For Sonnets and Harmony

by The Wizard of Words

The Accompaniment

Fillydelphia, a town Octavia had only ever seen through panes of glass. Whether they be picture frames hanging upon the wall or the windows of a trolley moving through town, it was only through the panels that she had ever seen the sky-scraping city. Soon, that would change.

For now, she was entering the wide-stretched city within the compartment of a train, her cello sitting in the seat beside her as one of her hooves rested over the delicate instrument. Her eyes watched sections of the city race by, but the ponies along the tracks only paid half a mind to the steam powered transport, likely far past used to the sight.

Octavia settled back into her seat, shutting her eyes for a moment. She knew it would be no more than a couple of minutes before the train had its wheels locked and they were told to disembark. She wanted to savor a few more short moments of the interior’s calmness before she stepped into the busy city.

Whilst savoring the blanket of peace for a minute longer, she thought of the conversation she had with Vinyl, of her decision to play with the so-called Fiddlesticks over Drifter. It was clear from the questioning manner that Vinyl played with, and the words she chose to speak, that she would have rather had the cellist take up the strings with the blue Pegasus, but Octavia was inclined to decline.

She had nothing against Drifter, their brief meeting told her he was a very kind and sensible stallion. Octavia was merely more inclined to play with a pony that had their musical arts set more in tradition than late night partying.

She adjusted the coat along her back, hiding her wings from the many bored-looking ponies sitting around her. The brim of her hat was still lightly covering her eyes. The gray alicorn felt her lips upturn a bit, pulling in a smile.

Octavia was looking forward to meeting Fiddlesticks. What Vinyl had spoken of her, between the usual needless adjectives and misused adverbs, was her skill with the small wooden instrument. Perhaps it was the similarity in shape between the violin and cello that caused Vinyl to so often forget the name of the larger instrument. Possible, but unlikely.

To play any stringed instrument was not an easy task. Octavia knew far better than most ponies the difficulty that went into mastering one. One had to not only know the placement of the bow, the technique of the draw, and the method of holding, but they also had to hear the subtle differences in pitch and tone.

Raise your hoof just a hair higher along the neck, and the notes would descend in pitch. Draw the string too fast, and the instrument would nearly screech in rage. The many ponies of the Symphony knew that, but Octavia was remiss to say she knew few musicians outside of her tight circle that practiced the stringed instruments. Thus, she was interested to meet another, and Vinyl’s description had left her hopes high.

It also didn’t hurt that Vinyl had described the mare as her twin. Octavia, upon seeing her picture, was unable to deny the similarities.

Though she was fairly certain she had no long-lost relatives, it was beyond odd to see another mare with a mane and tail as long as hers, curled and straightened to the same style, facial features the same shape as hers, and even a cutie mark that matched her own. The last bit was more than a little disturbing to the cellist, but she supposed if she was one in a million, there were at least a few ponies out there just like her.

Her thoughts were jostled as the train made an abrupt change in pace. Octavia looked out the window to see they had sunken to a crawl, the station peering back at her beyond the train’s windows.

“Now at Fillydelphia station, Fillydelphia.” The speaker above her lightly spoke, nearly unheard as the ponies around her began to rise, reaching for luggage in compartments above or below their seats. Octavia waited patiently, aware that forcing her way through the crowd would not be comfortable, nor effective in concealing her hidden wings and horn.

Slowly but surely, the many ponies began to file out of the cabin, foals eagerly clopping up and down at finally being able to move again, their parents equally as grateful for the long ride to be over. Octavia, rather, was of the opposite mind. She enjoyed the solitude and stillness of travel, at least on occasion.

When she saw only a hoof full of ponies left in the cabin, Octavia rose from her seat, making sure the jacket on her back was secure before stepping into line. She moved the case of her cello to the ground as well, letting it wobble slightly before it balanced itself. Satisfied, she pulled the instrument forward.

It took little time for her to reach the end of the cabin, small as train compartments were, and the gap between the train row and the concrete ground. Easily, Octavia stepped down, letting her hooves clop upon the packed, well-worn ground. She jerked to a stop, however, and it took little time for her to find out why.

Behind her, Octavia’s cello was stuck on a raised piece of metal, its intended purpose beyond the young alicorn. Puckering her lips in annoyance, the mare turned around pulling on the case with a bit more strength than she thought she needed. The cello refused to move. Further annoyed, the mare pushed the case back, freeing it from the protruding metal. But, as she pulled forward again, it rolled right back into place, stopping once more.

Octavia huffed in annoyance, displeasure clear to everypony around. She attempted to jostle the case free, shaking it from side to side in a vain attempt. She attempted, unsuccessfully, to pay the many onlookers little mind. Frustration reaching a limit, she finally put her rear legs against the edge of the platform, pulling on her case with an aggravated grunt.

The case came free, sending Octavia tumbling across the platform.

She was unceremonious in her fall, landing on the cold concrete before the cello case fell atop of her. She rolled with it, hooves over head, before stopping with her stomach on the ground, legs sprawled out, and cello case laying unflattering beside her. She groaned, either in pain or embarrassment, or both.

There were murmurings above her, doubtlessly the ponies speaking about her rather humorous tumble, but none of them made move to help her. Momentarily, Octavia wished she had taken the princess upon her offer. It seemed now to be the logical solution, one that would have made her travels far easier and her stress levels lower. But, that would also likely mean some sort of royal treatment she was not yet used to receiving. For now, she was perfectly content to ride coach in a public train that being carted across Equestria in a Royal Carriage, and deal with the social awkwardness as it came and went. Just a tumble, after all, she reasoned. Nothing catastrophic.

That was until Octavia raised her forehoof to her sore head, only to meet the strong texture of her horn.

Her hat was not on her person.

A flare of worry swept through the alicorn, her violet eyes quickly darting back to look at her coat. She was satisfied, only somewhat to see that her large wings were very much hidden, her practice with Luna and Ditzy better training her from letting them sprawl outwards.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that she had just exposed the rather large and intimidating horn on her head.

She bit her lip, wondering what she could do about it now. She could certainly not pass herself off as Octavia, the cellist of the Canterlot Symphony, not to any stallion or mare who knew her as an earth pony. As loose as the disguise always was, it didn’t truly affect her untill it was removed.

For now however, she was still safe, at least partially. Octavia appeared as unicorn in the eyes of those around her, the same eyes that watched her sprayed out on the ground. There were no wings to mark her as royalty. If anything, they saw her only as a curiously klutzy mare. The stares around her grew into murmurs, but she paid them little mind. That was until one of them spoke to her.

“Well, don’t cha look like ya just got kicked off the band wagon?” The question was posed from just above her, in an accent Octavia hardly recognized. “C’mon, lets get ya back up on yer hooves.”

She turned her head from her back to look up at the speaker, seeing first a hoof extended towards her. Blinking, Octavia gratefully took it. She felt the mare, for she knew it was a mare by the pitch of her voice, pull on her leg and lift her from the cold concrete and back onto her hooves. The coat on her back shifted, but her wings remained tight against her carriage, hidden from the public eye.

Octavia opened her mouth to thank the mare who assisted her, only to find them slack open in surprise.

Staring back at her was a mare that matched her height to an inch. A mare with a mane of matching length as hers, and a tail to mirror. The pony was a mare that had a Treble Clef for a Cutie Mark, different from Octavia’s own only by color, but positioned no differently and shaped all the same. She was of the same size, the same length, the same structure in every which way, horn and wings aside.

In fact, the only significant difference in the pair, besides appendages, was their color. Where Octavia stood with a gray coat and only slightly-darker mane, the mare across from her was light yellow in coat, matching grown wheat, and with hair bluer than an open sky.

The mare stared back at her with an equally shocked expression, the two mirroring each other in both appearance and action. It was, as Octavia would for a long time recall, a terrifying and surreal feeling.

“Well… Ah’m guessin yer the gal Vinyl told me ta keep mah hat tipped for, huh?” The words, spoken in as broken Equestiran as they were, made it more than obvious that this was the mare Octavia was looking for.

“…Yes,” Octavia replied weaker than she would have liked to. First appearances mattered and she did not want to appear to be a bumbling fool with a lisp. The other mare, who Octavia was sure was Fiddlesticks, grinned cheekily in a way that reminded her of Vinyl. The alicorn could immediately see why the two would get along.

“Alright!” The other mare cheered, nodding her head in what Octavia guessed was light celebration. “Glad ta know we ain’t gonna be huntin’ one another ‘round the town. Too darn big for that kinda nonsense.”

Octavia had to think on her words for a moment before nodding in agreement. Her language was not just broken, it was tattered. It was not the worst dialect she had heard, but it was a strong competitor. It was with good grace that the mare was friendlier than Octavia truthfully expected for a first meeting. Octavia’s many interactions in the Symphony had led her to observe that ponies of the big city were not always the kindest to others.

Then again, very little of Fiddlesticks spoke of the city.

From her language to her clothes, everything about the earth pony spoke of life far away from any form of industrialization. Not only were her mannerisms a far cry from from an individual raised to be prim and proper, but her white Stetson hat and loose fitting shirt appeared to be nearly as old as the mare herself. The orange scarf tied around her neck and the loose belt about her waist were bright against the light colored shirt she wore, almost distractingly so.

It would be loathe for the concealed alicorn to say that Fiddlesticks did not wear the attire well. She appeared very eye catching in a rural sense, though even to one raised in high society she was easy to look at. Her eyes appeared to glow and her clothes accented it beautifully. It made Octavia ponder how she would look in those same clothes, seeing as the two were practically twins by appearance alone.

Then again, she was rather sure the mare lacked the wings and horn Octavia had recently grown.

“So yer the silent type, are ya?” The mare suddenly asked Octavia, her hat lowered slightly as her eyes looked at the gray mare crookedly, like Octavia would stare at a missing string along her cello. The question, or statement as it sounded, was enough to rouse the alicorn from her thought induced stupor.

“Oh! No, no, I apologize for that,” Octavia let out a bit quicker than she intended. It appeared she was struggling to speak at the right tempo or volume. She only hoped pitch did not follow. A cracking voice was a hard thing to explain away. “I was simply swept up by your… I do apologize for how this sounds, but your appearance.” To emphasize her point, Octavia swept her hoof towards the other mare. Thankfully, Fiddlesticks seemed entertained at the statement.

