Royal Hotel - Safe Haven
The first thing Brenda noticed when her mind drifted back to consciousness was the sweet smell of fresh hay. She remembered she'd once heard that the sense of smell was the last one to go. Figured that it was also the first one to come to back. Or was that hearing? That this would be the first thing to go through her mind made her chuckle. That, in turn, hurt enough to elicit a little gasp.
With the slight pain, the memories came flooding back. They reminded her that all the awfulness she'd gone through hadn't just been a nightmare. Wherever she was, it wasn't the distillery any more since her surroundings didn't smell of dust, dry rot, wet horse and strong alcohol. Instead, the smell reminded her of a mix between a museum and a very clean and well maintained stable.
Then came the itch in all the wounds and scratches. Spreading from her chest outwards, it crept over her sides and made her bedding prickly and uncomfortable. With a groan, she forced herself to crack open an eyelid. Going back to sleep definitely wasn't an option any more anyway. Resisting the urge to rub her side against her bed, she tried to roll onto her belly. She discovered she couldn't move.
Her eyes snapped open. The first thing she registered was that, indeed, she was still some sort of horse. She still had forelegs that ended in hooves. What startled her was the fact that her fore and hind legs were bound with thick blue nylon rope, locked in place from the knees and hocks on downward.
Being immobilized had the effect of making the itching almost unbearable. “Hello?!” she croaked out, her parched throat almost making her choke on the single word. The coughing that followed replaced the itch with pain across her chest and she gave a hoarse cry.
She had already begun to struggle against her bindings when she heard quick hooffalls from outside the old and battered hardwood door. She froze and held her breath. Seconds later, the door opened a little and a sea green head peeked inside. The horse's ears were pointed forward, its cautious expression shifting to a warm smile a moment later.
“You're awake!” the mare exclaimed. “Buidhe told me you were a real fighter, but I didn't allow myself too much hope and... oh I'm so sorry! Let me get these off of you!” She walked over and began to deftly untie her forelegs. “You were thrashing about so much that we were afraid you'd hurt yourself even more! Sorry for giving you a fright!”
“You're... a green Fjord Pony,” she stated lamely while watching the mare remove her bindings, “That tied me up.”
“And aren't you a bright one,” the pony chuckled after spitting out the end of the rope she had just untangled from the last knot. “I am Springtide, Solstice's mother. You do remember him, don't you?”
She blinked in confusion. “I... I guess? Little piebald stallion with an Iceland mare?”
Springtide paused in untying her hindlegs and perked up, a lopsided grin forming on her muzzle. “Oh my. Really?”
All of a sudden, solitary itching and pain seemed much less uncomfortable than the scrutinizing gaze she found herself under. “Ah. I... thought... I mean... can I have some water?” The last part was more of a raspy squeak.
The green mare gave a little disappointed sigh and finished removing the rope. The warm smile didn't leave her muzzle though. “Of course you can, little one. I just finished cleaning you up after all and I always make sure to bring more water than I'll need. Give me a moment.”
“Cleaning me up? Wait! How long was I out?” She became aware that her hindquarters were a little damp and cold. She felt her face turn hot.
“No need to feel ashamed,” the other mare said in a soothing voice. “You have four foals of your own, you won't even spare a single thought on something like that. Let me tell you about that time Moorland wanted to research how many Rowan berries a colt can eat before getting sick.” She shook her head with a little chuckle. “Or maybe not. So don't worry. You've been out for a little more than two days and in good hooves all the time. Now let me get you something to drink.” With that she gave her a friendly nod and left.
She stretched her legs, with joints, muscles and skin protesting the movement. It was tolerable though, since the discomfort lacked a single pronounced source. Rolling onto her belly was taxing, but also a great relief since it took the pressure of off her side. Now that she finally had a chance of having a good look at where she had ended up, she noticed that her mat of hay wasn't the room's only feature.
A single, intact window spilled grey daylight onto a small and well used oaken desk. The window's frame, she noted, showed no signs of rot under its earthen red coating. The floorboards made of ancient pinewood had accumulated so many stains that they had blended into a smooth patina. For all its discolouration though, she couldn't spot any actual dirt. There weren't even cobwebs in the corners.
There was a narrow, gold framed floor to ceiling mirror on the wall next to the door, with a single crack running through its bottom third. Next to it, at the same height as the crack, was a crude little painting of a flower and a horse's head. It was drawn in erratic lines with what looked like charcoal. A child's drawing. She smiled at the typical unauthorized mural.
