//------------------------------//
// Chapter 16: Seeds 
// Story: Clean Slate 
// by Alaborn 
//------------------------------//

Clean Slate

By Alaborn

Standard disclaimer: This is a not for profit fan work.  My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic is copyright Hasbro, Inc.  I make no claim to any copyrighted material mentioned herein.

Chapter 16: Seeds





Nopony complained when Applejack let us sleep later than usual, the long night having taken a toll on us all.  We were a bit rushed to get breakfast and pack our bags, but soon we were in a carriage, heading to meet the Seeds.

“So how come the Seeds didn’t come to the party thrown by Aunt and Uncle Orange?” I asked.

“They’re not related,” Applejack replied.  Upon seeing my surprised expression, she continued.  “Well, they’re all part of the Apple family to us, and they’re welcome to come to the family reunion, but Uncle Orange is Ma’s brother, and Apple Seed is Pa’s brother.  So those two ponies aren’t related at all.”

I nodded.  Having a large family sure was confusing!

The carriage crossed a bridge, reaching a part of Manehattan that wasn’t quite as impressive.  Rather than tall skyscrapers, the buildings were no more than three stories tall, set closely together.  The brown stone of the buildings created a pleasing uniform appearance for the neighborhoods.  Small shops occupied each corner.  Clothing was less common among the ponies walking along these streets.

Finally, we stopped at one of these brownstones.  We all hopped out of the carriage, stretching our legs.  Applejack dealt with the luggage and settled the bill with the carriage driver.  Meanwhile, Apple Bloom dashed off, running to meet a filly of our age who had stepped outside.  I and the other Crusaders followed.

“Babs!” Apple Bloom shouted.

“Cuz!” she replied.

The two fillies locked hooves and bounced around a bit before embracing.  Surveying her cousin, Apple Bloom said “You grew your tail out!”

“Yeah, I did,” Babs replied, shaking her tail.  It looked of normal length to me, so she must have worn it shorter before.

“You have your eye on somepony?” Apple Bloom teased.

“No, of course not!” Babs countered.  The way she blushed made it entirely to clear she wasn’t being perfectly honest.  “It’s good to see you girls again.  We’re going to do so much crusading!”

“Good to see you again, Babs!” Sweetie Belle said.  Scootaloo and I nodded in agreement.

By this time, Applejack was ready.  She had three bags balanced on her back.  “You fillies go fetch the rest of the luggage.  I’ll see you inside,” she said.

We gathered our bags and headed in.  I walked up alongside Babs.  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“Look, Apple Bloom told me what happened,” she replied, speaking in a louder voice.  “I don’t want you to apologize for something you don’t remember.  In fact, I’m the one who should be apologizing, for going along with your stupid plan.”

Babs’s voice was loud enough to carry to the others.  Apple Bloom shot her a withering glare.  “What?  It’s true!” Babs protested.

“There’s no sense in not being honest with each other,” Sweetie Belle said.  “You remember?  It was not being honest that caused all those problems the first time!”

“Yeah,” the others all muttered.

“But don’t worry.  By the time you head home, we’re sure to have our cutie marks!” Babs said.

The Seeds’ house had the same lived-in appearance of my home.  There were plenty of pictures on the walls, and knickknacks scattered around.  The home probably wasn’t built by the family, but they made it their own.

Our first stop was the kitchen, where we met Babs’s family.  Apple Seed, her father, had the same red coat as Big McIntosh, although with a green mane.  His cutie mark was a sprouting plant, probably an apple tree.  Short Order, her mother, was a plum mare with a yellow mane and a spatula cutie mark.  They greeted all of us with big hugs and friendly words in the clipped accent they all shared.

“And your brother will say hi if he ever comes out of his room,” Short Order said.

“Still upset that he can’t have a bunch of his friends stay over?” Babs said.

“Those hooligans?  Forget about it!”

Babs then led us to her room, which was on the second floor.  She had a bunk bed, the top bunk clean, the bottom obviously used, with the covers balled up in one corner.  A cot and a pair of sleeping bags had been added to the room.  It was going to be a tight fit.

“We’re all staying in your room?” I asked.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind,” Babs replied.

“Mind?  Why would we mind?  This is going to be, like, a super sleepover!” Scootaloo exclaimed.

