Chapter 5: Origin
Red River coughed slightly as they walked. “Perhaps I should give a little background information on my homeland.
"The nation of Guoxia was one of the countries settled by ponies during the Great Upheaval, where they left their lands to flee the chilling cold of the windigos. A small group of unicorns stumbled upon a land full of fertile valleys and glorious mountains. It was the perfect place for them to settle into a new life, free of the strife brought on by their tormentors or the other tribes. However, the land that would become Guoxia was already inhabited.
"The natives were a race of creatures called Lungs. The Lungs are actually close cousins of dragons. However, rather than breathing fire, they breathe mist. They also have the capacity to summon storms to magically enrich the land and make it fertile. Thus, with their help the unicorns could settle in this land without the aid of earth ponies or pegasi. They built a thriving civilization, revering the Lungs as divine beings.
"Eventually, ponies from the other two tribes stumbled across this civilization. And while the unicorns who had settled it were initially hostile, at the behest of the Lungs, they ultimately settled together in something close to harmony. The details of that need not detain us at this juncture.
"In certain secluded places, ponies built temples and monasteries, places where they could seclude themselves to refine their souls and spirits. It is said that a healthy soul dwells in a sound body. So it is natural that many martial arts were born in such temples. They also became havens for scholars and the knowledge they bore, transforming them into places of learning. Many of Guoxia's nobility sent their foals to the temples in order to learn and grow, while the acolytes made journeys to neighboring towns to educate the ponies there.
"Temples were also the places where abandoned foals were left. They took in any foal, colt or filly, and would raise them until they were ready to venture out on their own. That is how I came to dwell at one of Guoxia's many temples...”
"Ya were abandoned?" gasped Apple Bloom, her eyes glistening as she stared up at Red River.
Red River nodded silently. Feeling a touch, he noticed Applejack gently nuzzling his neck. "Ah'm so sorry sugarcube." In spite of her newfound reservations about the stallion, it was hard not to sympathize with a pony who’d lost his parents, one way or another, particularly since Applejack was intimately familiar with that feeling (recent revelations about her father aside).
The stallion gave her a bemused look before laughing. "There's no need for you to get so worked up. I had a wonderful life at the temple. Granted, it was a life of austerity and discipline. But us orphans never wanted for love and affection. The abbot was a fine stallion, who saw us all as his own children. He often described us as gifts from heaven and said that the parents who deposited us on the temple steps had given up a donation better than any coin. As far as he was concerned, we were the temple's true treasure.
“Many temples had become centers of the martial arts, places where their learning flourished. Mine was no exception. The ponies of my temple specialized in arts revolving around pole-arms, the spear, the axe, the halberd. We all studied and practiced diligently. I worked hard, but was a long way from the top of my class. After all, it's difficult when your talent doesn't suit it...”
The practice hall was a vast, low-ceilinged room constructed from hardy wood. The floor had been polished until it shown and the fibers of wood felt as smooth as glass. Over a hundred ponies could fit comfortably in the room's confines, but it presently held only twenty-one. Twenty of the ponies were arranged in a lose circle around the center of the room, while the remaining one reclined on a cushion near the front, his sharp eyes surveying the assembled students, dressed in the loose white robes that designated them as novices.
"Red River. White Willow." The old abbot's voice spoke with firmness and authority that belied his advanced age. His wizened face betraying a hint of a smile as two of his pupils took the field.
The two colts faced one another, each one bearing a simple practice spear topped with a padded ball in the place of the blade. They were silent, watching each other from a short distance, neither even twitching in the slightest. One was an azure colt with a crimson mane. At this stage in his life, his flank remained unmarked. But he stood with a surety of purpose that stood in stark contrast with his young age. Across from him was a different looking pony. This young colt was a rare albino, a possible reason why he had been abandoned at the temple, possessing a coat, mane, and tail of vivid, pure white and eyes of brilliant gleaming red. His flank was tellingly decorated by an image of a spear, the more lethal variant of the practice weapons that the two colts now carried.
"Present!" snapped the abbot.