A clumsily drawn mural at that. She blinked. Mouth drawn, of course. This had to be a foal's painting. A giggle bubbled up from her chest at the thought of how the green mare must have found the culprit. The image of a little piebald colt came to her mind: forelegs, chest and muzzle all smeared with saliva-dissolved charcoal. Some of the floor as well.
He would have received a thorough scolding, a whole afternoon bath and no dinner. Then the mare would have felt bad and refrained from removing the artwork. Just like mum.
Outside her room there was a muffled exchange between a young male and the mare tending to her. Shortly after, the soft clip-clop of hooves on wood drew close to the door. The pony carefully shoved it open with a forehoof and entered. In her mouth she held a large enamelled carafe, with a shallow bowl of the same material balanced on top of it.
In looking up she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror. Maybe it was for the best that she hadn't seen her own image in anything better than a still puddle until now. Otherwise she might have become too fond of her former appearance to handle this.
The creature staring back at her was a mess. Most of her forelock and some parts of her mane were missing. Her face and muzzle looked as if somebody had dragged a rake across it. One of her ears ended in a frayed edge at a little more than half its original height.
Her chest was covered in a caked, greenish brown mud. It concealed the wounds that she knew to be there but was happy not having to look at just yet. At least her eyes were undamaged, except for a gash through one eyebrow. A narrow miss.
The other pony gently closed the door and gave her charge a short glance. With a little sigh she then set the water down and lay down beside her, mindful of the many cuts and bruises on her sides. “Shhh... it's alright,” she murmured and gave her a soft nuzzle.
She buried her face in Springtide's mane, whose soft voice and warm friendliness reminded her so much of her mother.
She awoke to the sound of heavy rain pattering against the window. Springtide had agreed to her meek request that she stay by her side through the night. The green mare's deep and steady breathing filled her with contentment and she snuggled up against the warm body with a sigh. Shifting a little in her sleep, the Fjord pony murmured something incomprehensible in response. For the first time, she noticed the mare's scent and smiled a little at how it put her at ease.
Solstice's mother not only reminded her of mum; she had also pretty much acted like her. Here she was, a strange, talking pony lying on a mat of hay in a centuries old town house. By her side lay a somewhat less strange, talking pony that had comforted her through hours of crying. Fresh tears were rolling down her face, but they came across a little smile on their way down.
Grief was a strange thing. It had overwhelmed her the moment she had that sense of security. She knew it would come back in time, but for now the need to deal with her loss had receded. Here was warmth, safety and maybe even friendship. The nightmare had turned into a surreal dreamscape that wasn't even a dreamscape at all.
She resolved to not even try to understand what had happened. Where was the point? Being warm and safe was what counted now. Everything else? She'd cross those bridges when she came to them.
With a sigh she realized the need to relief herself and inched away from the mare. It took a great deal of effort to get onto her hooves without making too much noise. When she finally stood on her still wobbly legs it was a little triumph: she wouldn't have to use the pile of straw in the corner this time.
The door hardly made a sound when she nosed it open and peered into the lobby beyond. Even though the room had a lot more windows, it was still gloomy and grey. The heavy rain clouds made gauging the time next to impossible; but judging by the stillness it had to be quite early morning. Her ears swivelled at the sound of rustling paper.
Close to a window in the far corner of the room, a figure sat on its haunches at a long, low table; on which sat a well used book-stand. A glowing pinewood spill in a narrow vase supplemented the dim light with just enough orange brightness for reading.
The pony seemed to have finished the last paragraph and leaned a little sideways. Then it unfolded an appendage she hadn't noticed until just then. With the soft whisper of feathers gliding against each other and the pony's smooth coat, a wing stretched out halfway. She watched in awe as the tip of the outermost primary touched the corner of the book and gently turned the page.
She took a breath and stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind herself. The reader didn't gaze away from the book when she made her way over in slow and not entirely sure movements. Her hooves clopped softly on the wooden floor.
“I couldn't sleep, mother. Is everything alright?” the pegasus said in a hushed voice.
She swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I'm... I'm okay. Springtide's still sleeping.”
He looked up in surprise and turned around. “You're up!” he exclaimed, wings fluttering a little. Then a small smile lit up his face and he gave a slow and rather deep nod. “What can I do for you, Brenda?” The words almost sounded reverent. He gave a quiet cough. “I'm Dawn, by the way.”
She fidgeted a little. “I... uh... good morning Dawn. You know my name?”
At that he chuckled. “Everyone does. Who wouldn't want to know what the marked one is called? Besides, it isn't every day that a half dead stranger comes to town on a stretcher.” Again he gave that soft little smile, in strange contrast to his serious expression.
