This time, I didn't focus on the view beyond the window I was technically staring out of, with a cup of coffee settled comfortably in my hand and Lyra devouring some breakfast behind me. I was much too busy staring my mirror image in the eyes this particular morning, thinking about nothing in particular. Snatches of coherent thought and ideas flitted past, most far too quickly to focus on for long.
Lyra was one that didn't. My mint-coloured roommate, thrown to the wolves and forced to make do for almost ten years, before landing on the doorstep of a guy from another universe. It sounded like something out of a terrible sci-fi flick, when I thought about it, and yet here she was. She had taken a liking to carrots, I had noticed, with about half my stock of 'em gone in just a week. I didn't mind, though, since I wasn't a fan myself. Christ, I scoffed to myself. A talking, magical pony that likes carrots, and I'm focusing on the latter.
I had noticed that she had begun, slowly but surely, to come out of her shell somewhat. She spoke louder, for one thing. I found myself not straining to hear her once, just yesterday. Another thing was that she didn't stutter or trail off so much any more, either. She still couldn't bear to start conversations with my actual name, preferring 'sire' for that task, but at least she used it, every now and then. Usually while we were wishing goodnight to each other, come to think of it. Neither was she keen on eye contact, though honestly that was something that would have made me uncomfortable too, so I didn't mind that one so much.
Still, I found it a good sign that she was growing past her timidity. I didn't have a horse in that race, myself, since peace and quiet is nothing to fear, and I just couldn't stand loudmouths of any calibre. It was just that it was a sign that she was moving past whatever trauma she had suffered during her life. Ponies were just too cute to be sad, or broken. Especially her.
Inevitably, my mind turned to other matters. The harvest was just around the corner, by now – mere days away. That was gonna fill my icebox right to the brim – no distillation this time around. My collection was just fine for the time being, and I still wasn't in any great need of manufactured goods. Construct had stepped up to handle the latter, which had definitely thrown me for a loop. It certainly wasn't in her job description. Maybe she did it just to add to the stockpile, just in case.
And of course, that brought my mind kicking and screaming to the Free State. The big reason the still was going unused this time was that I couldn't afford to waste any food any longer. Not with potentially a few extra hundred chucklefucks running around everywhere. Not even with just the two dozen folks building outside. Construct had asked if I'd be willing to lend my plot to them... which hadn't been the best way to broach the subject – and especially not in front of a few of her workers. It had taken her an hour to work up the courage to clarify. I told her I'd get back to her – both times. The workers could just get more carts in, sure, but that’d be slow, and expensive, and would slow everything else down, too; at the same time, relying just on my field would stretch it to its limit. Any more additions would lead to starvation.
I was genuinely committing to this project, the thought of which made me grimace. Oh, son of a bitch, I blinked. Sixty-eight to one, then. It was still incredibly early on, barely out of the pipe dream stage, which made it seem hollow. Like playing at being a king, before one's father gets home and demands finished homework. It all felt so surreal. Not even Celestia humouring me to this extent made it better. I suspected this state of affairs would continue until... I didn't even know. For a while, at least. Maybe until someone built a statue in my honour, or something.
I downed the last of my coffee to wash down that train of thought. No use thinking about it now, worry when it actually starts happening, yeah? The mantra served its purpose, as usual. The cup went in the sink, for later, as I turned to Lyra... staring at me with concern.
"Are you alright, sire? Adam?" She corrected herself, before I even had time to tilt my head. Instead, I smirked knowingly.
"Sure I am," I replied, staring her down. "What makes you ask?"
"Well, you have been staring out of your window for a long time now," she said cautiously.
"Why wouldn't I? It's a good view."
"...If you say so." Lyra apparently decided the conversation was beneath her, reverting to a half-lidded look as she returned to her meal – a salad, of some description. I wasn't entirely sure what was in it. Most of it had already disappeared.
