Sun setting
It was only when Sundance examined the door did he realise that a mistake had been made. After concluding that he had fronked up, he stood there, agape, hating himself and everything about his life at the moment. The door was maybe, at most, about a yard tall, and he had to duck his head to enter. The crate he had brought home, his hopes and dreams, his fondest, most achievable wish, stood five feet tall. This squat door was wide enough to fit the crate in sideways, but not tall enough. Not at all.
“If I might ask, why does the Milord want a box in his humble abode?” Cucumber, who had carried the crate over, held aloft in his telekinesis, was now taking a moment to rest.
“To sleep in,” Sundance replied, thinking nothing of his answer. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do and he had long wanted a sleeping box—but affording one had always been the issue. Now, he had one, only to be thwarted by a door.
“Am I to understand… that the Milord wants a… a, uh… am I to understand that the Milord wants a birdhouse for himself?”
With a turn of his head, Sundance leveled a deadpan gaze upon his retainer. No sign of laughter, no smirk, no nothing; somehow, Cucumber hid all evidence of snark and was wearing his own deadpan-armored expression. It was, without a doubt, one of the most impressive performances that Sundance had ever witnessed from another pony, and he doubted that even the most gifted, most blessed comedian could do as fine a job of playing it straight.
“Cucumber… that’s tribalist.”
“Begging yer pardon, Milord. I was just calling to attention the fact that the Milord seems to want to sleep in a birdhouse, so he does, and I was trying to figure out how I could help the Milord achieve this noble nesting effort, so I am.” Not a smile, not a smirk, not once was Cucumber betrayed by laughter.
Nearby, a Greater Equestrian Screaming Owl shrieked horrorshow bloody murder.
Now, with his feathers ruffled and his heart flippity-flopping against his ribs, Sundance faced down his magnificent retainer. “The Milord is a bit disappointed with the resident unicorn, as this unicorn has failed to magic up a solution.”
Left eyebrow twitching, Cucumber’s limp ears made a valiant effort to stand at attention. “What the Milord wants is a miracle, and for that, you’d need an alicorn. This goes beyond what us common salts can do, the resident unicorn says to his most understanding, most gentle, most benevolent and understanding Milord.”
Turning away from his retainer, Sundance glared at his hovel. This was the hovel’s fault; the hovel hated him and was actively attempting to thwart whatever small happiness that he might muster. It was smelly, smokey, left him itchy, and the open hole in the roof let out all the heat. This hovel symbolised everything that was wrong with this place, everything he needed to fix. A short, squat, round dwelling, with low walls, and a conical sod roof. He couldn’t even stand up straight in there, not unless he was almost standing in the fire, because he’d hit his head against the sloped ceiling made of roots.
Then, with crushing disappointment, his hopes dashed against the rocks, Sundance realised that his crate wouldn’t fit inside, even if he somehow got it past the door. What had he been thinking? He wasn’t the smartest of ponies, and this blunder just highlighted this fact in the most humiliating way. Even worse, he didn’t have the luxury of being upset, or raging, or having any sort of reaction at all, really. His peasants were watching; even worse, two little foals were watching his every move, which required him to be an adult about this.
Grasping at the final glimmer of hope, Sundance eyeballed the dining hall. It had a tall door—a door made for Princess Celestia and her horn, so she wouldn’t have to bow her head when entering. It was not ideal, but it was a solution. As a temporary solution, it might work. Would it be a bit awkward? Yes, yes it would. But it was dry in there, almost modern, and that fact alone made up for any awkward moments.
“Shall I move the Milord’s birdhouse into the dining hall?” Cucumber asked.
“Is it that obvious?” Squinting, Sundance studied his retainer’s face, searching for meaning among the wrinkles.
“We are of hearty stock, Milord. We’ve had a lifetime of doing without, so we have. There’s no shame to be had in what yer doing. A lot can be said about the fact that the Milord thought about our comfort as well as his own. There’s a sort of nobility about that, so there is.”
“I need a good night’s sleep.” Sundance found himself trying to justify his actions. “I’m taking a job tomorrow. I don’t even know what it is, yet. But a job to pay for our expenses. I need to be well-rested, so I can do whatever the job asks of me.”
