Lambert followed closely behind Mary as they walked between the apple trees. Mary had been oddly quiet since her shower, but she seemed in a good mood. He was okay with quiet, especially in a pretty orchard. The red and yellow apples hanging in the green trees made for a colorful canopy. Evenly spaced trees and meticulously groomed grass banished any wild feel to the place. Moving a little closer to Mary, he let his mind drift.
Eventually, the trees gave way to open field. He couldn’t help but feel a bit vulnerable in the sudden openness, but a familiar sound caught his ear. It was the song of hammer and nail, and it soothed his nerves better than any lullaby ever could.
Mary began to walk towards a big, red barn not too far away. “You want to see what they're working on?” she asked.
Lambert nodded.
“Hey Mac,” Mary called to the huge stallion inside the barn. Lambert knew the red pony, or had seen him before anyway. He was the first pony he’d ever seen actually. Lambert had watched him working for a couple days, and had almost worked up the courage to ask him for help, when the incident with Applejack happened.
Setting down the hammer, Mac turned his back to the wagon he’d been working on. “How’s it going? I take it this is Lambert?”
Lambert waved.
“Yep,” Mary answered. “Lambert, this is Mac. Mac, this is Lambert.”
Stepping forward, Lambert met Mac’s outstretched hoof with a talon. “What are you building?” Lambert asked.
Mac smiled, turning to look back at the wagon. “Replacing some rotten boards.”
Mary asked the stallion something, but Lambert didn’t catch it. Walking over to the wagon, he ignored the adults’ conversation to study the work. “Practically built,” his father would have called it: made to do a job. He did wince a bit at the hammer dents around the nails. Visible nails should always be finished with a punch.
Wandering to the other side of the wagon, Lambert found a toolbox resting wide open. He started to close it, but paused at the sight of a carving gouge. Its edge was chipped and blunt.
His father’s shadow loomed behind him; you didn’t put dull tools back in the box. Looking up, he spotted a whetstone on the nearby workbench. Muscle memory took over as he pressed steel against stone. Thankfully, it was a good stone with both coarse and fine sides. Letting his bodyweight do the work, he ground the chips away, then flipped it over to give it a proper edge.
Lambert studied his work. Sitting the cutting edge against his talon, he happily watched it shave a curl of claw away. He was sure Dad would have been proud of the edge. He would have taken it from his talons, and used it to work.
He was going to miss that; helping his father at work. Sharpening his tools had been a small thing, but his dad seemed to really appreciate it. Doctor Page said it was okay to also enjoy helping Mary, but he still felt guilty at times.
Standing over the toolbox, Lambert eyed the wagon before putting the tools back. One of the new boards caught his attention. Spanning the entire front of the wagon, its tight grain begged for a bit of relief carving. Instead of putting the gouge away, he picked up the mallet with his other hand. His mind’s eye traced out a simple pattern, something like the Creation Tree his father had taught him to carve. Pressing a claw into the wood, he scratched a margin around the the board, using a thumb and finger to keep it an even distance from the edges. “Always set your borders first,” his father’s memory told him.
The gouge met the wood, and with a sharp tap of the hammer it drew out a long curls of shaved wood as it followed the line he’d scratched. From there a few wild blows carved out the shape of the trunk, and suggestions of where the roots and branches would be. TAP TAP TAP, rang from his mallet, filling his nose with the scent of freshly cut wood. Roots curled and searched along the bottom, while branches and leaves began to fill the top of the scene.
It was only when he’d sat the mallet aside to do some push work that Lambert noticed something was off. The barn was far too quiet, and he had the feather-prickling sensation that he was being watched.
Turning his head, Lambert found both adults watching him rather intently.
“You got a real talent there,” Mac said stepping closer to study the image.
Lambert stepped out of the stallion’s shadow, the sudden attention unnerving him. “It’s just... I liked watching Dad carve, He was teaching me.”