I held in a breath for a moment before exhaling. As usual, little was on the agenda. The only thing I really wanted was to find Blueblood, for him to convey the message I had for Celestia, but I just couldn't find that fucker anywhere. How can he not be here? It's his fucking job! He has literally one job!
My good mood soon ran dry, as I headed outside. In fact, I hadn't seen Blueballs for a while now. Neither, I realised, did I spot his guards in that time. Had he really just up and fucked off? I was going to have to ask Construct to play courier, wasn't I? Not to mention drafting a new letter, asking Celly to get Blueblood on the horn. Swift Wings wasn't due for another week yet, so that was looking pretty likely -
Oh, hang on. I had been standing in front of my open door for a bit; I quickly hurried outside, proper, and shut it behind me. Whoops.
Anyway. It wasn't anything major, more or less just small talk, except for the final paragraph, asking Celestia straight-up exactly what her business was -
Oh for fuck's sake. Shouting from my crop field brought my thought to a screeching halt. That sounded like Construct, actually, squawking like a rusty hinge. Safe to say she's not a hundred percent herself. More shouting convinced me to make my way over, to see what all the fuss was about.
As it turned out, Construct was just at the very edge of the field, kneeling down on all fours, apparently scowling at a piece of dirt on the ground. A few unicorns were surrounding her, each the picture of frustrated disbelief. As I approached, Construct snapped her head my way, rising quickly and almost storming her way over. Oddly, though, she didn’t seem to be that outwardly displeased, even though frustration was practically gushing out from her every pore.
“Inns, excellent. I was just about to call for you. We need your help.”
“What’s up?”
She threw a hoof out to my crops. “How have you grown these here?”
“Erm…?” I frowned, confused. “I, uh… just, sorta, planted them? Is there something wrong with that?”
“They shouldn’t be able to grow here,” she said bluntly. It was safe to say I hadn’t been expecting that one.
“What do you mean?”
“The thaumaturgical field in this area is too inert. Your crops simply shouldn’t be able to grow. There’s not enough magic here for it.”
...Eh? Even after two years of living in a land of talking pastel ponies, their magic still kept throwing me for a loop. “...I don’t suppose I could ask you for a quick rundown on exactly what the hell you’re talking about?”
Construct sighed. One of the unicorns behind her took the opportunity to step forward, with a quick bow of the head. “The capacitance field is a thaumaturgical phenomenon on Equus. It refers to magic that is not currently being used by any living beings, and not trapped in any physical medium – in other words, ‘ambient’ magic. The capacitance field can be thicker or thinner in different places, as well as more active or more inert. Thicker zones have higher capacity, and more active zones have higher throughput.”
The technobabble was surprisingly understandable, in spite of it sounding like it had been recited from a textbook. “Okay, I get it… but how does that relate to growing crops?”
“They need to absorb certain amounts of magic to grow properly,” she explained, still sounding restrained. “If they don’t, they die, or at least stop growing until they do.” She pointed at my field with a hoof again. “Those crops need much more magic than they should be able to get from here. The field here is almost completely inert. The only thing that could normally grow here is… potatoes. Maybe.”
“...And yet?” I prompted, to which Construct nodded jerkily.
“I have no idea how you’ve done this,” she said, turning back to my field. “You… earth ponies wouldn’t be able to do this, not even if they had a cutie mark for it. It’s… just not possible.”
“Well, clearly it is, since...” I gestured vaguely at my lettuce, which by now were about the size of my head. “It’s right in front of you.”
Construct fell silent. The unicorns had since moved off, one towards my wheat section, the rest off somewhere else. I had no idea what to make of this. We both merely stared at the field, watching the stalks and the greens sway in the gentle breeze.
Eventually, she turned back to me, a tired look in her eyes. “You know, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d have scrapped the whole project. No crops means no food, means no ponies.”
“Tough to feed people with thin air,” I agreed. “But I seem to have done alright.”
