Scion of Chaos

by SilentBelle

Chapter 19 - Worn Memories

“So ye want to hear how I got my cutie mark, do ye? Well, I suppose you're in for a treat, little lady. Just work away at your mane and listen while an old pony reminisces,” Red Timber said, as he rearranged himself in his chair and let out a small cough. He was now sitting straighter and turned his focus upward, toward the shadowy ceiling, as if looking for something. “Ah, yes, listen well, young Sweetie Belle.

“It all happened long ago, must be nearly seventy years now. Now, seventy years isn't that long of a time to live my dear, but to say you remember back to seventy years ago, that makes all the difference.

“Now, you might not believe it, but I grew up in Canterlot. Not the Canterlot you now know, what with all its fancy buildings reaching up to the sky. No, this was Canterlot, the village of wood. It was the up and coming settlement for all the ponyfolk. For you see, the Princess had just decided to make her home there. And where the princess descended, sure enough, all forms of innovation and culture followed. It seemed like overnight, that all the plans to make the place into an all-out city had been laid.

“But our village was humbled by the princess and was quick to embrace the changes she brought with her. As a young foal, I watched the home I knew fly into a constant form of change. Buildings that I knew all my life had disappeared over the course of the year, only to be replaced by larger, sturdier, stone buildings. Suddenly, there were more ponies than I could ever come to know on a personal basis. It scared me to see everything change so quickly, and to see how everypony else seemed to forget our humble village so easily.

“I think that's when my parents noticed. My father, a diligent worker, and a proud architect, was now forced to change his focus to stone buildings, instead of the wood he was used to. And my mother, the best darned cook you'd ever meet, was, at the time, with foal. With things being the way they were, they decided to send me off to a summer camp. Perhaps they hoped that a smaller setting would allow me time to adjust to the sudden changes. It was either that, or I was being too sulky and they didn't like the atmosphere, but I'd like to think that they had my own well-being as their priority.

“In any case, I was tossed off into a small summer camp where young ponies would learn how to take care of themselves in the wilderness. At first I didn't want to go, I thought my parents had abandoned me in place of my soon-to-be-born baby sister, and because of that I kept to myself. I don't remember much about the first few days, but what I do remember was what happened after the first week.

“We had been bunched off into small groups of three. The idea was that we would use what we learned, along with a bare minimum of supplies, to make a campfire and build a shelter for ourselves. Really, we had enough supplies to not starve or even become dehydrated, so the survival aspect of the whole exercise was only in the minds of the fillies and colts. Regardless, each group had been given a hatchet and some other tools, after the adults were certain that we understood the basics of their use. The idea was that each group was to weather a night out in the bush.

“I, however was still in an awful mood, not really paying attention to anything in particular other than my own loathing of the changes that had taken place in Canterlot, and that my parent, at least in my mind, had disowned me. That's when one of the other ponies in my group called out to me.

“'Hey Red,' he said. He was a dark-coloured pegasus, I can't recall his name or even what colour he was. He even had a cutie mark. Papers? Parchment? I can't remember, but that's not important, I just knew that he came across as something of a lazy fellow who would rather boss other ponies around than have to work himself. 'Go get some fire wood. It's getting cold out here.' he said.

“I complied, as I was glad for the excuse to be alone. So, I carried the hatchet clenched between my teeth and wandered into the woods. It was there, amongst the towering oaks, pines, and elms, that I noticed something. It was a feeling that I had kept inside of me, I hadn't even noticed it before then. But once I stepped into the encompassing embrace of the forest, a feeling of comprehension settled upon me. I sat down there for what must have been half an hour. It became so suddenly clear what it was that I had disliked about the changes in Canterlot. Or perhaps dislike isn't the word, that's not what it was. I didn't dislike Canterlot. No. There was something that was missing from my home, something that I craved.

“It was something small, something special to me, which always lived in my fondest of memories. I had found it again in these woods. In the quiet life that it possessed, the soft calls of insects and birds creating the atmosphere from out of sight, and within all the plants intertwining and living together. That's what had been missing, a sense of belonging. And there in the forest, it was a welcoming embrace.

“So, with a feeling of calming peace I lifted the hatchet and cut free a few low branches from an old dried-out pine tree. I severed them with numerous swings, and after a good long while I had a large collection of varying sizes.

“I trudged back to the camp managing to drag the sappy branches in tow. But the scene I came across wasn't what I expected to find. The other camping partner, a white unicorn filly with the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, she was arguing with the bigger, dark pegasus.

“'We should go search for him, he could be lost,' she said, worriedly.

“'No!' said the dark colt. 'The sun's almost down, I'm not going in the woods when the sun's down.'

“The two argued back and forth for a bit while I slunk into the camp as quietly as I could. In a sudden motion, tossed my haul of branches into the circle of campfire stones, which startled the other two.

