified.  The few leaves left hanging from its branches were dry, brittle, and dotted with blight.  The tree itself was ashen, and black spots had erupted like sores across its bark.  Hazel looked at it, saying nothing for a while.  A breeze swept past, tossing her mane like silver cords and stripping the tree of a few of its branches. “…I’ll leave the two of you to it, if I may,” she said at last, before turning to return the way they had come. Storm took in the task laid before them.  There was probably a tool for it, an axe or something, and it was probably back in the shop.  Another gust of wind sent a few more branches tumbling down.  An axe might’ve been overkill. “So, should we buck it, or let the weather do the job for us?” “I’ll try to loosen the roots,” Check Mate said, as his horn began to glow.  “As I do so, perhaps you could find some leverage farther up the trunk?” “Alright, that sounds like a plan.” Storm took to the air to find an angle of assault that wouldn’t tip the tree into the branches of another.  If he had known he’d be doing this, he wouldn’t have left his armor back at the tavern. “You ready down there?!” he shouted. “Ready!” Check answered. Although midair, Storm tried to square his shoulders as best he could and took a deep breath.  Well, here goes nothing. “Tiiiiim-ber!” Gritting his teeth, he dived towards the tree with forelegs extended, braced himself for impact, and almost went headfirst into the ground.  It was only by a reflexive wing beat that he broke his momentum and avoided another taste of the local flora, landing roughly but thankfully on his hooves.  The dead hazel had put up zero resistance, and tore as easily from the earth as a dandelion.  Storm stood up shakily and brushed the dirt and shreds of grass from his coat. “Are you alright?”  Check rushed over to inspect him. “I’m fine, though I think I’m going to need another shower.  Still, that was a lot easier than I thought it’d be.  Do you really think Hazel needed our help with that?” “I wonder.”  Check Mate looked down at the fallen tree.  “Well, I believe we should relocate this, lest its blight spread.  Would you care to take the other end?” The two ponies carried the tree towards the shop, Check supporting the trunk in his magic, and Storm holding a thicker bough in his hooves as he hovered behind.  After setting the tree in a patch of grass well away from the shop’s log walls, they once more went inside.  Hazel was waiting near the door in an aisle of seeds, staring at a hoofful of them. “All taken care of,” said Storm.  “We set the tree a few yards away from the building, just in case whatever it had was contagious.  Is that alright?” Hazel dropped the seeds back into their bin and looked up, then down slightly to Storm’s eye level, and smiled at him. “That is just perfect, sugar; thank you.  Now, I should have asked this first, but what brings you two by?” “I was hoping to buy a bottle or two of ink if you carry any.” “And I am merely along for the journey.” “Really?  Is that all?  Well, go ahead and take a few bottles; they’re all in the aisle over.”  She pointed towards it.  “Also, help yourself to some quills and a holder if you need them; I’d hate to see you forced to prune those handsome wings,” she purred.  Storm swallowed. “Eheh, er, thanks?  Also, when you say ‘help yourself’—” “They’re on the house, sugar.  Consider it my way of saying thank you.” Storm placed a couple of ink bottles, a paper wrapping of quills, and a long, tin quill holder in his saddlebags; he then gave his thanks and left with Check Mate for Pimento’s.  After seeing the two ponies off, Hazel stepped through her shop and into the garden, where Hugh and Mooney flew down to accompany her.  She paused to observe the fallen tree and sighed.  It was old, its time had come, and no amount care would stop that clock from ticking.  She said a final farewell and moved forward into the hazelnut grove.  She looked carefully through the leaves, then, with a satisfied hum, plucked a seed from one of the branches.  Finally, tucking it into her mane, she walked down a row of trees, where an empty spot awaited it. --- Halfway to Pimento’s, Storm and Check decided to take a moment to relax on the side of the road and make a light repast of the surrounding wild grass.  Storm imagined that this was the kind of thing they did in those youth scout organizations, in addition to tying knots, rubbing sticks together to start fires, and whatever else it took to get the foals out of the house.  Not too different from the Guard in some ways, all things considered. “May I ask why you purchased the ink?” Check said, interrupting his thoughts. “Oh, I didn’t tell you guys, did I?  Nomde gave me a journal.  Speaking of which”—Storm nosed into his bag and pulled out the object in question along with his new implements—“I still need to finish up yesterday’s entry before too much of today happens.” “Ah, a journal!  What a fine idea.  Hopefully it will fill with fond remembrances.” “Yep, as long as I remember to write them down.”  Storm opened the packet of quills and tore a strip from it, setting it to the side.  “How about you, Check?  Do you keep a journal?” “I have in the past, though the pages always seemed to fill so quickly.” “Heh, I can imagine.” Storm removed the stopper from one of the ink bottles and set it gently on the strip of paper, away from any dirt or other contaminants.  