She shook her head. “I think… We can still do it, theoretically, but… we’d need to pull you in to expand your crop fields yourself. We just can’t grow anything substantial in an inert field zone… but, apparently, you can. And you’re the only one who can.”
I grimaced. “Let’s hope you don’t need magic for the harvest too.” One man does not an agricultural revolution make. I didn’t mind the setup too much; it was mostly just carving a furrow and dropping the seeds in by hand. Harvest was a significantly more involved process. If my field turned into a full-on farm, I was going to need more than just my two hands.
“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” said Construct, to my immeasurable relief. “We’ll just need you… to, ah, show us exactly what you do when you plant your crops.”
I nodded. That was a simple enough process, I figured. “Easy enough, at least. Was that everything?”
“Yeah, for-” Construct began, but before she could get any further, she was interrupted by a pegasus landing mere metres away, drawing her attention. “Ah, Shuffle! What is it?”
“Carts are almost here,” said ‘Shuffle.’ “Saw ‘em just over the horizon, that way.” She pointed towards a hill in the distance. Sure enough, once I focused my vision that way, I could just barely make out the silhouettes of a bunch of carts, making their way down it and towards us. “It’s got stragglers, too.”
That made Construct snap her head back to Shuffle. “Stragglers? What do you mean?”
“Flying carriage, following ‘em,” said Shuffle. “White and gold.”
Ah. Royal carriage. “That’ll probably be Blueblood, then,” I said, making both ponies glance my way. “No wonder I hadn’t seen that fucker anywhere here.”
“Go meet them halfway,” said Construct. “Tell them what’s happening here. Set their cargo down where it needs to go.” Shuffle nodded, and took to the air, heading in the new arrivals’ direction.
“Cargo?” I inquired.
“Building materials,” came the explanation. “It should be enough for a few essentials. Most important among them is the forestry material. If we can get that up, we can start cutting down local trees for our lumber.”
“Excellent.” Looked like things were finally starting to move forward. I cracked a smile at the thought, before I remembered the ‘straggler,’ and my mood quickly turned nasty. “If that’s everything you need from me for now, I ought to go chase down Blueballs.”
“Sure thing,” said Construct, with a faint smirk. “I’ll holler if I need anything from you.”
Giving one final nod to her, I made my way to where Shuffle had flown off to, looking for that white and gold carriage. Blueblood was stereotypical nobility, so I knew he would have insisted on a flying carriage, most likely open-top. The trouble was, I couldn’t see it anywhere. The caravan of carts quickly trundled in my direction, looming larger and larger. Holy cow, those are like horse-drawn lorries! There were only four carts, but each one was almost the size of a bus, and crammed full of beams, planks, metal doohickeys, and God only knew what else. The ponies drawing the carts gave me curt nods, as did some of the passengers. Shuffle was at the front, speaking to someone in the lead cart from the ground.
The procession soon moved past me and towards my cabin proper, leaving me standing in the middle of an empty field. Neither Blueblood nor his carriage were anywhere to be seen. Had Shuffle been mistaken? Where the fuck was the Equestrian ambassador?
…
…There he was. Fucking hell.
The flying carriage finally appeared over the horizon, content to leave its hide-and-seek game, or whatever the fuck it was up to, in the dust, as it began descending, apparently heading straight for me. Not open-top, interesting. Seems he learned his lesson the first time. I resisted the urge to duck for cover as the carriage neatly slowed, then stopped, a fair distance away from me, gently touching down on the ground. The guards eagerly de-latched themselves from their reins.
Blueblood himself finally appeared, gently opening the door and hopping down to the earth beneath. He made a show of dusting himself down, then met my cool gaze with one of his own as he walked up to me.
“Good afternoon, Ambassador Blueblood,” I greeted, clamping down on my irritation. “A pleasure to have you back in the Free State.”
My formal method of address immediately put him on edge. “…Thank you, Overlord.”