“'What the hay, Red! Where were you?' the unicorn demanded, her blue eyes flashed a look that made me cringe, she almost had tears in her eyes. 'We were just about to go into the forest to look for you. You had us scared.'

“'Yeah, why'd you take so long?' Even in the dim light of dusk, the pegasus' relief at not having to enter the forest was quite plain to see.

“I hadn't expected that the two of them would go out, looking for me. It really meant something to me that these two strangers, ponies that I knew nothing about, would have gone into the woods to look for me.

“'I'm sorry,' it was all I could manage to say, and I hoped that it would be enough to stave off the filly's tears.

"'Well, then make the fire,' the dark pegasus replied, trying to hide his nervousness at the encroaching approach of night.

“Using the skills that they had taught us over the last week, I managed to get the fire going just as the sun set. It was strange, seeing their faces, the tension leaving them as the fire sparked to life. With the first few licks of flame something else caught my eye. A shining from my flank as my cutie mark appeared. And her shining blue eyes as she watched from the fireside.” Red Timber fell silent as he concluded his story. Though Sweetie Belle thought she heard him utter a sad whisper. “Silver Lilly...”

Sweetie Belle tilted her head at the conclusion of the story, her freshly brushed mane bounced along with the movement. “But, then why do you have an axe as your cutie mark? Shouldn't it be burning logs? Or a fire, or something?”

The old pony let the creak of the rocking chair fill the room and hummed a bit before answering. “Let me tell ye a secret young'un. The secret about cutie marks. You see anypony'll tell ye that a cutie mark is about finding yer special talent, but that's not entirely true. There's something more to it than that.”

Sweetie Belle opened her eyes wide at that. “What? Really? But everypony's always said that's what a cutie mark is: Your special talent.”

“Consider this, young lady, what if a pony had a special talent fer something that they despised, something that they just couldn't enjoy no matter how hard they tried to. Like it was some sort of fate that shackled us fer the rest of our lives? Would any pony want something like that?”

The filly could hear Scoddri let out a small mirthful chuckle at that point. I was given something that I didn't want: this chaos magic. “No,” she stated, while shaking her head. “Most ponies wouldn't want that, though I'm sure that some might grow to appreciate it.”

“Perhaps they would, but what if they were forced into that one role, no matter what else they wanted to do? Now, young Sweetie Belle, ye have yerself a beautiful voice, and I'm certain that other ponies have said as much, perhaps even going as far as to saying that you'd be getting a cutie mark in singing. But what if that was your special talent, and that was all you would ever been known for? Would that not make ye feel a little sad when ye finally got yer cutie mark? Knowing that ye, after a certain point, had only one possible career to pursue.” Sweetie Belle responded with a nod. “Fortunately, that is not the case,” the old pony continued. “A cutie mark is not some sort of special talent, it's something far more meaningful and fundamental than that.”

“What?” she asked eagerly, trying hard to follow the aged stallion's line of reasoning. “What is it, then?”

“It took me years to actually put it into words. At first, after I got my cutie mark, I knew that being a lumberjack wasn't my special talent, but I couldn't put words to that feeling properly, it just remained a feeling. My cutie mark wasn't something that I had been forced into, but was instead a destiny I was choosing to walk toward. A cutie mark is something that ye have control over, little lady. If I had to describe what a cutie mark is, as simply as I could, I'd call it the permanence of yer first fondest memory, or the dream ye'll always come back to. It's just what ye cherish, and what drives ye as a pony. Talent's got nothing to do with it.”

Sweetie Belle looked at the old-timer with a doubtful gaze, and he offered a simple sigh.

“Well, take my cutie mark for example. An axe, splitting a log. Every time I look back at it, do you know what I see?”

“An axe, splitting a log?”

“What? No!” he said in exasperation. “Darn it girl, no! What I see is that forest in the evening sunlight: all its trees, the cry of the crickets and the voice of the birds. I see my love of the woods, of wooden architecture. And I see Silver Lilly. I always see her, and the way her eyes would catch the firelight as we sat around it.” His voice sounded distant and carried a light tremble as it ebbed into silence.

A lull settled upon the small cottage, not a cold sort of lull either. No, this was the soft hum of a room filled with warmth. The fireplace spoke with a language of sparks and the shifting, blackened logs. While Sweetie Belle played a tune of rhythmic brushing, as she finished up with her tail. Her hair was still in desperate need of a fine washing, but it would do for now, she supposed.

Feeling her eyelids growing heavy, the filly abandoned the brush, setting it upon the nightstand and laid down upon the old pony's bed. “Say, Red,” she called out, with her eyes closed.

“Hmm?” was the response she heard from the rocking-chair.

“Who's Silver Lilly?”

