Prologue
“Wind Talker, it’s time for evening meal.” The voice floated up through the floor as the high-pitched, feminine voice was muffled by the wooden beams.
Surrounded by four empty walls and a bed the pony sat in the middle of the room. Light from the rising moon, played off his black and tan mane distracting from the dark gray coat that was barely visible in the early moon light. Like everything else in the room his appearance was neat and devoid of excess. Rising and exiting the room to the warmly light corridor without unnecessary action, the pony descended the stairs. The tasteful decoration of the downstairs sharply contrasted his own room.
“Be a dear and bring the buckwheat when you come to the table.” The mare, with graying in her royal purple and teal mane, concentrated on the tray of vegetable’s and iced mint tea balanced on her brown hooves. The color of sand in her eyes, bright as ever, were turned towards the dining table where a stallion set the table.
Now past his prime, but had once been strong and muscular, he was shorter than most ponies. But Wind knew that despite appearing fat, it was muscle from years of an active and vigorous life that bunched under the dark blue coat. The pine green aura from his father’s magic off an eerie light that Wind had only just grown comfortable with.
“Yes ma.” Was his simple reply
Fetching the fresh baked bread from the small kitchen with its window overlooking the eastern vale. Stopping for a moment to appreciate the view he was reminded how simple life was without a cutie mark. Long since his class makes and friends had found their callings and moved out into the wider world.
Satisfied with his level of responsibility, Wind was comfortable living with his parents, despite what other thought. It had been many moons since not having a cutie mark had bothered him, and the other ponies in the village had now accepted him as a part of everyday life. Regarding his blank flank with no more surprise or shock than they would a cool evening breeze. The only thing that made anyone curious was being a blank flank at his age. Not old by anyone’s standard, it was highly unusual that a pony went as long as he had without finding their cutie mark. His family had a history of being slow to find their calling in life, his father having been a half dozen seasons behind other of his class in getting his cutie mark.
“Son, you bringing the bread or not?” his father’s slow meticulous voice sounded from the dining room.
Leaving his musings in the dancing moonbeams, Wind turned to the family’s nightly routine of evening meal. A pleasant if not slow process, evening meal was something Wind had often looked forward to. But within the past waning of the old moon, the warm, formal, custom slowly was turning stiff and strained. They all knew the cause of the slow decent, but being the laid back, steady ponies his family were no one said a word. Setting the bread beside his father at the head of the table, he took his place to the left and patiently listened to the rhythmic ticking of the clock as their nightly tradition began.