“As clouds inevitably rise from the land, so too must we Pegasi find our way above the earth. The surface is no place for us.”
- Annals of Cloudsdale
The time passed achingly slowly at the farm. Each day passed as the Sun climbed over the eastern mountains before falling lazily down behind the horizon in the west. This was made all the more agonizing as Wind had nothing to do except sit in bed, try not to aggravate his fragile wing, watch the shadows lengthen and turn about the furniture, and think.
Most often he thought of Cloudsdale, wondering what his parents would be doing when they realized he really was gone. They would probably be searching now, high and low across the city and the sky, tearing every cloud apart to be sure that they checked every inch. They would survey the ground too, from a distance of course. They would see Southoofton, see the house that he now occupied, and maybe even be able to pick out the signs of his landing that Sycamore and her family hadn’t yet been able to fix.
Would they come to the right conclusion? There was no way that he would know unless one day his dad popped in the door. Otherwise, by the time that he was ready to go outside on his own, it would be too late to get himself spotted.
Every day, he would see Sycamore, Fern, and their father three times. Morning, noon, and dinner, with little breaks in between as they did their chores around the property. Even in the evening! His parents had never had any work to do after dinner, except for Snow occasionally reading articles on whatever issue the Council was currently considering. But certainly nothing outdoors.
Tonight Sycamore was still inside, working quietly in the corner with a candle on her desk and an assortment of quills and ledgers gathered around her. It had been three days since the crash, and it still seemed to Wind like most of the family couldn’t quite believe that Cloudsdale was a real place, let alone his hometown.
However, he felt like Sycamore was at least starting to believe him. Why exactly she would find it easier to believe, Wind couldn’t quite say. All that he knew was that it was a relief to have somepony not look at him like he was crazy whenever he explained the course of events that landed him here.
Sycamore set down her quill with an audible sigh, then leaned back in her chair. Wind had been busying himself tracing the contours of the bed’s wood grain with his hooves for the twentieth time, but the sound made him turn. Sycamore looked tired, more so than he had ever seen her.
“Hey, are you all right, Sycamore?”
“Fine,” she said with another sigh, bringing a foreleg up to her brow, doing a poor job hiding her exhaustion. “Just…just tired is all.”
Wind furrowed his own brow. “It doesn’t look like ‘just tired’ to me. You’ve been tired every night when I see you come in from working, but never quite so dejected about it as this.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she replied somewhat sternly, leaning in again and picking up the quill. “You’ve got enough to worry about where yourself is concerned. How does your wing feel?”
Deciding to put the matter on hold for the moment, Wind leaned forward on his bed, gingerly testing his wing, braced for the pain that usually accompanied him shifting about at all. This time it was much more muted, more of a dull throb than the bite of the past few days. He pulled himself up to the edge of the bed, and warily set his hooves down onto the floor. It would be good to be able to see the rest of the town at least, even if he wasn’t going to be able to fly for a couple of weeks or more.
“Well, that certainly looks better,” Sycamore said with a hint of a smile, and Wind brought his eyes up again to see her watching him over the ledgers. “If you’re good to walk then you can start helping us out a bit. We could always use an extra hoof.”
For a brief moment, the thought of wincing and getting back into the bed crossed his mind. But these ponies were being so generous already in housing and feeding him. It was the least that he could do to pitch in wherever he was needed.
“Sure,” he said amicably, taking a few slow strides across the floor to her. “Whatever you need.”
She gave a low chuckle on hearing that. “Hah, whatever we need… What we need right now is a miracle, if you have one to spare.”
He settled down into another chair alongside the desk. “Come on, can it really be that bad?”
“You bet it can,” she said, making another mark on the ledger. It was here Wind noticed for the first time that she actually had two quills and ink bottles on the desk, one an ebony black, and the other a dark red, rather like a vial of blood. One quick look over the ledger revealed that there were far more red marks than black. While he might not have understood the specifics, it was a fair guess red marks weren’t a good thing.