“No denyin’ we gotta few good looks between us, huh?” Again, it took Octavia a moment to put the words into a proper sentence. When she did, she nodded once more, letting a small but polite smile pull at her lips. It was dwarfed by the beaming grin Fiddlesticks wore.

“Well, I suppose proper introductions are in order.” Octavia looked to her side, pulling her cello case up and lightly inspecting it for damages before turning back towards the earth mare. Extending her hoof, Octavia spoke on.

“My name is Octavia Melody, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The other earth pony took the hoof with her own gripping it with a strength that surprised the alicorn. She was further shocked when she found the proceeding handshake nearly lifting her from the ground.

“Good ta meet ya, Octavia! Mah name’s Fiddle Faddle, but ya can settle for Fiddlesticks.” Said mare let go of Octavia’s hoof, dropping the alicorn back to her hooves. It took the cellist a moment to collect herself, still feeling her mind shaking from the simple introduction. A quick jostle of her head, and she could see straight again.

“Yes, well,” Octavia spoke as he ran a hoof through her mane, straightening a few loose strands in her otherwise well maintained hair. “I hope it is not a far trip to your home. It can be rather tiring riding a train for so long.”

“Ah know that feelin’,” Fiddle seemed to agree with Octavia, turning from her gray twin as she motioned with her head. It was as clear a sign as any to follow. Octavia did so, pulling her cello beside her. “Ah can’t stand the idea of doin’ nothin’ fer that long. Ponies weren’t meant ta stay still, least not while we’re awake.” She mare snorted as if she made a joke. Octavia was not sure why.

“So, is your home within walking distance?” Octavia posed the question again, both hoping to start a conversation and develop an idea of how far away they were. Fiddle shook her head, white hat atop her long blue mane shaking lightly.

“Nope, sorry ta say we gotta hitch another ride.” The gray alicorn hid her sigh well.

She looked to her side, catching a glimpse of her hat sitting atop the concrete. She looked at it for a moment, needlessly deliberating over whether she should take it or not. She rather disliked the feeling of it sitting on her head, though it served the useful purpose of hiding her horn. The thing was such an act was needless now. Nevertheless, it would become required again back home. She reached for it, grabbing the stretched and stitched material without pause in her step.

“That’s a mighty tall hat ya got there,” Fiddle spoke to Octavia over her shoulder, noting the attire Octavia wore out of necessity alone. “Most of ya Canterlot type wear that? Haven’t been to tha’ big city enough ta know.” Again, another moment of silence was required for Octavia to decipher the speech.

“No,” she answered honestly, maneuvering the case of her cello around some ponies as she spoke. “It’s… an idea of Vinyl’s for me to wear.” Not a lie by any stretch of the imagination, but obviously hiding majority of the truth. Octavia was far from proud of herself.

“Pardon me if Ah don’t trust that unicorn with fashion sense,” Fiddle spoke back in response, her voice free of any animosity. She spoke of Vinyl as if noting a cloud in the sky. “That mare thinks wearin’ shades darker than night is a dandy trick, even when the sun’s tuckered out and the moon is gettin’ ready ta dance the night away.” Octavia felt her lips pull in another grin at the statement.

“True, and I will be the first to admit Vinyl is far from a fashion expert,” Octavia joined in the light banter about their friend, who she knew would appreciate the recognition. “But she does have an eye for necessity, even if it means lacking in other important areas.”

The pair descended the platform steps, Octavia carefully maneuvering her cello down the concrete landings. It was easier for her than most ponies as she had to perform that deed more often than others, especially during her early days within her musical career. Her parents had told her that the best musicians cared for their instruments, not simply thrusting them onto another to maintain.

“So, watcha ya got in there?” Octavia diverted her attention away from her cello long enough to see Fiddle pointing one of her hooves at the case.

“This? It is my cello,” Octavia easily explained. “It is the instrument I am most practiced in. I apologize, I thought Vinyl would have told you about it.” Fiddle, for her part, didn’t appear to be insulted nor had any of her interests perked.

“Oh, that’s it?” She asked in a tone of pure honesty. “Just figured most of the ponies from big cities liked ta pack their bags full fer the small trips.” This time when Octavia thought on the sentence, it was not out of confusion for the words being spoken, but to think on what Fiddle meant by the words. When it clicked, she shook her head bashfully.

“Oh no, I promise you that I am far from vain in such a regard,” Octavia heartfully promised her twin. “I simply trust myself more with my cello than some random pony who doesn’t consider how much it means to me.” The gray alicorn did not miss or take for granted the thoughtful and agreeing nod of Fiddle’s head.

“Good ta hear!” Fiddle replied with the same energy she had when they met minutes ago.

Turning away again, Octavia saw that the other mare was leading them to the street, packed like the Canterlot square during one of Princess Celestia’s public announcements. Ponies were side by side one another, crowding the side-walk as carriages trotted by, the ponies leading them making their daily living.

More than once, Octavia felt the grip on her cello loosen, forcing her to pull the case closer to herself, and eventually the same went for her jacket and hat. She found her wings, hidden still beneath the long folds of her jacket, holding themselves tightly against her bed, flexed more so than usual. She was holding her hat down with her hoof every other step, constantly raising it to adjust the tall piece of her attire to keep it from falling off again.

Speaking of hats, Octavia found herself keeping track of Fiddle by only hers, otherwise she’d have been lost in the sea of heads. Even in a city as packed as Fillydelphia, there were few ponies who walked around wearing a Stetson hat like the mare she saw as a miscolored twin. The white-brimmed hat was easily viewable among the many other colors of manes that dotted the cluster of ponies, all clambering down the same side-walk.

Octavia pushed her way through the crowd, her moves executed with great care so as not to attract unwanted attention. She was, however, far more concerned with losing track of Fiddle in the crowd.

“Octavia!” The mare called her full name, waving a hoof at her. Doubtlessly recognizing the cellist by her hat, the mare directed Octavia closer to her. The gray alicorn followed, finding herself finally pushing through the wall of ponies and to the near-open street. Open in that no ponies were walking through it, though the many carriages suggested it was far from barren.

“Guess Ah can see now why Vinyl wanted ya ta keep that hat.” Octavia looked at Fiddle, standing next to her and smirking with a grin that would not have looked out of place on her DJ friend. It took the cellist a minute to realize what said mare was talking about.

“Well, the ride ta the homestead’s here,” Fiddle spoke as she motioned to behind Octavia with one of her hooves. The gray mare turned, expecting to see the yellow paint of a taxi carriage. In a city like this, she wouldn’t have been too shocked to see a bicycle or two. Instead, she saw one of the last forms of transportation she expected to see in the city.

A wagon. A covered wagon.

It was far taller than most of the other transports that dotted the roads, doubtlessly due to its arcing white roof. It was longer still than it was tall, stretching Octavia’s length four fold, and with her newly ascended alicornhood, she was not a particularly small mare. Two stallions were at its helm, wearing coated harnesses that kept the rough leather from grating on their backs. Their own coats were matching in color, a light green accented by their yellow manes and tails. Fitting vests were wrapped around them, just beneath the harness attached to the wagon.

“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” Fiddle asked from beside the clearly slack-jawed gray mare. “Been in the family fer generations. Needed a few repairs and fix-’er-uppers over them years, but she can run as quick as Cris and Pin there can gallop, somethin’ most of these city slickin vehicles couldn’t hope ta muster.”

Octavia was able to filter out the important information in the mare’s brief yet prideful speech. The two stallions’ names were one, Cris and Pin apparently, as well as the age of the vehicle. It was older than she was, looking to be every year it likely held. That was not something the cellist wanted to trust her life to.

“Wouldn’t it be better to obtain a… safer form of transportation?” Octavia tried her utmost to not offend with her suggestion. She had no doubt of Fiddle’s confidence, her own found more comfort in the engineering behind a more modern form of transportation, trains being a nearby and excellent example.

“Safer?” the violist asked back with a questioning tone. Her own head tilted as she angled her eyes, nearly hiding one beneath the wide brim of her alabaster hat. “Ya ain’t gonna get safer than Ol’ Jessey over here. Could run straight cross Equstria and not let any bumps ‘er holes stop her.” It had a name, Octavia realized through the speech. That was… something.

Though Octavia was far from vain, as she had made clear with words earlier, she was not above wishing for the better half of the methods presented in front of her. She would prefer a carriage or taxi over a covered wagon, she couldn’t deny. It was no different, she reasoned, than Vinyl preferring a shady nightclub to a private party; simply a personal preference.

Still, she couldn’t very well insult the mare and her family upon their first meeting, especially if she was to spend the next few days with them. First impressions were essential, and that sometimes required the repression of your own discomfort to make them successful. Stifling the wings hidden beneath her coat, and drawing a long breath, Octavia spoke to Fiddlesticks again.

“Very well,” she spoke with a tone she hoped projected optimism. “We should be off then. I trust that Cris and Pin can get us to your… homestead with haste.” The gray mare was glad her words had struck the right cord, at least she assumed she had by the one-sided grin Fiddle let pull at her cheek.

“Darn right they can!” The mare nodded energetically as she stomped one of her hooves into the pavement. “We’ll get back ta the farm ‘fore you can say ‘Appleloosa!’” Octavia nodded appreciatively. “Now c’mon, lets get yer cello in the back and your rump in a seat. Can’t get the wagon movin’ without ya in it.” The alicorn again dumbly nodded, once more clarifying the words as she followed behind the yellow coated mare.

They moved to the back of covered wagon, through the sea of ponies that dominated the walking section of the street. Octavia saw the few carts and boxes already loaded in the back, likely supplies that the rural ponies needed for the daily labor. She hoped that didn’t sound vain, even in her own mind. Looking to her cello behind her, she positioned it at her side before continuing.

Her mind played a simple bass chord, deep yet continuous. It surrounded the case in her gray aura, raising it into the air effortlessly. She added a violin’s chord next, a small quick pluck of the strings. It moved the black case into the wagon, letting the magical aura secure it against the floor, secured by a crate of supplies Octavia couldn’t see inside. The music in her mind ceased, and she was finished.