“Milord… you took a job… to support… us? It is our job to support you, so it—”
“Cucumber, don’t start.” Sundance held out one wing, primaries extended in a ‘halt’ position. “Yes. I took a commoner’s job. Or I will be. Tomorrow. I’ll be doing delivery work. Whatever contracts I can get. Whatever I get paid benefits the barony. Our barony. I’m just the management, Cucumber. Let’s be honest, this barony is owned by the ponies who live here. I’m doing my part, just like you’re doing yours.”
“Very well, Milord. For the good of the barony, I’ll be moving your birdhouse into the dining hall.” There was no hint of mirth on the old retainer’s face, but there was something to be seen in his rheumy eyes. “I’ll remind everypony that this is only for a time, until the Milord can have a proper dwelling built. Nopony will begrudge the Milord for needing a proper rest so he can do his job.”
“Thank you, Cucumber. Now if you will excuse me, I need to remedy the fact that my head is currently owless.”
Here in the Sunfire Barony, the darkness was a living, ravenous thing. In the city, darkness could be found, but only after a great deal of searching, but it wasn’t the deep, inky darkness that could be experienced here. Sundance waxed philosophical about it as the light retreated and the shadows came alive.
In the city, one could barely see the stars. The smog and the city lights mutated the night sky over the city of Baltimare into something that was almost opaque. There, the night wasn’t so much the opposite of day as it was a shift. Because ponies had to go to work, the streets were always busy, always bustling, and street lamps held back the encroaching darkness.
But here, in this place, the dark majesty of night held court. Electric lights did not exist, only candles, lit fires, and torches. These did not drive the night back, but rather, offered tiny islands of illumination in a sea of impenetrable, terrifying darkness. Much to Sundance’s surprise, he was somewhat afraid of the dark—and he suspected it was because he had never truly experienced it, living in the city as he had.
He was distracted from his thoughts by a nip on his ear. Not a hard nip, not painful, it was more of a nibble, really. The little lump of fuzz sitting upon his head was becoming a bit more active as night approached. All of the owls were. They were hooting now, and some of them screamed out their random yells of murder most fowl.
“Are you an Artemis?” Sundance asked in a low voice.
It felt good to put some of his so-called useless schooling to use. Learning some of the old speech as an elective had been utterly useless so far. He had done it because the class was largely empty and it gave him time to finish his homework while still in school. Yet, he still paid attention and somehow achieved high passing marks. How? He wasn’t sure how.
“A long, long time ago, Princess Luna had an owl named Bubo. She made him a general and he led an army of owls that razed a city. They dropped lit pitch torches and burnt the city to the ground.”
“Who?” was the reply from the owl, who stopped nibbling on Sundance’s ear so that it could respond.
“Bubo, that’s who. But I don’t think you’re a Bubo.” Sundance felt the prickle of claws against his scalp as his companion moved about.
A bobbing light could be seen in the distance; Cucumber was doing his evening rounds, making certain that every fire was lit. Lemongrass dutifully followed after the old retainer, and Sundance could hear the colt chattering at the old unicorn. Frogs and crickets began their nightly chorus. The long shadows were now fingers, grasping at the last, final vestiges of the retreating light.
“I must be going mad, because I swear, it’s like I know what you are thinking,” Sundance whispered to the owl perched upon his head. “I keep getting these weird flashes of… insight? What’s going on and why are you in my head?”
Down below him, Potato and Sauerkraut Pie sat together and were discussing what meals would be served tomorrow. No surprise, something mushy for breakfast, followed by some form of soup or stew for lunch, followed by something hot and brown for supper. Naturally, Potato wanted something with potatoes, and Sundance was certain that the poor mare would do nothing but eat potatoes if left to her own devices.
One very brave goat remained out in the open, nibbling on the grass, a final snack before bed. It was easy to see how pastoral bliss could be mistaken for boredom; this was not an exciting place, but it was not entirely without its entertainments. The juvenile owls were running amok through the gardens, no doubt searching for vermin who lurked under the cover of darkness.
“You’re not like the others, are you?” Sundance sensed something, but had no idea what it was. “I don’t think you’re a late bloomer. No, there’s something different about you. My grandmother, she told me stories about pegasus ponies that can talk to animals. She also told me about special animals, smart ones. Birds especially. I thought she was telling me stories.”
The owlet hooted.