It struck her how much his appearance resembled her own, even though he was a few inches taller and a tiny bit more horselike. Were there more of her species? Were... that had to wait. “I'm sorry,” she cleared her throat, “Where is the...” It occurred to her that there wouldn't be any. How would that work anyway? Yet the place was so clean. How did... people like these...?
“Sorry... of course. Down the corridor over there and out the back door. Can't miss it.” He pointed past her with a wing.
“Thank you.” She began to turn away but hesitated. Then she took a breath and blurted out “Can you actually fly with these?” She bit her lip and shrunk back a little upon seeing his smile fall.
Dawn sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “No, I can't.” With that he turned back to his book.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”
“It's alright,” he murmured and added “Sorry to disappoint,” with a half-hearted smirk.
She turned away and walked towards the back entrance, feeling awful. At least the outhouse, if one could call it that, was easy to find. The roof's overhang had been extended with sheet metal. Below it were two elongated, shallow pits filled with straw; each of them was narrow enough to comfortably stand over with one's hooves spread apart. Close by, a pitchfork, a shovel and a broom were leaning against the wall in a neat row. A battered trailer stood at the other end, two feet lower so that it was level with the bottom of the pits. There even was a little basin filled with clean water, no doubt to clean one's hooves and fetlocks.
The whole thing made her smile and lifted her spirits. For some reason, this felt like the ultimate proof she had ended up in a civilized society, despite all the mind-bending weirdness. A little later she remembered why she had actually come here and stopped giggling. This required concentration after all and she did not want to have to explain a mishap in this case.
Dawn wasn't alone when she returned, happy to have taken an important little step towards finding her place in this strange new world. Springtide had joined him in the murky room. The mare looked up with genuine relief on her features when she saw her coming back in and went to greet her.
“It's wonderful you could get up all on your own, but please don't disappear on me like that again Brenda!” She put a careful hoof to her withers and gave her a soft nuzzle. “You can't be sure how long your legs will hold you just yet.” She nuzzled her again. “I don't want to have to worry about you lying out in the rain somewhere because you stumbled and hurt yourself and can't get up again on your own.”
Springtide's tone irritated her the moment she began to speak, yet she had to smile. She returned the nuzzle and buried her face in Springtide's mane, mumbling “Sorry mum,” while doing so. They both froze. “Uh... I mean... sorry, don't know where that came... from...,” she trailed off. Something in the back of her mind gave a happy nicker, relishing the close contact and refusing to end it.
A short, awkward pause later Springtide gave a soft snort but didn't lean away. “It's alright, little one." She rested her chin on her neck. "You know, I never had a filly.” There was a comforting warmth in that voice. “And I guess it's never too late to learn,” she added with an audible smile before she pulled back to look her in the eyes. “And before you ask, you don't have to tell me or Dawn here everything about you just yet. That can wait until you're better. That is, until I think you're better.”
“I'm not really a filly you know, even if I'm smaller than you. And I know pretty much everything about horses, so-”
“But very little about mothering, I'll wager,” Springtide cut her off with a firm voice but a twinkle in the eyes. “Now off to bed with you young lady! I have something to discuss with our leader.” The mare valiantly held back a laugh. Dawn on the other hand didn't even try. It was a beautiful sound.
“Aww mum!” she happily played her part, even stomping a hoof for added effect – something that instantly made her wince at the sharp spike of pain it caused. It felt good anyway. Real good. The part about having something to discuss in private sounded serious enough though; so she went for her room without further delay.
Springtide was right as it turned out. Her legs didn't exactly give out under her when she tried to lower herself down, but it was close. Soon she dozed off again, a little smile on the pony's lips.
Having never fought for her life before, she'd done quite well; she would need to remind herself of that every now and then. To be fair, her reflection wasn't even close to as scary as three days ago when she'd come to in her room. Actually Springtide's room, as she learned a day later. The green mare was currently fussing over her, grooming her coat.
She was using a brush made of wild teasel that she was holding in her mouth. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation, except for when she by accident touched one of the many cuts. They were healing up nicely, but they and the areas around them were still sensitive.
She was sure she'd have nightmares about the treatment that prevented them from getting infected. Most likely for the rest of her life. Many of the injuries would stay visible through a slight discolouration of her coat, others by leaving an irregular structure in the fur. It was nothing compared to the marks on her face and the hideous scarring on her chest though.
She closed her eyes and winced when Springtide began to disentangle and brush her mane with some ancient stable equipment. Being real gentle wasn't as easy here and her maneline still hurt a lot where she'd lost some chunks of it.