The two colts lowered their spears. The two weapons crossed, coming gently into contact just bellow their padded tips with a sharp clack. At that instant, the two colts drew back, assuming a starting position, leveling their spears at one another. Again, they went still.
"Begin!"
The colts sprang into motion in perfect synchronicity, their weapons whirling and blurring. The spears quested for their targets, thrusting, slashing and hissing as each fighter struck with tip, shaft and butt. The shafts collided with impacts that filled the air with the sound of clacking wood at such a frequency that it seemed a woodpecker had taken up residence in the room.
The match lasted a scant two-and-a-half minutes before it came to an abrupt halt. One of the participants lost his grip on his weapon, the sharp movements of his opponent wrenching the shaft from his fetlocks and sending the entire spear upwards. In a single swift followthrough, the opponent brought his weapon to a stop, its tip hovering a scant inch from the other colt's throat.
Red River twitched and smiled before exhaling gently and carefully. "I concede." At that same instant, his spear clattered back down to the floor.
The other colt, White Willow, grinned with a hint of smugness and drew his spear back from Red River, assuming a resting stance while they awaited the abbot's verdict. Not that it was in any doubt.
"The winner is White Willow," declared the old stallion tersely.
"So this White Willow fella was yer rival?" asked Applejack.
"Rival is not quite the word I would use," replied Red River somewhat sardonically, "After all, to be a rival, you have to actually be a threat to your opponent's position. No matter how hard I tried, I never had a chance of besting White Willow. The spear was his ‘special talent’ after all."
"But then why were you always fighting him?" asked Scootaloo, "It couldn't be any good if you were losing every time."
Red River chuckled and shook his head. "You're young yet. You'd be surprised to realize that defeat can teach you a great deal. In fact, defeat can teach you more than victory. It shows you your limits, which allows you to overcome them. It also teaches humility, reminding us that, however far we've come, there is still far yet to go. Only a pony who has internalized such truths can truly reach the pinnacle of skill and understanding. In other words, you can only truly master something if you have the heart of a loser, so to speak."
"Heart of a loser?" Sweetie Belle eyed the azure stallion dubiously, "Are you sure you're okay mister?"
Even Applejack was giving Red River a perplexed look, not sure she was liking the notion of what Red River was saying. The stallion merely grinned and continued his tale.
"It's not as easy a philosophy as it sounds. And, in spite of the name, it doesn't mean giving up. I certainly never gave up. I challenged him many times and lost every time. But I felt that I learned more from those battles than all the hours I spent practicing and training alone."
"Where does your cutie mark come into this?" asked Sweetie Belle.
"Ah that," replied Red River, "Flower arrangement was a hobby I worked on in my spare time. It was something the abbot taught me, a way to clear my mind and focus my soul, gaining quiet serenity from the hustle and bustle of everyday life..."
"Another bout another loss," said White Willow as he settled his spear onto its rack, "Shouldn't you just give up already, you're never going to beat me."
Red River gave his friend a slight smile. While they had been raised in the temple together and, indeed, considered each other to be friends, he often found White Willow's air of smug superiority to be...grating. "I do not require victory. I learn a great deal from our matches."
The albino colt let out a derisive snort. "I've never figured out that philosophy of yours. I don't get it. What good does it do to lose all the time?"
Red River shrugged. "That is difficult to explain to someone who has always been a winner. Someday, when you experience defeat, you might come to understand it."
With a nicker and a toss of his head, White Willow turned and trotted to the door. "Yeah right! I'm not gonna lose in a million years." His chortling laughter faded into the distance as the temple's top student took his leave.
With a sigh, Red River returned his weapon to its rack before retreating to his private quarters. They were austere, as a temple residence could be expected. A simple roll of fabric sat in one quarter. Unrolled into a mattress, it served as his bed. Aside from a few toiletries, Red River's only other possession sat in a small niche in the wall opposite his door. A simple bowl, resting on a tray, held yesterday's arrangement. With soft, delicate movements, Red River plucked the stems and buds of the day-old flowers and munched contemplatively upon them as he pondered the now empty vessel.