The huge red pony turned to face him with a sluggish movement. There was a smile on his face that was oddly comforting. “I’d say he did a fine job.”
Behind him, Mary cleared her throat. “But you know, Squirt, you shouldn’t mess with other people’s things without asking first.”
Lambert shrunk. “Sorry.”
Looking up, he was worried to see Mac nodding in agreement.
“Tell ya what,” The stallion said, looking from him to Mary with a serious, but friendly expression. “As long as he finishes what he started, I don’t see any reason for him to be in trouble.” Mac’s gaze left Mary, and returned to him. “That means finishing this side, and mirroring it on the other; make it look nice.”
“Yes, sir,” Lambert answered.
Mac nodded, a sly grin on his muzzle. “Good. And if you do as good a job as this on the rest of it, I may have a few chores that I’d pay you to do. If’n that’s alright with Mary.”
Mary shrugged. “I’m fine with that.”
Lambert’s wings fluttered at the idea. He could even use his father’s tools! The thought sent a pang through him, but he held it in check. Looking back at the carving, he lifted the gouge to continue, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“You can finish that Saturday. Let's go see what’s cooking.”
Nodding, Lambert put the tools back, making sure to close the box before following Mary and Mac to the Apples’ house.
The air was hot, humid, and thick with the smell of cooking as he followed Mary into the huge house. The familiar faces of Applejack and Applebloom eased the strangeness of the place. From the corner, he watched Mary hug each pony in turn. The grandmotherly mare prattled on about something as she hugged Mary, but he wasn’t paying attention till Mary called his name.
Perking up, he walked over to be introduced. After shaking her hoof, she moved to scrutinize him tail to beak.
“Land’s sake, somepony needs to fatten you up.”
Behind him, Applejack laughed. “Between Mary and us, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Bloom, why don’t you take Lambert here, and get him to help you bring in a couple a jars of preserves from the cellar. Dinner’ll be on the table by the time you’re back.”
Looking to Mary, he saw her smile and make a shooing motion. Happy to escape the kitchen’s heat, Lambert followed Applebloom out into the fresh evening air. He flapped his wings just enough to get fresh air between them. A hiss escaped him as sore muscles reminded him of the earlier workout.
“You okay?” Applebloom asked.
Lambert winced as he carefully tucked his wings back against his side. “Mary took me to the gym.”
A crooked grin turned into a snicker. “I made that mistake once. I couldn’t lift my hind legs for three days.” A smile stretched across her muzzle as she shook her head. “Sweetie and Scootaloo like it though. They go a couple times a week.” Motioning for him to follow, she led him around the house before stopping at a set of doors, flat on the ground, leading beneath the house.
The old hinges creaked as she lifted one of the doors open, revealing a dark hole into the earth. It seemed very much like a place for monsters to live.
“It’s not creepy once you get down there,” Applebloom said, obviously aware of his unease. Taking a few steps into the shadowy stairwell, she paused to pull on a little chain. With a click, the cellar suddenly came alive with the yellow glow of anbaric light.
Mustering his courage, he followed Applebloom into the cavern, but found his fears unwarranted. The space was clean, cool, and well lit even to the peak of its high ceiling. It reminded him somewhat of a library, only with jars lined up neatly along the shelves instead of books.
“Can you help me out here?” Applebloom asked, snapping him out of his gawking.
“Sure.” Plodding across the dirt floor, he stopped beside her.
Setting a basket before him, she reared up on her hind legs to reach the higher shelves. “Just set them in the basket.” Sliding a jar off the shelf, she hoofed it to him before reaching for a second. Each time she passed one from her hooves to his talons, he couldn’t help but notice her studying the way his talons wrapped around the jar.
After just a moment, six jars were packed neatly into the purpose-made basket. “That went even faster than normal,” she said, dropping back down to all fours. Nudging one of his talons with a hoof, she prompted him to hold it up. Tilting her head, she studied one of his claws. “Those are just about scary.”
Lambert jumped at the comment. “Scary?”