After dipping the tip of a quill, he began to write.  He wrote about the Canterlot and Fiddler’s Plain EqueRail stations and the differences between them; he wrote about Crack Shot’s heroism and their train ride; he wrote about Pimento and Kettle Corn.  He wrote until he ran out of page. He replaced the stopper in its bottle and put the used quill in the tin holder, but left his journal open, allowing the ink to dry. “And that’s that until tonight.  By the way, how long do you want to stay here in Fiddler’s Plain?” “You mean before continuing northward?” “Right.  We’ve got a fair bit of territory ahead of us to cover after all, don’t we?” “That is true; however, perhaps we should save this discussion for when the third member of our party is present?” “Good point.  Do you think he’s up by now?” “I imagine he will be by the time we return.” Check Mate gave a conspiratorial smile. “And if not, I wouldn’t suffer for more trumpet practice.” --- Both Crack Shot and Kettle were awake and downstairs, playing a game of cards, when Storm and Check stepped through the tavern door.  Crack Shot waved them over. “Hey, ‘bout time you got back, guys!  Me and Kettle were just playin’ a few rounds of ‘Go Fish’.” “Yep, on account of it bein’ the only game you know,” Kettle grumbled. “Now now, don’t get pissy just because I’m winning.  Got any threes?” Kettle grumbled a little louder and slid a card across the table. “Booyah!  Heh, you’re lucky we’re not playin’ for bits.” “You fellas want to join in?” asked Kettle, after Storm and Check had sat down at the table. “Thank you, but I’m content to watch,” said Check. “Ya sure about that?  Not like we’ve got a shortage of cards or anythin’.” “He doesn’t wanna play because he knows he’ll wipe the floor with us,” Crack Shot explained matter-of-factly. “Oh, a card shark, huh?  Gotta admit, I wouldn’t have had ya pegged.” “Shark?  Pssh, he’s more like a, uh, well I don’t know what eats sharks, but whatever they are, he’s one of those.  Check—” Check Mate sighed.  “Yes, Crack Shot?” “Care to give a demonstration?” “Very well.” “Sweet.  You’re gonna love this, Kettle.” Crack Shot drew ten cards from what was left of the deck and began turning them face up one by one, arranging them in a line. “Alright, I bet you’re all familiar with Three-card Monte, right?  Well, this oughta be a little more excitin’.  Keep your eyes on the three of clubs.”   Crack Shot tapped the three of clubs for emphasis, turned each card back over, and proceeded to make them dance across the table.  With feints and flourishes and flying hooves, he turned the space in front of him into a blur of white and red.  Storm tried to follow the card, but Crack Shot wasn’t making it easy.  Sometimes it would switch places with another, sometimes a hoof would glide over it only to snatch away a neighbor.  He struggled not to blink.  To blink would be to lose it. After another minute or two, the cards finally came to a rest, indistinguishable rose patterns arranged in a row once more.  The second from Crack Shot’s left, Storm thought.  It had to be that one. “Alright, Check, how ‘bout it:  were you able to keep track of the three of clubs?  ‘Course, knowing you, that’s more of a rhetorical question.” “Yes, I would say that I was.” “Heh, right on, dude.  I’d expect no less of you.”  Crack Shot grinned.  “So then, can you tell me where the ace of spades is?” Kettle burst out laughing; Storm watched and waited. “Third from your right.  In between the two of diamonds and the eight of hearts, to be more precise.” Crack Shot turned the three cards over, revealing their faces.  On one was a pair of diamonds, on another was a crowd of hearts, and in between them a single, stylized spade. Kettle went wide eyed.  “Now ain’t that a caution!  I ain’t never seen nothin’ like that before!  You play the tables at all?” “No, and I must admit I really have no care to gamble.  I would feel it dishonest.” “Heh, that’s right noble of you, I reckon; I’m impressed.”  Kettle turned towards Crack Shot.  “So you gonna show us where the three of clubs is?” “Beats me, dude.  I was just movin’ the cards as fast as I could; I don’t have any idea which is which.” “It would be the second card from your left,” Check Mate said.  And, of course, it was.  Storm was content to have at least gotten that one. Crack Shot began reshuffling the deck.  “So, Pimento said you two went shopping,” he said. Storm nodded.  “He said right.  I needed to grab a couple of things to write with.” “Down at Hazel’s place, I’ll wager,” Kettle noted.  Then, he leaned forward and added in a low whisper, “Did she talk about Pimento at all?” Storm tilted his head.  “Not all that much, really.  Why?” “Well… just between you and me, it’s more-or-less common knowledge that she has a thing for him.” Hazel had a thing for Pimento?  Storm wasn’t sure how Kettle or anypony else had determined that little piece of gossip.  Judging by her behavior, she might have a thing for everypony she laid eyes on.  How could one tell? “Dude, what the heck was that?”  Crack Shot stared flatly at Kettle. “Eh?” “You can’t be all like, ‘Ooh, just between you and me!’”—Crack Shot waved his hooves in front of his face while forming an ‘O’ with his mouth—“actin’ all secretive and then followin’ it up by telling us it’s common knowledge!  It’s not a secret if everypony knows!” “Now dang it, would you relax and keep it down?!  