"Honey, are you done with your chores?" Melody asked as her son played gently on the piano.
Much like herself, her son had always had a talent for music. A talent that rivaled her own, in fact. The haunting melodies he could create on a whim would have earned any other colt a cutie mark, but his flanks remained frustratingly blank.
"Yes ma'am." He answered in a tone that matched the dark undertones of the music he played, causing her to shudder. It felt strange to be both unsettled and proud at the same time, but it was how she felt every time he played. It was a feeling that she suspected she would never get used to.
She stayed and listened to him for a while, nodding her head along with the morose tune. Her gaze wandered to the wooden carving that sat next to him on the piano bench. She was no stranger to masks, with masks hanging on walls throughout their home. Some were creepy, others were silly, and many were plain.
Arawa had often said that a mask maker puts a piece of himself into every mask, and that by knowing what to look for, the maker of any mask could be known just by the mask itself. Melody had hardly believed it at the time, but seeing how distinct her son's mask was from the rest of the masks around the house made her question.
He stopped playing and turned back towards Melody.
"How was it?" He asked.
"Haunting, but peaceful…if that makes sense. Was there anything in particular that inspired it?"
He looked down at his unfinished mask, the look on her face reminding her of the look on Arawa's face when they were on the train back to Equestria. The light and dark orange stripes bent on his muzzle in exactly the same way.
"It was about dad."
Melody's breath caught in her throat, and her eyes began to water. The music had worn her emotions raw, the mask had rubbed against old memories, and her son's words scraped the sore, scarred wound none too gently.
"Do you think a song could have healed him?" He asked, eyes still on the heart shaped piece of wood.
Melody walked over to the piano bench, and he scooted over to give her room to sit. She wrapped him up in a hug, the two of them sniffling.
"Music holds a lot of power," she said "but it's not that kind of power sweetheart. It can help heal the heart, but it can only do so much for somepony who is sick."
Tears streamed down her face as the two held each other tightly, tears that dripped down onto the rough wooden surface of her son's mask. Slowly, as emotions calmed and tears and mucus dried, Melody let her son go.
"We should eat before dinner gets cold."
He nodded, but said nothing.
Slowly, she got up from the bench and made it to the door before noticing that he had not yet followed. She turned her head around and gave him a bit of a stink eye.
"Majora," she called, causing him to look up and meet her gaze, "dinner."
The striped orange foal hopped off of the bench and followed Melody into the dining room, leaving the tearstained mask behind.
"Are you going to paint it?" Melody asked as they made their way into the kitchen.
"I want to, but I can't find anything for the colors." He said, looking dejected.
"Y-" Melody stopped herself, but only for a moment, "Your father had a bunch of paints he used for masks. I'm sure he'd have been proud to know that you were using them."
Melody poured bowls of soup for the two of them, and they sat down to eat.
The lighthouse was off limits, his dad had always said. On many occasions, he had tried to sneak into it anyway, but he had never even gotten past the fence before his dad caught him. As Majora watched the turbulent, silty river water flow into the ocean, he found that his father's words rang in his mind every time he thought about going in. Those words held far more power over him than they ever had before.
Majora looked down at the plain wooden mask, trying to think of how he wanted to paint it. The large, perfectly round eyes stared back with an intensity that might have shaken another pony. Majora did not notice.
"Hey, orange peel!" An unfortunately familiar voice called out.
Majora quickly picked up the mask and put it on. His father had often said that there was power in masks. Maybe it could stop a bully like Dusty…maybe it was like music and its power was different from what he needed.
Majora turned around to face the colt, barely able to see from the tiny holes where the tear ducts in the mask would be. He managed to get a good look at the colt's reaction, he had stopped in his tracks and looked startled.
It only lasted a moment before he took two steps forward and tore the mask from Majora's face, nearly pulling Majora off of his hooves in the process. Wincing in pain, Majora stumbled and watched as Dusty reared back and threw the mask into the river.
Majora didn't even hear Dusty say "fetch" before he was in the water and trying to keep sight of the mask as it floated downstream. The water flowed swiftly through this last leg of the river, and the swirling red-brown water made it difficult to keep the mask in sight. After several minutes of paddling, Majora finally reached the mask and carried it the only way he could think of, by putting it on.
Panting from the exertion, Majora turned around to see that the river had pulled him out into the ocean. Immediately, Majora began swimming parallel to the shore, letting himself be dragged further out to sea. Gradually, the water around him slowed and calmed as he swam away from the mouth of the river. Once the water started to become more clear as the suspended iron rich soil fell out, Majora turned and began the lengthy journey back to shore.
Less than an hour later, an exhausted Majora pulled himself out of the ocean water and onto the shore, collapsing onto the gravelly beach to rest.