“Good ta see ya travel light,” Fiddlesticks noted behind her. “Puts ya ranks above the rest of them city slickers.” The earth pony nodded her head towards the train platform the two had only just moved from. Sure enough, Octavia could spy many more than one simple pony carrying more bags than they had hooves. Looking back at her own simple cello case, she was being undeniably modest with her possessions.

“I’m glad my priorities align with yours,” Octavia agreed, smiling politely as she nodded her head towards her palette-switched twin. Fiddle smirked as she tipped her hat.

“Well, best be gettin’. Can’t reach home if we stay here and let our hooves cool.” The metaphor Fiddlesticks alluded to escaped Octavia, but the gray mare recognized the call to leave when she heard it.

Nodding, she reached her hooves up, ascending the small yet surprisingly secure steps in the back of the wagon. It appeared that Fiddlesticks didn’t overstate the safety of the wagon, at least thus far. Then again, she had little to no reason to do much other than trust the mare. Vinyl may have been a lot of things, but she had good judgment in ponies.

“Scoot over a bit fer me, will ya?” Octavia, upon hearing the request, hastily moved aside, apologizing as she did so to the mare. Fiddle Sticks dismissed the words as she made her way into the wagon. “Ain’t nothin’ ta apologize fer. Jus’ needed some room ta get in. Hey!” The mare called towards the front, doubtlessly to the twin brothers, at least Octavia assumed they were twin brothers. “We’re all good back here, ya’ll ready to hightail it home?”

Knickers of agreement came from the front, the words escaping Octavia. She didn’t miss the confirming nods and grateful looks on the brothers, however, as they glanced back at what Octavia assumed to be their sister. It looked as if they weren’t any more fond of the tight quarters of Fillydelphia than Octavia herself. There was something comforting about finding that common ground so easily.

With a small jolt, Octavia felt the wagon begin to move, maneuvering through the busy streets as just another cart among the sea of others. Though she would prefer the comfortable seats of a carriage or isolated cabin of a train, it was hard to complain against being carried to her destination. She let a pleased sigh leave her lips as she rested against one of the boxes in the wagon.

“So,” she heard Fiddlesticks speak up besides her. “Aren’t ya gonna take that there jacket off? Can’t be good fer the wings, I reckin’.”

Octavia felt herself jolt upwards. Her eyes were wide, staring at the mare that was so nearly her twin. Fiddle only cocked her head, confused by the opposite mare’s reaction. The violist even shrugged her shoulders when the gray alicorn’s terrified expression refused to change.

“Wha? Ya’ll really think Vinyl’d keep that little tidbit away from me?” In all honesty, Octavia had hoped so. As if sensing the words, Fiddle waved her hoof. She waited a moment to speak, a passing horn deafening them. “Look, Vinyl told me all about yer… let’s just call it a surprise.” Octavia agreed with the term, but she had yet to let her face lax. “I ain’t gonna pretend it’s somethin’ me or the rest of the family’s gonna be able ta give you good advice on, but it’d be a shame to the Apple Family name ta not help out a friend.” Though her expression didn’t relax, Octavia felt her head cock, turning her shock into confusion.

“Help?” she repeated. She felt the wagon jostle around her as it made a sharp turn. She placed her hoof on the wooden crate next to her, boarded up and hiding its contents well. “If I may inquire, what did Vinyl say you were to help me with? To clarify, she told me you two had met off chance by our… similar appearances, yet your skill with the violin was hard to be matched.” Octavia watched as Fiddle shifted her head away, scratching at a patch of fur behind her neck.

“Ya, well, Vinyl wasn’t ever a mare ta keep things subtle, ain’t she?” Octavia felt herself give a small, but still faintly proper, snort at the words. It made Fiddle Sticks chuckle. “She told me ‘bout how this thing sorta… just happened. That ya were lookin’ fer some answers, but so far got near nothin’.” It was depressing, at least a little. Hearing another mare so easily sum of the lack of results over the past few weeks. Fiddle read the expressions over Octavia like a sheet of paper.

“Hey now, Ah’m not passin’ judgement er nothin’.” The mare continued. She went to raise her hoof, but kept it firmly against the wagon as it took another turn, quickening in pace to likely catch a changing light. “Vinyl said that playin’ yer cello seemed ta get a new kinda reaction from yer magic, so she wanted ta know if Ah could help ya out.” Octavia raised her gaze a hair, watching as Fiddle shifted her should uncomfortably.

“Ah’m not the kind a pony who ‘njoys gettin’ tossed in any lime lights, but Ah’d be hard pressed ta say no ta a mare that needs a hoof of support. Sides,” Fiddle assumed her confident, almost Vinyl-esque grin before speaking on. “Ah promised Vinyl one of the Apple Family Recipes fer Cider Pie, just ta make sure all secrets a kept liked tight as a barrel full of fresh apple fall cider.”

Octavia blinked, unspeaking for a moment. She felt the wagon hit a bump, her position shaking a little as it did so, but otherwise nothing more. Fiddle just continued to look at her, wearing a face and form that was so much like her, but wearing confidence that Octavia was hard pressed to ever say she possessed. It was hard for her not to trust the mare.

She allowed a smile to spill through her lips, chasing away the poison of discontent. Vinyl had yet to truly steer her wrong, at least apart from some pranks gone too far. This was not a prank and Vinyl was not a mare to purposefully cause harm. Fiddlesticks, as well, appeared to be genuinely concerned for her, something that was, while not foreign, still warm.

Instead of speaking, Octavia adjusted the heavy jacket from her back, feeling relief as some form of fresh air touched at the cramped edges of her wings. She breathed a sigh of relief as she let them expand, groaning in comfort as the cramped muscles were given the chance to stretch. She stopped only when she felt the sensitive feathers touch the boxed crates inside the wagon, but was still superior to the tight isolation of her jacket. Fiddle whistled lowly at the sight.

“Well Ah’ll be a crab apple grown in the Sweety Acres Orchard,” she spoke with a tone that swam in appreciation. Octavia watched as her miscolored counterpart adjusted the brim of her alabaster hat, wide eyes matching the broad smile across her muzzle. “Vinyl wasn’t jokin’.”

“No,” Octavia admitted. “Vinyl isn’t quite the pony in the habit of joking about another’s problems, not unless it’s in good humor.” The gray alicorn turned her attention toward the front of the wagon, watching the two green coated stallions head towards the outer limits of the city, noted by the drastic reduction in high-rise buildings. “So, how far is your home from the city’s end?”

“Ah,” Fiddle almost dismissed the question with her hoof, turning her head aside to match. “Probably a good hour ‘er two, nothin’ too bad.” That, by Octavia’s standards of transportation, was actually quite bad. She kept her lips shut, however. “Reckin’ we can pass the time with a bit of storytellin’, maybe a bit of history, what do ya think?”

The idea of passing a full hour with conversation was far preferred to passing it in silence.

“Well,” Octavia began with what she hoped to be a stimulating topic. “I am the only daughter of my parent’s union, bearing what they hope to be a great history for the family in the realm of musical arts.”

“That so,” Fiddle returned with a curious tone. “Gotta say our family is kinda’ off from the idea of single siblings.” Fiddle chuckled as she spoke. “Maybe Ah should catch ya up on what to expect when we get there.”

“Perhaps,” Octavia agreed. “But I would far prefer a shared discussion of our history, rather than a one-sided soliloquy.” At the blank stare of the violist, Octavia clarified her statement. “I think we should take turns talking about our differences, seeing as we already share most appearances.”

“Yeah,” the yellow earth pony snorted, tapping the top of her hat. “Most appearances.” It didn’t take the upbringing in high society to know what Fiddlestick was referring to. Octavia was of the same thought. “But yeah, Ah gotta ‘mit Ah wanna hear what life is like in Canterlot outside of ‘em dance parties Vinyl was so fond of. Ya mind sharin’ about that?”

“No,” Octavia easily answered her double, fond smile on her face. “Not so long as you care to speak of the family I am soon to meet.”

And for the next hour, Fiddlesticks and Octavia did just that.

“…So when you took that request and the Gala…” Fiddlesticks was barely holding back her laughter as Octavia was finishing up her story. It was not one of her brighter moments, but it was hardly something she could call boring.

“My colleagues and I began a cascading event that eventually led to the rapid destruction of the ceremony.” The alicorn let out a pitiable sigh as she let her head fall. Across from her, however, the exact opposite occurred.

Fiddlesticks brought her hat over her features in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter. She felt the chortles of mirth push through her throat, shaking her chest as felt a sort of guilty elation. She wrapped her forehooves about her carriage, poorly attempting to silence or quiet her display. She was completely unsuccessful. Octavia even heard a few chuckles from the brothers pulling the wagon.

“That’s a mighty fine way ta sum up rotten luck.” Eloquent as anything Octavia had heard her say before, Fiddlesticks summarized the alicorn’s story with a brash kind of ease. “But let’s get past that.”

“Yer timin’ was spot on, cause we’re back home!” To emphasize her point, the mare pointed out the back of the wagon. Curious, Octavia uneasily rose to her hooves, fully aware that the covered wagon was still moving, now likely on a dirt and unpaved road. When she reached the back, peeking her head out, the cellist saw quite a sight.

Rows of apple trees surrounded the road, towering over the predictably dirt path like gentle giants to a stray traveler. Their canopy of green leaves were dotted with cacophonies of red, yellow, green, and even a few attractive glimpses of gold. Each shone like a light with the sun reflecting off of them, begging to be picked and making a normally simple sight something magnificent.

She searched through the thick trunks of the trees, watching as the rows and rows of them passed by, all near perfectly aligned but all so evenly grown, all so amazingly strong. She saw the odd empty plot, the vacant spot of land, where she suspected a rotten or fully satisfied tree had once been. It somehow managed to make the sight before only that much more real, more honest.

Octavia drew in a deep breath, relishing the sweet taste that hung in the air down the orchard path. It filled her with a kind of energy she’d previously found only in an orchestral hall. It wafted over her nose, bidding her to shut her eyes to enjoy the scent for just a second more. Her wings lightly extended, perhaps expecting her to take flight. The idea was admittedly attractive.