I cleared my throat. “Yes… a few things, Ambassador, if you would be so kind as to follow me?” I didn’t wait for him, turning on my heel and marching back to my cabin. Fortunately, he was kind enough to rush to follow me, having to almost canter to keep up with my ridiculous walking pace. I noted his surprise at the hubbub around my house, ponies going this way and that with huge planks of wood balanced on their backs, or in their magic. Oh shit, they actually got a house built! How did I not notice that before? Sure enough, some distance away, closer to the forest, was a brand-new building, sort-of rectangular, with a sloped roof that was distinctly reminiscent of a barn. That’s gonna be their new barracks, then. No wonder all the tents disapp- oh, no, they just moved closer to it. Guess there’s not quite enough floor space for everyone in there, then.
“As you can see, Ambassador, there’ve been a few changes since you’ve… been indisposed.” I stopped just shy of actually entering my house, turning instead to look Blueblood in the eyes. “Firstly, I have a message I’d like for you to convey to Princess Celestia, preferably as soon as possible. Confidential business, I’m sure you can understand. Secondly, it’s First Minister now, rather than Overlord.” Blueblood only now took the opportunity to nod, to confirm to me that he was listening. Nice to know he’s got his priorities straight. “In your absence, I have set up a preliminary governmental structure; I can get the details to you at any point if you desire.” I exhaled forcefully. “Thirdly, Ambassador, I’d thank you kindly for you to inform me when you plan to take leave, so I don’t have to spend five days wondering where the fuck you’ve up and disappeared to. Understood?”
“Yes, First Minister,” he said, blandly.
“Good.” I was about a thousand percent done with this pony’s shit. Fate, though, just couldn’t help but throw another wrench in my plans, the cheeky fucker. “Remember, you are now the most important connection I have to… to… oh Christ, who the fuck is it now?”
In the distance, behind Blueblood, I had spotted another group of ponies, five of them, making their way towards me. These ones, though, didn’t seem like part of any official group – not Construct’s lads, not Crown lads, and certainly not any nasty lads, that might want a piece of me for their dinner. (Not that I’d know anything about the latter group. Ponies, after all.) In fact… as they got closer, they seemed more and more to me like just a group of travellers. Tourists, even.
And then they got even closer.
Their tired stares, low postures… downcast foals.
These were no mere tourists.
Their lead stopped in their tracks, swivelling their head my way. I couldn’t really tell if they were looking at me, specifically, or Blueblood, or at the general state of my property. Either way, it didn’t stop them for long, continuing their path my way.
Closer and closer they got, revealing more to me as they did. Two adults, three foals. Tired? Yep. Lead with saddlebags, nothing else; light on belongings. Mostly earth ponies, second adult is pegasus, one foal is unicorn – genetics at their finest, folks – dull coats, mussed manes. One is wincing with each step on their left foreleg, no visible wounds… A startlingly clear image of Lyra cowering in front of me on my porch struck me with all the force of a runaway freight train. The similarities between how these ponies carried themselves and how Lyra did, merely a week ago, were… depressing.
“Blueblood,” I said, getting his attention. “Recognise ‘em?”
“No,” came the reply.
“Mm. I think I’ll handle them, then. Try not to talk down to them, just in case, yeah?” I sincerely hoped he’d take my advice. If the situation with these people was what I thought was the case, then I couldn’t afford to alienate them. Well, if my species hasn’t done that already, I mean. “Ho, travellers!” I called, once they’d gotten within earshot, waving my arm to them. It perked them up, I saw, picking up their pace, now definitely heading to intercept me.
I met them halfway, just like Blueblood, who decided to stay put – I alone walked up to greet them. Their lead – an earth pony stallion, with a classic brown coat and deep green mane – couldn’t quite decide how to greet me, evaluating me with a long stare. His companions weren’t so restrained; the other adult, a much brighter-coloured mare, looked on me with undisguised apprehension. The foals only stared at me with curiosity.
