From Finner

by The Wandering Bard

The Old Stallion

The wind was howling outside, cold enough to chill to the bone, and the salt in the air stung the eyes of everypony in it. It was the perfect night for a gathering in the tavern. Ale, cider, and other drinks flowed from cask, to tankard, to belly, as the ponies inside laughed and gossiped and exchanged exaggerated accounts of their daily lives. Or at least, most ponies did. For there was one mare sitting in the corner, wrapped in a cloak, barely noticed by the others except for the fact that she was a stranger.

Her light green mane and tail were marked by a darker green streak, and her tan, freckled face scrunched in concentration as she worked on tuning the antique instrument in her lap. As these first soft notes floated into the gathering, a few of the nearby patrons turned her way. Some raised their eyebrows as they sipped from their mugs, while others observed curiously. Soon, a quiet melody rose from the instrument, and the mare cleared her throat.

“Good evening, everypony,” she said. Her voice was tremulous, though it carried through the crowd. “Have you ever wondered where the stars came from? Well then, gather 'round and listen to my tale…”

And so the mare told the story of Dashing Hoof, how he, as an explorer, had been sent to survey Equestria after the Princesses had assumed their roles, how he’d discovered stones that only glowed at night, and how, after showing this discovery to the Princesses, these stones had been placed in the night sky for all to enjoy. But while the melodies that sounded were sure and sweet, the story was occasionally marred by a small stumble, slip of the tongue, or by the teller of the tale rushing through her words. Still, the ponies politely applauded and even tossed a few bits her way before returning to their tankards and their conversations.

The mare bowed low, then turned to retrieve her coins. Scooping them into a pouch, she cinched it closed and tucked it into a pocket sewn in her cloak’s inner lining. The pouch sagged, but although she feared the weight of it would tear the seams, they instead held. The mare gave a sigh of relief. She set to the task of preparing her instrument for travel when she heard a stallion’s voice from behind her.

“Not bad, kid,” it said. The mare peered over her shoulder. “Coulda used a bit of polishin’, but with a bit of practice, it’ll rightly shine.” She said nothing, eyeing him instead. The stallion extended a hoof. “Name’s Shark Fin,” he told her, “though my friends all call me ‘Finner’.”

The mare now turned to face him. He was an earth pony like herself. His coat was the color of indigo, and his mane and tail were a light, sandy hue, as was a short but somewhat unkempt beard that ran along his jawline. His eyes, set in a weathered face, were seafoam green. Fumbling with the instrument in her fore hooves, the mare returned his gesture. “Lyric,” she told him, shaking his hoof, a timid smile gracing her features.

“Nice teh meet yeh, Lyric,” Shark Fin said, setting his hoof upon the floor. Lyric nodded and went back to readying her instrument for travel. She rolled out a piece of oilcloth and held an end to its neck. There was a reverent whistle, then she heard the stallion say, “Yeh know, I ain’t seen a lute like that in ages.”

A twinkle came into Lyric’s eyes at his comment. “You know what this is?” she asked him, her lute cradled in one fore hoof, the cloth in the other.

“Course I do,” Shark Fin replied. His voice carried above even those of the nearby patrons. “Anypony’d be blind not teh see it for what it is. Would yeh mind if I...?” He held his hoof out, motioning towards the lute.

Lyric’s eyes dropped to her instrument. She gazed upon its faded varnish, the scratches that marred the wood’s surface. The silence grew between them. But, after a time, Lyric held it out to Shark Fin. He grinned in thanks, then bent over the instrument in his own close examination. Lyric shuffled from hoof to hoof. It felt like an eternity — when in reality it had been only a few moments — before it was returned.

“This is a fine piece. A mighty fine piece,” he said as Lyric wrapped the cloth around the lute’s neck. “Whoever built it knew what they were doin’.”

Lyric’s smile was warm now, though her back was to Shark Fin. “They certainly did,” Lyric said as she tied a string around the cloth. She tugged on the string to be sure the oilcloth was secure. “It has one of the purest tones of any instrument I have heard.” There was a fondness in her voice as she put her fore hoof through the lute’s strap, then swung it onto her back.

