The Pony Who Planted Trees

by Speckle21

Chapter 2

In the following year, the fragile peace continued throughout Equestria. There was the occasional skirmish or uprising but every living being, from alicorn to zebra, was too weary for another open conflict. I heard of a new princess, but I paid no attention as I continued to wander Equestria. I travelled to a great many exotic locations, from the bombed-out industrial ruins of Stalliongrad to the eternal party in the crater-filled Los Pegasus. I had no real goal, just to occupy my mind with something other than memories of war. While many places were more active and entertaining than the nursery, I never forgot my encounter with the humble tree planter. I had not found any place as peaceful as that simple forest amongst the wasteland. Wanting to again breath the clean air the saplings provided, I made the journey of several days into the former war zone.

His saplings were as tall as my eyes and the nursery of trees had been made much larger. From edge to edge, the patch must have been several kilometers across. I carefully trotted amongst the saplings as if I were amongst a crowd of foals. Their gentle swaying seemed to radiate happiness. Standing at the center of the nursery, the surrounding wasteland seemed ever more distant as the saplings held their ground. I could feel almost as if they were pushing back against the horizon.

I knocked at his door but heard no answer. The saplings closest to his home were the tallest and oldest and further out the more recent plantings were shorter and younger. I was tempted to take off to get a global overview of the nursery but somehow, being this close to the saplings allowed me to more clearly determine their history. I followed this trail from oldest to youngest until I found freshly planted seeds and hoofprints. It did not take long to follow the prints and come upon the earth pony that made them.

I looked around to find myself at the border between the nursery and the wasteland. The soldier in me saw the gentle swaying of the saplings as a slow but determined march of an unrelenting green army. An army waging a furious battle against the occupying forces of the grey barren stone. The earth pony stood as the general leading the charge. But the civilian in me also saw a humble shepherd leading his flock of trees to a new land, not to conquer but to heal. I defaulted to the latter interpretation when he came toward me and again offered his canteen of water, like on the first day we had met.

We returned to his home that evening and prepared ourselves a meal of vegetable stew. The home itself was a bit different but was neat and tidy as ever. It was a single room with a fire pit in the middle over which hung a pot for cooking. The walls themselves were made of the same grey stone found everywhere in the wasteland. Each stone had been carefully selected and fit so perfectly they did not need mortar. The roof was tiled and the wind blowing against it made a sound like waves gently breaking upon the seashore. The dirt floor was smooth and firmly packed from having been trodden on for years. Most striking was that all the walls had shelves upon shelves of seeds, all of them in jars and neatly organized according to type and year they were gathered. In one corner of the home was a table where piles of seeds were sorted. In the next corner was a special stone shelf for storing food and other simple amenities like bowls and cups. In the two remaining corners were piles of thatch for sleeping on. I remembered the first time I visited there was only one pile and I was content to sleep on the dirt floor or outside amongst the saplings. It seemed the earth pony was expecting my return.

This time I came prepared to repay his hospitality with sacks of seeds from every corner of Equestria I visited. His eyes lit up as he poured the seeds into various piles and carefully organized them into various jars. For the first time ever he asked about the world outside his nursery, more specifically he asked about the places I gathered these seeds from. As I ate my meal I regaled him with the stories of my travels. The fire pit cast shadows on the walls of the characters I had met and helped me paint the wonders I had witnessed. I realized that although I did not talk about the weather specifically, he extracted from my words the conditions those seeds would grow in. I told him of the slow moving and heavily clothed ponies of the north, who lived in frigid conditions where only pine trees could grow. To the east I recalled a family of apple farmers who never wore clothes in the balmy weather they thrived in. To the south was the rainforest where I fell in love with an Amazonian princess. He called me out on my lie and I told him I was just making sure he was still listening.

In my travels I learned a bit of weather modification from some civilian pegasi and offered my crude services to the tree planter. He directed me to rain not on his forest, but on a deep basin far west of his home. I could not see the point in filling that particular basin, but he insisted that to help him best it was there that I needed to make it rain. Although I estimated the task would take several weeks, I happily complied.

To help orient me over long distances the earth pony drew directional guides into the barren wasteland. He placed red stones onto the endless grey rock to make arrows, circles, lines and triangles at regular intervals. These signs were large enough so even high flying pegasi could easily find their way over the homogeneous landscape. It was clear the earth pony had extensive experience in their creation as every sign was perfect on the first attempt. He needed no direction from me even though I was certain he could not see the whole sign from his ground-level perspective, presumably he learned this skill during the war. Today I was using such signs to leisurely deliver rain clouds rather than malevolently deliver fire bombs. I was grateful for the change of motivation.

Although it was obvious we were both in the war we never spoke or even acknowledged this fact. From the positions of our scars it was clear we had both personally been involved in many battles and we were both certain the other had killed a great many creatures. He likely had sworn upon the bodies of his fallen friends to avenge their deaths, for I had done the same years prior. But in the present neither of us wanted to carry out that vendetta. Somehow, by never mentioning the war we could maintain the illusion we were both just ponies planting trees. Never having the certainty of which faction the other pony was from meant we could have our current friendship without dishonoring our past ones.

