Silver Lining vs. Haystacks - by Silver Lining's Author
Haystacks had a good day.
However it was not a good day due to him completing his chores or setting up the fields for the next harvest. It was simply a good day because he was outside, enjoying the tranquil outdoors. A good day because he is in the place he belonged. His trust old cart trudged along quietly, freshly oiled from a generous pony who helped when his cart broke down. He doubted that would happen in a busy city like Canterlot or Manehatten.
His thoughts were interrupted, as his eyes noticed a fork in the path. While usually he took the forward route back to his home. Haystacks decided to take the scenic route, he felt he earned it after all the hard effort he did today. Taking the unkempt road, he ventured down to, in his knowledge, a park.
The scenic path turned out for the best, as Haystacks remembered he use to play around this area a lot during his colthood, especially in the park. Petal Linings and Eclipse Celebration were his best friends; is such a shame he doesn’t know what happened to them. Maybe they moved to some stuffy city someplace else.
Clank
Haystacks froze, he knew exactly what that sound was and it bothered him a lot. Looking back, one of the cart’s wheel had snapped off (again). He gave a defeated sigh, as he realised he didn’t have the proper equipment to make a hasty repair. Thankfully the cart was empty so unless there are some cart thieves around (on which he doubted), it was relatively safe to leave it here and find some help. The park was the nearest area where ponies might be so he re-adjusted his hat and the hay stalk in his mouth in an accepted fashion. He gave one last look at his cart before bolting away to the park.
To Haystacks’ dismay, the park was absolutely empty (or so he thought). He scanned the area until he saw a small blue pony, sitting on a bench underneath an oak tree. Thinking he or she might be helpful to his cause, he set of a brisk pace towards the bench-sitter.
As he got closer to the pony (the mare he corrected himself), he started noticing features that are not common in this town. Her coat colours have an unusual tone to it compared to most other ponies in this town, consisting of shades of blue. While he did meet some residents whose hair were a shade of blue, he never met anyone that looked like she dropped from the sky. He then noticed the pair of appendages on her sides. Wings.
Pegasi were an uncommon race among these part, the occasional few dropping in for a quick night stay before leaving again. However, in all of the times Haystacks spent living here, this Pegasus was the first Pegasus filly in this area he ever saw. He was only around a few metres when he stopped, the Pegasus filly had cried. He could tell by her puffy eyes and the slight shine on cheeks as the light bounced off them.
Haystacks debated inside if whether to talk to her or leave her alone. She seemed young as her small stature showed it but leaving someone alone with their thoughts is a sign of respect. Disregarding respect, he made up his mind and decided to talk to her.
“Hello? Are you alright?” he asks cautiously. The filly seemed to have been in deep thoughts, as she snapped out her daze.
“Ah! Who’s there?” she yelled, looking around as if something was going to grab her. She noticed Haystacks presence, giving a wary smile and scooting back a bit on the bench.
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering if you knew someone that might be able to repair my cart.” He said, pointing a hoof in the general I came from. She looked at him blankly, making Haystacks feel like he just said something wrong. “Oh right, my name is Haystacks and our family’s farm is a few kilos away from here, what’s your name?”
That question seemed to get rid of her blank look. “Um… my name is Silver Lining and I am just visiting my aunt here?” she answered doubtfully, a bit of confusion was shown on her face.
Haystacks figured she was hiding something, perhaps it was personal, perhaps she did something wrong. A question still lingered in his mind, a simple one, brought up when he first saw her. Why is she here?
“Can I ask a question?” he asked, the filly looked back at him, if unsure on what to do. He gave her some time to answer.
Silver Lining was in a turmoil, she had always been a good filly, (although a little airheaded caused her to get in trouble occasionally, she never did anything wrong purposely). She always dutifully followed her older brother’s advice, however there was one advice that stood out the most. Stranger Danger, and yet as she was confronted with a stranger, she didn’t know what to do. Maybe for this time, this stranger could answer some of her own questions. He generally seemed and looked like a nice pony.
“Err, sure… if I can… ask some of my questions?” Silver Lining replied, though less courage than she expected.
Haystacks gave a warm smile, he pointed with his hoof to the bench. A spot right next where she was sitting. Silver Lining gave a slow nod, giving the gesture that he can sit down. He walked over, sitting down with a content sigh.