“But I guess that I shouldn’t expect you to know. You’ll be gone in a couple of weeks anyway, so it’s none of your concern.”
“Well, why can’t I make it my concern then?” The words came out of Wind’s mouth before he finished formulating the thought, but in a second he knew that it was what he had wanted to say. The sight of Sycamore so clearly distressed at the state of her accounts was a pitiable one. How could he stand by and let her problems continue to pile up without doing something about it? Again, it was the least that he could do to repay her generosity.
“I know enough to know that these are your finances. How bad are things?”
Effectively caught with her hoof in the cookie jar, Sycamore placed her quill down once again on the desk.
“Bad,” she said. “I was counting on this year’s harvest to shore things up, but this year things have been even worse than before. With the costs of these repairs, and the state of the fields right now, I just can’t see how we’re going to survive the winter.”
From the glimpses that he had gotten out the door each time somepony came in or out of the house, as well as from the conversations he had overheard, Wind had already been able to piece together the fact that this was looking to be a poor year for the harvest.
“Well, now, surely it can’t be that bad. You’re earth ponies after all. A bad harvest is probably still half decent on the grand scale of things, right?”
She offered him a warmer gaze for that, no smile, but a bit of brightness back in her eyes.
“Perhaps a pegasus would think it an impressive yield. But I’m beginning to think that Cloudsdale may have figured out a few things where bean production is considered.” She scraped her chair back. “Come on, if you can walk then I can show you the state of things.”
Outside, a gusty breeze was coming across the property roughly from west to east, bringing with it the occasional plume of dust. The cloud quickly settled over everything on the porch, leaving a grey film of grit on every exposed surface. One step out and Wind already felt dirty, even feeling the dust coating his teeth whenever he opened his mouth. Apart from that though, the night sky was at least clear overhead, the stars bright, and a mostly full Moon keeping the night reasonably well-lit.
In the distance, he could spy a few more farmhouses on the horizon, each one lit up just slightly by a candle or two that burned on its inside.
Sycamore led him down through the yard, over the small furrow that his landing had ploughed up, and then finally out into the fields themselves. Each one of their steps raised a little cloud of loose dirt from the ground, which was cracked and dry underfoot. What grass there was growing around was all brown, dry like tinder spread out over the ground.
Even to one as ignorant about agriculture as Wind, he could see the poor condition of the farm.
“Pretty bare, as you can see,” Sycamore said from up ahead. “On a good year, all of this would be up to our chins, maybe higher depending on what we chose to grow. But even an earth pony can’t raise any plants without rain.”
Wind couldn’t think of any reply to make. He had been jocular about the whole thing in the house, but now that he was outside it was a lot harder to summon any kind of levity.
The grasslands stretched away from them for miles in all directions, and nowhere could he find a single patch of green. On occasion they would pass a stand of hardy grasses or stunted stalks of grain, all small and barely clinging to life. In Cloudsdale, empty clouds were a good thing, since they would be newly laid down, ready to accept a fresh development to expand the city. Nothing was ever torn down or abandoned. Nowhere in Cloudsdale, not even in some of the seedier sections of the Undercity had he ever felt an emptiness quite like this one.
“So what will you do then?” he ventured, still somewhat stunned by the lifeless sight before him.
Sycamore had stopped walking at the end of the path. Up ahead, Wind could see what looked like it might have once been a pond, completely barren now. Somehow there were some bare trees still standing, though they were as lifeless as the rest of the countryside. Even so, Wind could imagine what the place must have looked like in a normal year, the moonlight glistening off of the surface of the water, and the trees filled with the sounds of nocturnal wildlife.
“Everypony else seems to think that we should go,” Sycamore answered, her voice far off and saddened. “Every week it seems like another family follows that road. To Canterlot, a few to Manehattan. Sometimes, I think that we should join them.”
She sat down onto the ground just in front of him, and Wind settled down himself right beside her.