“We’ll stay up all night!” Sweetie Belle added.

“Yeah, but if we get too loud, Mom will barge in.  You don’t want to see that,” Babs warned.

“So, what are we going to do first?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Not much today,” Babs replied.  “Mom and Dad want us to stick around the home.  But I did invite some friends over to play hoofball.”

“Are they your own Crusaders?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Yeah, they are!” she said.

After a little time spent unpacking, we heard a knock from downstairs.  “They’re here!” Babs said excitedly.

By the time we made it downstairs, a unicorn colt and pegasus filly were already standing in the foyer.  “Hey, Simoon!  What’s up, Stringy?”

The light green unicorn winced when he heard the name, but then smiled.  “Thanks for inviting us over, Babsy!” he said, gauging his friend’s reaction.  He turned to us.  “Name’s Bow String.”

“And I’m Simoon,” the pegasus said.  Her accent was exotic, suggesting she was from somewhere that didn’t speak Equestrian.  Her sandy coat and brown mane were also unusual.

“Nice to meet you,” we all said, and then introduced ourselves.  The others didn’t react to my name, so if Babs ever told them about the incident in Ponyville, she didn’t mention my name.

At this point, I got a better look at Bow String.  Right by his yellow tail, and partially covered by his jacket, was a cutie mark of a violin.  “You’re not a Crusader?” I asked.

“Bow String will still be a Manehattan Crusader as long as he wants to be our friend!” Babs said.

“So how’d you get your Cutie Mark?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“I always liked music.  Babs thought I was good at it, and told me to keep trying different musical things.  Turns out, I’m good with the violin!”

“Yes, you should hear him play!” Simoon said.

“Yeah, but not now.  Let’s go outside and play!” Babs said.

“And don’t forget your brother!” Short Order called, showing that unnerving talent of parents to always be listening in on their children’s conversations.  “Johnny!  Come out of your room and go play outside!” she shouted.  I noted with interest how both the Seed foals had meaningless names.  That wasn’t something seen often in Ponyville.

We donned our jackets and headed outside, soon to be joined by a pale purple earth pony colt about two years our junior.  “You must be Johnny,” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied noncommittally.

“Mom just wants us both out of the house,” Babs complained, bouncing the hoofball on her head.  “At least we have even team sizes now.”

“So how are we splitting up?” Scootaloo asked.

“Let’s do Ponyville versus Manehattan!” Sweetie Belle said.  That seemed reasonable to everypony, judging by their reactions.

“Yeah, you can play alongside Stringy!” Apple Bloom teased.  Babs blushed slightly in response.

Hoofball is one of those games that can be played with a ball and any number of ponies, but once you get to eight players, you get something near a real game.  Two strikers, one defender, one goalie.  We marked the borders of the goal in the snow.  As if to fight Apple Bloom’s suggestion, Babs split from Bow String, with the filly taking the defender slot.  The two other Manehattan Crusaders were the strikers, with Johnny relegated to goalkeeper.

I was happy to be goalie for my team.  It meant less moving around, so hopefully I would have enough energy to play for as long as everypony else wanted to play.  Apple Bloom was our defender, leaving Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo to attack our opposition.

And then we started playing.  The street was our pitch.  At that point, it struck me just how different Ponyville and Manehattan were.  There was plenty of space in Ponyville, in Sweet Apple Acres and elsewhere, to hold a game like this.  Here in Manehattan, houses didn’t have much in the way of yards.  But the Manehattan foals were used to the situation.  Pauses in the game happened, without fuss, when a carriage passed on the street.  We weren’t interrupted often, as it seemed the adults were smart, and stayed inside during winter.

We didn’t really keep score, but it was obvious that the locals kicked our flanks.  Apple Bloom was a tenacious defender, but I just wasn’t fast enough to intercept the kicks that got through her.  I was glad when the game was interrupted by Babs’s mother calling us to lunch.  And after a quick lunch of daisy sandwiches and milk, we were back outside.

After another bout of hoofball, we had grown tired of the activity.  “Now what?” Scootaloo asked.

“I guess we could show you around the neighborhood,” Babs said.

“That is a wonderful idea!” Simoon said.

