Our Lives, Our World

by maddox078

Chapter 2: The Steaming Kettle

An early morning chill wafted through the wooden home as my ears were assaulted by the ringing of the small alarm clock I’d laid out beside me. I worked hastily to pull myself up from my bed on the floor and shut the device off before I could rudely awake my host.

Sitting up but not quite mentally awake, I took a few moments to stretch out the hours of deep sleep from my muscles. Outside the thin glass pane behind me a soft, clean light gave only a half-hearted effort to lighten up the dark living room. I could hear a few songbirds coaxing the sun further forth from its own slumber, and the sharp tones from scores of crickets piercing through the morning mist.

I lost myself briefly in a trance, transfixed as the night before, by the vibrant songs of the forest. I shook my head to clear the haze and began to gather up my bag. I hadn’t yet decided how to say goodbye to Saltus; I didn’t want to wake him, but I also didn’t want to leave without a farewell. I really needed to get on the road before the heat picked up, so I couldn’t wait for him to get up.

As I weighed the options in my mind I heard the click of the front door’s latch and turned my head in surprise. The striped legs of a zebra passed through the entryway and weighed down the floorboards below them as the figure of my host, and newly-acquired friend, made its way inside.

Ah, my guest is now awake I see

I suppose it is time you will take your leave?

Never gets old.

Getting up off the floor and hoisting my bags up with me I approached my host.

“Yes, I am; and I can’t thank you enough for the hospitality, especially after I caused your earlier potion-making to spoil.”

Saltus held a hoof up in an attempt to silence any further discussion on the matter.

I ask you think of it no more

For it was not hard to fix.

As I’ve assured you before

You have settled our score.

My face fell in righteous defeat as I came to understand he really didn’t mind. Still, despite how glad I was to evade the storm and have somewhere other than a tent to sleep in, I hated that I didn’t have time to get to know such an interesting individual more than I had. Though, as soon as I’d let the thought cross my mind, he once again spoke up.

Now, I believe you said something before

That is, if I remember anymore

That you are in the midst of travelling

And so I’d like to give you this little thing.

The large zebra turned his head to pull out a small vial like the one he’d given me the night before with the night-vision elixir. He hoofed it over and dropped it into one of my saddlebags. Before even seeing my quizzical look he excitedly began explaining.

A journey can be quite lonely you see

And with this you will always be able to talk to me.

This magic dust upon any letter,

Can find an individual no way better.

My excitement came to match his as I peered into my bag at the odd sparkling-green powder.

“Oh wow that’s amazing, just like dragon flames. Well you can be assured you will hear from me, I’m glad to have already made a great new friend.”

Our twin smiles shone to each other as our extended hooves soon shook together to solidify the foundation of a friendship now in the making.

---

The dull rhythm of my hooves clopping against the worn earthen trail filled me with a quiet complacency as I made good progress towards my goal of Ponyville. Memories of the night before mingled with daydreams of what was to come. I wasn’t to stay in Ponyville for very long, but at the rate I was moving I was sure to have a little extra time to at least eat a proper breakfast.

A cool mist hung in the still morning air, lending a contrast to the loathsome humidity that was sure to come out later in the afternoon. I took note of my pleasant surroundings for the time being, and let my mind focus instead, on the excitement that lay ahead.

---

As I had anticipated I arrived at the southeast entrance of the sleepy town with the sun still bearing mercy upon those already up and about. The path led over a large hill and gently wound itself down and branched out into a proper street that continued straight on to the town square a ways down, and off to the sides to form the perimeter of the village.

A block or two down the road I noted a large wooden sign displaying a steaming cup of coffee, supported by worn iron chains dangling from a wooden overhang. The establishment seemed as old as the town itself and I took that to be a good indication as to where I should eat in my two hours to spare.

