Shiroyama held his head high in pride as he marched down the street alongside the other competitors. He felt like the mightiest stallion in all of Neighpon, and his heart thrilled to hear the calls and cheers of the people as they stood alongside the streets of the procession.
This was, of course, not the actual race, but merely the parade of the racers the day before. The Akikeiba, the Running of the Leaves, would be tomorrow. It was an honor to run alongside so many fine and noble ponies, as he had done in all the years since he first became a stallion and had his mane drawn up into the noble’s topknot to mark the occasion.
There was only one thing that marred the occasion…
“Thank you, thank you, y’all are too kind!”
He maintained his stoic, dignified expression, but it took all he had not to turn around and strike the impudent Western lout from Equestria that had somehow managed to worm his way into their noble ranks. On a day like this, one carried himself with decor and quiet dignity, not with whoops and waving to the crowd like some sort of clown!
He tried to ignore the stallion behind him - Oak-something, was it? - and concentrate on the parade, but then he heard Mizukoe, a mare from the River Clan, whisper something to the rogue.
“Huh… oh, sorry ‘bout that! I’ll hush up.”
Hmph… well, not that I approve of her breaking her composure to speak to that gaijin, but at least that shut him up.
They arrived at last on the outskirts of town, to the temple where the High Priest, dressed in his robes and tall hat - with an opening for his horn, of course - stood waiting on a wooden platform. When they came to a stop, the cheers from the crowd faded quickly into silence. The High Priest levitated out a scroll and unfurled it, beginning to read.
“Honored sirs and ladies!” he called out. “It is this day, the last day before autumn, at the onset of the long, cold days of winter, that we call upon you, with all your speed and strength, to help the sacred trees to shed their leaves! We honor you, as stallions and mares who have taken up the duty first bestowed on our ancestors by the Sun Goddess herself!”
At that, the crowd bowed to him and the other racers, and they in turn bowed to the High Priest.
“And we in turn are blessed to have a guest among us today,” the High Priest continued. “He is a proud racer come to us from our ally, the great Kingdom of Equestria. As citizens of the Empire of Neighpon, we welcome and honor him: Oaken Barrel!”
The crowd and the High Priest alike all bowed to the Westerner in their midst.
“Oh, mighty kind of ya!” the lout exclaimed, breaking the silence, giving the crowd and the High Priest alike a sudden start.
But then the High Priest beamed and broke into laughter, and the crowd relaxed and did the same.
“Well… perhaps it is not traditional, but you bring a bit of lightness to these festivities, Barrel-san. We wish you luck, and we are all looking forward to seeing if your reputation is deserved! May the Goddess bless you - all of you! - as you race tomorrow.”
Shiroyama bowed, but he could not help but cast a contemptuous glare over at the rogue who knew nothing of manners or tradition, yet presumed to run among the most honored nobleponies of the land.
Oaken Barrel was brown in color with speckles of darker brown lining his body, going down to his flank. His hooves were rimmed with slightly darker brown fur. His mane was messy and touselled, and emerald green eyes peered out through his hanging locks.
Shiroyama clenched his teeth. Lowlife wretch, he swore to himself. He didn’t even bother to don the ceremonial garb for the occasion. Whatever our leaders were thinking in accepting him to run in the Akikeiba, I cannot understand it!
He took a calming breath. Ignoring the foreigner, he instead took in the sight of the forest before them. In the golden glow of the sun as it began to set, the trees took on otherworldly colors. The browns became copper, the yellows became as gold, and, most strikingly, the red leaves of the maple trees became tongues of flame, a sea of crimson that shimmered and shook in the cool evening breeze, forming waves of fire over the forest canopy.
Tomorrow would be a good day…
The night had been spent not in their homes, but, as tradition demanded, sitting around campfires at the forest’s edge, telling stories, singing the traditional songs, and taking sips of sake before retiring to their tents. They would each find an offering of food, usually mochi or onigiri, waiting for them. Such gifts were typically brought by family or, on occasion, by an admirer of a single young stallion.
To Shiroyama’s annoyance, even the sublime pleasure of this tradition had been ruined. The foreigner drank too much of the sake, then insisted on interjecting his own caterwauling heathen songs among their own. And the others all laughed and indulged him! They even asked him to teach them the lyrics!
The pleasure of the evening ruined, he retired early to his tent, only to have his sleep disturbed by the lout an hour later.
“Hey, Shiroyama-san!” Oaken Barrel exclaimed. “Sorry to wake ya, but if ya get hungry, but it looks like the locals left me a whole mountain o’ vittles here.” He then presented an enormous stack of rice balls, onigiri, and a few other sweets… some of which had hearts drawn on them.
Even our local ponies are charmed by this brute? These are dark times indeed…
“Anyway, the embassy told me I oughta eat everything y’all give me cuz of mo… mo…”
“Mottainai,” he grumbled. “Waste naught.”
“Right, right, that! But, see, I just can’t eat all this. So I figured I’d share with my fellow racers. Here, I’ll just leave ya a few. Have ‘em for breakfast or something, okay?”
The mochi was hard as a rock by the next morning, but he cared nothing for all that. For now, at the start of the race, he was focused on one thing alone: showing that rogue what a true noble pony of Neighpon could do against a foreign barbarian!
It was two hours into the race, and the racers were all breathing heavily, their coats gleaming with a sheen of sweat. The rustling sound of thousands of leaves was like the roar of the ocean, but even it was barely audible over the thunder of their hooves.
As they rounded the last bend, Shiroyama reached deep within and surged forward, fully intending to take First Place and claim the honor for himself.
But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a horrifying sight:
The rogue was passing him! Worse, he was smiling, as if it were a mere trifle!
Shiroyama watched in awe as Oaken Barrel shot forth, his hooves pounding the ground, and a shower of crimson - a veritable storm of maple leaves - showered them both. And through the storm, he saw as the stallion turned, still wearing a grin, and with his deep green eyes and a toss of his unruly mane, he winked at him.
Even as they passed the finish line, that one image of that face, ringed with crimson, would stay with him for many nights ahead. Those leaves of fire had sparked something within him, and the fire was set in his heart, perhaps never to go out…