Lucky Day stayed up through the night, learning Sunrise's sign language. He spoke aloud only to ask for a sign or to confirm its meaning. Bit by bit, he was able to start holding a conversation with the young colt who in turn was able to tell his story more freely now that someone could understand him.
Mother says my voice got trapped in the moon, so she taught me to use my hooves to talk to her. She says I'm lucky—that staying quiet means I won't catch the masters' attention or make them mad by mistake.
Who are the masters?
They tell us what to do. Mostly 'grow more food' and 'grow it faster'. Sunrise pointed at a few of the ponies he had drawn on the table and waved his hoof around the large house. He then put a hoof to his forehead and raised it up.
Day mirrored the sign. "They're Unicorns? Like Chrys?"
Sunrise's eyes widened, and he sat up straight, shaking his head vehemently. They're not like Chrysanthemum at all! He tapped his hooves together hesitantly. The masters are mad all the time. They hit us when they don't like the work we do. Sometimes for no reason.
Did they hit you?
He gave a slight nod. Sometimes.
I got hit a lot in the stable. I'm sorry.
It's okay. Mother's right: I'm lucky. Master Spade hits the hardest because he likes to hear us in pain, but he left me alone because I stay quiet.
Day sat still in stunned silence. His head felt like a freshly opened box of puzzle pieces—a thousand tiny fragments of thoughts, images, and questions, all half-formed and many too gruesome to bear. He closed his eyes and took a breath while he told himself to focus, find a corner to anchor himself. How far away from here?
Sunrise shook his head slightly as he tried to think. A long way. I keep moving day after day after day . . . He shrugged. Everything before he woke up at the diner wrapped in a blanket and with Chrysanthemum watching over him was all blurred together. It had felt like an unending dream. The dull ache that still lingered in his muscles was the only thing that told him it had been real.
Did anyone else come with you?
No. I couldn't tell anyone.
How did you get away?
There was a big rain. It made the ground soft and I dug under the wall during the night.
What made you leave? Lucky Day asked.
Sunrise made the sign for "mother" then held out booth hooves, one facing up, the other down, and then he flipped them over.
What is . . . Day asked, repeating the new sign.
Sunrise stared at him blankly, caught off-guard by the question. He wasn't sure how to explain it right away. He looked down at the chalk drawing of his mother and, after a long pause, he rubbed his hoof over it, erasing her. My mother died. Tears welled up in his eyes. He gestured around the drawing of the farm then made the sign for "bad." He sniffled and repeated the sign, his hooves trembling, and again, this time so emphatic that his hoof slammed the table. That place is terrible!
"But it was all you ever knew . . ." Day whispered. He felt a chill along the back of his neck. He started to reach out across the table, but stopped himself, grimacing. "My mother died too," he said.
Sunrise slipped under the table and climbed up into the seat next to Day, throwing his forelegs around him tightly while quietly sobbing into his shoulder.
Lucky Day tensed up at the touch. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do.
"Tell him it'll be okay," said Rake. He was sitting across the table with his back against the wall and a strange look on his face; Rake was always smiling, but not now. "I know you hate hearing that sort of thing from others, but that's a you-problem. There's no puzzle to solve here. He just needs to know someone cares about him." Rake turned his head to look Day in the eye, and there was that spark again.
Lucky Day blinked, and the ghost vanished, and so did the tension in his chest. He took a deep breath and wrapped his wing around Sunrise. "It'll be okay," he said. No sooner had it said it than he felt a rush. "It'll be okay." He kept repeating it, as if a great reservoir had suddenly burst its dam and those words were flooding out of him.