Within an easy walk of Babs’s house were several small shops.  I noticed florists, candy shops, bakeries, a soda fountain, and more.  The neighborhood was surprisingly like Ponyville, save for the buildings being plainer.  The milkshakes we enjoyed could have come from Sugarcube Corner.

All in all, it was a fun day.  As Celestia’s sun began to set, we separated from Babs’s friends.  “Mom will be serving dinner, and we don’t want to be late,” she said.

By the time we got home, the smell of spicy chili filled the house.  Even after those milkshakes, we all headed straight to the kitchen.  A huge pot of chili rested on the kitchen table, full of beans and tomatoes and onions and spices.  We all gathered around the table, which had four regular chairs and four mismatched chairs added.

Surprisingly, Short Order served her chili over spaghetti.  I shrugged; those are both good foods, so why not try them together?  

“So what did you do today?” Applejack asked.

We took turns recapping our day.  Apple Seed was quick to approve of our being active, and Short Order hinted at some gossip surrounding the ponies running the stores we visited.

Without realizing it, I had finished my dinner, including the fresh baked bread and canned peaches.  The meal was nothing compared to what the Oranges made, but it was good, stick-to-your-ribs food, just like back on the farm.  Really, the only thing money gave the Oranges was the ability to put fresh food on the table in winter.

“Now you girls get washed up.  We don’t want any red stains around your mouth when we take pictures!” Apple Seed said.

I groaned.  Families.





“So what are we going to do today to get our Cutie Marks?” Apple Bloom asked the next day.

“Art gallery first, and then let’s check out the marketplace, and finally Central Park!  We could go ice skating, and there are tons of other things to do.”

“Ugh.  Art gallery?” Scootaloo said.

“Sorry, girls.  Mom insists we do something cultural-like,” Babs said.

“Maybe we could get our cutie marks in art appreciation?” Sweetie Belle suggested.

“And just what would that look like?” Apple Bloom commented.

“It’s not important.  Just do it because you’re in Manehattan, and there are lots of museums,” Babs said.  “You didn’t complain when we played hoofball yesterday.”

“But hoofball is fun!” Scootaloo said.

“I think seeing some art would be nice,” I said.  “It’s true; it’s not something we get a chance to do back home, so let’s make it an experience to remember.”

Remember.  Did I like art?  Had I seen the museums of Manehattan and Canterlot in the past?  Was there fine art in my old home, the one I no longer remembered?  The Silvers and the Oranges both had some art in their homes.  Did I?

By this time, the girls had moved on, listening to Babs Seed talk about all the things to do in Central Park.





After some talking, Babs’s parents called us to breakfast.  Short Order had managed to fill the table with a big bowl of scrambled eggs and a plate stacked with buttered toast.  We still made short work of the food.

After breakfast, we five fillies departed.  It was nice to be by ourselves, without annoying little brothers tagging along.  Of course, we weren’t actually alone.  Applejack served as our chaperone.  For now, she was staring at a page of mouthwritten directions from Aunt Short Order, comparing them to the street signs and landmarks.

“And just where is this museum supposed to be?” Applejack asked Babs.

They conferred over the note.  “We need to be two streets over,” Babs said, pointing to her left.

Soon, we found the Manehattan Museum of Art, and went to buy tickets.  “Five foals and one adult, please,” Applejack requested.  Tickets in hoof, we entered.

“Now, the weather team will have the clouds cleared by about one o’clock in the afternoon, so let’s plan on touring the museum until lunchtime,” Applejack said.

“We still won’t get to see everything.  This place is huge!” Babs said.

The museum was organized with several wings.  We went first to the one labeled Modern Art.  Looking around, I noticed the six of us were equally confused.

“What is that?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“It looks like somepony spilled paint on the ground!” Apple Bloom said.

“I bet I could make that!” Scootaloo asserted.

“If you want to try being Cutie Mark Crusader artists tonight, we have some paint in the basement,” Babs suggested.

“‘This piece captures the ebb and flow of time and its interaction on each of our memories,’” Applejack read from the piece’s description.  “Now just what in tarnation does that mean?”

Time and memories.  Intrigued by the description, I stared at the work again.  But no, all I could see was random splatters of paint.