I nudged the heavy oak door open as a tiny bell signaled my arrival inside. To my immediate right was a counter manned by two individuals; a large beige earth pony stallion in his fifties, and a mint green unicorn mare about half that. Both greeted me with a smile as the bell directed their attention to the door. The younger one spoke up first.

“Good morning, welcome to the Steaming Kettle! My name is Evergreen, how may I help you?”

I soon came to the realization that my stomach was refusing to communicate its desire. I spent a few too many moments poring over the chalk-drawn menu behind them before the co-workers exchanged amused smirks at my indecisiveness.

“Um, why don’t I recommend something to you dear?” The mint unicorn offered.

My embarrassment grew and my head dropped as I quietly assented to the offer.

She giggled, “Well you look like you’re hungry, and I haven’t seen you before so I’d bet you’re from out of town travelling. So to fill you up I’d suggest the platter of boiled carrots and a kettle of pomegranate tea to go on the side. How’s that sound dear?”

“Immaculate,” I stated through an already salivating mouth.

Evergreen smiled as she exclaimed, “coming right up!” and turned off to a stove behind her.

“That’ll be six bits.” A gruff voice interrupted my anticipatory food coma as the older stallion spoke up for the first time.

“Oh uh, yes here you go,” I fumbled out as I procured the currency from the bags at my side.

“Take a seat dear and I’ll have this right out to you,” she called from over her shoulder.

I obeyed the unicorn mare as I found a small table next to a brick fire pit in the center of the dining area. The whole seating area was rather large, and very open. Continuing on past the kitchen and check-out counter was a small hall that led to restrooms on one side and a stairwell on the other. I then noted the loft that that reached a little ways above the kitchen; creating a pseudo second floor to the building. I had guessed this was where the employees lived, and that this was a family-run establishment, like most things in this town I’d assume.

My eyes grew tired of taking in the building’s entirely wooden interior and I began to look towards the kitchen, losing track of where my eyes drifted off to. I wasn’t aware of what I was staring at or for how long until I heard a loud *thwack* and turned to see a cleaver resting on a cutting board held by the older stallion who was now looking over at me with grave contempt.

What had started out innocently enough with me staring lustfully at my future meal had incidentally turned to me staring at Evergreen. The salivation didn’t help.

I immediately broke my gaze and found deep and meaningful fascination with the various nicks and cracks of the old wooden table I was seated at. After a few more minutes of awkwardly avoiding the elder’s death glare, the younger co-worker levitated a tray down in front of me. The aroma of the meal before me broke my intimate reverie with the table and I looked up into Evergreen’s smiling face.

“Here you go dear, I hope you like it.”

I tried and failed to match her exact level of enthusiasm as I thanked her for the surely delectable meal. She hung around awkwardly for a moment before speaking up once more.

“Um, would you mind if I sat down with you for a minute? That is, if you wouldn’t mind just a brief interruption.” Her eyes bounced between me and the floor.

“Oh uh, not at all, yeah have a seat,” I motioned for the chair across from mine as I tried not to look directly at the angry glare behind her accented by brandished, glistening cutlery.

“That your father?” I asked nonchalantly as I nodded to the kitchen behind her whilst she took her seat.

An incredulous look grew on her face, “Yeah! How’d you know?”

“Just call it a sharp hunch,” I murmured as I took my first bite of the plate laid before me.

She seemed to think nothing of it and brought back her enthusiastic smile. “So you’re from out of town aren’t you?”

I swallowed the first bite and replied with a bit of my own surprise. “Yeah, I am, how’d you guess?”

She flashed me another smile as she spoke, “With a town this small you’d be hard pressed to find an unfamiliar face that wasn’t from somewhere else. Plus, I don’t know, you just have a look about you that says you’re out and about; a little adventure in the eyes I guess.”

Her perception amused me as I took a sip from the steaming cup of tea. “That is more or less what I’m doing,” I said. “I’ve finished my schooling and decided to set out and learn more about the world around me first-hoof.”

“Where are you from?”