“I can see that,” Shark Fin told her. “So, Lyric, whaddayeh do?” he asked as she prepared to leave the tavern.

Lyric’s ears perked as she put a hoof to her chest and dipped her head, saying, “I am a humble travelling bard, venturing across Equestria to share my songs and stories with the inhabitants of this land.”

“A young’un like yehrself, goin’ off all on yehr own?” Before Lyric could protest, Shark Fin startled her by banging a hoof on the table before him. “Yeh remind me of me when I was yehr age!” Without pause, he said, “So, I’m bettin’ yeh’ll be lookin’ for a place teh stay tonight, that right?”

“I, well, yes,” Lyric stammered out, “though I have collected enough bits to stay at the inn.”

“Nonsense!” Shark Fin exclaimed. “Yeh’re comin’ with me, an’ that’s that.”

Lyric gawked as the odd stallion turned towards the tavern’s door and made his way through the crowd. Lyric almost let him get away from her. Almost. She trotted after him, catching up just before the door closed behind him.

He was waiting for her. “Started teh think maybe yeh weren’t comin’ after all,” he called above the gale. Lyric’s eyes watered. “C’mon, it’s this way.” He set off down a wide, dirt path that ran through the center of the seaside town. Besides the inn across from the tavern and some scattered buildings of varying sizes, the path was empty.

Not surprising on a night like tonight, Lyric thought as another gust assailed her, her mane flying into her face, her tail flapping about. Her cloak felt as if it were about to rip away in the wind’s wake, even as she held it against her body.

After an indeterminable length of time, Shark Fin stepped off of the main path onto another, well-hidden amongst the scrub grass and barely visible in the dark. The stallion’s steps were steady as the path sloped gently downwards, and Lyric did her best to follow close behind. A black expanse dotted with white crests that danced in the dark soon came into view. As they drew closer, the sound of waves lapping on the shore rose to Lyric’s ears, and the scent of brine bloomed in her nostrils.

Lyric looked along the sandy coast, but there was no habitation that she could see. Shark Fin, however, kept moving, and Lyric galloped along the beach to catch up to him. She found that he was stepping onto a pier, and tied to the end of the pier was something strange. It was not quite a house, for it had the bottom of a boat. But it was not a boat, either, for what would have been the upper decks were shaped like a house.

Shark Fin leapt from the pier onto the main deck. Lyric hesitated, but, after backing up and taking a running start, she swiftly landed by Shark Fin’s side. He whistled again. “I was gonna lower a plank for yeh, but that weren’t too shabby.” He opened a door leading to the house part of the structure. “Well, c’mon in,” he said, and stepped inside.

Lyric paused once more, but entered after him. It was dark, though the stallion lit a few lanterns. The interior was decorated with fishing nets and buoys, ships’ wheels and wooden carvings, all along the walls. Even the lanterns were of the kind to be found on a ship. Lyric marvelled at the sight.

“Yeh like it?” Shark Fin asked her.

“I do,” Lyric told him. “There must be so much history here.”

“There sure is,” Shark Fin replied. “But go sit over by the stove for a bit, alright? Yeh’re shiverin’ somethin’ fierce.”

It was then that Lyric realized just how cold she was. Her limbs, while not numb, were tingling, and her teeth chattered. She sidled over to the stove and slid her lute off of her back. While she made herself comfortable, Shark Fin shoveled wood chips into the stove’s open belly. As he struck a match and tossed it in, he also tossed a bundle of cloth Lyric’s way.

“It’ll only take a few minutes teh warm up, but yeh look like yeh could use this now,” he told her, closing the metal door.

Lyric held up the cloth and wrapped it around herself. As she did, she realized that it, too, was a cloak. In the dim light, she could see that the outside was either a brown or reddish color, and the inner lining was some shade of purple. It was much warmer than the one she was wearing. “Thank you, Shark Fin,” she said.

“Bah, think nothin’ of it. An’ like I said, my friends call me ‘Finner’.”

“Alright then, Finner,” Lyric replied with a chuckle.

He beamed in return, and made his way over to a kitchen area. Opening an ice box, Finner called, “So, Lyric, if yeh don’t mind my askin’, what made yeh change yehr mind?”