I pulled out the museum’s brochure.  “Maybe we should start with the classical art wing,” I suggested.

The classical art wing was much more what I expected when I heard we were going to an art museum.  These paintings were amazing examples of what talented ponies could do with oil paints.  I don’t know how, but these artists managed to capture the equine form perfectly.  It was if they illustrated the skeleton and the muscles first, rather than just painting the hide and coat on the surface.  And the eyes!  Somehow, the classical artists captured an incredible variety of emotions in their subjects.  Joy.  Sorrow.  Curiosity.  Mystery.

A few of these pieces were familiar to me.  I recognized their names; they were particularly famous works of art.  But had I seen them before?  Like, in a museum, not just a reproduction?

I shook my head and caught up with my family and friends.  We were on to the next exhibit, ancient Roaman sculpture.

All in all, the museum was a nice trip.  I think if we were forced to speak the truth, we all would have to admit that we had enjoyed it.  But still, our fidgeting by the time lunch rolled around showed that it was time to do something else.

Babs suggested pizza for lunch.  Stopping in a nearby pizza parlor, we soon had plates with thin slices of really greasy pizza.

“This is pizza?” Sweetie Belle said.

“Yeah, that’s how we like it in Manehattan!” Babs said.  She folded her slice in half, holding it between her hooves as orange grease dripped onto the plate below.

I shrugged and imitated Babs’s gestures, hoping to make my lunch a little healthier.  Afterward, I lifted the greasy pizza to my mouth.  Hot gooey cheese, tomatoes, and spices assaulted my mouth.  Five minutes later, I had grease-covered empty plate, and was trying desperately to clean the grease out of my fetlocks with a napkin.

What can I say?  Even when pizza is bad, it’s still pretty good.





“And you’ve just got to see this place!  There are tons of ponies selling everything you could think of!”  Babs continued to describe the open-air marketplace with enthusiasm as she led us onward.

Applejack, being a veteran of Ponyville’s market, was intrigued, an interest only noticeable if you looked at the way she raised her eyebrows.  And we all had a few bits to spend.

Turning, we found it.  Marketplace just didn’t describe this sight.  Rather than an open space, like in Ponyville, we were on a broad street.  The buildings lining the street had shops.  The sidewalks held merchants, selling out of kiosks, carts, even old blankets covered in goods.  The center of the street held more merchants, small cafes, and street performers.  Narrow lanes on each side, wide enough for a carriage but not much wider, separated this central area from the street.

There was so much for sale!  Coffee and tea.  Popcorn, nuts, and pretzels.  Photographs and artwork.  Toys and souvenirs.  Candles and oils.  Honey, preserves, and pickled fruit.  And some sellers had a random selection of goods, probably selling used items.

I listened in as a buyer and seller haggled fiercely. The buyer was a tall earth pony stallion, and appeared to be using his size as a negotiation tool, but the unicorn seller wasn’t intimidated.  Still, the buyer talked the seller down from twenty-two bits to seventeen over a fairly lengthy negotiation.  It was a fascinating exchange.  I leaned around, trying to see what it was they were haggling over, but Applejack pulled me away before I could see.

“I think there’s some souvenirs over here you might be interested in,” she said.

The kiosk Applejack pointed me to held a variety of small hoofcrafted items, pictures, and postcards.  Any of these items would fit nicely on a dresser or shelf.  Our home had a number of these kinds of items, but I think they were all from family.

I eventually decided on a postcard showing the Manehattan skyline.  The tall buildings were the first thing I noticed about the cities, so that was the memory I chose to keep with this keepsake.

For some reason, the haggling I had witnessed stuck in my mind.  A lot of the used items could be bought new at Barnyard Bargains, without the hassle and haggling.  “Hey, Babs?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s the deal with all the used items for sale?  Wouldn’t it be easier to shop at Barnyard Bargains?” I asked.

Babs shrugged.  “I don’t think there’s one in town.”

That made me flush with anger, but only briefly.  My store, my family’s heritage, not in the biggest city in Equestria?  But that was ridiculous.  I’m sure we’ll get there soon.  Perhaps that was something I could discuss with Legal Plan.

Soon, we all left the marketplace, each with a souvenir, and Applejack carrying a big bag of caramel corn for us to share.  Babs was bouncing around in excitement.  “I can’t wait to show you Central Park!”

