I can't believe that worked out so well. I mean, overall.
I buzzed along down the road, gently rubbing my sore fang. One of the foals had to be told that, despite the intimidating appearance of their fangs, changelings don't like getting hit in the teeth any more than any other pony.
Cheerilee just about lost it, heh. Like it's her fault. Besides, I can't blame the kid. I find it weird that they're so tender. Construction changelings are trained to use them to split stones, but hit them the wrong way, and—
I suddenly realized where my wings had taken me. I landed on the ground, and took a moment to look at the half-finished house.
... I don't want to be here. I don't want to deal with this.
I almost set off for home, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I just stood there, staring at the house like some kind of idiot for a while. Then I walked a circle around it, inspecting it for any rain damage or issues brought about by my neglecting it for a week, but it was fine. I knew I needed to finish it. There were changelings that could use it. That's what we had wanted.
I eventually went over to the material shed and picked up a board. I carried it over to the house, but I hesitated again. Because, yeah, that's what construction changelings are trained to do, see, we just stare at houses. Stare at'em until they build themselves. Yep.
Well, we're not actually trained to build with wood very often in the hive, but... whatever.
Damn it... this isn't that hard!
I gracelessly slammed the board into place, and proceeded to jet-spray green goop all over it with my mouth – which probably would have looked like vomiting to any ponies nearby, especially because I did it very sloppily. What I ended up with was a giant blob of goop on the bottom of the board, and almost nothing securing it to the roof. I almost couldn't believe I'd screwed it up so badly, but I began spreading the paste all over the board anyway.
Heh, I remember showing him how to do this properly. Now look at me, acting like a complete amateur.
Normally, I found this kind of work relaxing; this time, it just made me feel increasingly tense. It seemed like my hoof on the board was the only sound in the entire town. Somehow, it didn't feel like I was building something; the action felt foreign, like I was doing something I'd never done before, and my hooves were clumsy to the unfamiliar task. It felt wrong to work on the house again, as though I were defiling a grave – which wasn't too far off the mark, I guess.
'Confidence is often the greatest difference between a novice and a master. The truth of this can be seen when a master's confidence falters, and – just for a moment – they stumble about as a novice.'
I stiffened as my friend's commentary came back to me. He had said that to me just after we had started working on the house, in response to my comment that construction was simple, but it intimidated people.
He may have been a changeling, but he was born to be an over-eloquent Canterlot snob. Heh.
I slowly walked away from the house. I wasn't going to deal with this right now. I wasn't going to listen to his voice in my head while I worked, no matter how accurate his smug comments were. Hell, as sloppy as I was being, we might end up with another accident. No.
I just headed straight home, tuning the world out around me as I flew.