Property of West Wind

by OleGrayMane

Departure

 
“Is that all he owned?” Granny Smith asked.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Meadowlark tossed the meager collection of items onto the kitchen table. “Ponies like us, we travel light.” His faint smile quickly faded.

The items weren't enough to cover the tabletop: three vests—one worn, two practically threadbare—a blue and white striped cap, a knitted winter scarf with matching cap, four books from the Ponyville library, and an olive drab travel bag.

As Meadowlark looked on, Granny went through the items of clothing, her hooves shaking perceptibly. She checked every pocket methodically, turning each inside out, looking for a photograph, an old letter, any scrap of paper with a trace of writing.

“An' ya sure he never told ya where he was from or nuthin'?”

“Somewhere in the Southeast. Maybe.” He scratched his head. “Never did mention a name. Honest, Ma'am, I've told you and the sheriff all I know. Really I have. You see, us on the road, we don't—”

“I know the song, Doc.” Granny paused and set down the worn vest she'd been examining and stared at him, her old eyes tired, but her face determined. “I just need to do my best to find an answer—for both him and myself.”

“I appreciate that, Ma'am,” he said.

She resumed her search, picking up the travel bag and dumping out its contents: a toothbrush, a broken comb, a pocket knife, a small black book, and half a dozen pencils of varying lengths.

Meadowlark's body stiffened. “If I can be forward,” he said.

“Hmm?” Granny stopped her search and looked up.

“Well, if there are any answers to be found, they'll be in that book there.” He pointed at the item sitting in front of her.

“An' why is that?” she asked curtly.

“Because that's his writing in there.”

Granny gazed at the unassuming book in silence, hesitating before reaching to pick it up. She held it lightly in her hooves as if it might break.

Her head snapped up. “Did ya read it?” she asked sternly.

“No, never. He kept tight wraps on it, and now—” He fidgeted. “Well, I, uh, I wouldn't have the heart.”

Her lips tightened as she studied his face in silence. “Thank you for your help, Doc. Ya have my condolences.”

“Thank you, Ma'am.” He glanced about uneasily. “Well,” he exclaimed louder than needed, “it's getting late. I guess it's about time for me to go get my things in order.” Meadow Lark headed towards the door.

“You thinkin' of going somewhere?”

“Begging your pardon”—he stopped and glanced back over his shoulder—“but there's not much left for me here, is there?” He turned his head and said quietly, “And I've got my promise to keep.” He stood facing the door with a blank stare.

She leaned forward and cupped her ear. “Eh?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, Ma'am, you see, I've been thinking of heading home, that is, if they'll take me.”

“I see.” She nodded. “Good luck to ya.”

Meadowlark resumed his walk towards the door, but barely managed two steps before Granny spoke again.

“Yur gonna stay for the—” She didn't finish.

He froze. “Of course. It wouldn't be right if I didn't.” He pivoted to face her, his head held high.

“Thank you for all you've done for him—for all of us.” He didn't wait for a reply and strode briskly out the door. The soft click of the latch left the old mare sitting alone in the kitchen.

Granny Smith put the black book down. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, waiting while the clock on the wall ticked away. Something told her she needed somepony's permission, but that permission would never come.

If there are any answers to be found…

She bit her lip, picked up the book, and opened it. Crudely printed on the inside of the front cover were the words Property of West Wind.