His afternoon snack finished, Red River left for the temple gardens to gather flowers to use in that day’s arrangement. Returning, he took a deep breath and emptied his mind, using a deft hoof, he began to carefully place the stems in the bowl. Lifting up a stem adorned by several small buds along its length, he contemplated it carefully. Strangely, Red River found that it resembled his spear...
"That was the catalyst, I believe," said the stallion as he and Applejack pulled the cart into the barn. Unhitching themselves, the two adult ponies moved to sit on a pair of hay bales while the foals arranged themselves in a loose arc in front of them to continue listening.
"So you saw your spear's shape in the flower's stem," remarked Dawn, speaking for the first time since Red River started sharing his story, "In other words, by practicing your arrangements, you felt as though you were gaining insight into wielding the spear."
Red River nodded. "That much is true. It wasn't a direct correlation. It's not as though I came up with some technique based off a flower arrangement. Rather, as I worked, I couldn't help but feel that wielding the spear, how it is held and how it is thrust, was a form of arrangement not unlike what I did in the bowl with my flowers. Taking it further, I realized that in the flow of battle, how I placed myself, my position and my stance, affected and controlled how my enemy responded to me. Just as a simple, tiny change in a masterful flower arrangement can alter the atmosphere of a room, so too could the tiniest change in how I held myself could transform the flow of battle.
"So I practiced. I ran through various forms, tested many positions and stances to consider how my opponent would respond to them. My countless defeats by White Willow helped me immensely as I was able to see how his spear moved clearly in my mind's eye. For nearly a month, I worked tirelessly on developing my arrangements. And at the end of that time, I put them into practice..."
"Present!"
White Willow smirked across at Red River, who merely returned an impassive gaze. The two lowered and crossed their spears as expected, retracting them into the ready position. Both colts waited patiently for the call.
"Begin!" snapped the abbot, his eyes watching the pair warily. As expected, White Willow was in top form. But something was off with Red River. At the signal to begin, White Willow snapped into motion, striking out with his spear. Abruptly, he halted his attack as his forward lunge nearly got his neck struck by the extended point of Red River's spear, the azure colt having used the thrust to slide his grip all the way back to the butt of the weapon, extending his reach beyond White Willow's. As it was, the albino's spear paused several inches away from the tip of Red River's muzzle.
Caught off-guard, White Willow retreated to avoid giving the Red River the chance to capitalize on his pause. However, Red River did not press, but instead assumed a new, somewhat unorthodox stance. Red River crouched low, his belly nearly scraping the floor as his fetlock held the spear steady, pointed upwards at an angle towards White Willow.
The albino colt hesitated, unused to the change in dynamics. Their bouts had always been brief, but fierce bursts of motion in which the two fighters continuously exchanged blows and counters in an attempt to gain the upper hoof. This strange stillness after the fight had already begun was a foreign sensation to him. "What are you doing?" he demanded as he maneuvered to try and find an advantageous position, "Are you going to fight or are you just going to sit there and pose all day?"
In response, Red River shifted his stance, adjusting his position and the point of his spear. White Willow did the same in response, shifting his spear to keep it in position to counter Red River's. Red River shifted again and White Willow followed suit. Slowly, step by step, the two colts worked through a variety of positions like some sort of stilted dance, with Red River leading. White Willow's patience was on the verge of running out. He considered rushing forwards to attack, but the end of the battle came sooner than he expected it.
Before White Willow had realized it, he suddenly noticed that, in responding to Red River's movements one after another, he had inadvertently shifted into an awkward position that made it impossible for him to respond quickly to the coming attack. When Red River thrust forward, White Willow rushed to get his spear into position to parry, only his grip was loose due to the awkward position. His weapon was knocked clear of his fetlock, sending the spear flying through the air. In another instant, Red River moved in and placed the padded tip of his weapon at White Willow's throat.
The silence was deafening. Nopony even noticed White Willow's spear clatter to the floor, all eyes having been fixed on the two colts in a position the reverse of countless bouts before. Never before had White Willow been in defeated. He had fought countless other students, many of them senior and superior to Red River, and had yet never lost.