“I thought the story of Princess Luna’s owl, Bubo, was just a story too. How could owls be smart enough to burn down a city? Seems crazy. I know magic exists, but there’s a lot of mythology, too. Tall tales. It’s hard to tell what’s what, sometimes. But there’s a reason why you’re here with me and not with your fellows… and it’s not just because you’re a late bloomer.”
“Lemongrass! Come to bed! It’s getting dark!”
Pensive, Sundance continued his thinking aloud. “You’re not a late bloomer because there’s more for you to learn. Right? You’re listening to every word I say and trying to sort them out. I can tell. It feels like I am going crazy. I wish my grandmother was here, because she could tell me what was going on. She has magic. Not just the usual pegasus magic, either. My mom has magic… she has… The Stare. I don’t know if I have magic, but here I am, talking with an owl.”
Far to the west, beyond the majestic Canterhorn, the fiery orange glow died. Now the sky was ablaze with pinks, purples, and blues. Overhead, the curtain of night grew a little darker, and more stars twinkled into existence. Tilting his head back, Sundance thought of his grandmother and her stories. She had told him about feral pegasus ponies, brutes that hunted, cooperated with wolves, howled at the moon, and ate meat. As a foal, these tall tales scared him silly, and his grandmother spared no gory details.
His eyes lept from star to star, watching as they winked into existence, and he smiled. No such feral savagery existed in his heart. He was a quiet pegasus from the city, a tea-drinker, occasional thrill seeker, just a pegasus trying to figure out the bewildering complexities of life. Too much of life made no sense, which left it a mystery.
“I shall name you Alister, or should I say, Owlister.” There was no sense of worry, fear, or doubt when Sundance said these words. This felt right somehow, as if it were meant to be. “Your kind lost their home, their tower. I have to look after them too. I am their baron as well, and I suppose they are my subjects. Look at them… look how they do their part. They’ve fallen on hard times with us. You and I have to restore our shared former glory. Plans and dreams, Owlister, plans and dreams. We’ve much work to do. But for now… I think it’s time I go to bed. I have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Casting his gaze westward, Sundance waved farewell. “Goodnight, Sun. I shall greet you with the dawn. When next we meet again…” Tired, he did not finish his sentence, but yawned instead. Weary, he could not wait to retreat to his brand-new birdhouse.
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I would love to watch a scene where Sundance gets to speak to Fluttershy. I suspect that Fluttershy could give him some hints about communicating with Owlister. And Sundance could tell Flutters that his family also had 'The Stare'.
It would also be cool to see a scene where Owlister and Owlicious get to meet. They could set things up so Sundance and Twilight meet on the right terms.
9246659
Twilight's familiar is ancient at this point.
9246665
And I'm sure Owlicious is a wise old owl and might teach Owlister a thing or three.
Once again, gosh-darn adorable.
He should call it an owlery, not a birdhouse.
I've been in a few places like that. It almost feels like it is pressing in on you. Kind of like if you go to a place that is truly quiet.
Proper, old school fairy tales, I'd call them.
Considering how he followed his cutie mark and is now a baron (if a poor one), it makes a certain amount of sense that he would develop a sort of mystical connection with his new home.
9246717
Wouldn't a baronry be more accurate?
sounds like sundance has some pristine night sky there
"You said understanding twice."
"That's because he's twice as understanding, so he is."
Yussss! Potato has made her return! <3
9246665
...I feel like I'm some crazy conspiracy theorist with this (scratch that, I am), but... Since this is set in the future, does Sundance have some sort of connection to Fluttershy...? Or, more specifically, has this already come up as a hint in another story...?
9247298
They might share a common ancestor.
9247325
Can neither confirm nor deny, aye?
Could be magic, could be insanity, could be both.
You know, it's cute that he's bonding with Owlister already. In a way im surprised it has happened so soon, but its clear Owlister has settled on his head and into his heart.
Mmm cheesey.
There's something nice, and semi-mystical, about Sundance watching the sun set and rise. It's like, the first thing they see in the morning, and the last thing they see at night, is their baron watching over them. With his owl.
Together, they are the living symbols of the barony itself.
The barony is always there.
The barony watches.
The barony cares.
Magic owls, if that bird ever decides not to fly everywhere does that make Owlister Crawley XD
9247947
Flicker had this reaction with Spud. Sundance, I think, is gaining a Familiar. Interesting.
Crows have been known to set fire to barns to stir up bugs to eat.
9637028
HOW?
Officer Mom with The Stare.
Oh boy!