I bucked the rain cloud I was delivering and filled the basin another inch with the torrential downpour. Most of my deliveries were solitary, as the earth pony was busy planting more trees near his home, but this day he was standing in the partially filled basin and was drenched when I failed to notice him in time. He did not seem to mind and in fact stretched out his hooves and stood broadly as if to wash himself of a filth only he could see. I realized I needed a good soaking as well, even though pegasi hated getting their wings wet. I touched down beside him and sank my hooves into the brown mud. I would be unable to fly again until my wings were dry and preened, but I was in no hurry. My hooves continued to sink into the mud and I had to find some large rocks to stand on so I would not get even dirtier. The earth pony already knew where to stand without getting mud on himself. I was about to ask him why he was even in the basin, but as he embraced the rain I think I had my answer. I looked at myself, covered in mud up to my knees and realized with a smile that I was dirtier than I had been all week, but I felt cleaner than I ever had been since the war. Somehow, moving those clouds in this simple task, for the briefest of moments, I felt the same way the earth pony felt planting his trees. We remained under the warm downpour until the cloud was completely depleted.

During one of my stays at his home, a group of gem hunting dogs passed through the forest. They had never seen such a phenomenon as a forest to spring up by its own accord and wondered if there was some magical artifact nearby. I believe they wanted to salvage and sell it. Having sniffed none they attributed the forest to some random accident of nature and went about their way, leaving us and the forest, in peace.

After several weeks I eventually filled the basin into a small lake about two kilometers across. It was up to him now. I stayed with him for another week, but I was not the type of pony to settle down in one place, no matter how peaceful it was. He knew full well my type and saw me off as I once again took to the skies. He did not ask, but I silently promised I would bring back more seeds from wherever my travels took me.

I visited him again every year bringing with me seeds and stories from places even I did not know existed until I saw them. The forest around his home grew to magnificent height and size with every visit I made. The task was nonetheless monumental and to arrive here at this ever growing island of hope I still had to travel several days over empty wasteland. But the earth pony was never deterred and I never once saw him lose hope. I cannot imagine his frustration but surely he had to have conquered despair. I have never once seen anypony driven with such passion and tireless dedication.

One year I brought with me a new iron bar for the tree planter. I knew after years of use his current one would have worn down to a mere stub. The trees around his home were many times taller than I was. I noticed during my flyover that many of the saplings to the east were growing at odd intervals in a seemingly random fashion. I knew from observing the earth pony that he planted in a certain pattern with equal spacing. I wondered if his eyesight was failing him but he told me he had stopped planting on the eastern side altogether. The winds had carried seeds to the east and the saplings I saw were purely from the forest itself, it was now expanding of its own accord. With this revelation, I felt the forest had matured like a foal into a pony.

The earth pony seemed to understand he was no longer needed because the following year I arrived at his stone house to find it empty and dusty. A great panic came over me as I was worried some ill fate had befallen the humble pony. I flew up to search for him and when I looked down at the roof I saw something intended for only a pegasus, for me, to see; an arrow drawn pointing westward. I followed it along and over more rocky terrain to come upon the basin I had originally filled years before. There at the edge was a freshly built stone house and a small patch of green saplings growing outwards from it. I touched down to greet the earth pony hard at work planting more trees. These trees were different than the previous ones he had been planting. The extra moisture from the lake allowed this particular species to thrive in the otherwise desiccating wasteland.

As I watched the earth pony plant another seed, I remembered back to when my surviving friends and I burned off our cutie marks. We had done so to bury the past and leave the war behind us. But deep down I thought we would be incapable of being more; we had, after all, obtained our cutie marks by committing violent or monstrous acts. I had so few memories of a time before the war that it was easy for me to accept destruction as our only ability. I looked forward to the end of my life, not because I was depressed, but because I believed my only remaining duty was to ensure the war died with me. As I saw this markless pony plant another seed I came to realize that choosing to die for a cause was wholly inadequate. This pony had done the exact opposite.

Author's Note:

Thanks for all your kind comments and encouraging me to continue.

As usual comments and criticisms are welcomed.

Comments

[A Dark Reminder]

This is a good story and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. (Not like anyone has. )

To the south was the rainforest where I fell in love with an amazonian princess. He called me out on my lie and I told him I was just making sure he was still listening.

LOL! Always good to be sure. and according to my auto spellcheck, amazonian is a typo. How so? 'cause the A isn't capital. But oh well.

After several weeks I eventually I filled the basin

That second I and one of the spaces next to it needs to go.

But overall a good story. all in all you've made, what, two, three mistakes? That's better then my record.

[Speckle21]

2614514 Thanks! Edits have been made.

[Mr Good Guy]

Did he choose a cause worth dying for, or did he choose to live for a cause?