//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: The Pony Who Planted Trees 
// by Speckle21 
//------------------------------//

	The war was over and peace had been declared in all of Equestria. But the effects of that conflict had devastated all the lands. Blood continued to leach from the bodies of many creatures and colored the rivers with a sickening reddish hue. The countryside was scarred deep from unicorn magic applied to military ends. Even the very sky above me was darker with clouds of soot and ash from fires, dust storms and volcanos, all weapons in our quest to destroy ourselves.

        It was a year since I returned to my foalhood home in Mt. Windie but I could not stay. Everywhere I looked I saw the deeper wounds of conflict. Families destroyed, foals who await parents that would never return, great holes in the lives of everypony around me. Even our very town carved into the rock was crumbling, having been struck multiple times by unicorn magic in the conflict we dared not recall. There was nothing for me here, I had no attachments or obligations, so I left. I took off straight into the air and did not look back. I made no attempt to plan where I was going, only that I had to fly in a straight line through the clouds. I could not possibly get lost, for I had no home or destination.

        As I flew I realized I was still wearing my armor from the Pegasus Knights. Force of habit had made me put it on when I left. I quickly tore it off and let it fall into the misty abyss below. I would not need it anymore.

        I continued for many days toward the infinite horizon. But the war that had been my past continued to be my companion in the present. I flew over barren wastelands of rock and stone. Perhaps once rich with life but now scorched to smoking cinders.  Occasionally I would spot a rock farmer but the despair in their eyes drove me away before I could ever meet them. Armor and weapons also littered the wasteland and I would see looters and scavengers pick them up to sell as scrap.  As I flew through the nights I saw nothing but darkness, no lights of campfires or homes. The moon only illuminated a dull haze of the dust that the winds blew across the lifeless landscape. The sky itself seemed to beckon me with its twinkling stars. The sky was so peaceful compared to the destruction below. For a time I thought of simply leaving the world and joining the stars forever. Still, I pressed on.

        For how many days I had continuously flown I do not recall, but my water had run out and my pack contained only dry nuts. I looked around but there were no clouds to rest on or drink from and I could not recall seeing any in the days before. Below me was the infinite patchwork of broken mountains, valleys and hills of stone. As I continued I grew more desperate and many times I flew into a valley hoping for a river or stream or even a puddle to drink from, I found none. I considered taking up the offer made by the sky of eternal peace and rest, but I continued.

        Finally, I noticed a slight patch of color in the sea of grey terrain. If there were plants there had to be water I reasoned. So I made my way toward the island of hope. As I approached I saw saplings, small but healthy and gently swaying against the wind. I touched down and for the first time I found the solid ground comforting. I trotted amongst the knee-high saplings but took special care not to injure or break them. They stood in remarkable but gentle defiance to the lifelessness of the world beyond. As I continued my search for water I saw a figure in the distance. It was likely a rock but I made my way toward it nonetheless.

        It turn out to be an earth pony who wore a wide hat to keep out the sun and was carrying large sacks of seeds which I presumed he was planting. It was clear this stallion was the source of the saplings I had seen earlier. His brown mane had several bald spots and scars littered his grey coat. Nonetheless he seemed well-groomed and moved slowly but deliberately. He blended in seamlessly with the broken stone of the wasteland but stood out in stark contrast against the healthy green saplings. What struck me most about his appearance was that his cutie marks had been burned off and combed over. I knew he was a soldier like me, as I had done the exact same thing when I was discharged. Many of us younger ponies were drafted into the war before we found our special talents, a desperate but still cruel measure by all sides to increase their ranks. For those of us that fought on the battlefield before we even learned to read and write we found our special talents in war. But those talents were of no use in a peaceful, civilized society. So those that choose to leave the army like myself burned our cutie marks, we did not want to be reminded of a foalhood we never truly had. Like myself this earth pony was a warrior, but chose to defy that destiny.

        For a brief instant I wondered what faction he was from. While technically there was an armistice the animosity among the factions still ran deep. He looked at me straight in the eyes as if to assess my character and then reached into his sack to retrieve a canteen of water. When he offered it to me our histories, affiliations and beliefs were immediately rendered irrelevant. I eagerly drank the entire canteen.