“Whoa,” the voice of Fiddle brought the mare back to reality. “Settle yerself down there, partner.” Octavia felt her country-counterpart’s hoof on her shoulder, lightly instructing her to come back in. With a blush of embarrassment, Octavia did just that, huddling into her spot quicker than she would have liked. She didn’t miss the light smirk over Fiddle’s lips. “So Ah’m gonna venture another guess and say ya like the site, don’t cha?”

Octavia paused for a moment before speaking. “It is… amazing.” She debated using a more reserved compliment, in fact she debated to speak at all, but she realized that speaking falsely or without the respect the orchard deserved would be doing an injustice.

After all, just as she had honed her craft over years on the cello, this family doubtlessly perfected their orchard over generations of hard labor. It was hard not to appreciate the work that doubtlessly went into it. It would be unjust to say nothing more than a single word.

“The air alone is invigorating. I hesitate to think what will happen if I were to taste one of the apples.” The snickering from Fiddlesticks was joined by the blue maned mare adjusting her alabaster hat, perhaps to show of the crooked and confident glint in her eyes, as if she were about to stupefy Octavia. A part of the alicorn didn’t doubt it.

“Well, first off, it’s ain’t if, it’s when. Ain’t no way, no how yer comin’ ta the farm without gettin’ at least a lick of what we got growin’.” The mare held up her hoof as if to count. Octavia was sure Fiddle was well enough aware that she could only count to one on a singular hoof. “Second, compliments are much obliged. Don’t get as many ponies ta the farm as ya might imagine. Most of the time it’s just a carrier ‘er somethin’ lookin’ ta resupply.”

“Oh, but aren’t they your primary source of income? I mean, I doubt you cart these apples to Fillydelphia each day alone.” Fiddle’s grin only grew with the statement. Octavia was right, she was about to be stupefied. “Do you?”

“What do ya think’s in those crates, carrots?” Fiddle pointed to the wooden boxes aside Octavia, only now allowing the mare to guess at what was in them. In truth, the alicorn felt foolish for not assuming that was what they were. “Gotta get them there early then haul what we can back. What doesn’t make the stand in the market makes the cider in the mill. Ain’t no waste in any apple. Even a rotten core is good for compost.”

And again, twice over, Octavia was impressed with her double. She only hoped that she would be able to repay the feeling by day’s end, in some way. The cart make a small jerk. It took the alicorn only a glance to see it was because the pair of brother’s had stopped. A cursory glance past them showed why.

“Welp, back on the saddle,” Fiddle spoke from beside Octavia, pushing to her hooves and taking the few steps necessary to reach the back of the wagon. With a small jump, she hit the ground. Octavia diverted her attention to the mare, rising to her feet as well. She folded her wings across her back, grabbing the case of her cello as she made way to the rear of the wagon as well.

With only a quick hop and sudden stop, the mare found her hooves resting on the dirt, black cello case sitting on the lip of the wagon behind her, and the grinning face of her blue-maned counterpart observing her. The mare swept one of her forehooves forwards, motioning to the buildings behind Octavia.

“Welcome ta Sweet Filly Orchard!” The mare spoke with a voice saturated in pride. Her beaming smile made encircled her swelled stature. Octavia found herself smiling as well, followed by a polite bow to Fiddle.

“It is my pleasure to be here, Fiddlesticks. I thank you earnestly for the help you are providing me.” She heard snickering from above her, but knew the mare well enough by now to know there was no malice behind it. It was more similar to a foal with a mischievous notion than a mare with a devious mind.

Instead of Fiddle speaking on, however, Octavia heard the small pitter patter of tiny hooves. Both mares turned to see a small filly walking up to them, the wonder of the stars in her eyes. Octavia had to blink to ensure herself that she wasn’t just seeing spots.

The filly was small, doubtlessly passed a few years in age, with a green coat that was a shade lighter than the twins that pulled their wagon. It was impossible to miss the bright blue gaze of wonder in her eyes, only partially concealed by the short mane hanging down in a nicely light pink color. Her gaze shifted from her, to Fiddle and back again.

“Is tha’ one of the princesses?!”

That was bad.

It wasn’t until the question was posed from behind her that Octavia realized, with dread, that she was exposed. Her wings were not hidden by any coat, her horn was not hidden by any hat, and the clearly glowing sun betrayed nopony’s sight. She bit her lips, unsure of how to react.

Octavia’s mind began to race. Was the secret out already? Was she going to have to tell everyone what happened to her? Explain what she had yet to understand herself? She wasn’t ready for that, there was no way-

“Stop yer wagon wheels, sis.” Octavia blessed Celestia’s name for the interjection.

She turned her head to see her yellow-coated counterpart striding over to the younger mare. Fiddlesticks had her eyes on the smaller pony, smirking like she was in on some secret. To the younger filly, however, she truthfully was.

“Fiddle? Who is she?” The younger pony spoke up again, asking her apparent elder about Octavia. The gray alicorn reminded herself that the pony was likely too young to be held to common expectations of etiquette.

“She’s a friend from the big city, helpin’ us out so we can help her out,” Fiddle began to explain. “Somethin’ happened with the real princesses and her, so she’s layin’ low fer it ta get sorted out. No biggy.” It wasn’t the greatest lie Octavia had ever heard, but she had to admit it was far more believable than the truth. That realization alone was a little disturbing to the once-earth pony.

“O-o-o-oh,” the younger mare replied, her wide blue eyes still staring at sister. They turned to look at Octavia. The gray alicorn adopted an uneasy grin, trying her best to look nonplused. “That’s so cool!” Octavia had enough time to blink before the green coated filly was at her hooves, looking up at her with to comparable size of saucers.

“Mah name’s Candy Apple an’ Ah’m the best in the family in makin’ candy apples!” The declaration was hardly surprising following the filly’s name. “So what’s yer name?”

“I-I am Octavia Melody,” the alicorn returned with a short bow, following her stumbling start. She blamed the trip for shaking her, but she knew it was more than that. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Candy.” She extended her hoof towards the young filly, who took it eagerly and began to shake.

That was when another voice echoed across the orchard.

“Wow! Is that one of the princesses?”

The trio looked to see a young colt staring at them now, blue eyes and green coat like Candy, but with a brown mane atop his head. He was staring forward with as much awe as the young filly was before. Fiddlesticks was about to take up the mantle to explain again, but her younger sibling beat her to it.

“Nah, she’s not, she’s here from the big city helpin’ us out! She’s stayin’ here fer a while till things smooth over!” Candy shouted the announcement clear across the orchard, causing the little colt to come running over. Just like the filly before him, he stopped at Octavia’s hoofs, staring up at her with an unblinking gaze of wonder.

“Hey there!” he let out in an accent not far from the two ponies Octavia had already met. “Mah name’s Caramel Apple, and mah special talent is makin’ caramel apples!” Octavia was beginning to sense a trend.

“Hello there Caramel,” Octavia returned kindly, more prepared for a meeting now. “My name is Octavia Melody, and I thank you for the comfort of your home.” She extended her hoof towards him, letting the colt shake it just as vigorously as the previous filly.

“Well Ah’ll be.” Octavia’s ears perked and she repressed a sigh, suspecting already the next comment. “Ya’ll wouldn’t happen ta be one of the princesses now would ya?”

“Nope, she’s a friend of Fiddle’s, come here ta lay low cause somethin’s getting’ sorted out with the princess!” Caramel responded to the voice with an answer slightly less detailed than Candy’s. If Octavia remembered her own foalhood games, the line would end with her hiding from arrest due to her assassination attempt.

She turned politely, looking to properly introduce herself to the new voice. She came face to face with a stallion, likely in between Fiddlestick’s age and the green twins from earlier. His coat was a lighter orange, a mane of red as well, though mostly hidden beneath a tied green bandana, likely to keep any stray hairs from falling into his eyes.

“Well, good ta hear Fiddle brought a gal ta see the homestead, hope ya’ll are enjoyin’ the view so far.” He trotted the short distance towards the alicorn before extending his hoof, smiling with a proud gaze not unlike Fiddle’s own. “Name’s Tart, and Ah’m the one in charge of gatherin’ most ‘a the apples ta the south.”

Octavia lightly noted three important facts. The stallion’s name, his polite nature, and that the farm was apparently large enough to require multiple sections of responsibility. Most homes did, she realized, but not often for one large chore.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Tart,” Octavia returned, bowing lightly to the stallion. “I thank you for your hospitality.” The orange stallion grinned and nodded his head, affirming the welcome.

“Well wouldja’ looky here!” Octavia had to suppress the groan that came from her throat. Instead of turning towards the new elderly-sounding voice, she turned to her doppelganger, letting a slightly worried look overtake her. Judging by the amused look Fiddle returned, this was at least close to the normal reaction as far as new meetings went.

“Your family is… how large again?” Octavia could clearly recall the mare mentioning the size of her family in the trip from Fillydelphia, but the exact number escaped her. Judging by the pause that followed, the mare had to count herself.

“On this here orchard? Reckin’ ‘bout twenty strong, myself and the twins in that number.” Octavia sighed as she heard another surprised gasp, followed by the inquiry into her form. She predicted Caramel’s interjection easily. As far as introductions went, there could have been worse, and they were at least halfway done.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Octavia spoke to the eventual crowd of ponies in front of her, all beaming with a sort of inviting aura, stuck somewhere between wonder and joy. “I thank you again now for extending your aid to me in this… tribulation of mine.”

“Wha’ does tri-bull-late-tion mean?” Candy asked aloud, tucked beneath the legs of Tart. She looked up at her brother as she asked, meeting his gaze as he looked down with the same charming smile he had given Octavia upon their first encounter.

“Jus’ means thing’s fer her are ‘bout as bumpy as a post-winter’s road.” Despite the cryptic answer in Octavia’s interpretation, the small filly seemed to beam with understanding. She settled that it was simply a cultural difference and dismissed it. “And we’re all good ponies, sa we’re gonna make sure she leave’s us right as rain, understand?”

“Yup!” Candy almost jumped as she agreed. “She’s gonna have the bestest time! Ah’ll make extra sure of it.” Octavia felt touched and grinned at the filly’s earnest words. Her elders around her all chuckled as well, likely amused by what she guessed was a common occurrence with the young one. Fiddle joined in beside the alicorn.