If ya listened carefully, you’da noticed I didn’t say everypony knows.” “Yeah, well who doesn’t?” “Pimento.” Crack Shot raised a hoof as if to say something and then just said, “Ah.” “Yep, he don’t have a clue.  Which is kinda funny if ya ask me, since general consensus is that he’s soft for her too.” “Really?  Why doesn’t one of them make a move?” Storm asked. “Matters of the heart are tricky things.  I reckon they will in due time.” Deep down, Storm knew that he wasn’t one to talk.  It was months and a city-wide crisis before he dared to show his feelings to Nomde.  Theirs wasn’t the most traditional courtship. “And some of us regulars have a pool goin’, so I’m hopin’ that ‘due time’ is between twelve and one on a Sunday.”  Kettle grinned at the groans this received.  “Anyways, how ‘bout we take off after a couple more rounds?  We may not be playin’ for bits, but I’m gonna win back my pride.” --- After a few more games, the four ponies returned to their rooms for the last time in order to fetch their belongings.  Pimento was asleep in preparation for the evening, so Kettle took the initiative of setting his payment in the till.  When the guardsponies went downstairs to meet him, clad once more in their armor, he gave them a look over. “Decidin’ to go in uniform, eh?” “We might as well,” Storm responded.  “It’s easier to wear than to carry in a set of saddlebags, after all.” “Fair enough.  Well, since we’re all ready to hit the road, what say we do?” While on a road running northeast from the tavern, the guardsponies learned that they were going to a farm owned by Kettle’s sister.  They were not surprised to learn that it specialized in corn.  The trip itself was uneventful, and after about an hour they arrived at the lane leading to her farmhouse; it was an off-white, two-story building with a covered porch.  Fields of tall corn lined both sides of the lane, as far as the eye could see.  This was because the eye couldn’t actually see all that far, the corn being as thick as it was.  Nevertheless, Storm got the impression that there was quite a lot of it. The ponies crossed a freshly-trimmed lawn, the air sweet from its clippings, and stepped into the shade of the porch.  Kettle was just reaching for the door handle when it opened inward, revealing a mare that, save for the femininity, could’ve been his twin.  Storm thought about this for a moment.  She was probably Kettle’s twin.  She started back from the ponies standing right outside her door, but quickly recovered when she recognized the one in front, and a warm smile graced her lips. “It’s about time ya got back,” she said, pulling Kettle into a hug.  “Your nephew and nieces missed you, and I suppose I might’ve too.” “Sorry, to keep y’all waitin’, sis.  I brought guests, by the way.” Kettle’s sister pulled out of the hug and turned her smile on the guardsponies.  “I can see that; Salisbury said you found some interesting company.  Are you going to introduce me?” “Ah, where are my manners?  Crack Shot, Storm Stunner, Check Mate, this is my sister, Allie.” The guardsponies greeted Allie in turn, each shaking her hoof, save for Crack Shot who bumped it.  Allie looked to her brother, who gave a small shrug. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you three.  I imagine y’all have been asked this plenty, but might I ask what brings you down our way?” “Mainly sightseeing,” Storm said. “In plate armor?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ah, heh, well, it never hurts to be prepared, right?” Allie stared in curiosity at Storm, weighing this notion, before finally the eyebrow lowered.  “Can’t fault the logic, I suppose.”  She turned towards Kettle.  “I need to go pick up the foals from school.  You mind fixin’ supper for when we get back?” “If you don’t mind eatin’ it.  Got any preferences?” “There’s some spinach in the kitchen.  Think you can make a salad without burnin’ it?” Kettle grinned.  “I can sure as heck try.  I’ll see you in a bit, Allie.” She pulled him into another quick hug.  “Take care, Ket, and welcome back.  And you boys make yourselves at home, you hear?” Allie walked down the drive and rounded a corner, disappearing from view.  Kettle stepped inside and beckoned the guardsponies to follow. “Wipe your hooves and come on in, fellas; I’ll give you the guided tour.” Allie’s living room was like living rooms anywhere.  Among other furniture was an old couch with large, twill cushions, the kind that can last for generations on nothing more than the occasional patch-up and a steady diet of spare change.  In front of it was a wooden coffee table splotched with ring-shaped stains and topped with unused coasters.  Beneath these was an ornate scatter rug, probably bought for its aesthetic appeal and then appreciated for its ability to hide a stain.  As a living room, it felt very lived in. On the mantle over a fireplace were a number of picture frames.  One in the center drew Storm’s gaze.  It was a color photograph of Kettle and Allie, along with a dark-colored stallion; the two siblings looked a few years younger.  Allie was leaning her head against the darker stallion’s shoulder.  Storm wondered, but didn’t dare ask. They followed Kettle into a large kitchen which, judging by the table placed in one corner of it, also served as the dining room.  The smell of coffee hung in the air, laced with the pungent hint of old smoke; Storm noticed that the ceiling and the perimeter of wall near it were stained a darker shade than the area of wall below.  