It made sense to me that an earth pony city like Manehattan, even one so large that they built buildings as high as thirty stories to maximize the use of space, would have a park.  We felt Central Park before we could see it.  There was the smell of pine trees, and just the sense of nature calling to me.  I wondered if Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo could feel it too, given that they weren’t earth ponies.

I snapped back to attention, realizing Babs was in the middle of an exposition about all the features of Central Park.  “...and the flowers are really cool, too, but we can’t see them during the winter.  But all the Hearth’s Warming decorations are still up, and we can see them everywhere in the park.  But the best part of Central Park in winter is right here!”

Oh, no.

Babs brought us to an outdoor ice rink, where ponies in colorful coats and scarves were skating.  Most looked happy, effortlessly gliding in circles around the rink, but quite a few looked rather unsteady on their hooves.

Have I ever ice skated before?  Would I remember how?  Could I still do it, with my weakened legs?

I remained lost in my thoughts until Applejack draped four skates, tied with their straps, over my neck.  The others were already putting their hooves into their rented skates.

“Have you ever skated before?” I asked Applejack.

“Sure have,” she replied.  “Before I got big enough to pull the plows, I was on the icebreaking team for Winter Wrap-Up.  Plus, Apple Bloom and I go sometimes when the pond’s frozen over.  You worried, sugarcube?”

“I don’t know if I can skate,” I said.

She slapped me on the back.  “You won’t know until you try.  Let’s get you to the ice.”

After donning my skates and tightening the straps, I followed the group, awkwardly taking small steps with the blades turned at an angle.  Soon, the shimmering white surface was in front of me.  I took one step....

I wobbled a bit, but soon found my balance.  I pushed one foreleg forward, paired with a shift of the opposing hind leg.  I moved forward a little.  I repeated the move with the other pair of legs.  I felt my speed increase slightly.  One hoof slipped.  I shifted by balance, compensating.

By the time I completed my first circuit of the rink, I realized that I did know how to skate, even if I didn’t remember learning how.

Scootaloo rushed past me, using her wings to propel her around the rink at a faster speed than mere legs would allow.  Meanwhile, Apple Bloom and Babs were still near the entrance, trying to help Sweetie Belle, who was currently sprawled on the ice.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’ve never skated before,” she admitted.

“But I thought you said Rarity took you to the pond!” Apple Bloom said.

Sweetie Belle sighed.  “Yes, she has, but all she ever does is show off whatever scarf or jacket she’s wearing.  She never skates, and she sure hasn’t taught me!”

“Then we’re going to help you.  You’ll get an ice skating cutie mark for sure!” Babs said encouragingly.

We took turns, two of us skating slowly on either side of Sweetie Belle.  She slipped quite often, and we weren’t always fast enough to catch her before falling to the ice, four legs akimbo.

I reached down after one of Sweetie Belle’s spills.  She looked rather depressed.  I gave her a friendly nuzzle.  “Look, Sweetie Belle, even if you don’t get a cutie mark, you’ll get a bunch of funny stories to tell in the clubhouse!”

She looked a little happier as I helped her to her hooves.  “I guess.”

Apple Bloom skated up next to her.  “We won’t leave until you can make it around the rink!”

“Now you slow down!” I heard Applejack shout.  Given the orange blur that passed just at the edge of my field of vision, she must have been shouting at Scootaloo.  The mare put her strong legs into each stroke, but catching Scootaloo seemed a hopeless proposition.

Babs and Apple Bloom were now skating alongside Sweetie Belle, so I had the chance to observe the surroundings.  In particular, Scootaloo was making her presence known.  She had gone from merely skating fast to doing stunts, jumps and twists.  I noticed a pegasus colt of around our age, who appeared to be in unofficial competition with my pegasus friend.

I skated up to Scootaloo when she was taking a rest.  “So who’s your coltfriend?” I teased.

“He’s not!” she replied defensively.  “He’s just the only pony fast enough to maybe keep up with me!”  Although I knew she had a competitive spirit, there was a hint of red in her cheeks that suggested that maybe, I was right.  It was too bad she’d probably never see the colt again.