"The victor is Red River," announced the abbot after a long and uncomfortable moment. White Willow hadn't uttered a word, much less conceded his defeat. It was a glaring breech in etiquette. But nopony said anything. The outcome was so staggering that they didn't even notice until the abbot had spoken.
White Willow did not concede, even after the abbot's announcement. Instead he glared angrily at Red River, who had withdrawn his weapon. "This wasn't a fair battle!" he protested, "I wasn't prepared!"
"You were lax," agreed the abbot, "But victory is victory and defeat is defeat. In real battle, that laxness would have ended with your corpse on the ground."
"In real battle there was no way I would have lost!" yelled White Willow, pointing an accusing hoof at the other colt, "How could I lose to somepony I've put into the ground a hundred times over?"
"In true battle, though you may seize victory a thousand times," said the sage stallion, "You need only taste the bitterness of defeat once to lose everything. Because you fail to understand this, you lowered your guard and were defeated."
White Willow slammed an angry forehoof into the floor with enough force to make his weapon jump. In a single smooth movement, he scooped up the weapon and leveled it back at Red River. "We will fight again and I will show that your victory was just an illusion."
Red River directed a questioning glance at the abbot, who gave him a subtle nod. "Very well."
"Present!" snapped the abbot. The two colts crossed their spears and returned to the ready position. However, White Willow's movements were sharp and impatient, betraying his irritation at losing.
"Begin!"
Again, White Willow sprang into motion, surging forward to attack. This time, he intended to seize the initiative and not give Red River the time he needed to get into position. There would be no slow awkward exchange of positions and stances. Instead, White Willow would overwhelm his opponent with the ferocity of his attacks.
However, Red River wasn't so easily beaten. Instead, he positioned his spear to cut off White Willow's line of approach, forcing him to shift his position to attack. But in doing so, he exposed himself and Red River lunged forward with a swift thrust of his own, forcing the albino colt to parry clumsily and stumble back. Several times, White Willow attempted to advance, only to have his approach stymied by a well-placed spear before he was forced to retreat from another lightning-fast strike.
Yet again, the state of affairs was different from the typical whirling clashes the colts had engaged in in the past. Red River's movements were carefully calculated to disrupt White Willow's rhythm, making him unable to shift into a sequence of attacks that would give him a decisive advantage against the azure colt.
Once again, the tipping point in the battle came abruptly. This time, as White Willow advanced, he anticipated the placement of Red River's spear. Striking with the shaft of his own weapon, White Willow attempted to knock the offending pole-arm aside and close in. However, Red River responded by stepping aside, using the force of impact to aid his movement as he shifted his own position, allowing him to continue to keep the spear between him and White Willow, who had advanced into his attack only to find that his target was no longer where it was supposed to be. This time, when Red thrust, White Willow found himself in a bad position, having to retreat in an awkward direction, his legs crossing, causing him to stumble. Again, White Willow brought his spear around in an awkward parry. But, as in the last bout, the poor positioning meant that his grip wasn't strong enough and the weapon was quickly knocked away, leaving him vulnerable. With nary an instant of hesitation, Red River placed the tip of his weapon at White Willow's throat.
Silence descended on the practice hall once again as the assembled students stared in awe at the seemingly impossible outcome. White Willow was frozen in shock, his eyes not even regarding Red River as he contemplated the fact that he had been beaten the second time in a row. His mental processes ground to a halt, leaving the albino colt completely unable to formulate a response.
For the second time that day, it was the abbot who broke the silence. "The victor is Red River."
The abbot's words finally snapped White Willow out of his daze. Heedless of the fact that Red River had not yet withdrawn his spear, White Willow fixed the other colt with a heated glare. "We aren't finished here! I don't know what cheap tricks you've come up with, but I will overcome them! Prepare for the next bout!"
"Enough!" The abbot's voice broke through the tension like a cracking whip, "Today's session is over."
"But Master!" exclaimed White Willow.