“Howdy, stranger,” the stallion met, in an earthy, accented, yet viscous baritone that somehow explained so much about himself. “Who might you be?”
“I am First Minister Inns, of the Free State.” His brow quirked. “Yes, you aren’t in Equestria any longer, and yes, it’s a long story. What brings you to my corner of the woods?”
The stallion breathed a sigh of relief – apparently, he’d found what he was looking for. “Thank the Maker. As long as yer not Her Majesty’s Bureau a’the Treasury.”
“Ah ain’t never heard’a this Free State before,” said the mare, in a low tone.
“You probably wouldn’t have,” I explained. “It’s a pretty new thing. It hasn’t been officially announced yet, to my knowledge.” I had to stop, and repeat that to myself in my head. It hasn’t been officially announced yet. That’s… that could be genius. Genius, I say! Gotta remember that.
“…So Ah see.”
“Well, anyhow,” the stallion took over, apparently dismissing whatever concerns the mare might have had. “As it happens, we’re in a bit of trouble, and we could use yer hospitality. At least until we can get ourselves back on our hooves.”
“Of course, of course,” I nodded. “I’d be more than happy to help those in need. Please, follow me.”
I led the troop to my cabin. Blueblood had made himself scarce, but at least his carriage told me he hadn’t fucked off just yet. Christ even knew why he had left in the first place. Probably a spa trip, knowing him. I led the adults in first, followed closely by their foals. I closed the door behind myself. The mare looked all around the hallway, peering into the living room quizzically, but the foals showed little interest, mostly content to hide behind and under their parents. Or whatever they were to them. The stallion soon turned to me, and followed me into my kitchen.
“So, what exactly can I do for you?” I asked, grabbing a mug out from a cupboard, readying yet another cup of coffee for myself. “Please, feel free to take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Jus’ water is fine.” He obligingly sat down… on the floor. Sure, close enough. A cup of water soon found its way to him. He drank the whole thing in one go, placing the cup back into my hands. “Thank ya kindly.”
“’Course.” Another cup in the sink, and another coffee in my hands.
The pony broke the silence first, casting a cool gaze upon me. “So… what’s it gonna cost us?”
I took a breath to parse that. “…Cost you for what?”
“Fer you lettin’ us stay here.”
A sip of my drink hid my hesitation. “Let’s start with your name, if it’s all the same to you.”
“…Steady Hooves,” he eventually replied. I couldn’t quite make out the expression he made, saying it. The mare entered then, still followed by the foals. “This is Deft Green, my wife. And our foals.”
“A pleasure,” I said, eyeing the foals staring at me. “What brings you here?”
“…It’s a long story,” he tried.
I had time.
Thus began a recounting of these fine individuals’ lives, or at least all the important bits. They were a pretty stereotypical family, as it turned out, originally from a ways south-east, near Appleloosa. Like me, they were rural folk, living in a homestead a fair distance away from the town. Steady Hooves was a woodcarver by profession, having gotten his cutie mark in it unusually early in his life. His wife was a gardener, but didn’t really do it for a living – only for subsistence (which, for rural folk, might as well have been the same thing). Her cutie mark was something abstract – some kind of knot made of leaves. It was a happy affair, by all accounts… until it wasn’t.
Apparently, the Crown saw some writing on the wall, and decided to squeeze out some extra pennies from folk like Hooves and his lot to help wash it off. He suspected that few got off lightly from it, though he himself was one of the worst affected. I hadn’t heard anything about this until now, so I could only conclude that it was localised to Appleloosa and its neighbourhood.