My small bit of fame with the individual across from me was likely to be crushed as I revealed my origin. “Ever heard of the small town of Hayfield a ways southeast from here?” I asked with trepidation.

My fears confirmed; her face contorted in confusion. “I’m afraid I haven’t. Then again, geography isn’t exactly my strong point.”

My ears folded against my head in mild embarrassment. “Yeah, can’t say I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it. Not a lot goes on there.”

In spite of what I may have thought, my new acquaintance merely perked up in more of her seemingly trademark excitement. “Well why don’t you tell me more about your home then? Surely it’s not all bad.”

I cursed my previous choice of words. I certainly did not hold any contempt for the sleepy town I’d spent my better days in. But, the whole reason I was even on this journey to begin with was because I’d grown tired of that place. Call it a love-hate relationship.

“Well it’s a fair bit smaller than Ponyville here, but we have a great diversity of residents; ranging from all three races of ponies to both zebras and griffons. On one side of the town we have a lake where I’d spent my years growing up with my mother and a loving, elderly couple who lived a short ways down from us along the shore. To the other side is my lifelong friend’s home in the hills, she’s always been like a sibling to me, which is something I’ve always wanted since I had such a small family growing up…”

Before I could continue in my reminiscing, I saw the mare’s azure eyes poke past her turquoise mane, looking for some scrap of information.

“Why such a small family? Uh, if you don’t mind me asking of course,” she spoke with great curiosity and a twinge of hesitation.

The question caught me off guard as I had to completely stop and think how it was that I’d come to lose my father.

“Well,” I said as I began to recall a sordid tale from my past.

---

Thirteen years ago was when I lost him. My mother and I had just become accustomed to our lovely home along Angel Lake. My father would have as well, but he was always too busy to really ever spend much time there.

My father was a botanist who worked for the royal government with the primary task of ensuring that the expanding Equestrian kingdom did nothing to threaten the flora and overall habitats of the surrounding areas.

He was always travelling, and seldom home. Yet, I feel like this enabled a stronger relationship between us when I was a younger child. Children only know the here and now; they know what they want, (sometimes,) and know without hesitation that the less of something you have, the more it means to you.

My father’s private evenings with me on the lake shore mean more to me than any of the exotic gifts he ever brought back from his trips. We didn’t need to do much for them to be so memorable, and most of the time we simply skipped rocks until the moon began its journey out of the sky and we felt as if we’d tossed half the shore into the black waters of the lake itself.

All was well, until he didn’t come home one week. Or the next. After a while my mother became hysterical with her speculations as to his disappearance. I tried to comfort her, to reassure her that maybe he got called off on a side job while he was off in the Drakeland Isles of the Griffon Kingdom.

“Emergencies happen,” I told her, but I never believed such fantasies. My thinly veiled lies brought more hallow comfort than they did believability.

Eventually a messenger of the royal guard came to our door clad in a black cloak to tell us what we’d already known but not accepted.

My father was dead, jumped by a gang of street thugs when he’d gone back to one of the larger cities on the main island. He was on his way to take a midnight ship to come back home early.

The ruffians responsible for his death swore up and down they had no intention of hurting him as they did. They didn’t want things to escalate at all, and figured he would just surrender his belongings and they could all be on their way.

Unfortunately my father was tired from an exhausting day of field research and merely wanted to trudge through the bottleneck of travel to get home to his family. This led him to be quite irritable and put him up for a fight that he’d have otherwise walked away from.

The griffons were surprised at his resilience and only managed to exchange a few blows with him before the youngest one of their group lost his temper and pushed him over the edge of the riverside street they were on.

He plunged about four yards before landing improperly on his neck on a small stone maintenance walkway running under a nearby bridge. He didn’t move after that; all that was my father died when his body hit the ground. According to a witness the griffons just stood there in utter shock long enough for a police wagon to arrive and arrest all three of them.