“I used to come out to this spot all of the time when I was a filly,” Sycamore continued. “In the summer, the pond would be full, the Moon bright, and the air would be nice and warm. It was so peaceful, my own little hideaway. Ma would always tell me to be in bed by dark, but I’d always sneak out and come here just to enjoy the peace of the countryside.”
Wind couldn’t help but think of the window ledge at his own house. Granted, sitting out on his ledge wasn’t really the same thing as sneaking out to go sit by a pond, but every once in a while Wind had taken an evening flight too. That feeling of being alone, the warm evening breeze in your mane, the world completely at peace… he knew exactly what it meant to seek that feeling.
“Of course, I got caught eventually,” she went on, working her hoof idly in the dirt. “One night, after I squeezed out the window and shimmied down off of the porch roof, I came out here and found Ma waiting for me. I tried running, but she got me, of course. And she told me that when she was a filly she had always enjoyed coming out here too. And her Ma, and hers, so far as she told it. This land is ours, Wind. It’s in our blood, and it’s part of what makes us who we are. I could never leave it behind. It would mean… well, I guess that it would mean giving up a piece of who I was. Oh, but what am I saying?” she suddenly asked, a bit embarrassed for her apparent rambling. “How could you understand something like a connection to the land?”
She looked down again at the dirt, and it was silent between them, save for the breeze lightly shaking the branches of the trees overhead, leaving Wind to mull over what she said.
It was true that as a pegasus from Cloudsdale, he couldn’t know exactly how she felt when it came to her family’s connection to their land. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t help her anyway.
Instinctively, Wind reached out and placed one of his hooves on her shoulder. “Of course I understand, Sycamore. In Cloudsdale we may not have physical land to call our own, but we still have our loyalty, to family and to each other. If leaving to find something better is what circumstances force you to do, then that’s not the same thing as betraying your family’s past.”
Sycamore nodded, though it looked for a moment like she was having a hard time holding back tears. “I have to fight though,” she said, a little bit of hardness back in her tone. “If it comes down to it, we can go. But not before we’ve tried everything else first. I owe them all that much.”
Wind responded with another reassuring pat on the back, letting the gesture speak for itself. In truth, he felt like he was way out of his element doing this sort of thing, but it felt right to be here encouraging her. Surely he would have done the same thing for Shine had she been going through something similar. It was just a little strange having such an intimate discussion with a pony that he only met three days ago.
“Wind?” Sycamore asked suddenly, her voice fully even now.
“What is it?”
“Tell me about Cloudsdale,” she said, looking invested though clearly hoping for some kind of distraction.
“Don’t you think that we should go back inside before I tell the bedtime story?” he asked with a wink, then instantly regretted it. In spite of all of the seriousness that had come before, he had to choose now for the smart comment? But somehow, Sycamore just laughed, a beautiful, full laugh that hung in the night, over the waters that had once been.
“I don’t really think of them as bedtime stories anymore,” she replied, now fully smiling. “Though that will depend a little on what I hear tonight. But I want to hear about the fields, about the heights, about the towers and the streets.”
Wind gave her a serious look. “So you believe me then?”
“Of course I believe you! Why else do you think that I’m asking?” She leaned back against the tree, putting one leg up over the other. “I thought that you would be relieved to know that somepony in this town doesn’t think that you’re insane.”
A smile came onto Wind’s own features at that. “Well, now that you say so, that is quite a relief.” Now, he could maybe think about finding out where this place was with regards to Cloudsdale. But for some reason, that seemed like a low priority for the moment. Cloudsdale could wait until tomorrow morning. Sycamore was here now, and he did have lots of stories to tell. “Okay, where should I start?”
“Start with the ‘fields’,” she said, emphasizing that last word with her hooves. “Good luck convincing anypony else in town that pegasi are capable of growing anything, but I’d like to know how they work. How do you manage the seeds, for one?”