"White Willow! Return to your quarters at once and meditate upon your loss today." The abbot fixed his best student with a stern glare. "Perhaps if you reflect upon it, you may actually comprehend how it occurred."
"But..."
"Now!"
The finality in the abbot's tone quelled even White Willow's blazing temper. With a leaden, disappointed look, he recovered his weapon and moved to hang it on its rack. As he did, the abbot turned his stern gaze on Red River, who waited patiently.
"Red River. I will see you in my quarters immediately."
The azure colt bowed his head in acknowledgment before going to stow his weapon as well. That having been done, he followed the abbot to his quarters. The elderly stallion bid his young student to sit while he prepared some tea. Having set out the cups, the two ponies acknowledged each other before drinking deeply. Savoring the flavor of his drink, Red River let out a contented sigh before setting his cup down and eyeing the abbot. "You wished to speak to me Father?" In the practice hall, the abbot was the Master and their chief instructor. But everywhere else on the temple grounds, he was the Father, the pony who had raised them all from foals, whose love had enabled them to learn and grow into the ponies they were today.
"Indeed Red River," said the abbot with a solemn tone, "Today was a day of great accomplishment for you. However, it saddens me as well." Setting down his cup, the old pony let out a long sigh. "I'm afraid that today will have to be your last at the temple."
"What the hay!" exclaimed Apple Bloom, tensing angrily, "Ya mean to say that, after ya finally won and beat yer rival and all that, the first thing that ole' coot said to ya was to hit the road?" The other Cutie Mark Crusaders shared Apple Bloom's look of indignation. Even Applejack looked agitated at the notion that Red River's accomplishment had actually gotten him thrown out of his home.
Red River grinned and shook his head. "The abbot was simply doing the best thing he could for me. Let me finish my story and you'll understand."
"Leave?" Red River could scarcely believe the abbot's words.
The old stallion nodded slowly. "Yes. Those techniques you used in your bouts today. I did not teach them to you." That last part was definitely not a question.
"No," admitted Red River, "They were something I came up with while meditating upon my arrangements."
To his surprise, the abbot gave him an approving grin. "They were well done, if a little limited in their application. Your victory was in two parts today. First, your new techniques allowed you to play your strengths to their greatest advantage. Secondly, you knew your opponent better than probably any other pony in this temple.
"Those countless bouts and defeats against White Willow slowly but surely piled up like detritus on the forest floor. Your experience against him allowed you to understand how he would react and, through that, allowed you to control his reactions to your actions to your advantage. Against any other pony, you would not have met with such success. It shows that your technique is still in its infancy, but quite sound in its foundation, if that mark on your flank is anything to go by."
Red River blinked in confusion before turning to look of her his shoulder at his flank. Sure enough, emblazoned upon it was a purple iris, blooming proudly. He couldn't take his eyes away from it. When had his cutie mark emerged? He couldn't remember. Had it been when he had first conceived of the new way of wielding the spear? Or had it been during his bout with White Willow? Whatever the case, Red River knew he was no longer a blank flank. More importantly, he began to ponder his mark and its meaning.
"I suspect that, once you refine your skills and methodology, you will create a new form of spear-wielding that could become legendary. Sadly, you cannot continue your studies here."
"Why is that?" asked Red River, turning his gaze back to the abbot.
"Your mark shows that you were not meant to be constrained by a single rigid school," replied the elderly pony, "To be honest, White Willow has unmatched talent. Before long, I intend to name him the heir to the secrets of my school. His skills are technically perfect, but his development is unbalanced. Your growth seemed slower, but the results are clear. You have worked to develop the whole of your Self. That is what allowed you to triumph today against White Willow, who has focused solely on the technical aspects of my school. However, today he has learned the most critical lesson needed in order to advance into true mastery. Once he realizes that, he shall become a peerless master of my school. But you...you shall realize your full potential in the world beyond these walls.
