//------------------------------// // Sam // Story: Rose and Sam // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// Rose and Sam Chapter 2: Sam Admiral Biscuit Daisy and I weren’t the only two ponies who had decided to check the creature out for ourselves. Ginger Gold had set up her woodlot on the edge of town, which both put it nearer to the source of her firewood and also on a fairly untrafficed street, perfect for ponies who bought wood by the wagonload. Now there were a couple of small groups of ponies walking by, ponies who rarely had any business on this side of town. There were also a few clusters of ponies just watching the creature work, with no attempt made to hide their interest in it. And there were also a few ponies doing business as usual; looking through the split logs to find the ones they wanted, or simply purchasing one of the bundles Ginger had made up in advance. A lot of bakers and chefs were very specific about the kinds of wood they wanted so that their food would always cook the same, but most homeowners weren’t as concerned as long as the wood burned well and wasn’t too smoky or ashy. Even though my attention was largely focused on the strange creature, I couldn’t help but notice that Ginger had a lot more split wood than she usually did this early in the year. There wasn’t a lot to see right away—the creature had its back to us. It might not have liked the crowd of ponies gathered around watching its every move. Or that could have been the most convenient way to split the stack of logs it had. From what I could see, it looked like a cross between a diamond dog and a minotaur, at least in general form. It was about as tall as a diamond dog but much skinnier, it didn’t have a tail, and its back was furless. It had a sort-of mane, which hung partway down its back—it was tied up with a ribbon, maybe so it wouldn’t get in the way of its forelimbs. When it brought its arms up to swing the maul, I could see that it had hair under them. It wore dirty pants and tattered hoof-boots on its hind legs, and all its exposed skin was a pale bronze and covered in a light sheen of sweat. I could see a fading bruise on its shoulder and a few scrapes on its back, and I watched its muscles as it worked the axe. The creature also had a shirt, as dirty and stained as the rest of its clothes. It wasn’t wearing it; the shirt was draped over the top rail of the fence, next to a wooden cup that had been balanced on the top of a fencepost. Staring wasn’t polite, but I couldn’t help myself. There was something about the way it moved, something purposeful and fluid and deliberate in the way it worked, something almost pony. It was strange, but there was almost a harmony to its rhythm even if it looked awkward in the way it stood and the way it worked. “It doesn't look dangerous,” Daisy observed. “No . . . I wonder what it is?” “Maybe if a diamond dog bitch and a minotaur decided to breed.” A blush crept across my cheeks. “That’s rude. And the ears are wrong, too. I wonder what happened to all its fur? I hope it’s not sick.” “You don’t think that it is, do you?” Daisy took a step back. “It looks really skinny.” “Berry Black had all his fur, you’d think that if it was he’d be losing it, too. If it was a disease or fleas or something.” I looked back over at the creature. It had finished splitting the pile of wood it had and was picking the pieces up from around the chopping block. “Maybe it shaved it off so it doesn’t overheat when it works.” “I dunno, I’ve seen lots of farmponies and working stallions with trimmed coats, but nopony I know would go furless. And Ginger would know, wouldn’t she? She’d make sure, she’d ask Berry.” “He’s a donkey, he might not tell the truth.” I scraped my hoof against the ground as I thought about it. “But she’d know that, and if they really have been working together, and if she was sick, he’d have caught it by now and everypony would know. And she buys his wood from him anyway, he wouldn’t have anything to gain if there was a chance it might make her sick.” Daisy nodded, and then the two of us watched it gather the logs. It could balance several against its chest with one forearm while picking up and stacking them with the other. I thought it was doing a faster job than Ginger Gold, but I wasn’t going to say it. As it continued working, it turned towards us, and I got my first good look at the face of the creature. It had small eyes and no muzzle and yet it looked right for it. Stray bangs that had come out of its hair-ribbon covered part of its face, and once it had finished stacking as much wood as it could carry, it brushed it back over an ear. I could see a bit of bemusement in its eyes at the number of ponies gathered around watching, and it looked up as a pegasus took flight off a roof before focusing back on its task. Waving felt like the right thing to do—it had seen us and it knew we were watching it—so I lifted my hoof and a moment later, Daisy did, too. It didn’t wave back. “I think it’s female,” Daisy confided. “Did you see, on its chest? Those look like nipples.” I hadn’t noticed, and it had turned its back again as it carried the wood over to the other side of her lot, but I got a chance to look as it walked back, and I thought she was right. The creature was female. I shifted around on my hooves as it picked up the axe again and started working. ••• “I want to get a closer look at it . . . at her.” “You can’t just walk up to the fence and talk to it,” Daisy cautioned. “Why not?” “Ginger’s paying for it to do work, not to chat. And maybe it doesn’t talk, I haven’t