So Wind told her all that he could recall about how the seeds were managed, and then the irrigation and the harvests, all the while wishing that he had Tin here to double-check all of his facts with. After that, they talked about the Spire, the Academy, the Open races, and the Undercity. Sycamore always had a question on every topic, and eventually they both realized that their eyelids were drooping, and they were barely able to make it back to the house without falling asleep on the way.
The next day, Sycamore volunteered to show him around the town, once she was finished with her chores, of course. Wind wanted to help her out with those, if it meant getting out of the house any quicker, but for some reason they all just rolled their eyes when he suggested it. It took an hour that felt like an eternity before she came back in the door, took him by the hoof, and led him out again.
This time, rather than venturing off into the fields as they had the previous night, Sycamore took him around back of the house, and in the offing on the other horizon Wind could then see a collection of buildings, some small and some bigger. Overall, it looked like little more than two or three blocks, barely enough to be called a neighbourhood in Cloudsdale, but something, at least. All that Wind needed was some sort of recognizable landmark to navigate by, a mountain preferably. If there was a map of the larger country to be found then that would be even better.
“I hope that you don’t mind being the center of attention,” Sycamore whispered to him as they made their way over the rough earth that separated the town from her house. As with everything in the area, this dusty plain spoke of once perhaps being a vibrant meadow, perfect for foals to play in. Now every puff of wind across it merely brought stinging dust up into his eyes.
“Er, I guess that it doesn’t matter that much,” he replied. “But what difference does it make?”
“Well, we don’t get all that much news here in Southoofton,” she said, looking away in embarrassment. “Your arrival surely didn’t go unnoticed, unexpected and loud as it was. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve become something of a local celebrity by now.”
Momentarily, Wind felt excited. He’d never been anypony special up in Cloudsdale, at least not on his own. Sure, ponies all acted nice whenever he was out with Snow, but Wind knew that it was his father’s attention that they were after. Then, in an instant those hopes were dashed.
“Wait, will they all think that I’m crazy just like the rest of your folks?”
Sycamore sniggered. “Probably. If you’re lucky you might be able to convince a few of them otherwise, just like you did with me. But be prepared to get a lot of strange looks anyway.”
Wind could only nod grudgingly at that. They were coming up on the nearest of the buildings now, and Wind could see that most of them were really just larger houses than the one Sycamore’s family lived in. A few of them had fronts of faded paint, proclaiming one as a general store, another as a barber shop, and a third as a wheelwright’s shop. Sycamore picked out each of them in turn, explaining everything that she knew about the ponies that ran them.
As they walked through the village square, Wind became acutely aware of precisely what Sycamore had been talking about. There were a few other ponies out and about in the space, or seated on the patio out front of the tavern. Wind could tell that their eyes were following him as he passed through, but nopony said anything.
“And this is the local watering hole,” Sycamore was saying. “Coffee-shop, restaurant, and tavern all together depending on the occasion, but always the best place to swap gossip.” She placed a hoof on his shoulder with a light smile. “Come on, let’s make some introductions. I see Amber over there already.”
Allowing himself to be led, Wind gave the place a once-over. The tables outside were only about half-full, mostly with older earth ponies. The one that Sycamore had identified as Amber had her own small spot off in the corner, under the shade of the building’s awning. The white mane on her head spoke of many winters, but she was still sitting straight and confidently sipping at her tea.
“Amber!” Sycamore declared as they approached. “Wind here is ready to walk finally. Wind, Amber Waves.”
The old mare looked up with a warm smile. “Ah, Mr. Cloudsdale, at last!” She offered him a hoof, which he shook quite firmly. “Well, you really are quite the specimen aren’t you? Come on, take a seat!”
“Thank you,” he said, before joining her under the shade. The proprietor came around to ask for orders, and Sycamore ordered water for the two of them.
“So,” he began again. “I see that Sycamore has already let a few details about me slip.”
“Heh, the whole town knows that one already,” Amber confirmed. “But already I can tell that there’s enough sense in you that you can’t be out of your mind. So let’s leave off on that interrogation. How has she been treating you?”