“Today has been a busy day, moving the fields, helping Ol’ Wrangle put his cattle back. A little cloudy but nevertheless a sunny day. Oh right, heh, my question. Do you anyone that might be able to fix a broken cart wheel?”
“My mum can but… she is a little busy right now”
“Oh that’s alright” he said, getting up from his spot. “Well nice to meet you Miss-“
“Wait! You haven’t answer my questions!” Silver Lining shouted causing Haystacks to halt in his tracks.
“Oh sorry, Silver Lining was it?”
“Yeeup, but… you can call me Silver, everyone does”
“Alright” Sitting down on the bench, “What are your question Silver?”
A quiet pause, silent enough to hear the cicadas chirping away. “My parents,” She started. “They have been fighting a lot and now I can’t see my dad in Cloudsdale anymore. So I had to move to Manehattan, I tried asking my mum what happened but all she says ‘It’s over’ or something like that. I don’t even know what to do anymore. Can you help me?” Tears formed around her blue eyes, pleading Haystacks on whatever means to help her.
“I think… I know what’s going on Silver, your parents are going through, I’m sorry to say this, a divorce.”
“A divorce? What is that?”
“A divorce is when… how do you do put this, is when your parents don’t love each other and they want to stay apart”
“Don’t love each other… Stay apart? Wait, does they don’t love me too? I don’t want that, I want my parents to stay together!” She bawled, tears now fully running down her face. Silver felt something wrapping around, something warm and soft… and smelt too much of dirt.
“Hey, it’s alright. No need to cry,” he said gently.
“But-“
“Shh, now are you going to keep crying or are you going to do something?”
Silver looked up at him. “But what can I do?” Haystacks left her go and turned to face the sky, the look of reminiscence on his face.
“When I was younger, my mother used to get sick a lot and sometimes it seemed like she was dying. My dad and I both knew that wasn’t going to happen but we were still worried. One night, she really seemed like she was not going to make it, we called the local doctors over and there was nothing they could do about it. My mum either battled it through the night or death.”
“My dad got real upset about that, but he was a stallion who can keep face. That’s what I thought when I was younger until I found him one night, staring into starry night skies, tears dropping off from his cheeks. Sadness was a tough thing to deal with and knowing my dad was probably going through a rough night. So I did I could do, I gave my dad one of the biggest hug I could do for my age.”
“Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this Silver. Divorce is never a good thing, and it always has one thing, sadness. Your mother and dad might be in their saddest days of their lives, fear and doubt on what to do. Just like we felt on that night.
“Oh, so I should give them a really big hug?” questioned Silver.
“Well… alright that works.”
“But, I don’t even know my dad is and my mum is always in her room. She hardly ever comes out like they… abandoned me or something.”
“Silver, do you know much your parents love you?”
“I… don’t know”
“What’s your favourite food?” asked Haystacks.
“What, huh? Well, cotton candy of course! They’re so fluffy and soft and really yummy.” She announced with great enthusiasm. “They also look like pink clouds.”
“And love it a lot?”
Silver gave a quick nod.
“Image your love for cotton candy and times that by all the stars in the night sky. That is how much your parents love you.”
“Wow that is… a lot” responded Silver.
“Silver, even if your parents don’t like each other, that doesn’t mean they don’t love you.”
Another silence filled the air. The horizon coloured with fiery hues as the sun lowered itself for the night. Haystacks looked at Silver and noticed she seemed more relaxed. The skies were indeed cloudy, with some cirrus clouds lazily floating by.
“I noticed your name fits a certain idiom,” said Haystacks, breaking the silence.
“Really? People mentioned that but I never knew what it meant.”
“The idiom ‘Every cloud has a silver lining’ means that something good can be made from a bad thing” explained Haystacks.
“Wow that sounds really awesome, so if I drop my ice cream, I can make something good from that?”
“Well no, but I think you’ll find out soon. Now shouldn’t you be off back your place? It’s nearly sundown and your mother might be worried sick about you.”
With a sudden realization, Silver Lining jumped from her seat. “Horsefeathers! I need to go, thanks for the chat Mister!”
“Before you go Silver, what’s your parents’ names?”
“Um, my dad’s name is Aerial Chaser and my mum’s is Petal Lining, why do you ask Mister Haystacks?”
“…oh? Nothing, if your mother ask where you were, just tell Haystack kept you company.”
“Sure thing! Cya later Mister!” With a quick farewell she launched off and flew over the tree lines, before vanishing in sight.
