There are many hidden places in Equestria. Secret places: long-treasured and long-forgotten alike. If you know where to look, you might find your own. This is the story of such a place, on a certain day, with two particular ponies, and what happened afterwards.
Half a mile into the woods along Sweet Apple Acres—not too close to the Everfree Forest, but far enough from the bustle of Ponyville—stood a ring of ancient maples, long dead. Their bark had peeled away and their trunks were polished by wind, and rain, and the passage of time into a honey-golden hue. They were cracked, and their branches gone, yet their wood was smooth and warm to the touch.
They surrounded a small depression in the ground, perhaps once a pool, filled with the dust and dirt of time’s progression. Still, they stood, like sentries on watch, defending a forgotten treasure.
It was here that two young ponies—a colt and a filly—found themselves, and found each other.
Copper Key was a delicate, almost frail earth pony. She had a dancer’s legs and a regal bearing, and her hazel eyes glittered with mischief. Her coat was a faint jade green, almost white. Her mane and tail were a deep forest green, worn long, but they were thinning - only a few hairs grew high enough on her neck to fall as a forelock, and her tail was more of a suggestion than a reality.
She was new to Ponyville as of that summer—the youngest child of a family that hailed from Manehattan—and already had her cutie mark: a copper padlock, closed, with a heart-shaped keyhole. Smudge had seen her about Ponyville, always in a cloak despite the weather, and had always meant to stop and say hello - but never seemed to find the time.
Smudge was a stocky, dour-faced earth pony. He was neither handsome, nor particularly bright, nor skilled in the games the other earth-ponies played. His coat was a dusky grey, save for his shaggy fetlocks which slowly darkened to a raven black. His eyes were a chestnut brown, and his mane and tail were habitually tangled, their black and brown curls festooned with twigs, leaves, and the occasional confused caterpillar he’d acquired on his wanderings through the wood.
He was a simple pony—his thoughts flighty—and was easily distracted by the beautiful things that could be found throughout the natural places of Equestria.
He was a year older than Copper Key, and preparing to enter adulthood, having passed his classes. He did not yet have his cutie mark, but his absent-minded nature prevented him from dwelling on it.
It was autumn, in the afternoon, a week before the Running of the Leaves.
Copper Key wandered the woods, having visited briefly with the Apple family, thanking them for their generosity. They had offered her brother a job on the farm, and were happy for his help this season. She gathered her cloak about her—she was always bundled, now—and sat in a small clearing, resting against a weathered maple, shielding herself from the wind. She felt exhausted, despite the short journey from the farm, and fought the urge to close her eyes. She might not have done so, were it not for the sudden crashing approach of another pony.
Smudge followed a blue jay, curious as to its presence. He had thought they would have all flown south by now. He made no effort to conceal his presence, and tramped through the brown and green underbrush with a reckless stride. A turn here, a turn there, and soon he lost sight of the bird. He paused a moment, and heard a noise. Curious, he followed it, and was surprised to find another pony so far out.
She appeared startled at his presence, and he paused, warily, at the edge of the clearing. A silence stretched out between them, broken only when Smudge shook off the chill, and spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he began slowly. “I didn’t mean to frighten.”
She regarded him, unreadable, for a moment, and then furrowed her brow. “I know you, don’t I? You work at the smithy.”
He smiled, faintly. “Yeah,” he drawled on. “Whenever they need me to push around the ore carts.” He took a few steps into the clearing, and continued. “Seen you before. From Manehattan, right? The family near Sugarcube Corner?”
She answered with a smile of her own, and Smudge felt more at ease. “I’m Smudge,” he declared, walking towards her, “what’s—are you alright?”
It was then he noticed she had been crying.
“I’m... I’m fine.” She glanced away, embarrassed.
An uncomfortable moment passed, and he worked to find more words.
“Can I sit with you? It’s a little lonely out here.”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” she answered.
He took that as an affirmative, and laid down next to her, facing - as she was - back out towards the farm. It wasn’t visible from their spot, but when the wind changed you could occasionally hear Applejack dressing down her big brother.
Time passed, and the two ponies watched the leaves rustle, and the clouds move by. Smudge didn’t mind the silence—indeed, he preferred it to the noise of the village. His new friend—was she a friend?—dug out an acorn cap from the ground before them, and balanced it absentmindedly on one hoof, then the other.
The sun was setting before she spoke again. “I’m Copper Key,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, Smudge.”
He smiled, and began to stand. “Nice to meet you too, Copper Key. Getting late. May I walk you home?”
She nodded, and pulled her cloak tighter around herself, putting up its hood against the night air. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He waited for her to rise, and silently walked alongside her, careful to match his pace to hers. Soon, they were at her home, its windows already yellow against the darkening sky, and she paused at the door.
It was a small home, not meant for a large family, and it had seen better days. Its gardens were barren, and its paint was peeling. Still, it was sturdy, and warm.
“Thank you again. It was nice to be with another pony today.”
“But we didn’t do anything,” he protested, puzzled.
“That’s what made it nice,” she grinned, and smiled again, her eyes twinkling as she passed him and entered the home.
He stood outside, unaware of the passage of time, staring the sky, until he realized that Luna had already begun to raise the moon. Her elder sister had long set the sun on the opposite horizon.
It was winter.
Again, they sat, side by side, in the copse. Again, they spoke little, just enjoying the world around them, and each other’s company, as they had every evening for the last few months.
Smudge let his mind wander. This was odd in itself—usually it wandered on its own—but around Copper Key, he found it easier to think, and easier to pay attention to her.
It was almost the Winter Solstice, and he wanted to get Copper Key a gift. Something small, to be sure - he was not a wealthy pony, and the bits he had saved were supposed to pay for his move that summer - but heartfelt. He thought of flowers, and feathers, and other beautiful things they had enjoyed in the copse, when his eyes fell upon her ever-present cloak.