The spinach Allie had mentioned sat in a large bowl on the counter. “If you get hungry, here’s where she keeps the vittles.  ‘Fore you clear out the larder though, let me show y’all to the guesthouse to drop off your things.” Crack Shot’s jaw went slack.  “She’s got a friggin’ guesthouse?!” “That she does,” answered Kettle as he pushed the back door open.  “Like, not a barn, right?  Like an actual, whole separate house?” “Well, she’s got both actually, but guesthouses ain’t all that uncommon ‘round here.  I take it you didn’t see many of ‘em back home?” “Dude, where I grew up, we didn’t even have a guest room.” Across a wide patch of bare earth stood the barn, swarming with hens, and near it, the guesthouse.  The guesthouse, which was the same off-white as the main house, which was also the same off-white as the barn, was unsurprisingly smaller.  Like the main house, it also had two stories; however, compared to the main house, Storm thought those stories abridged.  Inside, he learned that the first floor was comprised of only a bathroom, a tiny living area, and an empty pantry; it all looked spotless, unused.  The second floor was comprised of bedroom.  A bedroom.  Eight beds were divided into two rows spanning its entire area.  It was a very familiar layout. “Hey, how about that?  It’s just like our barracks,” said Storm.  He pressed a hoof into one of the mattresses. “I’ll take your word for it,” said Kettle.  “Anyways, I’m gonna head back to the kitchen and work on my battle plan for supper.  I’ll let y’all fight over who’s bunkin’ where.”  He gave a wave then disappeared down the stairs. Storm took the room in and didn’t take long to do so: every bed was identical and they were the only thing to be seen.  There were no lamps, no candles, no drawers.  He chose a bed near a window overlooking the barn, and Check Mate took one across from it.  Crack Shot made a hmph, drawing their attention. “Okay, what the heck is goin’ on?” he asked as he dropped his bags and barding by a bed. “Huh?  What’s wrong?” asked Storm. “Like, everything!  I mean, seriously—dinner, the inn, a whole friggin’ house to ourselves”—Crack Shot swung a hoof in a wide arc, trying to encompass the room—“without askin’ for anything?  Who does that?  Who is that nice?  I feel like a jerk gettin’ all of this without doin’ anything!” “Hmm… well, perhaps Kettle and Allie do not need a reason?” said Check.  “Perhaps an act of altruism is reward in itself for them.” Storm nodded.  “Yeah, I’m with Check here.  Besides, don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same thing if you could.  I know you would.” “Well, yeah, maybe… but I doubt most ponies would.” Storm cocked his head to the side.  “There are a lot of ponies, Crack Shot.  Do you really think you can speak for the majority of them?” “It’s—well—gah, whatever!  I’m gonna go and see if Kettle wants some help burnin’ that salad or somethin’.  If I’m gonna get a free lunch, I’m at least gonna lend a hoof with dinner.” Crack Shot marched down the stairs and out of the room in a huff. “Huh,” said Storm, as the door below slammed shut.  “So much for getting his vote on when to leave town.” “But he did make a good point.  Although I doubt that our hosts would consider accepting a pecuniary compensation, should we not try to demonstrate our appreciation in some other way?” “Yeah… yeah, we probably should, shouldn’t we?  Hmm, want to join Crack Shot and see if we can help out with dinner as well?” “Although it is probably a bit early in the afternoon, that would be a nice start.  You’re not concerned that too many chefs might spoil the salad?” “Not at all.  Nopony would ever consider me a chef.” --- Kettle was in no rush to begin preparing supper with an hour or two before Allie returned with the foals, but he wasn’t opposed to having a few extra hooves to help gather some additional ingredients in the meantime.  He sent the guardsponies to retrieve some produce from a smaller garden near the house, things like tomatoes, cucumbers, apples, and cranberries, and the three had split up to accomplish the task, with only a little trouble.  Crack Shot had run into a snag trying to find the tomato trees, but Check Mate was happy to direct him a little closer to the ground. When Kettle judged that Allie would be arriving soon, he began peeling and dicing the items and tossing them over the spinach.  He told Storm and the others to relax in the living room and make themselves comfortable, so Storm did what so many do when given such an offer in an unfamiliar home and sequestered a corner of couch, resolving not to move from it unless told to do otherwise.  Check Mate took a spot on the other side of the couch, while Crack Shot took a seat on the floor by the coffee table and began spinning one of the coasters with the tip of his hoof.  Their heads snapped towards the front door as it flew open and a tiny earth pony colt charged into the living room.   “Uncle Kettle!  Uncle Kettle!  Uncle—” the foal skidded to a stop when he spied three unfamiliar faces in his house, each of whom was now staring at him. “Now now, Flip; I know you’re excited, but you know better than to go stormin’ into the house like that,” came Allie’s voice, followed by the mare herself and two fillies, a pegasus and a unicorn, who didn’t look to be much older than their brother.  