“Perfectly fine,” Wind replied, giving Sycamore a gentle nod. “As well as anypony could ask for, in spite of the uniqueness of my situation.”
A twinkle came into her eye. “Good to hear. Don’t give her any trouble, I hope.” Wind could only answer that with a nod of acknowledgement.
The owner came around with the waters, clean and cold, but after he’d put them onto the table he coughed once. “That’ll, ah… That’ll be two bits.”
Sycamore looked up in irritation. “Really, Linseed? You’re charging for water now?”
“‘Fraid so,” he answered, sounding apologetic. “The river is running real low now, and the wells are running dry. That’s just the year we’re in.”
Sycamore was going to say something else, but then Amber tossed the coins onto the table. “Don’t worry, Sycamore,” she said. Then, under her breath to Linseed: “Get out of here, you crook.”
Linseed smiled as if he hadn’t heard. “Just making ends meet is all,” he said. “Holler if you need anything else.”
As he walked off, Amber leaned back in her chair. “I feel as though I should apologize.” She looked over at Wind. “Count yourself lucky that you landed with a decent family that still understands the meaning of hospitality. If you’d landed with one of them stinking Seeds, you’d be flying back to Cloudsdale with an itemized bill.”
“I’d say that Linseed has got a lot of nerve to be raising prices at a time like this,” Sycamore put in. “Everypony in town is hard on their luck. You’d think he could bend a little to help out.”
“Yeah,” Wind agreed, truthfully feeling once more out of his element, but willing to voice his opinion. “Earth ponies always stand together in the face of adversity right? It’s kind of your tribes’ whole thing.”
Sycamore and Amber both chuckled, the older mare enough that it was almost a proper laugh. “You really are something special, son. Like a pony from the olden days, when things were still bright. Sure, I tell Golden to keep his prices fair, but Linseed and Sesame? No siree. I dread to think what this town will come to once Cotton has finished taking all of the land from everypony he can.”
“We’ll stick with it,” Sycamore affirmed. “Even if it’s just your clan and ours. Something of Southoofton will still remain.”
The old mare finished her tea with one more sip. “I sure do hope so,” she said quietly. For a moment, she merely sat still, eyes down, perhaps ruminating on some happy memory.
It gave Wind a moment to think, and to process the new information the conversation had revealed.
They hadn’t covered much of surface history in school, not that he paid much attention anyway, but the innate nature of the tribes was something fundamental. Pegasi were loyal and brave, unicorns arrogant and sly, and earth ponies stubborn and diligent. Egalitarianism was supposed to be as firmly rooted in earth pony society as meritocracy was in Cloudsdale. In a way, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that the simple version he’d been taught in school was as incorrect about the surface as it was about the sky.
After that moment passed though, Amber brightened up. “Okay, everypony!” she suddenly shouted into the square. “I know y’all are being polite. Come on over, have a look, ask your questions.”
For one second, Wind was confused, but then Amber gave him a wink, and suddenly it seemed as though a crowd materialized out of thin air in the space in front of the tavern. It looked like maybe thirty to forty earth ponies, of all shapes and sizes, young and old, and many different colours of coats and manes. They were all standing expectantly, looking him over like he was an exhibit in a museum. The sight was more than a little unnerving.
Sycamore leaned over to him. “I think that you should say something,” she whispered amidst the eager crowd. It looked like she found the whole situation quite amusing, but Wind figured that she was probably right.
Uncertainly, he got out of his chair. It was a real shame that he wouldn’t be able to fly over them with his wing still broken. He would just have to speak loudly.
“Uh, hey, everypony,” he said, giving the crowd an awkward wave.
He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Sycamore walking off. “I think that I’ll head on back,” she said, doing her best to stifle a laugh and only partially succeeding. “This looks like it will take a while. See you.”
Wind couldn’t help but grin himself. Well, best to get this over with. If he could convince her, then maybe the same could be true for all of these ponies too.
“Sooo… Who wants to know about Cloudsdale?”