A brooch. A clasp. That was it. Something to adorn the plain fabric of her garment, something to make it shine like her smile did, to make it sing like her—
He was shaken from his reverie by a coughing fit. Copper Key buried her head in her forelegs, and coughed again, her chest wracked by another wave of pain. The coughs had been more frequent, lately, and more violent.
He made an effort to stand, to reach over to her, when she raised her head and looked at him, eyes wet, forehead peaked in pain.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” She coughed again, shallowly. “You’ve got your concerned hero’s face on again.”
The coughing subsided. He made an effort to unwrinkle his brow. She made an effort to steer the conversation away from her thoughts.
“What are you going to do when you move? You've got that apprenticeship in Hoofington, don't you?”
“That’s not till summer, y’know.”
“I know.”
A minute passed, perhaps two.
“Probably start anew. Nobody will know me there, not like they do here.” Finding more words was an effort. “Have to make a name for myself again. But I feel lucky to have been here for so long.”
“Mm. Me too.”
Another minute passed as her words sunk in.
He sighed, flopping to a side to look up into the skies above. “What about you?”
“Oh, this and that,” she demurred. “Suppose I’ll find out if I’m graduating.”
“Thought you had good grades.”
“Something like that, sure.” She smiled, then, one of her mysterious, secret smiles, and dug an acorn cap out of the leaves before her, balancing it on a hooftip. She looked at Smudge again. “Hey,” she said, “can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You’re not going to forget about me, are you?”
“When I move?”
She didn’t answer, directly.
“When you’re off in Hoofington, and you’ve got your fame and fortune...”
Smudge stifled a laugh. She glared at him for the interruption, then softened, and continued.
“When you’re well-off and without worry... You’ll remember me, right?”
“Of course.”
She smiled again, and carefully placed the acorn cap on his nose. He snorted, shaking it off, and she closed her eyes for a moment, as if setting something to memory.
“It’s getting late. Help me up, Mom’s probably going nuts wondering if I’m in a ditch somewhere.”
“Bah,” he chided. “World needs ditchdiggers too.”
She laughed and they picked their way out of the woods.
Winter Solstice came and went. She did not return to the copse afterwards.
He visited her home, gift in tow, only to be told that she was ill. They would not say with what, only to come back in a few days.
When he returned, the home was dark, the windows unlit, and a pale yellow pony was locking the door.
“I... is Copper...”
Her brother looked at him sadly. His hazel eyes, just like his sister’s, were teary beneath his pale blue mane. He opened his mouth as if to answer, but instead dropped his gaze, and turned, and walked towards the outskirts of town.
“But...” Smudge looked at his saddlebag. “I had a...”
He couldn’t continue. He felt chilled, his blood ice, and he stumbled off towards the only home he knew, the smithy. There, he closed the door, stoked the fires, and sat in the middle of the building, buffeted by waves of heat that paled in comparison to the tears running down his muzzle.
In the dizzying heat, Smudge found solace and, after a moment, inspiration. Drawn to act, he stood, seized a piece of coal, and with atypical haste, set to work.
When Mr. Ironhoof returned to open the smithy the next morning, he found the fires dead, the back door open, and a tendril of snow collecting within.
He lit the oil lamps, and was stunned to find that all the tools had been pulled from the shop wall, and on that blank, gray canvas had been crafted, in charcoal, an image of a young mare. Her eyes were sad, her frame graceful yet thin, and her smile so radiant, it seemed to magnify the light around it. He knew the filly, he thought. She had visited the shop before, whenever Smudge worked.
Roseluck opened her shop about the same time, a hint of fear speeding her efforts to unlock the door. All the flowers, the shrubs and the vines that normally filled the greenhouse outside of her shop were gone, and she worried that the inside of the shop might be similarly ravaged. “Why, theft is almost unheard of,” she thought to herself, “except by foals who didn’t know better.” Her thoughts fled as she finally opened the door, and was greeted by a small fortune in bits that had apparently been poured through her mail slot.
Late in the day, the ceremony over, Copper Key’s family returned to their home, only to find it not as they left it. It had been repainted—not expertly, but with care. Its gardens were overflowing, in all the colors Copper Key loved. The wobbly step had been patched, the glass flutes on the oil lamps replaced, even the windows had been cleaned. Everything she had wanted to help with, all the odd jobs she was too weak to contribute to, had been completed in their absence.
And in the woods, half a mile from Sweet Apple Acres, not too close to the Everfree Forest, but far enough away from the bustle of Ponyville, a pony stood in a copse of trees. He dug a small hole in its center. In it, he set a small box, containing a copper brooch accented with tiny emeralds. Then, he covered it in rich soil, and pressed it down with a hoof.
“A gift,” he murmured. “For you.” His words exhausted, he pondered what to do next. He didn’t believe he could go back to Ponyville. They’d be sure to ask questions, and he had no answers. He couldn’t stay here... but how did that tempt him. He just wanted to be away from the loss, away from the pain he felt growing, rising in his chest. Away. Yes, that was it. Hoofington. He had an offer there. Perhaps he could find something to fill the time, and his mind, in the meantime.
He shook off his hooves, tightened the strap for his saddlebags, turned, and began walking. Maybe he’d do something else entirely, once he got there. Working the forges was satisfying, but there were other options. It wasn’t too early to begin anew, or too late. Soon, he was distracted again, his mind cluttered with thoughts of birds, and leaves, and feathers.
He was so taken by the world around him, he forgot himself for a time. He didn’t notice his cutie mark had appeared.
It was a simple mark—an acorn cap—that looked to be drawn in charcoal.
Continued in Two Days