“You know, I think Sweetie Belle could use some encouragement,” I suggested.

By this time, it looked like Sweetie Belle was able to skate around the rink without falling, but she still moved slower than the other skaters.  Scootaloo joined her, and when Apple Bloom joined her sister, I paired up with Babs.

“Are you having fun?” I asked.

“Heck, yeah!” she replied.  “This is about the only good thing about winter.  Knocking snow out of your fetlocks every day sucks, but at least there’s skating.”

“So how would you feel about a nice fast lap around the ring?”

“You’re on!” Babs replied.

Babs had been by Sweetie Belle’s side most of the time, so she was happy to skate faster.  I followed, feeling my body sway left and right with each stride.  Babs turned out to be a pretty good skater, and I had no chance.  And following three laps, I felt the muscles in my hind legs burning.

“I think that’s enough,” I called to Babs.

“Yeah, I guess you learned not to challenge a native Manehattanite!”  Babs surveyed the rink. “And speaking of racing....”

It looked like Scootaloo was encouraging Sweetie Belle to skate faster.  She stayed even with her, not using her wings or even her full strength.  And Sweetie Belle looked to be enjoying it, until the moment she tilted too far to the right, overcompensated, and slipped to the ice.  She slid into a pair of ponies, knocking them to the ice.

Babs and I skated over to Sweetie Belle.  Scootaloo soon recovered from her surprise and followed.  Finally, the Apples headed to the scene of the disaster.

“Are you all right, Sweetie Belle?” Scootaloo asked.

“Ugh.  Yeah,” Sweetie Belle replied, shaking her head.  “I don’t think I’m the pony you should be worried about.”

Babs and I moved over to help the other fallen ponies, a middle-aged earth pony mare and a slightly younger earth pony stallion.  “Thanks,” the mare said as she got to her hooves.

Then the mare did a double take, staring at me.  “Diamond Tiara?” she asked.

I stared at her.  “Do you... know me?”  I took in her appearance: sapphire blue coat, two-toned silver and cyan mane, and a cutie mark of a gleaming white crown.  She was wearing a nice cream-colored sweater and matching scarf.  I searched my memory, thinking back to old photographs.  Nothing.  In the end, all I could do was stare blankly at her.

“Of course!  It’s been years, hasn’t it?” she said.

Maybe it has.  I didn’t remember.  By this time, Applejack skated up to me, positioning herself protectively in front of me.  “Is something the matter here?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing, just a little spill, nothing anypony hasn’t experienced in the past,” she replied.  “I just wanted to talk to Diamond Tiara after our chance meeting.”

“And you are?” Applejack asked suspiciously.

“Crystal Crown.  Her aunt,” she explained.

Applejack glanced at me.  I gave her a look that I hope translated as “I don’t know.”

“Well I’m Applejack, Diamond Tiara’s guardian.  And as I’m sure you don’t know, Diamond Tiara has been through a lot lately.”

Crystal Crown hung her head.  “I know.  When I heard about... the accident, it struck me just how selfish I was.”  She turned to me.  “I don’t want my differences with your father to stop me from knowing you.  Are you living here now?”

“No, I’m...” I started.

“Look, Miss Crystal Crown, if you want to keep in touch, why don’t you give us your address?  We’ve got to get going.  Got lots to do,” Applejack said, looking away.  “Come on, girls,”

“Sure, let me get you that address,” Crystal Crown said.  She skated off.  By the time we all left the rink, Crystal Crown had returned, a business card in her mouth.  She offered it to me.

I took it and looked it over.  The card was for some form of art studio, and she wrote her home address on the back.  “Thank you,” I said.

“Please write,” she replied.

We returned our skates and departed.  “Let’s go see the rest of the park!” Babs shouted.

An energetic group of fillies, some still trying to get used to walking again, took off.  I lagged behind, allowing me to speak to Applejack.  “What was that about?” I asked.

“I skated over because I thought you might be in trouble.  I’d do that for all my kin,” Applejack said.  “Do you know that mare?” she asked.

“Um... yes and no,” I said.  “I didn’t recognize her, and don’t think she was in any of my old pictures.  But Granny Smith said Crystal Crown was the name of my aunt, and the cutie mark matched the name.”