Haystacks woke up with a screaming rooster. Groggily rising from his sleep, he went into the kitchen, his dad working on making some breakfast. Sitting down, he found a tiny note, its bordered marked with tiny petals.
“Dad, why is there a note on the kitchen table?”
“A unicorn mare gave it to me this morning, something about helping her filly and repairing the cart or something. Honestly I was more surprised a unicorn decided to help some Earth Ponies. She did look familiar however…” he rambled, ranting about how stuffy unicorns should stay in those complication cities.
The note said in stylish writing, “Thanks for helping out! P.S Your cart wheel should be fixed now! Signed, Petal Lining.
Haystack laid back on his seat taking a sip for his favourite tea.
Today is a going to be a good day.
Haystacks vs. Silver Lining - by Haystacks' Author
It's a warm summer night. Haystacks and I meander our way through the attractions, bearing from tent to tent like two lazy bees.
The village carnival only came once a year, he said. I was more than willing to see it myself. It'd been a while since I'd even bothered to think of having fun. It was Haystacks' idea to go together, though, and I was admittedly concerned at first. Hadn't I'd already imposed on my host enough?
A cider tasting tent was mentioned. Haystacks went on at length about the neighbour's incredible pumpkin pies and fritters and milkshakes and sandwiches and sautees. My stomach gets growling. Food and drink are two very serious incentives - ones that shut me up pretty quickly. There's something about the taste of fresh cider and home cooking that will never leave me. It's not a thing you can just find in Canterlot these days.
As we walk and talk, I can smell the faint aroma of pastry cooking. The clatter of cider mugs over the distant chant of music and foals squealing is a pleasant backdrop to a conversation about this year's wheat crop.
We're halfway to the Cider hall. Neither of us are connoisseurs, but we decide to try it anyway for something to do. I'm having a ball of a time – more fun than I've had in an age. It's not the drink talking (perhaps).
He spots her after I do. He's also the first one to go over to her. She couldn't have been older than nine, maybe ten, the little pegasus filly. She's between the coconut shies and the merry-go-round, tears leaking from foggy blue eyes, looking for all the world like a pale blue statue seated on the cold grass.
“Hullo. Are you okay?” He asks the little filly. I watch on in quiet uncertainty.
I remember feeling annoyed with myself. I was walking along, minding my own business. I noticed the little filly sitting by herself, cotton candy on the ground next to her, and carried on. Well – I say 'noticed'. I noticed her like I noticed somepony else's foal who was upset in a big Canterlot supermarket, in that I didn't notice her at all. I'd taken about five or six extra steps towards the cider tent when I realised that I wasn't talking to anyone.
It's not until he speaks that she seems to notice to him for the first time properly, the big farmer. She hiccups once, her chin quivering. The trails of her tears carve damp paths of azure down her cheeks.
She opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it once more. She hiccups faintly, and lets a tiny sob out. Fresh tears spill from her brimming eyes.
I then see a strange thing happen.
Haystacks removes his hat. Setting it to one side, he sits, and then lies down gently on the grass, so as to be eye level to the filly. His empty cider tankard, dangling from a woven cord around his neck, slips softly onto the ground.
“Hey, hey...” there is an assured, almost absurdly abnormal calm to his voice. “Don't cry. Are you lost?”
I canter over, feeling awkward. The filly glances up at me with teary eyes, and I quickly kneel down and give my most sympathetic smile. Like I'm trying to offer my condolences to her, or something. I glance uneasily at Haystacks, maybe looking for some guidance. But he only has eyes for the little filly, and he smiles and speaks softly like it's the most natural thing on the world.
“Are you lost?” he asks again, after a brief pause. His voice is lowered to a gentle murmur, as though she were some sort of frightened rooster. “Where's your Mummy? Do you know where your Mummy is?”
The little filly's mane falls in blue and dark blue braids either side of her head, and they wobble from side to side as she shakes it. Then she lets out a great sniff, and looks back at the grass between the prone Haystacks and herself.
I feel a tiny peal of sadness tumble down through my heartstrings.
“My name's Haystacks,” Haystacks says. “What's your name?”
The filly's gaze follows one of Haystacks' giant hooves from the ground up until she is looking at him. She blinks once or twice, and he smiles patiently and kindly, warmly back.
“S-Sliver,” she says, her voice a fragile squeak against the clamour of the carnival behind us. “Sliver Lining...” she trails off, gazing uncertainly at the very big pony.