When she saw the guardsponies, she gave them a weary smile.  “Sorry ‘bout that, boys.  Flip, what do you say to our guests?” “Who are you?” The younger of the two fillies, the pegasus, started giggling, while her sister rolled her eyes with all the embarrassment due younger siblings.  Crack Shot snorted. “No,” Allie said with a patience that only comes with parenthood, “you say ‘hello’ and introduce yourself.” “Oh.  Hello.” Storm decided to give up his spot on the couch and stepped forward, extending a hoof to the colt.  “Hey there!” he said.  “I’m Storm Stunner.  And you are?” The colt’s face bunched up.  “Mom said it twice already.  Are you stupid or something?” Allie gasped.  “Flip!” Crack Shot buried his head in his hooves on the coffee table and started trembling; Check coughed politely and looked away. “See?  She said it again!” Storm lowered his hoof.  “Er, yes.  Nice to meet you… Flip.”  His face felt hot and he was sure he was blushing.  He should’ve stayed on the couch. “I’m right sorry about that, Storm,” Allie sighed.  “He’s still at that age where honesty is, without exception, the best policy.  Er, not to call ya dumb or nothing.” “It’s alright; I’ve been called worse.” “And as for you, young pony,” Allie said with the sternness that came packaged with the patience.  “Apologize.  Now.” Conquerors would cower before that tone of voice, and mountains would crumble into the sea.  Flip pouted.  “…Mmsorfercallinyastupid,” he muttered, hanging his head. “What was that?” asked Allie in a warning voice.  To Flip, the sound of a weekend filling up with chores resonated within it. “I’m sorry for callin’ ya stupid, Mr. Storm Stunner sir.” “Apology accepted,” said Storm.  He smiled and extended a hoof once more; this time Flip reached up and shook it. “Pleased to—Uncle Kettle!” “Huh, what?” “Howdy there!  I thought I heard y’all comin’ in!” Kettle stood in the entrance to the kitchen, a few bits of fruit skins caught in the fringe of his mane.  Flip and the pegasus filly scrambled past Storm and the other two strangers and leapt towards him, wrapping their forehooves around his front legs.  The unicorn filly stayed near her mother, but gave a smile and small wave. “Hi, Uncle Kettle!” Flip and the younger filly sang. “Whoa, there!  Good to see you too, pardners!  I see you’re makin’ new acquaintances?” “Yep!” said Flip.  “That’s Storm Stunner, Uncle Kettle, and… uh…” “Heh, why don’t I let ya finish up first?” Flip turned to the closest pony, one who happened to be giving him one half of a grin; he raised his hoof towards him. “Howdy, mister, what’s yer name?” “Crack Shot, little dude.”  Crack Shot bumped Flip’s hoof.  The little colt seemed to think it was just about the coolest thing ever. “So are you and Storm brothers or somethin’?” “Only in arms,” Storm said with a chuckle. Flip’s face bunched up once more.  “’Only in arms’?  Well what about the rest of ya?” “It’s an expression,” Kettle interjected, preempting a discussion on genealogy by parts.  “Him, Crack Shot, and Check Mate over there are in the Equestrian Royal Guard.” Flip’s eyes widened. “Whoa!” “Pretty neat, huh?  Now how ‘bout lettin’ your sisters say hello as well?” With her uncle’s encouragement, the giggly pegasus filly skipped forward and introduced herself as Airy.  The guardsponies returned her greeting and she giggled again, once at Check Mate’s formality and once at Crack Shot’s utter lack of it.  Her sister, Sprite, was the eldest by one or two years and thus obviously above such childish displays.  She smiled politely as she said her hellos.   With introductions out of the way, Kettle called everypony into the kitchen for supper.  The salad was divided between eight plates arranged on the two long halves of the table, with plenty more left in a bowl in the center.  Kettle and the guardsponies took one side of the table, Allie and the foals took the other, and all of them waited for somepony to say something and get the meal started.  Kettle looked around and realized this somepony was him. “Well,” he said, “it ain’t gonna get cold but you don’t want it to get warm, so dig in.” While Kettle began talking to Sprite about her day at school, Storm started into the salad; he was not at all disappointed.  He bit into a tomato, and it was tasting a tomato for the very first time.  Life in the country would be worth it for the menu alone. “What’s it like in the Guard?  Is it excitin’?” piped up a filly’s voice. “Mm?”  Storm looked up from his plate.  Airy was staring at him and the other guardsponies with doe-like eyes.  “Oh, it can be at times,” he said.  “Usually it’s pretty calm though.” “Really?  Aren’t y’all busy breakin’ up evil wizard cults and stuff?” Airy asked.  She had been read many bedtime stories about daring knights in fanciful armor, and she wasn’t about to pass up the chance to check facts. “Colts…?  Oh, cults!  Uh, I can’t say I or anypony else in the Guard has run into any lately,” Storm answered, puzzled. Airy faltered.  “Really?  Huh, I woulda figured you’d have your hooves full with ‘em…”  She decided to try another avenue.  “What about princesses?  Ya rescue any from any towers lately?” “Er, the princesses we know actually prefer the towers.  I think they appreciate the view?”  Storm had the certainty that he was falling short of some very lofty expectations. “What about fire-breathin’ dragons then?” Airy asked desperately.  “Don’t tell me you ain’t fought none yet!” “…Sorry. I’ve only seen one dragon, and the only time he breathed fire was to mail a letter.” Airy frowned deeply as the fundamental rules of reality as she understood them were dashed one by one.  What kind of sad, boring old world was it where deadly cults didn’t go around threatening existence, and knights didn’t slay fire-breathing dragons?  Who’d even want to live in a world like that? “Then what the heck do y’all even do if ya ain’t fightin’ wizards an’ dragons?!” “Airy, manners,” Allie chided. “Well, there’s guarding—” “Phoenix taming,” Crack Shot chimed in. “…Phoenix tamin’?”  Airy’s eyes narrowed, but curiosity tinged her voice. “Yep, you ever heard of a phoenix?” Airy shook her head. “Huh, now how can I explain one?  Think like… like a firefly only a hundred times bigger!” “Whoa!” “Crack Shot, I don’t think that’s exactly–“ “And they’re smart.  Like a hundred times smarter than a firefly,” Crack Shot continued, not one to waste a perfectly good analogy.  “There’s one that lives in the castle, and one of the things we have to do is watch over her and make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.” “Really?  Does she fight with ya?” Crack Shot nodded gravely.  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” While those two continued their tête-à-tête on the perils of pet ownership, Flip called to Storm as the guardspony took a bite of his salad. “Hey, ya mind if I ask ya something?” After he finished chewing, Storm swallowed and said, “Sure, by all means.” “How’d ya get to be in the Royal Guard?” Storm thought for a moment.  That was a question that could have a very long or very short answer.  He decided to go with the latter. “Hmm, I really just signed up for it and went from there.” “Really?  Was it hard?” “Parts of it, I suppose.  Why do you ask?” “Well… “ Flip rubbed his hooves together sheepishly. “Are ya hirin’?” Storm raised an eyebrow and chuckled.  “Why?  Are you looking to join?” The little colt’s face brightened like a cherry tomato. “What’s so funny ‘bout that?!” “Oh nothing, nothing… you might be a little small though.  I’m not sure we have any armor that’d fit you.” Flip knitted his brows.  “I’ll grow.  I just need a year or two.” “Is that all, huh?  Alright, I’ll tell you what: how about we compromise?  You finish school, get good grades, help your mom out with the chores, and I’ll put in the good word for you.  A sergeant’s word.  Sound good?” “Hmm…” Flip eyed Storm with all of the gravity of six year old.  “Ya promise?” Storm placed a hoof over his chest.  “I promise.” Flip gave a large, gap-toothed grin and said, “Deal!”  Then, to Storm’s dismay, he spat into his hoof, pulled himself onto the table, and thrust it out at Storm.  “Let’s shake on it!” “Flip!  Rear legs off the table!” “But Mom!” “No ‘buts’, buster, now give me that hoof.” Flip offered his hoof grudgingly, and Allie wiped it down with a cloth napkin.  Then she went even further with this insult by adding a kiss to his cheek, much to his horror. “Sorry again, Storm,” she said.  “As ya can see, he’s a bit of a fan of the Guard.” “I was the same way at his age; it’s a compliment really.” “Really?  Well, better a compliment than a hassle.  So, I haven’t asked about how y’all ran into my brother.  Was it at Pimento’s?” she asked with mock disapproval.  Kettle looked up from his salad if only to roll his eyes. “Actually, we met him on the train from Canterlot.  We shared a car.” “Comin’ in from Canterlot, eh?  That reminds me, how’d things go over there, Ket?” “Couldn’t have gone better, sis.  All of our current contract holders renewed, and some of ‘em even increased their order size; I even managed to wrangle a couple new ones.  Whenever you’re ready to harvest, we got ourselves ponies ready to buy.” “Hah, that’s my brother!  Heck, things as they are, maybe we could do some hirin’ and get shippin’ even faster.” “Yeah, but that might be easier said than done. It's been a good year, and I reckon that all of the farmers are snatchin' up help as it comes.” “Are you guys looking for some additional hooves to help?” Storm had said it without thinking about it.  As if he were offering to help wash the dishes.  By the look on Kettle’s face, it was clear that he also realized this. “Uh, you sure about that pardner?  We’re not talkin’ about mowin’ a lawn here.  We’re talkin acres.  That ain’t an afternoon job.” Storm turned towards Check Mate and Crack Shot; the latter shrugged, and, after a moment, the former gave a small nod.  That was sure enough. “Yeah, of course.  It’d be our pleasure.” “Hmm, how’s ‘bout this then: after we finish supper and get everythin’ all cleaned up, I’ll show you how we go about it, and you can decide after havin’ taken a stab at it?” “Sounds good to me.  How about you guys?”  Storm asked. “I’ve no qualms.” “Yeah bring it, dude.” “Well okay then… I hope you fellas know what you’re gettin’ yourselves into.” “We’re no strangers to physical labor.”  Storm took another bite of his salad and leaned back in his seat.  “Just how bad could it be?” --- In flagrant disregard of all comedic protocol, it wasn’t bad at all. After he had learned the basics of it, Storm found harvesting to actually be kind of fun.  Once he had gotten familiar with sweet corn and the way it milked when it was ready for harvest, familiar with popcorn and flour corn, he attacked the activity.  