//------------------------------// // Surf // Story: The Unicorn and the Stranger // by PhycoKrusk //------------------------------// The next morning, after sunrise but not long after, Rarity completed her trek down the beach to Driftwood’s bungalow with markedly more confidence than she had the previous two days. Rather than a hat, she’d opted for the sunglasses she’d packed, while her flanks were partially covered by a small pair of saddlebags. She’d brought no other luggage, not seeing she’d have an occasion to need it, although she’d brought some makeup with her. Makeup that she was not wearing, with the sunglasses — oversized as they were — serving the secondary purpose of distracting from the fact that she was not. If she was to swim in the sea, there was no sense in putting in the work when it would be shortly washed away. She had still put some effort into her mane, of course; no sense in dispensing with effort completely, after all. On reaching the door, she raised her hoof and knocked, wondering the same thought she’d been wondering since she awoke and trying to puzzle out what sort of thing was ‘like’ swimming in the ocean. When Driftwood answered the door, Rarity observed that he looked already prepared for the day’s activities, a pair of red trunks with white trim covering his hindquarters — two white buttons on the side, she saw. With a happy smile, he welcomed her in, claiming breakfast would be ready shortly. Rarity deposited her saddlebags by the door and took a seat at the table while Driftwood finished mixing some concoction in a hoof-operated blender. The resulting green-colored elixir was drinkable, if not especially tasty, although Rarity’s opinion of it did not improve when it was revealed to contain raw eggs. By the time that had come to light, however, she’d already finished her glass, so there was nothing to be done for it. They chatted for a few minutes after that, although Driftwood was adamant about not revealing his plan for Rarity. Finally, he declared that it was time, and directed her attention to the door off the sleeping area; the washroom. “I’ll be waiting outside,” he added, before rising from the table and moving towards the front door. Eager to see what he had in mind, Rarity retrieved her bags and entered the washroom. Inside was very well lit, thanks to a large — for a one-pony washroom — window. The glass was frosted to prevent anything outside from getting an eyeful, but there were no curtains and no sink, only a bath tub to the left that, although it possessed a faucet and, presumably, hot water, was clearly not intended for soaking. Driftwood obviously did not spend more time in his washroom than was strictly necessary, and the lack of a toilet made it clear that he ‘roughed it’ as much as possible. Given his apparently frugal lifestyle, this itself seemed like a necessity, rather than a choice. Pushing the thought aside, she reached into her bag with her magic, bringing her shorts out a moment later. With a quick, practiced motion, she stepped into them, pulled them up over her hindquarters, and fastened the two buttons on the side. Unlike Driftwood’s trunks, which covered his hind legs down to the hock, Rarity’s sapphire blue shorts were cut much higher, exposing her legs in full and part of her haunches as well, her cutie mark partially visible. It was not the most modest bathing suit she could have worn, but hardly the most risqué either. Electing not to spend time considering the merits and demerits of her choice in bathing suits, she smoothed a few wrinkles from the material before exiting the washroom and then exiting the bungalow to look for Driftwood. She did not have to look for more than a moment before she saw him, but it wasn’t Driftwood that caught her eye immediately. Rather, it was the long, flat piece of polished wood — easily three pony-lengths from end to end — that was balanced across his back. She didn’t bother with trying to identify the type of wood, focused wholly on what it was even for. “What is that, exactly?” she asked. “This, dear Rarity, is a surfboard,” Driftwood replied, to which Rarity wrinkled her nose. “Do you expect me to ride it?” she asked, to which Driftwood nodded. “Not by yourself, obviously, but yes, I expect you to ride it,” he answered. When he observed the expression on Rarity’s face, he added, “You don’t seem convinced.” “I’m not convinced,” Rarity said. “At least, not convinced that this will help me. Perhaps if you could explain?” “What’s to explain?” Driftwood replied, resting one end of the surfboard on the sand. “Surfing sharpens the mind, focuses the soul, and invigorates the body. If you ask me, there’s no better exercise than that.” Rarity was even less convinced at that. “Exercise? Driftwood, I can’t say that I’m eager to sweat in front of a stallion I’ve only just met,” she said. “Rarity, what is sweat made of, primarily?” Driftwood asked suddenly. “Well, there are several components to it, I think, but if I recall, it’s predominantly salt water?” Rarity answered, unsure of herself. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” “What’s the ocean made of?” “Salt water….” Rarity trailed off, and then heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh, I suppose I see your point. If I’m to be covered in salt one way or the other, I may as well indulge you.” Still wearing a smile, Driftwood slid the surfboard across his back once again, and with precision that had to be practiced, turned around and walked with it out to the shallows. Once the board was floating happily, he held it steady while Rarity unsteadily climbed on, and then clambered on after her before paddling it out to deeper water. The waves were not small, but they were not enormous either, and the surf was calm. Driftwood seemed eager to capitalize on this fact, almost immediately turning and paddling them onto a swell that they easily rolled over the top of, barely moving forward at all, even if the sudden motion still caught Rarity off-guard. When they stopped moving, he would turn them around and paddle them back out — Rarity eventually assisting when she felt more stable on the board — and then drift over the top of another swell. After several minutes of nothing but that, Rarity finally thought to ask, “What are we doing, exactly?” “Warming up,” Driftwood replied. “But we’re finished with that for now.” Rarity hesitated for a moment. “What happens next?” she asked warily. “Next, we actually try to surf,” he said. In the next instant, he was turning the board around and paddling back out to deeper water. “The waves are pretty gentle today, so there shouldn’t be any difficulties there. I’ll handle all the steering and everything, so you don’t need to worry about that, OK?” “OK,” Rarity replied uncertainly. “The biggest risk here is that we might wipe out,” Driftwood said again. “But the water’s calm enough and I’m experienced enough that it shouldn’t happen, but I know what it feels like. If I tell you to jump, then I want you to jump off the board and to the right. Only to the right, and I’ll jump to the left, OK?” “OK,” Rarity replied uncertainly. A moment later, she felt a hoof resting on her back, and she turned to look back at Driftwood. “Everything will be fine,” he said with a glowing smile, and although she still felt uncertain about the whole adventure, her nerves settled. Turning her gaze forward again, Rarity helped Driftwood paddle both of them back to deeper water, turn around, and wait. After a minute had passed, she concluded that surfing involved a lot of waiting, although not because nothing was happening. There were plenty of waves, but many of them started breaking too close to shore and they weren’t able to catch them. Several more had seemed promising until Driftwood decided to let them pass underneath, before turning around and paddling back out to wait. “Not this one,” he would say. But finally, after what Rarity was certain was several minutes, she heard Driftwood start to paddle, and then start to paddle harder. “This one,” he said. When she felt the wave beginning to pick them up, Rarity chanced a nervous look over her shoulder. The moment that she did, Driftwood — who looked to be paying all his attention to what he was doing and none to her — suddenly pushed himself up to his hooves and immediately lurched to stand on his hind legs. The surfboard turned rapidly to the side as he did, and Rarity’s attention snapped forward again, her heart momentarily in her throat as she thought she’d slide into the ocean. True to Driftwood’s word, they did not ‘wipe out’, despite how swiftly they were moving along the water’s surface and despite the slightly rough ride that always felt just barely controlled to his passenger. Rarity let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding when they came to the shallows again and finally slowed down. Without wasting a moment, she sprung to her own hooves and jumped back onto solid ground, even as the water came up to her knees. Driftwood slid off the board and into the water much more sedately. “So, what did you think? Enjoy the ride?” he asked. “I think you should have given me warning,” Rarity answered. “Warning that we’d move so quickly, or that you intended to turn sharply and steer so erratically. I thought I would fall off for certain! And you’re asking me if I enjoyed it?” Driftwood continued to look at her, a smug grin on his face. “Did you?” he asked again. “Oh, so very much!” Rarity smiled brightly and clapped her hooves together in her excitement, flinging droplets of water into the air. “How we glided along the water. It reminded me of flying. The few times I have been at least. When I was being carried, I mean.” The longer she spoke, the more she calmed down, until she was doing nothing more but looking at Driftwood with a shy smile. “Perhaps we might go again?” Still wearing a smile of his own, Driftwood watched Rarity for a moment, all but basking in the small joy she felt. “As you wish,” he finally said, and with a few strokes through the water, he turned them around, and Rarity helped bring the surfboard back out to deeper water, and they continued to ride the waves until their stomachs demanded a proper breakfast.