I'm Afraid of Changeling (and other short stories)

by Cold in Gardez


Wonder

“Do you think it will snow this year, Inky?”

Inky looked up from her work with the same expression she always wore around Pinkie – annoyance tinged with disappointment. Her gaze flicked over to Pinkie, down to the small pile of rocks her sister had managed to collect, then back up. The skin around her eyes tightened, the only sign of her displeasure.

“I think you should stop worrying about the weather, and worry more about your rocks,” she said.

And that ended their conversation for the day.

* * *

“I think the snow would be neat.”

Inky didn’t respond for some time, so long that Pinkie wondered if maybe she hadn’t heard. That would be unusual – normally Inky’s ears were sharper than a bat’s, and ready to pick up the slightest hint of misbehavior from her sisters. Pinkie opened her mouth to try again when Inky suddenly spoke.

“Why do you think that?”

Pinkie’s mouth clopped shut. Inky wasn’t scolding her, or ordering her back to work, or telling her she was a foolish filly with her head in the clouds who would never keep the farm running if she didn’t buckle down and learn some good old-fashioned earth pony discipline.

Or earth pony work ethic.

Or earth pony sense.

Or earth pony stoicism. Whatever that meant.

Inky stared at her, and then she shrugged and returned to her rocks, pushing a tiny piece of brown quartzite into a hole and covering it with dirt. She planted four more stones before Pinkie found her voice.

“Because it’d be pretty! I think?”

Inky snorted. “How would it be pretty? It just covers everything and turns it white. You can’t see the ground or tend your crops if there’s snow everywhere.”

Pinkie looked around at their farm. A thousand shades of grey stared back, a slate rainbow that devoured happiness and joy. Grey clouds smothered them. Grey mountains warded them in. The grey earth stretched away, featureless and plain.

“I just think it’d be nice,” she said. It was too quiet for even Inky to hear, and her sister went back to her work.

* * *

“I heard it might snow tomorrow.”

Inky snorted. It was the closest she ever got to laughter. Her charcoal mane, tied back in a sensible bun, bounced in time with her steps.

“It’s not going to snow tomorrow, Pinkie. It never snows here.”

“But Comet said—”

“Comet is a pegasus. You know you can’t trust them. They’re flighty and shiftless and steal from the earth pony families.”

None of those things were true in Pinkie’s experience, except possibly the flighty part. And so what if Comet had taken some food from their farm? It wasn’t stealing if Pinkie left it out on purpose. She frowned and was about to offer a rebuttal when Inky continued.

“Besides, it’s too warm to snow.” She tilted her head up and sniffed at the air. “And it doesn’t smell like snow.”

Pinkie took a deep breath in through her nose. It was true – the farm smelled like it always did, of wet rock dust and earth pony sweat.

“Maybe it will get colder,” she said. But her voice lacked even the faint conviction borne from foal’s hopes, and her sister didn’t bother to respond.

* * *

“What would you do if it snowed, Inky?”

“Hm? I would clear it away, so we could keep working.” She dug at a soft clump of soil with her hoof, unearthing a large piece of feldspar that had grown over night. She gave it a lick to test for ripeness, nodded, and set it in the cart Pinkie was pulling beside her.

“What if there was so much snow you couldn’t? What if we couldn’t work at all?”

Her sister paused for a moment, as though the question caught her off guard. “Then we’d wait for it to melt.”

“But, uh, what if it never melted?”

“You’re being silly again.” For most ponies, the word ‘silly’ was a term of endearment. For Inky it was not.

“I think if it snowed, I’d come out and play in it all day.” How did you play in snow? Pinkie had never tried, but it seemed more fun than playing with rocks.

Inky stared down at the hole she had started to dig. Her eyes seemed to lose their focus, but before Pinkie could look any closer, she shook her head, and the same old look of annoyed disappointment returned. “You would. That’s why you’ll never run this farm.”

Maybe I don’t want to. She couldn’t say so aloud, of course, but she thought it as hard as she could and wished for snow with her next heartbeat.

* * *

“It’s supposed to snow tonight.”

“I know.” Inky kept her voice down, so as not to wake their parents. “It will probably melt, though, just like last time.”

Pinkie blinked. “You’ve seen snow?”

“Oh yes. The year after you were born, there was a small snowstorm. It covered everything for a few hours before the sun came out and melted it.”

They were silent for a while after that. Pinkie tried to imagine her sister, with her charcoal mane and slate grey coat, walking around in the pure white world.

“Was it fun?” she finally asked.

“Why would it be fun? It’s just snow.”

“Yeah, but you could do anything if it snowed. You wouldn’t have to plant rocks or turn the mill or sweep the path or do anything but play!”

“And who would do your chores for you, hm? Me? Or maybe mother could do them for you?” Inky’s voice dripped with scorn.

“I’d do my chores! Just later.”

“Right, later. After you finished playing.”

Pinkie frowned. Her sister couldn’t see the expression in the darkness of their room, of course, but she had never been one to hide her emotions. “Maybe. Maybe after I played in the snow, I could do your chores, and you could play.”

Inky’s snort sounded from the darkness. “You’re being silly again, Pinkie. Go to bed.”

* * *

The house was silent when Pinkie woke. Silent and bright, filled with brilliant light that streamed in from beyond the curtained windows. She trotted over, curious, and pulled the curtains aside.

The world outside was white. The frosted window concealed the rest.

She dashed down the stairs and out the door. Her sister sat on the porch, a dark blot against the blinding white glare all around. Pinkie scrunched her eyes tight, until after a few moments the glare subsided, and she could open them again.

Fat flakes of snow fell in utter silence all around them. They speckled Inky’s coat and filled the distant air with veils. The mountains were dim white shapes in the distance. The wind smelled like ice. The ground was...

The ground was gone. All the rocks, all the pebbles, all the bare and ugly grey earth was gone, replaced by a thick blanket of snow. The whole world was transformed into something strange, something different.

Something wonderful.

She took a step off the porch and sank to her fetlock in the snow. It crunched quietly beneath her hoof, the loudest sound she had heard since waking up.

“It’s cold,” she mumbled.

“What did you expect, silly?” Inky asked. She didn’t seem to notice the snow on her coat and mane. “Of course it’s cold.”

Pinkie pushed at the snow with her hoof, forming a little mound. New flakes fell upon it, creating odd geometric forms that slowly vanished in the pile. She looked up again, at the alien world.

“It’s so different,” she said. “It’s like the farm is gone.”

Minutes passed before Inky answered.

“I know. It’s beautiful.”