Applebloom nodded. “Spike doesn't even have claws that big. I bet you could crush one of those jars if you wanted, and the glass wouldn't even scuff those scales.”
Something of a whine escaped Lambert. “I’d never do that,” he protested. Of course he could, but that would be... he didn’t even have a word for how ugly that would be.
“I believe you.” Letting go of his foreleg, Applebloom gave him a soft smile. “Nothing wrong with being strong, it’s about how you use it.”
She bent down to take the basket’s handle in her teeth, but Lambert moved faster. “I go ee,” he mumbled around the handle hanging from his beak.
“Thanks!” she said smiling wide. Trotting past him, she led them back up the steps. Back in the sunlight, they paused only long enough to turn the lights out and close the doors back up.
When they came back to the front of the house, Lambert was glad to see every window thrown wide open. A soft breeze blew curtains around and brought the smell of food to him. The scent of butter, bread, and baked fruit sent his stomach growling. He’d only had the shake and a little salad. He suppressed a bitter laugh. Only a week ago he’d have eaten less in three days.
Inside, a wave of activity faded to stillness as Mary ushered him to a seat between her and Mac while handing the basket off to the elder pony. One of the jars was sat on the table while the others were hidden away. The last of the commotion faded to silence as Applebloom and Granny Smith took their seats at the table. As they all sat there in ringing silence, staring at eachother, Lambert felt incredibly awkward. He didn’t belong here. These were strangers, and he was in an alien land.
What felt like eternity was only a heartbeat, and when the silence passed, it was broken by Granny Smith. “Well... Eat up,” she proclaimed
Before Lambert could even blink, bowls and plates began to be passed around. Every voice at the table proclaimed one thing or the other to be their favorite, and insisted he have a bit of it.
Finding himself with a massive plate of food, Lambert picked up his fork to join the others in eating. The clatter of plates and forks made a soothing din as everyone began to share the details of their day. By degrees the vale of separation fell away, and he found himself being drawn into the conversation and laughter.
“Pinkie is beside herself waiting to throw Lambert a welcome party,” Applejack said.
“Yeah...” Mary added some more of the pooled greens to her plate. “I thought she was going to cry when I told her she’d have to wait on that.”
“Party?” Lambert asked. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.
“Pinkie throws everypony parties for—” Applebloom chewed on something as she thought. “Well, everything.”
Mary rested a hand on his head, and scratched beneath his feathers. “It’ll be a good way for you to meet some of the school foals. But I’m going to wait till the doctor thinks you’re ready.”
“Okay,” Lambert said. Spearing a cheese-filled mushroom with his fork, he regarded it for a moment. Cheese was safe in small amounts, but he’d already had a couple of them. They were so delicious though, hopefully one more wouldn't give him an upset stomach.
As he chewed the treat, he watched Mac and Applebloom take turns lobbing bits of food at each other in a game of catching the food in their mouths. His eyes brightened when they both noticed his attention. When Mac picked up a cherry-tomato, Lambert leaned back in anticipation.
“Alley Oop,” Mac said, pitching the little red tomato into the air.
Lambert moved to intercept the flying veggie, opening his beak wide for the catch. Unfortunately, there was not a juicy tomato against his tongue when his beak snapped shut
Confusion wrinkled Lambert’s brow. He’d felt it hit his beak, but he didn’t hear it land anywhere.
He looked down to his plate then lap: it wasn’t there. He heard snickering as he looked left then right for the errant vegetable. “What?” he asked, realizing everyone at the table was restraining laughter.
Mary grinned, then touched her nose with a finger.
Lambert’s eyes crossed as he looked down at his own beak. There was something stuck to the point of his beak, something round and red.
“There it is!” he said, plucking the little tomato of his beak, before tossing it in his mouth.
Applejack snorted, unable to hold the laughter. Mary laughed at the snort, and Lambert snickered at Mary’s contagious laugh. A heartbeat later, and the whole table fell into fits of giggling.