Kettle had warned him about pacing himself, and Storm had happily ignored him. With his magic, Check Mate was a natural at husking; he built up a steady rhythm with Crack Shot wherein the pegasus would toss him ears of corn over the stalks as he cleared through them. By the time the sun began to set on Fiddler’s Plain, the guardsponies, Kettle, and Allie had only gotten through part of an acre between them, but it was more than either brother or sister had expected for a few hours’ work plus training.  In the kitchen, Kettle and the guardsponies relaxed over glasses of ice water, while Allie and the foals played upstairs. “Hoo-boy, I gotta say you fellas delivered,” said Kettle.  “Still, it ain’t too often one finds folks willin’ to spend their vacation time workin’ the fields.  Y’all are absolutely sure about this?” ‘Sure, dude,” said Crack Shot, “how often is that a pony gets to pick corn from somethin’ other than their teeth?” “Heh, you’re askin’ the wrong pony.  Anyways, we both appreciate it.  Here’s to hard work and new friendships.” Kettle raised his glass to the air and the guardsponies did the same.  After they finished their drinks, Kettle went upstairs to spend some time with his nieces and nephew, and the guardsponies returned to the guesthouse to wash up. “Well, I guess we’re here a little longer, eh?” said Storm.  Sitting on his bed, he stared through the window at the barn; it had gone from white to purple in the dusk, and soon it would be a shadow against the sky.  He decided he would best make an entry in his journal while he still had the light to do so. “Indeed we are,” replied Check Mate.  “Say, although we have free reign in this venture, how would you two feel about informing Luna about this course of events?” “Fine with me, dude.  You gonna wire her by dragon fire?” asked Crack Shot. “I had planned to use Gray Mane’s device, yes.” “Heh, good luck.” Check leaned over his bed and levitated the smart stone from the pocket of his bags, setting it at the foot of his mattress.  He then placed the tip of its stylus against it and began to write in a prim copperplate. Greetings, Febre, I’ll assume.  I hope this evening finds you well. The reply did not take long to come. My, my, two in as many days.  You guys really are wasting no time in wasting mine. My sincerest apologies, Febre, I did not mean to cause a distraction.  If I am interrupting your research, I shall leave you be. Relax, it was just a joke.  Wasting time is one of the biggest parts of research, in between all of the accidental discoveries.  So judging by the decorum, I’ll presume this is Checkers I’m speaking to? Check Mate frowned slightly.  Crack Shot caught it and snickered. I do share the first syllable, yes.  But names aside, I was wondering:  may I trouble you with the task of conveying a piece of correspondence to Princess Luna? Maybe.  But then again, maybe you can tell her yourself.  I bet Gray Mane would be willing to let a princess try this thing out. Perhaps.  He does seem to show a particular respect for them. Check Mate was too polite to note that Gray Mane was so particular, that this ended up being the only respect he ever showed. That, and he also needs to win some brownie points for turning some of your coworkers’ armor into lead.  I’ll go see if I can find her. You have my thanks. Storm returned his journal to his bag and noticed that Check had stopped writing as well.  “Finish leaving that message for Luna?” he asked. “No, but I may have the chance to communicate with her directly, rather than by proxy.  Febre is going to deliver his stone to her, presuming our fellows allow him past.  It would appear that they have reason to be cross with him and his mentor.” “No surprises there,” said Crack Shot.  “What’d they do?” “Apparently Gray Mane performed some manner of transmutation of some of their barding.  According to Febre, he turned it to lead.” “Oh hey, he nailed it; good for him.” As they waited for Luna’s reply to come or not to come, the sky deepened and darkened, and night fell like a diamond-studded shroud once more over Fiddler’s Plain.  Obviously she was up.  Yet, there came no response.  Check Mate was about to place the smart stone back in its pocket, when a delicate, emerald script began to burn in thin lines across its surface, filling the room’s gloom with green light.  He began to read it. This is a teſt miſsiue.  If you haue receiued it, pleaſe ſend a reſponſe informinge me ſo.   Hello, Luna, this is Check Mate.  Indeed, I have received your message.  Are you well this evening?   I am, thank you, though I was ſurpriſed to haue beene preſented ſo ſuddenly with this creation.  It is ſtrange, but faſcinatinge, and I ſhall haue to learn more aboute it.  Are your trauels goinge well ſo far?   They are, Luna, though that is a matter I had wished to speak about.  The three of us arrived in Fiddler’s Plain last night, and I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we have found it charming.  Like Canterlot, it is beautiful, and unlike Canterlot, it is beautiful.  A more bucolic lifestyle is practiced here, and everypony shares a familiarity with each other which I have never observed in the city.  In less than two days’ time, we have made friends here, and these friends we would like to assist.  Would you be opposed if we were to spend some additional time here to this end?   Check Mate waited patiently in the dimness of the room for Luna to consider his words and send her response.  