Octavia took the brief moment in time to survey the home beneath the large family. She had glanced at it from the wagon, and shortly after setting hoof on the ground, but only now was she able to really appreciate it, and it was appreciation the large construct certainly deserved.

Though she was used to buildings made of stone, concrete, or steel, the large home and barn beside it were naught but wood and thatched hay, a rather clever use of food, she idly noted. The home itself, where the family doubtlessly slept in conjoined and shared rooms, was two stories tall, but near as wide as the train station she had left earlier. A porch stretched wide past the front door, covered by an angled roof and pillars to support it. A screened door gave entrance to the home, and Octavia didn’t doubt for a moment that there was another behind the large house. Though it was painted homely as well, in a bright red that seemed appropriate in an orchard of apples. Windows lined the appropriate walls, though all currently reflected the golden rays of the sun rather than allowing her to peek inside.

But for as large as the home was, the barn beside it was likely larger. By height, Octavia was sure of it. By volume, she could only guess. Though it wasn’t as wide and perhaps only equally as deep as the home, it was far taller than the home itself, as appropriate for most of the barns she had seen in pictures or read about from literature. Painted a darker red, or perhaps less maintained than the home itself, it had two large swinging doors, and the signature open window at the top.

“Alright!” Octavia turned to see Fiddle speaking up to her family, resting on her haunches and clapping her hoofs together to gather their attention. The cellist supposed she was one of the authority figures of the family. Appropriate, as she was coming of age, at least Octavia could assume so if the two were as close in age as they were in appearance. “Ya’ll better take the rest ya need, cause we’re gonna be workin’ the fields today! Gotta get the shipment ready fer next week, and we ain’t gonna miss that deadline, are we?”

“Aww!” The energetic response was reserved for the younger ponies in the large family, Candy, Caramel, and their two siblings, but the rest of the family nodded in agreement. Then without further ado, they dispersed.

Octavia watched the kids run inside, likely to either take the rest that Fiddle had prescribed or to finish whatever they were previously up to. The majority of the older members of the family, Tart included, moved out into the field, starting to work already with a few buckets hanging from their sides. She missed them donning them at all, and appreciated their efficiency.

Fiddle was soon approaching her, smiling with a shadows cast over her features by the brim of her hat. She looked every bit as confident and in control as Octavia wished to be. It did help to see herself, or at least a version of herself, appearing to be so.

“So,” Octavia began uneasily, watching Pin, or perhaps Cri, take her cello case to the home’s porch. She was thankful he was being careful with it, at least. “I assume you’ll be giving me the grand tour?”

“Nope,” The yellow coated mare spoke in an almost laughter-like voice. “We’re gonna start workin’ in the field first!” The sheer sincerity with which the earth pony spoke left the alicorn dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Yer gonna start workin’ with me, silly!”

Octavia felt her stomach plummet as her yellow-coated twin beamed at her with a broad grin. Contrarily, Octavia’s own expression fell.

“B-But I-I have no idea what to do, o-or how to care for the apples, o-or where to go… o-or…” All her words seemed to do was get the other mare to chuckle at her. Octavia would have pouted if she were not truly uneasy about the prospect of hard work so suddenly being thrust upon her.

“Aw, don’t cha worry none,” Fiddle poorly tried to comfort the mare, patting the alicorn’s side as if she were some sort of scared foal. To be fair, she likely was acting similarly to one. “We’re not gonna have a guest do a full day’s labor, that ain’t right. ‘Sides, if we’re gonna want to have time for a string section later, we best be getting’ busy now.”

“Wait, what?” Octavia weakly asked two of the most overused and abstract words in the Equestrian language. They were the only two words she believed she had time to speak. And yet, judging by the way Fiddle was already trotting into the orchard, picking up an empty basket as she moved, Octavia was sure it wasn’t quick enough. She quickly took off after her doppelganger.

“Um, Fiddlesticks?” Octavia spoke the mare’s name like a question, keeping pace next to her as they walked between the rows of trees. The alicorn put the scent of the sweet apples out of mind while she tried to speak to the mare. “I apologize, but I don’t understand what you meant. Are you to say you will not play with me unless I aid you with the chores?”

“Chores?” Fiddle asked with a raised brow, managing to push the brim of her hat up as she did so. “It’s more like six of one, half dozen of the other, Ah mean, ain’t there no better way ta show ya the farm then ta have ya out here workin’ a bit?” The mare laughed, a jovial tone that Octavia couldn’t convince herself to join in, even halfheartedly. Fiddle seemed to pick up on it, and her smile fell slightly. “Look, its like Ah said, Ah ain’t expectin’ ya ta work dusk till dawn, just enough ta earn a little sweat on the brow. Vinyl seemed ta like it after a bit.”

And of course, it came back to Vinyl, the unicorn that was simultaneously her blessing and her curse. Octavia hid her distaste well, a practiced effort that the years had given her a talent for. It was no doubt that the whole reason this was possible was because Vinyl had convinced Fiddle, through one of the alabaster mare’s many means, that Octavia was willing to mimic whatever excursion the two had taken some time ago.

The alicorn resigned her fate to a bit of hard work, as she could imagine far worse assignments than this. It didn’t take long for the pair to stop in front of a tree, far taller than Octavia and holding dozens of ripe apples on each of its branches. Fiddle set the basket down at the base of three, pushing it until its edge was nearly against the bark.

Then, without ceremony or instruction, she reared her hind legs and bashed the trunk forcefully.

Octavia watched, stunned, as apples all fell into place.

“That easy,” Fiddle replied aside the alicorn, grinning coolly as she adjusted the brim of her hat. Octavia felt as though she should take that as a good thing, but struggled with what she just witnessed.

“That’s… all we do?” She did her utmost to make her voice sound like an inquisitive mare, and not a hopeful foal. The yellow coated mare’s affirmative nod meant the world to Octavia.

“Yup, just aim and kick,” Fiddle replied back simply, already repositioning the partway-full basket to beneath another branch. “When the apples are good and ripe, they’re ready ta just topple ta the ground. Only needs a good jostle ta knock em loose, nothin’ too big ‘er might, just enough ta let them know its safe ta land.” Once Octavia translated those words, the meaning behind them was obvious.

Curiously, she turned around, raising her hind leg until it tapped lightly on the bark of the tree. Scooting closer to it, making sure she was good and balanced, she took in a breath of air. Steeling herself, Octavia reared and kicked her leg, feeling the trunk of the tree push back against her with an almost painful force. She hissed, unused to the soreness that almost immediately rushed into her leg, leaving her to pull back the limb and let it dangle uselessly beneath her.

The act was quickly followed with one apple landing squarely on her head, impaling itself on her horn.

Fiddle burst out laughing next to her, as Octavia heard a large thump on the ground next to her; she was unsure if what she heard was more apples falling to the ground as a result of her kick, or Fiddle’s mirth eventually toppling her over. With the ripe apple juices flowing down her coat and pooling beneath the sockets of her eyes, it made it difficult to see which, though she suspected both.

She knelt her head down, lowering her body to the soft grassy floor. When her carriage rested on the dirt, she raised her forehooves, grabbing the insulting fruit with a strong grasp. With an equally strong tug, the fruit slid off of her horn, leaving behind a sticky mess across her features. Octavia was glad Vinyl was not here, else she would have likely made an inappropriate joke.

“H-Hey now,” Fiddle replied uneasily, due more to her attempts at stifling her laughter than actual nervousness. “It’s alright, no reason ta’ crease the brow.” Octavia understood that comment instantly.

“I apologize,” Octavia responded as dutifully as ever, as she if she were a foal again, being scorned for forgetting her bow with her cello. Fiddle waved off the comment.

“Nah, Ah’m the one who should be ‘plogizin’, Ah went an’ laughed at ya when ya really gave a fine first try for buckin’ the tree.” The cellist chose to raise a single brow at the statement, creases non-present. “Ah’m serious. Most ponies that try and copy this cat end up bendin’ their leg the wrong way or just flat out fallin’ over. Ya at least got them apples out of the tree. Just need ta work on the aim is all.”

That… was true. Octavia hadn’t thought about it, especially not with a ripe fruit impaled on her still-new horn like a kebab, but she supposed she did more right than wrong, at least for a first attempt. She let out a tired sigh, Though it still didn’t change that she had plenty of blue-collar labor to look forward to.

“I assume we are clearing only a few trees, correct?” Octavia ventured the question, waiting patiently as Fiddle readjusted the still only partially filled basket, aiming up another kick. Her doppelganger gave an affirmative nod before gripping the brim of her hat. She gave another swift buck backwards, jolting the tree and sending half a dozen more apples plummeting into the wooden container. The violist acted like it was nothing at all, though Octavia figured that to the green mare it likely was.

“Well, a few don’t really cut it, but if ya mean we only got buck some of ‘em clean, then ya, that’s right.” The mare tapped the basket with her forehooves, lining it up for another set of apples. “Ah’d say by the time we’re done, you’ll be collectin’ like a pro.” Octavia, who was used to years of tutelage before being declared even competent, doubted that. She did not voice that thought.

“Then, if I may inquire, how many trees are we to… clear?” She did her best to not sound like a foal eagerly looking to abandon her chores in way of recreation. In truth, it was exactly what she felt like, and the guilt gnawed at her like Vinyl on a cider binge.

Fiddlesticks puckered her lips, tilting her head and looking beyond the gray alicorn. It took Octavia moment to realize she was looking past her and not at her, to her slight relief. She turned, seeing the long line of trees behind them, stretched seemingly forever with the thick foliage and rolling hills. She didn’t like the implications before her.

“Ya see that rock over yonder?” Fiddle asked with a point of her hoof. Octavia had to strain her eyes to see it, but she eventually spotted the undeniable hard surface of dark earth jutting from the ground, blocking what would have otherwise likely been another plot for an apple tree. She supposed it was either too big or too much work to move, though knowing these ponies she suspected the former. Octavia noted its slightly-significant distance from them.