“Sliver Lining, huh?” The crows feet at the side of Haystacks' eyes wrinkle as he smiles broadly. “That's a pretty name, Sliver. It's nice to meet you.”
It clicks with me that Haystacks is clearly attempting to sooth the filly with a gentle word or two, but it doesn't seem like it has the desired effect – or at least, not at first. The tiny blue pony looks over to me, still somewhat untrustworthy. I follow suit and introduce myself as Haystacks' friend, making sure to lower my voice like he does. I say that it's a very pretty name, indeed.
She hiccups again, and uses a hoof to wipe her cheeks. The tears cease, though the corners of her distant blue eyes are still red and damp.
“So you don't know where your Mummy is?” Haystacks cooes. “I think we can help you find her, can't we?” he looks over at me hopefully, still wearing that same warm smile.
I'm taken aback. I nod my agreement and make a show of it to the filly. That seems like the right thing to do, of course.
For whatever reason, Haystacks' eyes light up at my agreement. So do the little filly's, although they are quickly masked again under a tiny veil of sadness and mistrust.
“M-mom said I wasn't supposed to follow strangers,” she mumbles. “She said I was supposed to stay here while she went to find my brother.”
Haystacks' smile falls a touch at the thought. But like the clown ponies that we saw earlier, it falls only to spring up a little wider.
“Well, that's okay. Do you want us to sit here and wait for her to come back with your brother?”
I think that particular proposal catches the filly by as much surprise as it does me. I almost – almost – put my hoof in it by voicing some form of objection about the time, but neither the filly nor Haystacks notice me anyway.
“U-um,” she says, and I can hear the tension in her soft voice rising again. “I, um, I wandered off. I wanted to look at the rides, and I thought I wouldn't go far, and I d-don't know where she asked me to go, an-an-an-an–” she hiccups, and I can see the tears beginning anew.
“Well do you want us to try and find that then?” Haystacks asks, trying to interject before she sobs. “Would you like that?”
She bites her lip, and very quickly nods three times.
“Ok,” he says, humming thoughtfully. “Where might that be? Hmm...” He makes a show of tapping one grass-stained hoof against his chin.
“I-it's by the fairy floss stand,” she says. “But I don't k-know where that is.”
“Aha!” Haystacks says, padding his hooves flat to the earth, overtaken by a tiny, mock-playful moment of inspiration. His eyebrows arch, and he winks broadly at the filly. “Well I saw a sign that says fairy floss back there.” He gestures over his shoulder with his head, back down through the avenue of tents and stalls that we have traversed. “It's just down there, past the big top and next to the fortune teller.”
The little filly nods uncertainly.
“If you want, we can walk with you there, if you'd like,” Haystacks says. “But you go first, okay? That way, we can just make sure that you find your Mummy, and you don't have to follow strange ponies.”
The proposal, while strange, seems to sit well with her – or at least, well enough to mollify her. The tiniest smile creeps onto her face.
“Okay,” she chirps, this time without a hiccup. She makes to stand, and notices the sticky remains of her cotton candy, lying in the grass to one side. Half-heartedly, she reaches a hoof towards it. “Oh...”
“What's wrong?” Haystacks says. “Was that yours?”
She nods, and retracts the hoof. She stands to all fours.
“Oh, never mind then, Sliver, never mind,” Haystacks cooes, lifting his neck a bit to meet her. He makes to stand, and I follow his lead, though at the last moment he stoops, snatching his hat between his teeth.
“Ere,” he mumbles, leaning gently towards the filly. “'Ew can wear 'ish instead.”
She shies instinctively, but Haystacks plops the warm Stesson onto her head. Several sizes too big, it droops down comically over her eyes, and after a moment of fumbling, she slips it back so that it sits flush against her outstretched ears.
Haystacks smiles. And even though he towers over the filly, she offers a shy smile in return.
The farmpony ushers her between us, and just in front of us so that we walk three abreast with her in front.
“Here,” he says, pointing into the middle-distance with his hoof. “Do you know where to go? The big top is that way...”
We walk off into the bustle of the carnival, pacing ourselves so that the little filly leads all of the way. It's only a few minutes of slow trotting, with us gamely following. Haystacks peppers the filly with questions whenever she looks worried. They're simple things, happy things, like if she is enjoying the carnival and what her favourite food is, and whether she had had her braids tied at the stall by the hairdresser for two bits, and what her mother's name is, and what she looks like so that we can spot her. Confidence-building, I think – I wonder. Haystacks seems to regard every answer to her question with a happy disposition. At some stage, I even lose track of where the acting ends and he begins.