"Do not think of this as punishment for defeating my prized pupil, because it is not. Rather, you have graduated beyond my ability to teach. It will be up to you to continue to cultivate your skills. Seek the world my son. Gather experiences and use every one of them to further your understanding of the martial arts." The old earth pony got to his hooves and lurched over to the wall of the room, where a selection of weapons were hung. Reaching up, he pulled one off the wall. "I have never been so proud of you in all my days, and you have given me plenty of reasons to be proud. Take this spear as my parting gift and a sign of my regard."
Red River bowed his head, blinking away tears as he reached out to take the spear from the abbot. "I am honored Father."
The abbot smiled and rested a gentle hoof on the colt's shoulder. "Remember, no matter where you roam, you are always my son and I love you with all my heart."
Choking back a sob, Red River nodded. "Thank you father."
"And that was that," concluded Red River, "I left the temple the next day. I spent many years traversing Guoxia, continuing to hone my skills. I participated in bouts in several other temples, as well as dedicated schools. I lost frequently at first. But with each battle, I gained further insight and experience. Eventually I met Storm Front and the two of us began to travel together. After two years, we found work as caravan guards, using that to travel across Saddle Arabia along the Silk Road, we immigrated into Equestria and made new lives for ourselves here. And that is where you find me today." The stallion spread his arms wide with a flourish, indicating an end to his story.
Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Rumble stared up at the stallion in unabashed fascination, having been swept up in his tale. Dawn regarded Red River with increased respect, while Applejack covertly tried to wipe tears out of her eyes. Only Scootaloo seemed vaguely put out.
"I don't get it," she said finally, "What does your cutie mark have to do with all of this?"
"Weren't ya listenin'?" snapped Apple Bloom, "He got his cutie mark when he beat that other colt in a fight."
"But his cutie mark is a flower," protested the pegasus filly, "What the hay does that have to do with fighting?"
"What does it have to do with fighting?" Not wanting to see her friends fight, Sweetie Belle took the opportunity to pose the question to Red River directly.
Red River gave Sweetie Belle an amused grin. "That depends. In a sense, you could say I found my special talent when I discovered inspiration in my flower arrangements. I taught myself a new way to wield the spear, based off the principles I practiced during my exercise."
"But what's your special talent?" pressed Rumble, “You’re story doesn’t make it sound like it was moving flowers around.”
Red River sighed. "I never truly understood why you Equestrians get so hung up over that. I've always thought that 'special talent' was a very poor choice of name for what a cutie mark represents."
"What do ya mean?" asked Apple Bloom.
A long stare met her remark. "A special talent...In other words, the notion that your cutie mark represents one thing that you are good at." Red River sighed. "Do you really believe that something so important could represent something so trivial?"
Five jaws hit the floor in unison. Only Dawn showed a significant lack of reaction, instead reflecting that he had heard something similar from his Master.
Red River continued. "In Guoxia, we had a different name for what a cutie mark represents. I used the term 'special talent' in my story because it is what you Equestrians are used to referring to it as. And indeed, there are many in Guoxia who view it in a similar light. But the abbot taught us another way of thinking about it. He said that what our cutie marks represent is not some specific talent, but rather they represent the passion that lies at the core of our very beings. It is the animus of our souls, from which we draw the truest expression of our Selves, True Will."
"Ah don't quite get it," admitted Applejack softly.
Red River gave the orange mare a bright grin, making her blush. "You of all ponies should have an understanding of this. I thought the story of how you got your cutie mark was one of the best examples of this philosophy."
Taken aback, Applejack blinked. "How so?"
"You once told me you got your cutie mark when you returned from Manehatten and realized that this farm and this family were where you belonged, correct?" Applejack nodded. "In other words, while one might normally interpret your cutie mark as representing your natural talent as an apple farmer, the way you acquired it instead demonstrates that what it truly represents, the driving passion of your heart." Red River's grin softened. "It's a mark of love. It represents the love you have for your farm, for your family and everything they represent. That's not a talent. That's not 'something you're good at.' It's your center, the root of your sense of self, from which you derive your direction in life. That's what a cutie mark represents."