Wait… what? Apparently I was mistaken – Hooves told me he had been dealing with this crap for years, certainly longer than I’d been here. Only recently had it become intolerable, to the point that he could no longer put bread on the table, and had been forced to move to greener pastures… none of which had any room for him, according to them. He had tried practically everything: Dodge, Baltimare, Manehattan, Trottingham, even a short stint in Canterlot. None of it was any good. He had resolved one more try, living in the… ah, ground-bound community of Los Pegasus, scraping together whatever he could, but before he could get there, he had stumbled onto one of Construct’s caravans, who had pointed them my way and said they’d be welcome to stay for a while.
“…so that’s our story,” finished Hooves, now a cup of tea in front of him on the table, having migrated to an actual chair while telling it. Deft had asked for tea first, which had convinced Hooves to relent as well. She had also asked the foals to run outside to play, or something. I hadn’t heard, but they weren’t here, so whatever.
“...right,” I could only reply. His tale was one hell of a shock to me, in truth. Some small part of me was still idealistic enough to have convinced me that Equestria, with its near-ethereal beauty and outlandish magic, was some kind of utopian paradise, where ponies lived idyllic lives of peace and happiness. Perhaps to be expected, having only Canterlot as a frame of reference for major population centres, I supposed, followed by two years in the countryside with little exposure to others. Or, at least, with normal, average people.
Lyra should have been my first red flag. Perhaps at the time I had been blinded by my heart, bleeding for her, too wrapped up in emotion to consider how she had gotten there. Her story should have tipped me off once and for all, but… I had seemingly just glossed over that. Thus, my conclusions remained blissfully unchallenged.
Now, though, with a second point of data, and hints of many, many more, I was no longer so sure. Years of financial difficulties… that was not something that could really stay a local issue, unless something fucky was going on in Equestria. The thought of these happy-go-lucky ponies, with their immortal, benevolent ruler, in their utopian paradise, being hit with a recession… it was almost farcical. It just could not be reality.
Hooves was a woodcarver. Not a carpenter, which would guarantee a living practically everywhere and always, but a woodcarver – sculptures, figurines, busts, and so on. In other words, a luxury good, and definitely one of the first to be crossed off when pennies need pinching. Perhaps in better times he’d have been rolling in it. Not to mention taxes were usually pretty high up on luxury goods, at least back home – probably it was also the case here. Gardening, too, courtesy of Deft – not farming, not full-on agriculture. Gardening was a supplement, at best, if she even grew food at all, and didn’t just cultivate roses or something – or, rather, flowers ponies couldn’t eat, I reminded myself. Three foals, as well, would be a considerable drain on their pockets.
Yes, that must be it. Lots and lots of little things. It couldn’t possibly have been something as drastic as Diarchy overreach, or even just simple mismanagement. These folk had just gotten an unlucky trough in the economic cycle, and couldn’t afford to ride it out into a boom.
Regardless, though, they were here now.
“So, what now?” asked Hooves. “Are ya gonna let us stay?”
“Of course I am,” I replied. “You think I’d send you packing after you tell me all that?”
“Jus’ like that?” The suspicion was thick indeed.
“Well, if you like.” That threw Hooves for a loop. “I mean, Lyra – that’s my roommate – stays here ‘just like that.’ Hell, I’ve got the food and the room for her, and she’s not much better off than you, so I figured I ought to. And I’ve got… well, I’ve got the food for you, at least. Not sure you’d be terribly happy with sleeping on the floor, unless all five of you can squeeze on the couch-”
“Hold on, mister,” interrupted Hooves, voice somewhere between incredulity and mistrust. “Ya’d be willing to do all that? Jus’ fer us?”
“Yeah,” was my immediate reply.
“...Why?” was all he could muster.
The door to my bedroom opened, making me glance over. Lyra emerged, stopping in her tracks once she saw two new ponies staring at her. Her eyes shifted uneasily my way. “Nice of you to join us, Lyra,” I said. “What have you been doing in there?”
“…Composing,” she muttered. “Si- ah, Adam, who are these ponies?”
“Right,” I clapped. “Lyra, meet Steady Hooves and Deft Green; their three foals are outside. Steady, Deft, this is Lyra.”