That at least would grow back in time, she was pretty certain of that. The upper half of her ear wouldn't. She'd liked that ear. The ears were the cutest part of a horse in her opinion. Especially hers had been really cute. She sighed. Nothing to do about that; at least she still had one of them and also those large and pretty rust coloured eyes. Minus most of an eyebrow on one side.
The healing paste her unexpected stepmother had applied, whatever it was made of, had done an amazing job of sealing the chest wounds. It had prevented them from going bad after the initial whisky treatment had burnt out any germs already present. She shuddered at the memory.
“OW!” she exclaimed when Springtide's tool caught on a stubborn knot on her lower neck. The muffled reply, spoken through teeth gripping a handle, sounded rather exasperated. Of course she needed to be made presentable when being introduced to the rest of the household and the herd. Of course she agreed with that. That didn't mean she'd have to enjoy it.
She looked at the mirror again and was reminded of a TV show she'd once watched. It had been about some tribe somewhere in sub-Saharan Africa that practised ritual scarification and used colourful earths that were rubbed into fresh cuts. She couldn't remember if they did it to their animals too, but in that case she'd fit right in. She had her doubts about the whole 'presentable' thing.
“There you go. You'll be a beauty again in no time,” Springtide announced. Her voice held the kind of rock solid conviction that only a mother could muster in the face of all evidence.
“I'm going to do your tail now. I know it's a bit uncomfortable, but if you don't want to just cut the thing off and look ridiculous it needs to be done now. Two days more and it'll be too matted to do anything about it. And if you kick me again like the first time we tried this I will bite you. Right on that mark of yours. Just so you know it.”
She sighed and craned her neck to look at the dark shape of an anvil emblazoned on her flank. At least that was unblemished, since the dog that had sunk its fangs into her had missed it by an inch. Somehow that felt really important, as if she'd avoided a truly horrible injury.
She also felt a constant need to look at it, always just one more time to make sure it really was undamaged. It was beginning to feel like a compulsion. That was getting on her nerves, especially since there were two of them that both demanded her attention. 'Marked one'. As if there wasn't enough weirdness in the world already.
She grit her teeth and did her best as not to whimper while Springtide was ripping her tail to pieces. Never had she imagined the root of a horse's tail to be that sensitive. Or maybe that was just her? In any case she'd apologize to Freya, so they met in the afterlife, and commend her on her stoicism. Maybe she'd allow her a kick or two as well.
“Hnng... agh! Oh gosh, sorry! SORRY! OWOWOWWW!”
“I warned you,” 'mum' grumbled. “Now hold still!”
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You knew what you were doing, so I hope you are prepared to answer.
How many?
I wonder why Brenda wasn't among the ones to remain on the first day. She seems to be very adaptable compared to many who remained back then, and that's supposed to be the sorting criteria, no? Well, glitchy spell is glitchy, I think.
Her cutie mark is an anvil framed into a horse bite then?
6741349 How many? Not sure I follow. What do you mean?
Well... in a way, yes. First of all I thought that the first 1% of a 10000 year period wasn't all that much for the spell to sort. Then I factored in that she's getting a lot of support from 'people' who clearly have a well balanced civilization going and very much want her around. I'm sure she would have dealt with the 'becoming a horse' part well on her own, given her background. The 'being alone' part would have broken her rather sooner than later.
Maybe I should have written a few extra paragraphs about that in Kirkwall. After the scene where she realizes that everybody indeed is gone and has a breakdown, just before finding that unicorn skeleton. Probably describe a day after that before putting the dogs on her.
In a way it's the opposite of your griffon who seemed to deal well with the sudden isolation and disappearance of civilization. Being a catbird on the other claw took a bit longer. He'd probably died without Fly-You-Moron. Best name ever, by the way ;)
Uhm, did anything of this wall of text answer your question?
Solstice is definitely going to be interrogated about that piece of information...
So Brenda's mark is a blacksmith? She'd mentioned experience with blacksmithing and being a farrier, so that makes sense. Pretty useful talent to bring with her. I wonder, how easy is it to build a decent furnace to make use of it though?
Hmm... am I reading this wrong? Because if Brenda had kids, she doesn't seem to react as I'd expect to Springtide saying she'd wager Brenda knows very little about mothering. Either that, or there's another major breakdown on the way eventually...
6741447
HOW MANY???
Science demands an answer!
That's what I was talking about. She spent an hour of her time with them (being awake), and she's already calling one of them "mom". That's Pinkie levels of social adaptation, easily. Or at least Rarity.
That actually sounds like a great idea. It would also put her efforts at learning how to walk on the much less intense scale, she's learning how to run while running as it is.