“Hmm, I'm glad ye asked little filly. I'm glad ye asked. Remember how I told you about how I was at that summer camp? Well, Silver Lilly was that unicorn who was in my group as well. She had sapphires for eyes, she did, and with the way they caught the firelight, I was awestruck from the moment I saw her. But with the way I always was, I kept the feeling to m'self. One day though, years later, she did find out, and eventually we got married and lived right in Canterlot. She always loved the city, and she ran a flower shop. I could go on and describe her fer hours, but I won't bore ye with an old pony's recollections.”

“But where is she now?” Sweetie Belle asked in a quiet mumble as sleep slowly took hold of her.

“She's... gone, they both are. Lily, and our daughter Blossom.” Red Timber looked away, toward the nearby wall of his cabin, tears filling his eyes. He began muttering quietly to himself. “Forty years, and it still hurts just as much, I suppose it's a wound that never heals, but I lived enough for all three of us. That's what they would have wanted from me. To live and try to be kind. To help, to love... But I couldn't bear it, living in that city. The memories held me tight like a noose, I had to leave. That's why I built this cabin. So I could remember both of them, their smiles, and their songs.

“Lily,” he called out softly into the firelight. “Blossom was going to be the best songstress in Equestria. It was her dream, and our dream to see her reach it. She loved singing, everyday. I could see it in the joy and smiles she brought to anypony who'd listened. She was supposed to grow old, to get married so we could hold our grandchild.” If anypony had been around to see, they'd have been able to make out two silver streams of tears catching the dimming firelight. “Oh, by the stars, how I miss ye both every day, for I've become a hollow pony of what I once was. Without ye, my dreams have become my memories as I sit here, hoping to pass on quietly and peacefully.”

A soft sigh broke the old earth pony from his reverie. He looked to see the young filly fast asleep, laying upon the covers of the bed. With a small grin to himself, he walked over to the filly and tucked her into bed.

“Well, I'm glad I got to make at least one more friend before I'm gone.” Red Timber made his way back to the chair, wheezing lightly as he settled in to doze for a while.

Light poured in through the window, golden sunlight. “Ugh, turn it off,” Sweetie Belle mumbled as she buried herself deeper under the covers.

“Good morning, my dear. Is it not brilliant to see sunlight again?”

“Not particularly,” she complained, as she wrapped the bundle of covers tighter around her. “I'm still tired.”

“I'll bet you are, young lady,” Red Timber's voice called out from the other side of the house. “I've prepared some more tea and porridge for ye, young'un. It should perk ye up for yer trip to Canterlot.”

At the mention of Canterlot, Sweetie Belle jumped out of the bed, memories of last night quickly falling into place. She crashed upon the floor as she realized where she was. With a blush, she pulled her way out of the cumbersome cloth and quickly used her magic to deposit it back upon the bed. She tried folding it, but the fabric didn't seem to agree with her choice of folding, so eventually, she just gave up and left it as an unruly swath.

It was just then that she noticed there was something metal around her neck. Looking down, she discovered it was a golden chain, with a golden flower hanging from it.

“Hey Red, where did this come from?”

“That was Blossom's--my daughter's. But I want you to have it, I have no use for trinkets at my age.”

“But I can't take it, it's yours,” Sweetie Belle responded, and reached back to unhook the metal with her magic.

“No, please, Sweetie Belle. Keep it,” Red Timber interjected as he fought back a fit of coughs. “I want you to have it, please.”

“Well, I suppose if you really want me to have it, then I can't say no. Thanks Red,” she said while she walked up to the old timer and gave him a light hug. “I'll cherish it.”

It was a short time later that the filly found herself standing outside the small cabin's door, sated and back to a suitable state of alertness. She could still feel the fatigue resting within her limbs, but she knew she had it in her to make the rest of the journey to Canterlot, less than half a day's travel, according to Red Timber anyway.

“Good bye, little lady,” the red earth pony said gently from his door. “Be safe, ye hear?”

“I will,” Sweetie Belle called back. “Thank you Red, for everything.” As she walked away, the unicorn couldn't help feeling strangely saddened, but she couldn't figure out why.

Red Timber watched as the young filly disappeared down the overgrown forest path. “It was a privilege to meet ye, and to share my last goodbye with ye,” he whispered with a soft grin on his wrinkled visage. He turned back into his humble abode and he sat down upon his sturdy old chair. He began humming a song from his past as he waited for the future to claim him.

“A strange old pony, wasn't he?” Scoddri commented as the two entered the forest.

“He was nice,” she said with a huff. “And you calling anypony 'strange' is silly. You're the strangest pony I know.”

“I'll accept that as a compliment, my dear,” he said, throwing out a laugh. “Is not strangeness the spice of life?”

With a single raised brow, the filly let out her own chuckle. “Well, I like my meals without spice.”

“Then perhaps it would be in your best interests to widen your palate, because I'm certain your life is bound to be brimming with more than a few flavours that you've never tasted before.”