        He put the canteen back in his sack and motioned for me to follow him. As I did, he lead me through his magnificent nursery of saplings. It was not large by any account but the dedication and constant care was nothing short of extraordinary. He lead me to a well he had dug and refilled his many empty canteens including the one I had drunk. I should have offered to help but he seemed not to mind at all, perhaps he wanted my company. When he was finished he lead me to a stone house he had built. It was small but solid and strong. Inside he shared a meal of vegetable stew with me and I eagerly took to it, I had not realized how much my aimless journey had taken out of me. When it was clear I no longer needed tending he left me to continue eating while he picked up his sack of seeds and poured them on the table. He began separating the good from the bad. I realized he was not planting seeds that day; he was collecting them. There was quite a lot and for the first time since we met I spoke the first words.

“Would you like some help with that?” I asked him.

“It’s my work.” he simply replied.

He continued his work silently as I ate. His small home was very neat and tidy and jars upon jars of various seeds filled many shelves. I don’t think he ever expected to have company but he was an excellent host. He continued meticulously examining the seeds and rejecting them as the piles of good seeds became smaller and smaller. Finally there was a modest pile of perfect seeds. He retrieved an empty jar from the shelf and filled it with his pile. It occurred to me I did indeed have a way to repay him for his generous hospitality and I retrieved my sack of edible nuts. I had come from such a faraway land that I was certain the nuts I had were not in his collection. As he turned to see what I was doing his already content and serene face seemed to light up even more as I poured the pile of mixed nuts onto the table. With both my hooves I pushed it toward him as an offering. For a moment he paused as if to ask me if I was certain I wanted to share it with him. I pushed the pile again and he understood. He sat down and began separating the nuts according to type, and then again according to quality.

I awoke the next day to find my own canteens of water refilled and my sacks filled with edible seeds from his collection. They were the lower quality seeds he had rejected for planting but I was still extremely grateful for the restock. I looked around the home to thank him but I could not find him. I ventured outside and quickly flew around the saplings to spot him quite a bit away in the barren wasteland beyond. I set down nearby and silently observed his work.

Lashed to his hoof there was an iron bar and after walking off several steps, but still within sight of his home, he drove the bar into the hard earth. Working it as best he could with his other hoof he made a hole from which he withdrew the rod and then dropped in a seed. He carefully packed down the earth over it before repeating the process again several steps away. Throughout all this he was calm and quiet, he did not grunt or exert himself. His eyes had a content look that this task was as natural as the wind.

He made his way toward me and for a moment I thought he would reproach me for invading such a private duty. But he was merely going to another hill and I just happened to be on the way. I asked to join him and he accepted as if it was the most natural thing in the world, or perhaps that nothing could upset him.

At the hill he continued planting trees as I watched. I had nowhere to go so I remained observing this simple earth pony act against all of reality, even against his destiny. I asked him what his cutie mark was and he said he did not remember. I suppose I would have given him the same answer had he asked me. I asked him if he had any family. His silence was all the answer I needed. I asked him if he owned the land, he said he did not. I asked him if he knew who did, he said he did not. He assumed the land was common land or simply unclaimed. He said he saw the land being destroyed and he vowed to remedy that after the war. The ownership of the land seemed like a trivial matter.

For several more days I stayed with this humble pony. Without a place to go I could not really set out a direction. He seemed to know this and always welcomed me in his home and at his table. I tried to find someway to help him or ease his work but somehow it seemed wrong to disturb this perpetual act of kindness.

One day while I was preening my wings among his saplings he asked me if I would join him on a journey. I eagerly accepted his offer and trotted beside him as he went across the barren land. Trotting was so slow compared to flying but I dared not take off and disrespect this earth pony. We travelled for many miles across increasingly rocky terrain and several times I lost my footing and used my wings to stabilize myself. But this well-travelled earth pony moved across the treacherous landscape with more grace and dexterity than a mountain goat.

We did not speak, but I knew immediately when we had arrived at our destination. There were trees taller than I was in a small forest on the side of a mountain. This must have been his first attempt. I felt something different beneath my hooves and noticed grasses and weeds growing. Nature had taken its course and new life was slowly returning to this dead mountain. The tree planter started picking fruits and other edible seeds from the trees and I knew this was where he was getting his food. I offered to help and this time he accepted. He seemed very grateful but I think it was not because I was helping him gather food, but because I gave him the opportunity to share his trees with me.

Our sacks full of food we ventured back to his home. While my host continued to offer his hospitality I felt I had to move on. I helped unpack and store the food we had gathered and walked amongst his saplings one last time. Finally relaxed, I took in the profound but peaceful silence of the nursery, it was a welcome change to the noise and terror of war. The earth pony had followed me and somehow knew I was about to leave as he brought me my sack of provisions. With a nod he kindly encouraged my search for enlightenment. He had clearly found his.