“Well, as sure as I’m the Element of Honesty, she was telling the truth,” Applejack said.

“Then why did you pull me away from her?”

Applejack paused, grinding her hoof into the ground.  Her expression showed some discomfort over being caught.  But true to her Element, she replied truthfully.  “It’s just that there was something I didn’t like about her.  Something not honest, though I couldn’t put my hoof on it.”  She draped a foreleg over my withers and pulled me close.  “But family is important, even the family you don’t particularly care for.  If you want to connect with your blood relatives, you have my blessing.”

I nodded.  I think I’d like that.





We returned to the Seeds’ home that evening, just in time for another large dinner.  And we needed it.  We did a lot, made a lot of memories, but still didn’t find our cutie marks.  All in all, another typical crusade.

Babs remembered our discussions at the museum, and took us into the basement after dinner.  After some digging, she found a box with some old art supplies.

“Sorry it’s not much,” Babs said sheepishly.  Under the light of the lanterns, we surveyed a variety of brushes, and watercolor and tempera paints.  “We don’t have any easels or canvas, so I guess I’ll find some paper, and we can use the worktables.”

I chose the watercolors and set up a space on a worktable.  I chewed the brush as I thought about what to draw.  Perhaps one of the nicer homes I saw in Manehattan?

I pictured in my mind a stately manor, nestled among trees and hedges.  I started with broad strokes, capturing the lines of the house, then added browns and deep greens to outline the vegetation.

As far as social activities go, painting is a pretty poor choice, as it’s hard to talk with a brush in your mouth.  That didn’t stop Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle from having a conversation about that colt Scootaloo was challenging at the ice rink.  The foalish taunt “Scootaloo’s got a coltfriend” was clear, paintbrush in mouth or no.  Scootaloo grumbled, and attacked her painting with yet another color of tempera paint.

“How’s everypony doing?” Babs said.

“Almost done, just needs to be cooler,” Scootaloo quickly replied.

“I just can’t get it right,” Sweetie Belle moaned.

“It’s okay, I guess,” Apple Bloom said.

“I still feel like I have a lot to do,” I said.

We continued to paint, but before long, somepony finished.

“Done!” Scootaloo shouted, spitting out her brush with one final flourish.

“Let’s see what we have so far,” Babs suggested.

We first checked out Scootaloo’s finished painting.  I first noticed the six colors of paint at her station, so I wasn’t surprised by her subject.  “It’s Rainbow Dash doing a sonic rainboom!” she said.

“Pretty good job,” I said.  I knew painting ponies was particularly challenging, and she captured a pegasus in flight pretty well.  But the rainboom just looked like a splash of paint on the page.

“Well, I do have a lot of experience studying my subject,” she said.

“I’m trying to paint the Carousel Boutique, but it’s not working,” Sweetie Belle said.  We checked it out.  The cylindrical building was misshapen, and anypony who hadn’t seen the building before wouldn’t be able to identify the carousel ponies she had painted.

“I tried painting us at the seven-legged race,” Babs told Apple Bloom.

“Did you really have to paint us after we fell?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Well, we did spend a lot of time in the dirt,” Babs said.  Speaking of dirt, it was on her painting, but the perspective was off.  They looked more like they were flying than fallen.

“So let’s see yours, Diamond Tiara,” Apple Bloom said.

I looked at my painting, really looking at the details I had been adding to the building.  Now that I thought about it, they weren’t features of some building in Manehattan.  This painting looked a lot more like my old home in Ponyville, the one I had stared at when I visited Silver Spoon.  “I painted a building, but it ended up looking like my family’s old home,” I said.

“Got family on your mind?” Apple Bloom asked.

“I guess.  Now what about yours?” I replied.

We finally checked out Apple Bloom’s painting, again a painting of a building.  It was the barn, but the focus was on the freshly plowed field in the foreground.  “I guess I had the spring planting on my mind,” she said.

“That’s pretty good,” I said.  She really captured perspective in her painting, an aspect I utterly failed at.  And it makes sense she would paint the home that means so much to her.  Her home.  Our home.

I stared at the picture, in particular the field, as I stood in the Seeds’ basement.  What metaphorical seeds was I planting in the tilled field that was my new life?  What would bloom for me in this new year?