The newcomers greeted Lyra politely. She didn’t respond, merely backing into her room and shutting the door. I turned back to my guests, who were now staring at me, bemused. “Don’t mind her, she’s had a rough time. From Canterlot to the streets, don’tcha know.”
“You really let her stay here? Fer nothin’?”
“Yep.”
Now, consternation was the word of the day, the two ponies glancing at each other nervously. “…Nothin’?”
“Yeah, nothing.”
“…Would ya do the same for us?”
“’Course I would.”
The two shared a long look, communicating in that way only spouses could. At least, that was what it looked like to me. Not like I could tell, anyway. Hooves’ face slowly grew with distaste, soon turning back to me. “Ah’m not sure Ah believe ya. There’s gotta be a catch.”
I snorted. “If you want a catch so badly, I can give one to you. How long are you planning to stay here?”
...Probably shouldn’t have phrased it like that. Hooves took a step forward, now in front of his wife, anger clear in his posture. “What do ya mean by that, mister Inns?”
“Come off it,” I waved dismissively. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I mean is, I am, in fact, First Minister of a sovereign state. If you want to stay and make your living here, I can arrange that. If you want a job, I can give one to you, for your room and board. If you’re only staying long enough to get back on your feet, that’s fine too. Once you’re done, you can go.”
His anger drained away. I saw, in both his and his wife’s eyes, some new sparkle, perhaps some newfound respect, perhaps hope for the future. “…Ya can actually let us live here? Put bread on our tables?”
“That’s right,” I confirmed. “In exchange for your citizenship, of course. Assuming you’re staying…?”
A long moment of silence passed. That was, perhaps, my first serious attempt at attracting new citizens; I worried I might have been too blatant in it, putting them off with my seeming eagerness to effectively lord over them. Oh God, please, don’t take it the wrong way, don’t take it the wrong way…
And then, he raised his head, just a touch, and his reticence gave way to an almost overpowering gratitude. “…If ya’ll feed mah colts an’ fillies an’ put a roof over their heads, Ah can work for ya. Maker, Ah’ll follow ya right into Tartarus itself.” He walked up – and offered a hoof. “Ya got yerself a deal.”
I gratefully shook his hoof. “Excellent. Congratulations on your new citizenship, Steady Hooves. And Deft Green, and all your children, of course.” Whew. Damn fine work, Inns. Damn fine. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’ve got some notes to take, some ponies to chase down. Feel free to grab something from the icebox. If you need me, I’ll be in my study – through the living room, far end.”
“Thank ya, sir,” said both Hooves and Deft, as I left them behind in the kitchen.
Oh boy, I did it. I had actually convinced somebody to actually stay here, properly, as citizens. Two ponies, three foals, willing to settle… Sitting down at my desk in my study, I began my note-taking, where my mind began to wander.
That’s six ponies living here, having gotten here essentially by sheer luck. Lyra followed a caravan, and Hooves and his were told by one to come here. Word of mouth works wonders. Foals, great. Not too useful, but cute – and, yeah, let’s not throw them onto the streets, or let them starve. Christ. Adults – Hooves is willing to work, at least; not sure about Deft. Earth pony woodcarver…
No. I’m making assumptions. Trust but verify – I ought to have learned by now, not to trust too quickly. Reasonably certain that Hooves and Deft would be loyal, thanks to feeding their kids, but can’t be sure just yet. Start out with something simple – help with the harvest. Excellent: if he steals, bye-bye, if not, we’ll see. If he works well, great. Probably would be more use with that forestry stuff, lumber, etc. He’s got the mark for it, woodcarving isn’t much of a leap to forestry...
A note to Celestia was finished, I’d gotten the registry down (inasmuch as there was a citizen registry, right now), everything that needed updating, was. All that was left was for my mind to wander… and ask itself, if Hooves and Lyra had stumbled by me on accident, how many would make their way here deliberately?