“About what?” Lyric called back, rubbing her hooves.

“Followin’ me.” Finner opened a cabinet and pulled out two bowls, then grabbed a ladle to spoon soup into them. He kicked the door to the ice box closed, and carried the bowls over to the stove, setting them on the now-warm metal. “Back there, in the tavern, yeh didn’t seem so sure.”

“Well…” Lyric peered into the dancing flames, forming her response. “You know about stories, and I presume you know something of music as well if you can recognize an instrument as rare as mine. Besides, it seems that you have plenty of stories of your own.”

“That I do,” Finner told her, sitting beside her, handing her a bowl once it had been heated. “But who says I ain’t a scoundrel, just waitin’ teh take yehr bits while yeh sleep?”

Lyric held the bowl between her hooves. “I’ve travelled quite a bit and seen all sorts of folks. I doubt you are that type.” She smirked. “Besides, even if you were, now I know to hide them.”

Finner gave a barking laugh at that, slapping his haunch. Lyric joined him in his merriment. Soon, though, his laugh became a wracking cough, one which shook his entire body. With a worried gasp, Lyric patted his back.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Finner told her through wheezing breaths. “Can yeh fetch me a glass of water?”

Lyric hurried over to the cabinets, searching through each one until she found a cup. Holding it under the faucet, she put a hoof to the pump attached to the sink, fresh water pouring out as she worked. Returning to Finner, she placed the glass in his hoof.

“Thanks,” he murmured. He drank slowly, carefully, so as not to set off another coughing fit, Lyric assumed. “Aaah, that’s better,” he said as the last drop disappeared down his throat. He wiped his lips.

“Are you sure you are well?”

“Yeah, it happens sometimes. I’ll be fine, honest.”

“Alright…” Lyric was unconvinced, but she did not pursue the matter. The two ate their dinners in silence.

When they had finished, Finner stood up. “If yeh’re tired, I can show yeh where yeh’ll be sleepin’.”

“Yes, please,” Lyric told him, stifling a yawn.

Finner pointed to a curtain hanging from the ceiling. “Back there’s a bunk. It ain’t much, but yeh’re welcome to it.”

Hiding another yawn behind her hoof, Lyric gave her thanks. As she stood, the cloak she had borrowed slid from her shoulders to the floor. She bent to pick it up, holding it out to Finner.

He pushed it back towards her. “Nah, keep it. I ain’t got no use for it. 'Sides,” he said, motioning towards the cloak she wore now, “that thing’s about ready teh fall apart on yeh.”

Lyric gaped. “Are you certain?”

“Course I am!” Finner declared. “I mean, it ain’t got a hood, but it should serve yeh well.” Now his eyes and lips softened as he said, “Plus, it’ll be nice teh see it get some use again.”

Unsure of how to respond, Lyric held the cloak for a moment longer before making her way to the bunk. Pulling back the curtain, the moonlight shone upon her through a round window. Lyric took off her worn and tattered garment, giving it a long look before setting it aside. She hung her new cloak on a hook above her pillow and lay down. As she rolled over, she pulled the blankets over her and closed her eyes. It was not long before the rocking of the water and the songs of sea birds lulled her to sleep.

Author's Note:

The story of Dashing Hoof mentioned in this chapter refers to my very first Lyric tale, The Story of the Stars.

Comments

[EverfreePony]

This could go to so many different directions... This Finner seems like a fine mysterious guy and more travelling bards and inn stories are never a bad thing. You definitely have my interest for the upcoming chapters
Also, just a question... does this take place in Lyric's past? The mention of the cloak, combined with your avatar picture, as well as Lyric tumbling little during storytelling makes me think so.

[The Wandering Bard]

8099307
Thanks so much for your comment, Everfree! I certainly hope that you enjoy where this story will lead in the end.

And as for if this takes place in Lyric's past, it does! This is a somewhat younger and more inexperienced Lyric, so I'm glad to know that these details came across.

[EverfreePony]

8099558 Hah, I see then. You're welcome, my friend!

[HopeForTheFew]

Great so far mate!

[The Wandering Bard]

8102100
Thanks so much! I hope you enjoy the rest!