Standing up, Red River waved his audience back away from him. In a swift movement, he drew his spear and snapped it out to its full length. "'What does my cutie mark have to do with my spear?' you ask. The answer is everything." As he spoke, he began to move, spinning and twisting his spear, its motions gaining speed with each sentence. "I have based my stances off of the shape of my arrangements. I see a battle as a matter of positioning and placing myself, my spear, and my opponent." His weapon moved like a living entity in its own right, spinning and whirling until it became a blur. The wind of its passage swept the loose hay lining the barn floor into the air.
"Even in mundane activities, my 'special talent' comes into play. When I sell produce and products at the market, I use the insight of my experience to arrange them much like I would my flowers, using shape and color to draw the eye, attract attention, and increase appeal. And that's only the beginning of what's possible." Red River's body was almost completely obscured by the whirlwind of hay around him as his audience looked on with wide eyes. "A 'special talent' is not something as trivial as something you are simply good at. It is what you make of it. It can be as tiny and insignificant as a speck of dust, or it can be so vast as to encompass all of creation." Red River finished his form by swinging his spear in a powerful horizontal arc, creating a blast of wind that made the ponies watching him shield their eyes as they were pelted by hay.
Recovering her composure, Apple Bloom stared in undisguised awe at the azure stallion. "So, are ya sayin' that even when we get our cutie marks, we don't have to be locked into one thing fer the rest 'o our lives."
Resting the butt of his spear against the ground, Red River favored her with a grin. "Does the fact that a compass needle only points north keep you from using it to navigate in any direction you choose? That's all a cutie mark is. It's a point of reference, a place from which we start. Once you find that, once you have that starting point, the full extent of your potential will unfold before you and you will realize the truth."
"What truth is that?" asked Scootaloo.
Red River settled back into a seated position. With his free forehoof, he pointed heavenwards. "That you are infinite. A cutie mark is where you start. But you are free to go as far as you want. Finding your cutie mark is merely the beginning."
"So by using a cutie mark as your guide," observed Dawn quietly, "All things become possible."
"Indeed," replied Red River with an approving nod.
Silence descended on the barn, now that the energetic voices of the foals were no longer there to fill it with their zest for life. In all that silence, the barn was not yet totally unoccupied. Two grown ponies sat silently, each alone with their own thoughts. Red River leaned back, smiling in a relaxed manner, clearly indulging in memories of his past experiences. On the other hoof, Applejack's manner was far more pensive, as though she had learned something heavy. A worry gnawed at her heart and ultimately compelled her to ask the stallion beside her.
"Say, Red River?"
"Yes?" Abandoning his reverie, Red River turned and favored Applejack with a smile.
She couldn't quite bring herself to meet his eyes as she spoke. "Ya said ya lived by movin' around from place to place. Did ya like that kinda life?"
Red River's expression softened and he turned his eyes to the ceiling. "I did. It was an enjoyable existence, roaming from place to place, always acquiring new experiences. It was what I needed to truly grow. I gained so much from that lifestyle."
"So..." Applejack hesitated, still unable to look at him. "So if ya like that way 'o livin' so much, does that mean yer gonna move on someday?"
"Move on..." Red River's voice trailed off as he considered it. "I suppose. I'm only here for the job after all. Once Storm Front and I are no longer needed, I suspect that we will return to the road and seek out new places." It had come so naturally to him that Red River had never considered the question of if he would be leaving.
"So that's it then?" asked Applejack, sniffling, "One day, yer just gonna up and leave and it's gonna be like y'all were never here to begin with. It'll be like we never met." A tear slowly ran down her cheek and dropped silently, darkening the dirt floor of the barn.
Red River returned his thoughts to the open road and the question of where his next wanderings would take him. To his surprise, he felt a tug on his mind, as though something were pulling him away from thoughts of his future travels. Deciding that he needed to clear his thoughts, Red River got to his hooves and made his way out of the barn. Applejack watched him go, but was unable to make herself follow.
Granny Smith smiled contentedly as she reclined in her chair, sipping slowly from the mug of cider cradled in her foreleg. The day was waning. In the distance, she could hear the chatter of foals as the Cutie Mark Crusaders made their way along to make the most of their remaining free time for the day. However, one of them peeled away from the group and slowly made his way over to her.