“An’ do ya see that toy over there, the one Ah’m gonna have ta get Caramel ta clean up later?” Octavia turned her head to see the, she assumed to be for Fiddle, infuriating toy. It was a small doll-like thing, wrapped in the garb one of Celestia’s guards and holding a wooden spear at its side. It would have been unnoticeable if it were not for the vibrant purple over the brown and green of the orchard floor. Again, Octavia took note of how it was just far enough to be suitably deemed not nearby.

“We’re gonna clear every tree from there ta there.”

Octavia felt her wings fall at the words. Conversely, Fiddle only seemed to cheer up at the idea.

“Ain’t no hassle,” she spoke encouragingly to her doppelganger. “We’ll be done before ya know it.”

Octavia very much doubted that...

…and Octavia hated how right she was.

Whatever the amount of time had truly passed was, it mattered little to the now-spent and weary mare. Her throat burned for moisture, mane mangled like a wind’s toy, and muscles cramped as if leagues had been run in them. She dragged her hooves across the floor of the orchard, only barely taking hoof steps forward without completely toppling over.

She and Fiddle had cleared no less than one hundred trees. One hundred. Three digits of the lowest acceptable order of significance. The number hung in her head like the warning bells of a alarm, blaring that her limit was beyond reached. It was now a distant marker in the past. She had sweat, tears, and probably even blood on her hooves to prove it.

Her head hung low, wobbling to and fro. Each breath she took in was strained and each one she let out was a groan. She had never been one to shirk the joy of sleep and reprieve, but now she was near the idea of declaring a bed a god and the pillow her goddess, both saints that bestowed upon weary mares the gifts of sleep and peace. She would worship them both now if it meant they could stop.

Oddly enough, when Fiddle spoke up, it felt as if her prayers were being answered.

“Welp, that’s about all we got fer our shift,” Fiddlesticks spoke from beside the tired and near catatonic alicorn.

Octavia, the city raised mare, looked up at the earth pony, unable to match her height with her head desiring to lie on the floor so dearly. The yellow coated pony, however, was smiling as if this was just an average day. In all likelihood, it probably was.

“So… we’re done here?” Octavia asked the words without being able to hide the elation in her voice. Work was work, of that she had no complaint, but the amount of hard labor she had performed had made more than one pair of muscles lax and give.

Her question only made Fiddlesticks chuckle. That didn’t bode well.

“Done pickin’ the apple from them trees, but we ain’t close ta being done in the field.” It was one of the most tangential thoughts she could have had, but Octavia was once more bewildered by the uncanny resemblance the two had yet polar personalities they possessed. She couldn’t imagine ever having the energy of this mare.

“So… what is left… to do?” The gray mare questioned, twice as wary when her lighter colored twin grinned down at her. Her head shifted to the side, pointing with the tip of her white Stetson hat towards the house.

“We’re gonna get the instruments out n’ start playin’ a workin’ tune!” Octavia was sure it was the thick accent that made her mishear the mare.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated aloud. “We are going to play and work?” Though the gray alicorn was far from loathe to play her cello, something she had been hoping to do for several hours now, she had no dream of doing so while picking apples. It seemed an impossible task and one she didn’t have heart or mind to try.

“No, ya silly jeckel,” the mare jokingly dismissed as she lightly knocked Octavia’s side. The light blow was almost enough to send the cultured mare to the grass. “We’re gonna get a tune’ singin’ in the air fer the rest of the family ta work to. Just had ta get our work outta the way so we wouldn’t be haven’ ta pick up the slack later.”

The mare was already walking towards the barn when she finished speaking, Octavia following behind her, albeit at a drastically reduced pace. It was hard to follow another pony when one’s limbs felt prepared to fall off. It was only to the alicorn’s immense relief that they did not venture far into the orchard.

Their hoof beats turned from dull thumps to hollow pounding as they reached the wooden porch, walking the two or three steps up to the platform. It felt like climbing a mountain to the weary mare. But off to the side, leaning against the railing, Octavia saw her blessed instrument, awaiting her and still locked tightly in its case. Though she was close to worshipping her bed, the comfort and home that was her cello could never be fully replaced.

Fiddle scooted down the porch with barely any effort, not visibly tired in the least by the work they had finished. Octavia could believe it, at least following years of practice. She saw her blue-maned host stop by her cello reaching behind it and sliding out another black case, shaped eerily similar to Octavia’s own, but drastically smaller. It took little time to deduce what was inside.

“So… you practice the violin… so that you will help your family, correct?” Octavia had just reached the case of her own instrument as she asked the question, thankful that she would need to sit in a moment, albeit to prepare and play her instrument. The shaking of Fiddle’s head, however, dismissed the cellist’s words.

“Nah, ain’t nothin’ that complicated.” Her hoof waved like her head as she spoke. “Ah just figured a bit of time ago that some good ol’ music ‘ill keep the family workin’ the orchard longer, make it easier ta get the job done, ya know?” Once more, Octavia had to think through the words before she answered.

Even as she unlocked her instrument’s case, lightly ensuring the safety of her prized cello, she pieced together the violist’s words. She wasn’t playing out of an initial curiosity, like some foals, or because her parents had bade her to, like most others. She did it out of belief that it would help her family, independent of herself. That was new to Octavia.

“If I may ask,” she began as she drew the cello from the black case, letting its tail sit on the wooden floor of the deck as the body lent against her. The chair supported her and the instrument well. “Why did you think playing the violin would aide your family with collecting fruit?”

“’Cause there ain’t nothing like a lively tune ta make the time go by.” It was such an easily spoken answer that Octavia almost missed its meaning. Thankfully, Fiddle seemed to be used to answering the question, as she spoke on.

“Ya see, Ah ain’t learned much growin’ up in the schoolyard, ‘cept some math here or there, but I did remember once lesson mah teach told us. That was how nature hates vacuums, ‘er empty space, cause Ah didn’t’ know what a vacuum meant aside from cleaning.” The earth pony chuckled at her words, hoofs adjusting the strings on her violin, lain still across the porch.

“Yes,” Octavia agreed. “I remember hearing that as well. Only it was taught as a reminder to choose the periods of our silence carefully whilst in the symphony.” Something the gray mare said must have hit the right note, because she saw Fiddle point her hoof at her with an excited grin when she finished. Octavia felt her eyebrow crook at the sight.

“That’s what Ah thought of, the silence bit,” she emphasized. “Ah’m sure you could tell how quiet the orchard was, spare blue jay ‘er squirrel aside.”

She hadn’t put any thought into it, but Octavia realized that her yellow-coated copy was right.

Aside from their small talk and the beating of hoofs on trees, there wasn’t a sound as they worked. No carts passing on the road nearby, no ponies talking as they trotted along, no noise from nearby apartments, nothing at all. It was, as her parents had once described to her, the peacefulness of the countryside.

That, however, was reserved for when work was done and it was time to rest. Though her work depended on noise, Octavia could fully understand either the annoyance or the discontent that would come from long hours of labor without a tune to carry you through it. It would be akin to a book without characters. There would always be something missing.

Octavia settled on the chair behind her as she adjusted her cello, careful on balancing on the stool. It felt rickety beneath her, but she very much doubted a mare or family like Fiddle’s would allow an improperly cared for item to be on their farm. They didn’t seem the type to let things wither away, in any sense of the word.

Next to her, however, Fiddle had opted to stand on her rear legs.

It was not a sight that the alicorn was foreign to, and far from alien of, but it was still odd for to see. Most ponies only stood on their rear hoofs when they had an object to lean against, to support their otherwise tall stature. She herself was a good example, when she had to stand to play her cello. Fiddle, however, seemed fully capable and thrilled to hold her violin in the crook of her neck as she stood on her rear hooves. Not once did she appear to be off balance or even crooked.

Octavia smiled. It was doubtlessly a small but powerful testament to the frequency at which her doppelganger played. She was glad the two shared that trait.

“So, what are we playing?” Octavia questioned the mare, sure the answer would something close to ‘whatever sounds right.’ The answer she received wasn’t far off.

“Somethin’ that ya think will get the rest of the family dancin’,” Fiddle replied, grinning the broad grin she seemed incapable of losing. Octavia took that small amount of time to look out beyond the porch, at the rest of the orchard and the few family members she could see.

Tart was the closest to them, standing maybe a few rows down, not very far from where Fiddle and Octavia had worked just earlier. He had a pair of baskets beneath the tree, likely working on a technique that Fiddle had better mind than to force on Octavia for her first time. The gray alicorn was thankful. She could not see Caramel or Candy, knowing fully well that they were inside either preparing the treats they were so named for or simply enjoying life in the way only foals can.

She did not see Sharp or Shine, the elder couple of the family she had been introduced to earlier. Despite their clear… advancement in age, Octavia was impressed to see that they were still walking around with near the same effort as she, at least preceding her work in the orchard. They had expressed the most joy at seeing her cello case, and the alicorn did not miss the knowing eyes they offered to Fiddlesticks, clearly expecting the two to play together.

The rest of the ponies, however, she suspected were either far out in the orchard or working in the barn. Fiddlesticks did say that they needed to turn the unsold apples into cider material in a hurry, because a rotten apple did no good for anypony but the dirt. She imagined that was where Cri and Pin were, likely June-Bug as well. A nice mare, if a bit energetic. Octavia suspected that she sampled one too many glasses of her sugar-laced drink.

If they wanted to hear a song, the family entire, they probably want to hear something that was upbeat, full of energy generally the exact opposite to what she was feeling right now. An energetic song would make the day easier, perhaps pass by faster. Fast days at work were usually the most enjoyable for ponies.

Her usual pieces, performed to ponies content to sleep in their chairs, would surely not work. If she were to repeat her performance with Vinyl, however it would have left Fiddlesticks grasping for a tune to follow, clearly not an option. Actually, it occurred to the alicorn, almost anything they played would be based off of feeling, as neither could confirm what the other knew, and it was even further doubtful the two shared any songs appropriate for the moment.

She was leading though, that much was made clear by Fiddlesticks. She had to lead with an intro that was strong, easy to follow, and most importantly, energetic. Not the three greatest strengths in her music, but far from unpracticed.

