“This thing’s itchy,” Sparkler muttered, shifting uneasily in her reins as she helped pull the carriage forward. It was a two piece ensemble: a padded breast collar resting over her withers, which connected to a thick belt around her midsection by a pair of tugs. The belt itself connected to a heavy wooden yoke by a large metal bolt. There were two identical harnesses attached to the yoke, one on either side of the tongue that extended to the front axle of the stagecoach.
Sharp Tack was occupying the second harness and he didn’t know whether to be annoyed or simply laugh. “You get used to it,” he told her, shrugging. “Now come on, I’m not pulling this all by myself.”
“No, you aren’t,” she rebutted, pushing into the harness. The stagecoach lumbered behind them at a walking pace, which seemed to be good enough. It was putting a pain on her shoulders, though. The itchy harness didn’t help with that at all.
Somewhere behind them, she could hear Whiskey snoring.
They continued on, making it over a short hill that looked like it was more weed than grass. Sharp Tack had told her they tend to avoid the pockets of forest, as the stagecoach has gotten stuck in them before. But the forest edges, when approached, took on a mysterious affection. Chirping animals, the sounds of rustling leaves and flowing water, and if she paid close enough attention she could’ve sworn there was a voice or two be heard. It was a pleasant distraction from the clatter of the carriage, the thudding of their hooves, and the occasional whisper of wind or accompanied snore.
She mostly kept her chin up, looking for the traces in the grass that brought some semblance of a path. It wasn’t worn by any considerable measure, but every bump and trough of the landscape bore evidence that this path was walked before.
For the most part, she was uncomfortably quiet. Too quiet too often for Sharp Tack’s liking.
“What’s your special talent?” was one of the questions he had asked her.
She had seemed more surprised by the fact she had a cutie mark than the question itself. After a few seconds of thought, she told him: “I have a knack for telling what something’s worth. Price, mostly. Like if you’re getting a good deal out of a trade.”
“How’d you discover something like that?” he had followed up with.
She had explained, “One day I learned my mom was going to sell an old, broken necklace she didn’t care for. It had a couple of dirty and scratched up gemstones on it. Instead of taking it down to the local marketplace, I convinced her to take it someplace to get appraised. It came to both of our surprises when we discovered those rocks were priceless norn stones. And just like that, I got my cutie mark in the middle of the appraiser’s store.”
A while later, as the sky started to change tint with the onset of evening, he asked her another question: “Do you know any spells?”
“I’m really good at teleporting,” she was quick to say. But she had to be asked if she knew anything else. “I know a spell for breathing underwater and I like to think my telekinesis is pretty okay,” she added with a nervous smile. “But magic isn’t really something I think a lot about. I like to work with my hooves, if that makes sense.”
It didn’t, at least not to Sharp Tack. Every other conversation he tried to start ended shortly and without much detail. It was frustrating, trying to get to know this pony better and hardly be given anything in return. He eventually gave up right as Whiskey woke up from his long nap and they decided it was time to stop and set up camp for the night.
Which was fine for Sparkler. She didn’t like the attempts at small talk, either. Every new thing she told him about herself became something else she needed to remember.