Five years after the incident I received a letter from the youngest griffon. He was in a rehabilitation program aimed at reforming his temper and previous issues with theft and greed; as well as committing him to a lifetime of service to his community to add to it what he took in the form of another man’s life.

He was laden with remorse for his actions and begged for my forgiveness for his grave mistake. I didn’t know what to make of it for days after reading it. Eventually, it was June who walked me through my confusion with the letter and helped me make the right decision.

“No pony’s perfect Dusk,” she explained as we stared at the descending sun setting the sky ablaze on a summer evening on her front porch.

“And when you hold a grudge against someone for not being that way, you hurt those people the same they hurt you.” I wasn’t sure I wanted her to be right, but I knew she was.

That night I sat at the desk in my room and wrote a reply. I explained that I forgave him, but I wanted him to understand exactly what he’d done to my family. I described my mother’s sorrow and slow emotional recovery, and how I lost my best friend and mentor. In the end of the letter, though, I assured him that he can go on with his life in peace if he promised to be a mentor and source of guidance for someone else who needed it.

I never received another letter from him in the years to come, only a couple of photos a few years later of a late adolescent griffon with a group of bright-eyed children smiling heart-warming smiles as they all played together.

It was then that I truly let the past go.

---

I had been recounting all of this without stopping, and without looking at my conversation partner. As I finished with my story I looked up at her mortified expression, hoof over her mouth and a discernible tear in her eye.

I immediately mentally berated myself for going into more detail than was likely necessary. Evergreen took a moment to compose herself before I made eye contact with her.

“That…that’s such a sad story. I’m so sorry all that happened.”

I gave her a confused look as I began to explain, “I don’t think you paid attention to the most important parts of that story. I learned how to forgive someone for unspeakable transgressions, but to also hold them accountable for earning that forgiveness. It’s much easier to give up on someone than to try and help them change. It’s important that we never do that.”

She pondered the idea for a moment, then looked knowingly at me with a smile of relief.

“That’s quite insightful, I’ll be sure to keep that close to my heart,” she smiled through the entire sentence.

“That’s what I love about working here, I hear so many different things from so many different ponies that it makes me feel like I’d never need to go to any higher formal education. Because, I learn lessons on how to be a better person this way, and I feel that’s what society needs most out of an individual.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

---

We continued our conversation for the better half of an hour, discussing everything from local gossip around our towns and my journey thus far, to our personal aspirations and philosophies. We continued talking until neither my plate nor mug of tea emitted any more steam.

When she noticed this her eyes grew in faint horror and she began to excuse herself.

“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to make you waste your meal, dear. I’ll be on my way now. But I’d just like to thank you for the wonderful conversation. I feel like I’ve learned a lot over this past hour, and you certainly shook up some of the humdrum of my usual mornings.”

I spoke up in reply as she stood from the table. “The pleasure was equally mine, and thanks again for the meal, cold or not it’s very delicious,” I teased her with a smirk on my face.

A look of feigned anger crossed her face as she huffed in frustration. She eventually smiled and turned around on her way back to the kitchen to aid her increasingly frustrated father with the new wave of customers that was lining up at the register.

---

Ten minutes later I had eaten my fill of what remained of my breakfast. I gathered up my bags and headed out for the door. The train would be boarding rather soon and I’d like to make sure I got a seat next to a window.

As I passed by the register she smiled in my direction and gave me a wave goodbye. Her father also gave a wave goodbye, just not with his hooves. He really seemed attached to that knife.

I brushed past the growing crowd on my way out the door and headed on down the main street towards the train station and my first real destination.

Author's Note:

It's a new year's miracle, I managed to update! Not many people have seen this story yet, but I'll keep writing it one way or the other as an exercise in self discipline. After you read this I hope you'll take the time to leave a comment, PM, or just a vote up or down. Feedback is always welcome as I'm very new to writing, so please let me know what you think of the story. Thanks for reading!