Octavia took in a deep breath of air, smelling the rich fragrance of apples again, of the land free of any industrialization or over-crowding populace. The air was rich, full of a taste that she couldn’t describe. She let her muscles relax before she lifted them, letting them guide the bow in her hoof to the string on her cello. She was going to play, and she was going to wow an entire family.

The only thing she needed now was what Vinyl constantly accused her of lacking: imagination.

BEGIN

Immediately, Octavia started tapping her hoof on the floorboards of the porch, pulling the bow across her strings in tandem. The cello in her hoofs shook with the hard beating, the vibrations of her efforts disrupting the wooden platform it stood on, but it only encouraged the alicorn to wrap her wings about the body, holding it secure as she continued to play.

Her hind legs created the tempo, her strings the beat, and Fiddle followed alongside her almost instantly.

The violinist took up pace next to her, playing at the higher pitches that were common for the smaller string instruments. Instead of simply copying the alicorn, however, Fiddle opted to up her own tempo, adding notes between the chords Octavia played, making them a true duet, and not merely a soliloquy of two parts.

It was good, but not nearly enough. Octavia, already in the lead, decided to see how far ahead she could pull.

She wasn’t aware of what the beat was, of any place she had heard it or person who had taught it to her, but she played it as if she knew it well. Strumming beats that sounded more like pulls at the string, quick chords connected by long deep notes, never letting a moment of silence hold the strings. Her hind leg never stopped beating on the porch as she played.

Though she was fatigued, Octavia felt her head bobbing with the beat, lips pulled into a grin as she continued to play. There were no words that came with this song, at least none that she knew, but despite that she felt her smile begin to twitch, as if mouthing words she didn’t know.

She heard the tapping of hoofs next to her, far faster and more sporadic than her own beat carrying leg. It took only a moment of thought to realize that it was Fiddlesticks next to her, dancing on her hind legs as she carried along with the violin. She was letting Octavia lead, but she was by no means being left behind.

The cello in her hoofs and wings vibrated with the song, as if attempting to sing the same words Octavia didn’t know. It carried through the air, dancing through the rich open orchard like an eager foal at the park. Octavia played on, feeling renewed vigor with every string she played and note she performed.

Then she hit the chorus, she supposed at least, as far as she could tell playing the same section again, Fiddlesticks beside her matching as she had before. The doppelganger mare seemed to have increased her tap-dancing whilst she played, moving farther away from the gray alicorn between the notes, only to dance back as she played some more.

Octavia played on, bobbing her head and whispering the same phantom words, loving every moment that passed and adoring each one that approached. She felt renewed, invigorated, alive.

Then Fiddle started to play a bit louder, a bit faster, attempting to overtake the cellist for a place in the lead. Octavia gladly handed the reins over to her yellow-coated double, dropping in volume to allow the transition to be clean. Fiddlesticks didn’t waste a moment.

Octavia could see Fiddle now, even with her eyes closed and head bobbing to the beat she didn’t know she had. She could see the mare, see her sibling, see them all. As Fiddle continued to play, Octavia could see every member of the Apple family.

She could see Fiddlesticks just next to her dancing to the song they played, pirouetting and spinning to beat that they had conjured from the ether. Her mane danced with her, blue hair wrapping about her yellow coat without letting a strand tangle. The alabaster hat atop her head bounced with the movement, rising and falling as the mare raised and lowered her head, but never did it even pretend to fall from the mare’s top.

But then she could see the young foals, Candy and Caramel, working inside. They were dancing too, but in a manner completely alien to the manner in which Fiddle did. They were beating their hooves on the counter, making a beat they moved to in tune with the song. They threw sugary treats at sugar coated fruit, whisking their mane and tail back and forth as if it were a well practiced tradition.

Around the filly and colt, finished projects started to show. Half a dozen sweetly glazed caramel apples, decorated with sugary sparkles and other delicatessen-like treats. One by one the amount grew, each more tantalizing than the next, begging for a hungry pony to sample one of them.

But then Octavia was back in the Orchard, staring out through the field of apple trees, but it appeared to be a different orchard entirely. Before, each one of them had their own color, their own fragrance, and their own appeal to the mare’s eye. They still did as that had not changed, but now it was impossible to merely call them fruit.

Each one glowed their respective hue of green or red, each shining like a beacon to the hungry mare. Each one had a taste that would be worthy of a five-course meal. Each one, Octavia knew, was the result of years of hard work, planning, and dedication on part of the Apple family, traditions and chores followed day in and day out. One such of those ponies was working the orchard now, and Octavia watched him dance.

It was Tart, bandana damp with sweat and mane swinging like a loose lasso. His head was swinging left and right, grin broad across his features. Cheeky and confident, he was grapevining between the trees, stopping in his zig-zag like dance to buck the trunk of the trees. Each kick he delivered was both powerful, on tempo, and able to fill the buckets beneath the tree whole, all without ever stopping his dance.

Then he would slide the baskets, holding them in his hooves as the song went on. Like having a partner in on the dance floor, Tart was guiding the full basket of apples across the grass, setting them aside to get another. He was working, doing the same labor that had put Octavia to her knees in exhaustion, but his grin only told part of the story that Octavia could feel.

He was loving the work.

All around the orchard, Octavia could hear, feel, and see each member of Fiddle’s family, all while their song went on.

Cri and Pin were in the barn, working with June-Bug just as Octavia had thought. They were crushing apples beneath their hooves, turning the unsold fruit into mush. It was not beyond the cellist’s eyes that they were doing so not only in tandem and in sync with one another, but also the tune as well. For every hoof beat Octavia made to match the beat, they made a stomp. With each pull of her bow, they scraped against the bottom of the barrel, and with each quick pluck of Fiddle’s Bow, they continued to move.

June-Bug was not far behind, twisting dials and measuring readings across the barn that Octavia couldn’t follow, not when the music was flowing through her. For the lithe mare, however, it appeared to be just what she needed. While near every other pony had been dancing to the tune, Octavia watched through the music as June jumped around.

Like a cricket on a caffeine high, she jumped from dial to buzzer, flipping switches and controlling gyros that Octavia only passively noted. She was more focused on the bright mare, smiling like the sun in the barn, lighting up the world as the music continued to flow. Every time she landed, Octavia’s hoof beat on the porch. Every quick chord Fiddle played, June-Bug adjusted a dial. She was dancing in her own way, having fun in another way, but alive altogether.

But then Octavia saw a mare she almost didn’t recognize, one that was one of the many ponies she had been introduced to. She was her match in height, Fiddle’s match for accessories, but coated orange and with a bright yellow mane. A trio of apples was shining on her haunches, signifying her place in the Apple Family.

Octavia, didn’t recognize her, but she could tell the mare was family. It wasn’t that this new mare was on her own farm, bucking her own trees for her own apples. It wasn’t that she was dancing to the same tune Octavia played, though in a location the alicorn didn’t recognize. It was honestly so much simpler than that.

She, Octavia, just knew. They were connected, all of them were.

They didn’t need sight or sound to know they were close, no letters in the mail or word-of-mouth messages, those were just crutches. Octavia realized that now, realized what it meant to be working as a member of this massive family, why Fiddle had her try her luck at the trade in the orchard, and why distance was only petty annoyance.

They were family, and family meant always being near, and always knowing where they are.

Octavia quickened the pace of her strings, dropping her bow on the neck of the cello, raising the pitch at which it played. Fiddle followed suit, bending over on her hind legs, dipping as if to grab something from the floor. Both played at the quickened pace, both pushing and leading the other.

Then with a few select chords, they whipped their bows of the respective necks, ending the song.

Octavia finally opened her eyes

END

The last time she had played like that, she and Vinyl had created what the unicorn had recounted as living electricity, dancing to the beat of their strings and speakers, electrified by their performance.

With the princess, Octavia remembered the star-like lights that sparkled around the room when they finished. She suspected they had been orbiting the pair as they played, marking them as something cosmic-like.

In the fields of Fiddle’s family orchard, nothing apparent had appeared. There were no notes floating in the air, no apples dancing on the ground, no shadows dissipating into mist, nothing that was extraordinary. But then again, there was nothing left that was ordinary.

It was not that something had appeared as it had the last few times, for there was nothing. Rather, it was that the orchard had changed. It wasn’t the trees, the grass, the barn, or even the sky. What changed was wholly bigger than that.

It was everything.

The trees were glowing with a light that seemed to emanate energy, to be feeding the apples that hung from their branches with a nectar that would make them all the more insatiable. They glowed, they shined, and they illuminated the orchard entire. The apples that dangled from the trees were, however, all the brighter.

If the trees were a bright sky in a sunny day, then the apples were the stars, peeking beyond the fold of the sun to look upon the orchard. Each was an almost blinding beacon, beaconing with promise. And it was easy to tell how great the apples were. After all, their fragrance swept through the air.

Octavia took in a lungful of the air. She tasted the sweet nectar of the apples, doubled by what she guessed was the music she had conjured with Fiddlesticks. She pushed out her chest, taking in as much as she could breathe in. It felt heavenly, blessed even. Though silence was on the wind with their music gone, the air still felt alive.

She stopped her musings only when she felt a hoof on her shoulder. Turning, Octavia was unsurprised to see Fiddle staring back at her, a confident smile on her features. Only… the smile was more than merely confident now.

There was an inviting nature to it, an inclusiveness, one that her double’s eyes said Octavia was now apart of. It was the same look Vinyl had given her when they had reconciled their first spite, and an eerily similar expression to that of Princesses Luna following their flight lessons. Octavia decided that she enjoyed that look. It made her feel welcome.

“That,” Fiddlesticks spoke to Octavia with a proud smile. “Was one impressive show.”

Octavia smiled back, truly thankful to hear the words.

Author's Note:

Sorry to say no question this time. Next chapter has a little of the usual, but then brings in the next, and likely final, arc of the story. I'd say three or four chapters for that story, meaning 2-3 questions to go with it, then just one grand finale with a possible epilogue.

The last question though... that's gonna be a REAL story changer, like voting for victims in Game of Thrones... I guess a more appropriate example would be Survivor... yeah, that.

Anywho, Merry Belated Christmas and Happy New Coming Year!

Comments

[Someother Pony]

... and then Fiddlesticks ripped off her head and showed she was really Discord all along.
What. I can hope can't I?