Dawn came up close and bowed slightly to her, the action hampered somewhat by the bandages wrapped around his body. “Miss Smith,” he said softly.
“Call me Granny sugarcube,” said the old mare with a chortle, “Ain’t no reason to be standin’ on ceremony with me.” She regarded Dawn with a careful eye for a moment. “Yer not wound so tight anymore Ah see.”
“I suppose not,” Dawn admitted.
“Better, but still not quite there yet,” remarked Granny, “Ya need to make yerself weaker. Ya may not be in danger of snappin’ no more, but yer still too hung up on keepin’ a lid on yerself.”
“I thought a lack of control was the source of my problem.”
“It ain’t that ya weren’t tryin’,” said Granny, “Ya were just tryin’ too hard to keep a lid on it all. Once ya learn to let it all go, the rest’ll come just as natural as water runnin’ downhill.”
Dawn blinked, still not sure that he understood what the old mare was talking about. He decided to come to his original reason for approaching her. “I wanted to thank you.”
“Fer what?”
“What Red River and Storm Front did, it was your idea, wasn’t it?”
That drew another cackle from the Apple Family matron. “Most ponies would think ya’d taken one too many knocks to the head if yer thankin’ me for that.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Dawn, “But in the end, I feel that you saved me from myself, from falling into something that I would regret for the remainder of my life, from snapping, as you put it.”
“Well, Ah just put the idea out there. Both them stallions that carried it out knew what Ah was talkin’ about. After all, they’ve been through it too.”
“They have?” Dawn raised a confused eyebrow.
“Darn tootin’. Ah actually had to go through it mahself. Lots ‘o ponies that follow the Way end up at some point where they come to a bad place. They ain’t all like you, with yer emotions all in a twist ‘cause of the abuse ya’ve suffered. Some’re crushed by fear ‘o dyin’, others get all arrogant and stop carin’ about what it means to take a life. In any case, one ‘o the most surefire ways ‘o gettin’ a pony to take a good, long, hard look at herself is to make her face death and find out what it really means to kill or be killed. A colt like you, who’s just suffered too much already, don’t deserve that kind ‘o treatment. But, by Celestia, did ya need it.”
“Again, even though it was a rather rough treatment, thank you,” said Dawn.
“Ya don’t have to thank me sugarcube,” said Granny Smith, “Ah owed it to ya to help ya, especially after what mah granddaughter put ya through. Ah always was a bit too soft on mah family. Ah never really did try hard enough to get those fool notions out’a Valencia’s head. ‘O course, Ah can’t do all that much about the family that lives out in those places. Most ‘o them listen to me when Ah have somethin’ to say. But to others, Ah’m just some old mare who’s too stubborn to die.
“Besides, we’re fellow travelers. Ah think it’d be only natural to want to help ya, even if Ah wasn’t doin’ ya any favors in the way Ah helped ya.”
For a moment, Granny Smith paused, mulling something over in her head. “Ah suppose ya want me to come clean with yer ma.”
Dawn’s ears actually lowered. “I think, perhaps, we should leave things where they are. I know she respects you a great deal and I wouldn’t want to undermine that.”
“Ya talk like Ah deserve respect fer what Ah did,” Granny pointed out.
“Besides,” countered Dawn, “It seems as though your own family is unaware of...certain aspects of your life. I don’t know why, but I assume it may be for the best to keep it that way.”
The elderly mare snorted. “It ain’t that big ‘o deal anymore. But Ah’d thank ya if that was the decision ya did make. It’s more tradition than anythin’ else.”
“Tradition?”
“Just one last thing ‘o mah own to take with me once Ah go to mah grave. Ain’t nothin’ mah kin need be bothered with.”
Dawn nodded slowly. Granny smiled at him one more time. “Off with ya whippersnapper. Yer too young to waste anymore ‘o the day with an old bat like mahself.”
The ebony colt nodded and turned to trot off. Granny Smith smiled sedately as she watched him go. “He’s gonna go places that one.”