Eventually, the stone lit up once more.   Abſolutely not.  Your journey is of courſe to be conducted at your diſcretion, but this is a courſe I would haue recommended if you had asked.  Aſsiſt your new friends, do as friends would do, enjoy yourſelues, and do not feele ruſhed.   Very well, then; I am gratified to hear that.  We shall do as you say.   Wonderful.  Now, did you haue any other preſent concerns? One more thing, if I may?   Yes?   e4   It took a couple of minutes before the reply came, and it cast little light for its brevity.   c6   Check smiled in its faint glow.   Now, I shall distract you no more for the time being, Luna.  Thank you for taking the time to address our worries.   It was no trouble at all, and I wiſhe you luck in your indeauours.  But before I returne this contraption to its owner, do you know if it has an off-ſwitch?  I do not wiſh to waſte its energies.   Not that I’m aware of, Luna, but Gray Mane gave the impression that power should not be a problem, at least if it is to function for the duration of our travels.   Is that ſo?  Truly a faſcinatinge deuice, indeede.   Check replaced the smart stone and looked across the room at his companions.  Storm was asleep, most likely for having gotten up so early, and Crack Shot was as well, most likely for having nothing better to do.  Check Mate turned onto his side and pulled his thin bedding over himself, deciding to join them. --- “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!” “What the heck was that?!” screamed the voice of Crack Shot. It was nearly pitch black in the room; the only things visible were the stars through the windows. Storm yawned and pulled himself up.  “I… I think it was a rooster,” he said. “Did its internal clock get reset or somethin’?  It’s the middle of the freakin’ night!  Aren’t they supposed to wait until the sun comes up?” “A common misconception,” came Check Mate’s voice.  “A rooster may crow for any number of reasons, though generally those reasons hinge on one central justification.” “And what’s that?” asked Crack Shot, skeptical. “They feel like it.” “Figures.  Well, I don’t think I’ll be fallin’ back asleep any time soon.  Mind hittin’ me with a night light, Check?” “Certainly.”  Check Mate’s horn began to glow, revealing the guardsponies and their surroundings.  “May I ask why?” “I figured we could head down and get some fresh air or somethin’.” “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!” “And maybe tell that thing to shut up.” --- Storm, Check, and Crack Shot lay on the roof of the guesthouse as the rooster continued to crow intermittently from the barn. Crack Shot had told it to be quiet; in response it had given him the most recalcitrant glare a rooster could give, before crowing even louder.  Above them, the moon had begun to wane, craters filling like black pools as its shores sank into a depthless sea.  They stared into the stars as the night air began to cool. “Hey, Check,” Storm said, “Nomde and I tried to find that new constellation that Luna had mentioned before we left, but we didn’t have any luck spotting it.  Do you know where it is?  Or what it is?” “Truthfully, Storm, I couldn’t say.  The stars are always shifting subtly and there are so many of them that it would be hard to identify any additions to their number.  There are ponies that have dedicated their careers to them.” “Yeah, I suppose so…” “I don’t get constellations,” said Crack Shot.  “They never look like what they’re supposed to; it’s like the most messed up game of connect the dots ever.  ‘Cept for the Big Dipper, that is; I get that one. Maybe animals just looked really weird back when Luna was doin’ most of her decoratin’.” For a moment, only the cicadas’ chirping filled the air. “Hmm… maybe she didn’t come up with them,” Storm said after a while.  “Maybe it was other ponies that dreamed those constellations up, and then those dreams got written down.” “I dunno, dude.  She did tell us she was makin’ a constellation, didn’t she?” That was true.  Storm thought about it. “Perhaps there is truth to what both of you say.  Although there may be certain predetermined arrangements of stars, certain designs, it could be that she left a number of them to us, or ponies like us:  ponies who perchance find themselves one night gazing into a cloudless sky.  Perhaps she was interested in what we would create, what we would see.” “Huh.  Sounds like the world’s biggest inkblot test,” Crack Shot mused.  “Think we oughta ask her?” “Mm, no, I don’t think so,” said Storm.  “I think that’d be asking her to tip her hand.  Life needs its mysteries.” “Point taken, dude.  But maybe we could at least ask her where to look?  Maybe one of the stars is colored funny or somethin’.” “That would probably be alright to ask.” The guardsponies stared silently into the sky as Fiddler’s Plain sang its chorus. “Hey, that rooster finally shut up.  Wanna head back down?” The guardsponies descended from the rooftop—Storm and Crack Shot with their wings, and Check Mate with a blink—and reentered the guesthouse, their home for the time being.  In their room and in their beds they made themselves comfortable, and one by one sleep took them; the rooster did not crow again for the rest of the night.  As they slept, above them a scattering of stars traced a new shape in the midnight sky.  Or, perhaps, it was another one entirely.