Also, you're not allowed to end this story. Ever. (Okay, seriously though. Don't let assholes like me pressure you into anything. Not even a Discord chapter.)

[TheGreatEater]

Said mare let go of Octavia’s hoof, dropping the alicorn back to her hooves.

as she let go
_________

“It’s… an idea of Vinyl’s for me to wear.”

wear it
____________

Octavia agreed, smiling politely as she nodded her head towards her palette-switched twin.

They aren't Palette Switched. That'd mean their color scheme's are inverted.

They are http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palette_swap, palette-swapped
______________

“We’re all good back here, ya’ll ready to hightail it home?”

y'all

ya'll = you will
___________

“Wha? Ya’ll really think Vinyl’d keep that little tidbit away from me?”

Ya
____________

I'm stopping here for now. Please fix your southern dialect.

Ya = You. It's singular, and you use it proerply most of the time.

Y'all = you all. It's a secondary person, plural pronoun. And only to be used when speaking to two or more people.

Ya'll = You will [similar to You'll]

And well basically treat ya and it's contractions like you would the word you.

https://www.fimfiction.net/group/760/the-lunaverse/thread/134351/southern-dialect

This thread while OPd by myself on proper souther dialect. Has a lot of southerners replying to that giving a good grasp for people writing southern dialect.

Also this chapter needs a small scan / brush up on some probably small grammar errors here and there. I'll be back tomorrow sometime ... or the day after tomorrow to finish this chapter up.

[Fresnor]

Voting for victims on Game of Thrones? Isn't everyone already the victim in that?

[Hilltopper2]

And now, Tavi's tasted the magic of all three races, after a fashion.

[Derpmind]

Fantastic! Amazing! Woohoo!

th09.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2013/177/4/b/derpy_woohoo_by_dewlshock-d55jxa1.png

*Thump*

These scenes you've written to be accompanied by music are great, and it's an absolute(ly big) joy to read them. They're like pieces of artwork that you've snuck inside a narrative story.

Sorry to say no question this time.

D) Discord!

[Luna Secret Stallion]

You know what you should do just once? Randomly pick a poll you do in the future and pick the one in last place so you know it changes things up a bit.

[bbrg548]

And for a follow-up performance the next morning, might I suggest this:

[The Wizard of Words]

5440118
This song.... I gotta use it now!

[EternityFlame]

I found the music and the story were very much matched in pace, it was almost magical reading what would happen and the song following along.

[Misago]

Another amazing chapter. The description, especially of the music/magic part, is just perfect. Octavia is best Princess of Music.

(The answer to the final question is A) Octavia should propose to Luna)

[SafariJohn]

*Song ends exactly as I finish reading*

Coincidence?! I think not!

[Kittamaru]

The imagery your story brings forward is nothing short of inspiring... simply beautiful! Have you considered a career, or even a side-gig, in writing... I only ask because you seem to have not only a talent for it, but a passion that seems to very well have the ability to drive you to greatness, as it has here!

[Dash The Stampede]

Cri and Pin

You introduced them first as Cris and Pin, then proceed to leave out the 's' in Cris in all other instances. I'm not sure which one you meant, but might want to fix 'er up.

[bbrg548]

5440437 Glad you like it! Besides, you've given me a new group to follow on YouTube, in addition to Lindsey Stirling and The Piano Guys (a great source for cello and piano music, btw).

[BackgroundNoise]

I was pleasantly surprised by this chapter. To be honest, I did not like the way it started. Octavia continuing to shy away from her new status made me groan, for all that I understand her feelings on the matter. Fiddlesticks, or "Fiddle Faddle," came off as irritating at first, her words conveying at least some disdain for the conventions of "city folk" which, admittedly, is something I hate on a personal level; but am willing to accept the difference of opinion for what it is, an opinion. It's not really all that different from the misconceptions people have about "foreigners" really, still, it didn't help that within the first few paragraphs of her appearance she managed to get on my bad side. That said, her personality was slowly winning me over. Playful, confident, proud, a bit childish and a bit simple, but not really in a bad way, she definitely earned brownie points for the way she was willing to take someone in as a favor to a friend to help with such a... let's call it "unique" problem.

Then she told Octavia to get to work, which immediately put her on my bad side again. This is the last thing Octavia needs after all the shit she's been dealing with this. Is it unreasonable? No, of course not, but there was no warning (which, I suppose, may have very well have been Vinyl's fault); what if the problem was something else, something even more serious? Would she put them to work without so much as a "by your leave," without any consideration to their mental well-being? That said, as the chapter moved forward it felt less malicious, like she was trying to get Octavia's mind off of things, draw her out of her shell a bit, which mollified me. Octavia's passivity worries me, but there are signs that she's getting better. There was a bit of over-glorification for rural lifestyles here, but I understand that it was from a very biased point of view; namely a mare for whom this is all shiny and new, and one who loves it wholeheartedly.

And then the song happened, and it sold me, that scene was precisely what I was hoping for. Connection, family, bonds, understanding, in other words it was exactly what Octavia needed to hear right now. And perhaps, as a whole, this will be good for her. Time away from her comfort zone, but not too far out of it, among friendly strangers that she can truly be herself around, this could very well be the confidence booster she needs to finally feel comfortable in her own skin.

I really hope she still gets a chance to play with Cadence, I don't know exactly what will happen, but I can easily imagine it blowing my proverbial socks off. As always I eagerly await your next chapter.

[TheGreatEater]

5440437

Hey are you going to fix Fiddle Sticks accent? I don' want to get into the chapter if her accent is all sorts of errors. Also the error fixes I've pointed out are still there. Any idea of when you're going to get around to them?

[The Wizard of Words]

5449929
I'll get around to fixing them, but she isn't going to be a massively recurring character. So no worries on her annoying you, if I do continue to write the accent wrong.

[TheGreatEater]

5450839

True, but I got OCD, and the southern accent is one of the things that gets me. Still I'll probably get to reading this when you come up with the next chapter (so I get to read the fixed up version . Although Ihope you don't end this fic any time soon. It has both uniqueness, and mountains of potential.

[The Wizard of Words]

5450865
Eh, four or five chapters then I'll be settling it down. That means we're only barely half way.

[TheGreatEater]

5451252

Awesome. I look forward to this fics progression. All in all it's a wonderfully written, and interesting fic.

[djthomp]

The music parts of this story never cease to be really wonderful to read. Between it and similar bits of a few other stories, it's something that I can't really quite compare to anything I came across in my years of reading more traditionally published fiction.

[Zilverfoss]

Gotta remember this is a story I shouldn't try to read on my phone. can't play the music.

The first two chapters didn't quite catch me, but now I'm glad it got on my read later list. You had my curiosity, and now you've ensnared my attention.
The music scene mix, I've seen the idea before, but you take it to a new level

[Shachza]

The last question though... that's gonna be a REAL story changer, like voting for victims in Game of Thrones... I guess a more appropriate example would be Survivor... yeah, that.

I'm already voting for Zecora, no matter what it is.

Maybe.

[The Wizard of Words]

5461467
Because meeting one more princess out of three, as well as first meetings with other ponies, is far more interesting than what happens with Twilight's first meeting. Especially considering how we've seen her have first meeting with lots of ponies, all the time, so its rather obvious how she would react, allowing us to skip the predictable first meetings and awkward taboos and jumping right into boundless curiosity (on Twilight's part), and controlled by minor frustrated learning (on Octavia's part).

I apologize if the story is not progressing the way you had hoped, but I am not about to change the entire story because one scene was missed. The purpose of the story is supposed to show growth of character, in both understanding and confidence. Focusing on first meetings all the time would damper that, instead showing how the already established connections grow and change.

[Mutalist Alad V]

rear hoofs

The plural of hoof is hooves.

[The Wizard of Words]

5499701
SOMEONE GOT IT! ONLY A FEW MONTHS BUT SOMEONE GOT IT!!

[TheGreatEater]

Sorry, but Ijust couldn't read this chapter. Not only are the errors the first time around still in place ... but the rendition of Fiddlesticks, as much as I was looking forward to reading it just was a major turn off. Sad too, as I said, I was looking forward to it. Heck even voted for her ... I hope the next chapter's as good as the previous ones.

[Valhuir]

It was about this chapter that I realized what you are doing.

This isn't a story about Octavia becoming an alicorn.

It's about Octavia, the classical, rigidly trained cellist, being exposed to other forms of music, and most likely ending up an even better musician for it. Being a new alicorn is just the excuse to show it.

It's at the points that she begins playing, and the magic begins, that your own writing really takes off. It's like a totally different order of style, no less. Are you, perhaps, a musician yourself?

[MustacheMerlin]

I really love your use of music in this story. I've only seen it a couple of other times, but here it's done very well. The songs you use almost always contribute to the feeling you're weaving nearly as much as the story itself. And with a main character like Octavia, that just increases the impact by an order of magnitude. I just noticed this, but I've spent longer reading this story than most stories I've read. Usually I'll finish in a day, but this one's lasted me at least two weeks. It's wonderful!

[Emperor]

I was going to make a comment after a while about Octavia reconnecting with her Earth pony side, especially since any connection she had to that had been glossed over so far in the story. This chapter satisfies me there and then some as Octavia sees the REAL Earth pony magic...massive amounts of fertility Well, that and life and vitality. Octavia's connection with the Apple family here reminds me of the whole metaphor of a family tree, as she doesn't just connect with Fiddle Sticks, she also connects with the roots of and branches of the family tree, going up to the elders, down to the foals, and even to the Apple family in far-flung places, such as the brief mention of Applejack.

Now saying that, Fiddle Sticks did annoy me a little bit in that she clearly didn't have a good idea of Octavia's limits. Just because she's an alicorn doesn't mean she suddenly has a perfect fitness, after all, and Octavia definitely sounded like she was hurting after doing some (apple) bucking!

And finally, seeing Octavia with a large family reminds me that we haven't even seen her parents yet. There's been no indication that they're both dead (and it's implied that they're alive still by one of her asides in an earlier chapter about how she would have begged to move back in with her parents if Vinyl was more annoying than she was), and becoming an Alicorn, it seems Octavia would be unlikely to put off revealing the news to her parents.