Though, like it is now she looks a lot more badass.
Well, he was a loner before, so it wasn't that much of a shock to him, and later he was way too tired to care.
I don't know about him dying of hunger, though, Esteemed Los' would've solved that problem long before Vsevolod had a chance to find out.
6741520
That could have been phrased better I guess. Will look at that. What I meant is that Brenda had a nephew, because Brenda's sister had a little boy.
Heh ;)
Definitely not easy. Moorland level not easy. But who knows.
6741676
A lot ;) They're also a pretty good laxative.
It was whole day and night, but it is still very quickly. I see the quickly latching on to someone as a coping mechanism, especially because Springtide's mannerisms are similar to her real mom's. And I wanted to play a bit on that pony-instincts angle of hers again as well.
Hmm, that chapter definitely didn't come across as planned it seems, even though it was a lot of fun to write and edit (forever). Need to adjust the time between events I guess. Plus an extension of the Kirkwall chapter. *sigh* Guess that unintended five weeks break was a little long.
6741772
So, they've invented rocket propulsion then. May come handy later, probably.
Oh, I don't say it's bad, I just point that it's pretty fast. Also, I wouldn't count the time she was asleep, since, well, she was asleep.
In any case, The Horse is strong in this one.
6741772
Ah, fair enough. I read "Like she did" as implying "like she did with her own", where I guess it was supposed to be "like she did with her nephew".
I knew Moorland and Robin would get along
But this chapter... see, this is the kind of feels I can't manage. It's quiet, it's subtle, but it's there. Springtide is one of those 'Everybodies Mother' people. I've met a few like that. I'm even going to spend Christmas with one of them since she's pretty much declared I'm her grandson and my parents as her children in law. People like that are awesome.
As for how fast Brenda adjusted... I see it as a sign as why she wouldn't be bad for staying from the get go. She's social and strong willed, not to mention skilled and adaptable, but she needs others to play off. Springtide was there when she was vulnerable, and she latched on to her. Not to mention the minor herding instinct ponies still have, and then the scent thing... Starscribe has been playing up to the fact that scent is more important to ponies than it is to humans. Brenda's been exposed to Springtide's scent all this time, so subconscious bonding.
That image of colt Solstice doodling on the wall is adorable. I'm looking forward to some constructive discussions between Dawn and Brenda though. I do find it interesting that she's finding her cutie mark important to her, even though she doesn't quite know what it is.
6741676
What do you know, seems I can write and edit really fast when given the right inspiration :)
"Kirkwall - Welcome to The New World" just got nine hundred words longer in the middle (between Brenda figuring out how to trot and the point where the dogs show up) and received another edit for improved readability. Contained quite a bit of rewording and taking out and putting in some small stuff. Now I don't expect you to read the whole thing again, but the bit in the middle is especially for you and should lead up to Brenda's behaviour in Stromness a lot better. Just because I love you.
Additionally I cleaned up the latest chapter a bit more, removed some sub-optimal phrasing and made the Brenda/Springtide bonding thing and the use of 'mum'-equivalents increase linearly. Just because I love you.
Now I have a headache due to sleep deprivation. Was worth it though, had a fun night.
6744791
*goes and rereads both*
Damn, I've missed Brenda's cutie mark moment the first time I went through it!
(not the moment itself, but the significance of it)
This part repeats.
YES! This way is much, much better. It gives poor Brenda enough time to learn the walk without having to rush it too much (while keeping the good part of her dual-nature experience intact), and also sets the lonely mood for later much better.
The adoption scene looks better too.
pinkie.mylittlefacewhen.com/media/f/img/mlfw1477_excited_twilight_by_blaccuweather-d4i7n33.png
6744911
Hey, at least the re-read wasn't pointless then ;)
Thanks, fixed.
And thanks again for the inspiration and your approval. I like it a lot better myself now, it's just difficult sometimes to realize what's missing. Please continue to demand missing parts to be filled in. ;) When the chapter is fresh in mind it's easy to do. And fun.
6742187
We might have to write some random silliness where they meet up someday. Or not, but I might. Robin would be in his prime by then, wouldn't he?
I enjoyed writing this a lot, she's gotten too little attention. And yes... I've only met one of the kind and she passed away a few years ago. *sigh* Count yourself lucky.
And thank you for expressing my scrambled, late night ideas and replies in a coherent text! You got it 100% right. I immediately filled in a sentence about the scent even. And thanks to your comment and Alkarasu's demand, "Kirkwall" received another edit and an additional 900 words. I amazed myself and sleep is overrated anyway.
6745088 Hey, I don't demand things, SCIENCE does!