heard it say anything, have you?” Just then, Ginger called to her, and she set the wood down then walked over to the fence and the two of them spoke before it moved along the fence and crouched down in front of a new pony who I hadn’t seen arrive. Daisy must not have, either; she tapped my shoulder to get my attention. “Is that the miller?” I nodded. “Why’s she want firewood? You can’t have a fire in a mill.” “Never mind that, she can talk,” I said. Indeed, she and the miller were carrying on a conversation, although I couldn’t hear what it was about. Finally, the two bumped hoof and paw and she went back to the chopping block while the miller turned and headed back into town. “I don’t think she’s a monster,” I said. A monster wouldn’t be chopping wood for Ginger Gold, a monster wouldn't talk to the miller, the evidence was plain as day. The creature was real, the newspaper had actually gotten that right, but it wasn’t a monster at all, it wasn't a threat to anypony. “Me, either. I think . . . I think she’s from somewhere far away and got lost and she’s trying to get by. She looks like a hard worker, she—” She’d finished stacking the firewood and went up to the fence to take a break, leaning against the rail and watching us watching her as she drank her water. I started to feel almost guilty, like she was an unintentional creature in a zoo or a circus who didn’t belong, who didn’t deserve to be a spectacle. I’d seen Ginger split wood plenty of times; as often as not she was working when we came by to get some firewood, and sometimes if she was really busy she wouldn’t stop for any small talk as we checked out what she had to offer. That didn’t bother me, I was used to that. She’d mark down in her tally-book that we’d bought some wood and we’d settle up later. I was used to that, and sometimes she had other ponies working for her, especially as it got close to winter and she needed a bigger wood supply and nopony gathered to watch them work. Ginger headed off to the outhouse, indicating to me at least that the creature didn’t require close supervision. It could be trusted not to go rogue with the axe. I made my decision in an instant, and turned to face Daisy. “I’m going to buy some firewood from—from her. We’ll use it.” Before Daisy could object and change my mind, I left her side and trotted across the road. The creature watched me as I entered the sales yard, walking between the neat-stacked piles of cordwood and the pre-made bundles. She set down her mug and walked over in my direction, and I started to reconsider my boldness as she got closer: she was tall and her paws had claw-like fingers and the smell of her and her sweat was alien, dangerous. I reminded myself that Ginger wouldn’t have let her in the woodlot if she was a threat, wouldn’t have given her an axe, wouldn’t have left her alone to use the outhouse. And Daisy had been close, practically on my heels, watching wide-eyed. The creature wasn’t a monster, she was a lost mare who didn’t fit in and was trying to get by. I could be a brave pony, and I did my best to study the wood to find the best bundles, I did my best to ignore her standing close enough to reach me if she wanted to. “Can I have two bundles?” My voice faltered, and I gestured with a hoof at the stack of pair-bundles. Saddlebags didn’t fit cordwood properly, and a lot of ponies didn’t have proper panniers for carrying firewood so Ginger had figured out how to tie two bundles together with lengths of twine to cross the back for easier transport. “That’s a bit and a half,” she said. Her voice was almost pony-like, but with a strange exotic accent I’d never heard before. For a moment, I didn’t remember to respond; I was so focused on seeing her up close. She was taller than she’d looked from a distance, and up close I was certain she was female, certain that she had udders and teats and I hadn’t imagined the hair under her arms or the beads of sweat on her skin, and then my eyes were drawn to her tattered stained pants, which didn’t look like anything a pony would have made, and then she was speaking again and it took me a second to remember what I was doing and I shook my head and flattened my ears before looking her in the eyes. “I have an account.” I pointed a hoof at the account book, in case she didn’t know what that was. “Roseluck.” I gestured back at my cutie mark, that was how Ginger kept track of who bought what. I’d seen the book before, she wasn’t the best at sketching cutie marks but it was at least recognizable and I thought that the creature would be able to figure it out. She nodded and got the book, flipping through pages until she found it. She didn’t have to go far—I’d bought wood just a couple weeks ago, we really didn’t need it. While I shopped, Daisy’s curiosity had finally gotten the better of her, and she’d crossed the road at least. The creature put a couple tally marks alongside my last purchase, then closed up the book and put it away. She picked up the bundle and carefully set it on my back, adjusting it until it was balanced. Ginger Gold always put smooth-barked logs on the inside to avoid scratching, and she did the same. The feeling of her paws on my back was weird but I kept myself mostly still as she got everything in place. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” As I moved out of the way, she looked over at Daisy. “Do you want some firewood?” Daisy shook her head. “I’m with her,” she said, pointing a hoof in my direction. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your name?” I almost smacked myself in the face, I could have asked. “Sam.”