The fairy floss cart is bright and strapped with balloons, and absolutely swarmed by ponies of all ages. Nonetheless, it's easy to pick Sliver's mother at a distance - a deep blue mare with a long, sleek mane of chocolate . She paces with all the frenzy of a distraught lioness, drawing endless circles around the cart, her head turning this way and that.
“Mama!” Sliver shouts, and the haggard-looking unicorn jumps in alarm. She spins her head once, twice to find the source –
She claps eyes on us, and in particular, the little filly. With a shuddering gasp that seems to permeate the clang of carnival chimes, she all but gallops over to Sliver, skidding to a halt and scooping the little filly into a one-hoofed hug. Immediately, she bursts into an endless trail of worries.
“Sliver!” she reprimands, half-chiding, half-sobbing. “Oh my stars, you're okay! I thought you were abducted, or, or – or something, I don't know! – you should have stayed still while I went to find your brother! But never mind, angel, I'm so happy you're safe... here, where did you get this?” Her attention turns to the hat.
The little filly points at us both. The mare follows her hoof to me, and then Haystacks (the obvious cowpony of us), her mouth crested into a tiny 'oh'.
“Did... did you find my little Sliver?” She says, regarding us both with the same uncertain eyes of her daughter.
Before we can even offer a response, she flings both forehooves around both of our necks, and pulls us into a hug so unimaginably tight that stars begin to burst before my eyes.
“Oh how could I even begin to thank you!? You found my baby, thank you, thank you so so much! I'm so grateful, and – ”
This goes on for some time. At some point we are both released, and the mare continues to gush her thanks. It's not something I'm really used to, but I manage with a graceful smile. Haystacks, though, ever the solitary creature, turns a faint pink around the face and spends most of the time twisting his hoof into the grass, mumbling about how 'tweren't nothin' and other such bumpkin-isms. It's a rare moment of discomfort for him, I observe with some amusement.
As the mare speaks we are joined by a colt, who Sliver bounds over to, nuzzling him warmly. The way he stands by the mare paints her as Sliver's brother, but he seems strangely distant from goings-on, only taking the briefest notice of his sister.
“I'm hungry,” the colt mumbles, somewhat bizarrely, pawing at his mother's leg with one hoof.
His mother pauses, casting him a fond look. “Oh, I – oh. Yes. Just a second, sweetie,” she says, nuzzling him lightly. She turns back to us, a calmer tone falling into her voice.
“Really,” she says quietly, still slightly breathless. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Haystacks, still recuperating from his bone-shatteringly tight hug, still a little pink around the cheeks from all the praise, smiles in reply. He offers an afterthought rather absent-mindedly.
“Well, ah, if you're all hungry, you could head into the fresh produce tent. It's just behind the Ferris Wheel. There's freshly cooked Pumpkin pie and Apple juice for the little ones,” he says, looking at the filly and colt, who are chattering away happily. “And, um, maybe a cider for you, Miss,” he adds, smiling sheepishly back at the mare. “But just make sure ya' tell them Haystacks sent you. I'm sure it'll be on the house that way.”
The little filly and colt give a simultaneous gasp of delight at the mere notion of fresh pumpkin pie. The unicorn mare looks more than a little baffled, her hooves halfway to her purse.
“Don't you?...” she says, still gazing at him with some degree of confusion.
I realise she's trying to pay us as some kind of reward. Haystacks waves a hoof, shaking his head.
“Ah, no, no thank you, that's alright. I don't need it. You just go and have a drink and a slice of pie and relax, okay?”
The mare offers something close to a disbelieving glance. And in the short seconds between her foals tugging at her saddlebags and her turning to them, she passes us both a priceless look of unending thanks.
The little filly returns the hat, giving Haystacks a happy grin. And then, without any further fuss or bother, they are gone. The colt and filly gambol away into the crowd, and the mare turns gamely to follow. They are gone as quickly as they came, vanished into the technicolour blur of the stalls, stands and ponies.
I turn to Haystacks. Aside from a mote of embarrassment still fresh on his cheeks, he seems unperturbed by recent events.
We travel to the cider hall, and enjoy a few well-earned drinks.
Haystacks insists that it was nothing anypony wouldn't do around these parts, anyway.
Summer nights at the village carnival.