Updraft
Sundance was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was not a smart pegasus. Oh, he was a young pegasus, but that was fading as maturity sank its claws into him. At one point in his life, he had known everything, had an answer for everything, and lived with the blissful, blessed assurance that he was a clever pony who had much to offer the world.
Since becoming baron, he’d come to the conclusion that he didn’t know much of anything.
What was right, and what was wrong?
He sat atop the high outcropping of rock that overlooked the box canyon, sighing occasionally, and trying to force his brain to work. As a sort of warm up workout, he tried to determine his feelings about the Manehattan rail workers strike. It seemed simple enough. He’d asked around a bit, talking to anypony who would listen, and even managed to get opinions from Commander Humblewood and Berry Briar.
The rail workers were in quite a pickle. Wages were not enough to for them to manage basic subsistence in Manehattan, which is to say they were not making enough money to manage rent, food, and basic living expenses. The rail workers had been promised that things would be sorted out, but time was needed. Months passed, a year passed, and the workers took matters into their own hooves. They went on strike and now, the city was held hostage to their whims. With no trains, no food came into the city, and with the city held hostage, something had to be done.
But the determination of right and wrong was no simple feat. Sundance had trouble reconciling who was right and who was wrong here. It felt wrong to hold the city hostage. With no food coming into the city, or not enough food—only so many wagons could be brought into the city before there was an epic traffic jam—things were now desperate enough for the city to unravel. Rioting seemed likely.
However, raising rail worker wages was no easy task. Raising wages meant increasing the cost of goods in a city where the cost of goods was already astronomical, and if the basics, things such as food increased in cost, everypony would be poorer. Wages, hard earned bits, would buy less. By increasing the wages of the rail workers, one brought up cost, and the whole city suffered—which meant that, ultimately, everypony’s wages would need to be raised to deal with the increased cost of living.
Sundance, not a smart pony, had a headache just from thinking about it.
He had trouble just putting these concepts into terms. The issue, it seemed, was money. Or maybe that wasn’t the issue at all. Perhaps it was a matter of public duty, and doing a job for the sake of the public good. His mother did that. Somehow, she survived. Sure, the rail workers needed to be able to support themselves, but raising their wages meant that everypony else suffered. For a time, Sundance struggled with the notion that not all labour was equal, and that some jobs had to keep wages low for the sake of the public good.
But what was to be done with those poor souls stuck on the bottom?
If one automated the process somehow to require fewer labourers to move food and goods into the city, costs could be kept down, but a lot of ponies would be put out of work. No matter how hard he thought about it, there just didn’t seem to be a good solution here, no good way forward. Everything came at a cost that somepony had to pay somehow.
How did one manage a monstrous entity such as a city anyhow, and keep the beast fed?
From the looks of things, one didn’t.
Which left him wondering, what future did his barony have?
They were a small community who drew a living from the land, but this couldn’t last forever. At some point, with growth, there would be new needs—needs that he was responsible to provide. Heavy was the crown, indeed. Up to this point, the movement of goods into the barony had largely been done though his own efforts—but his sky truck was small and the need was growing.
Princess Celestia had been alive for who knows how long, and she didn’t seem to have the answers either. This conclusion was a tipping point for Sundance, and he could actually feel his mood souring, curdling into something unpleasant. He felt like shouting, or screaming. Something violent burned hot within him, and the back of his neck felt sweaty.
The sheer, savage complexity of life irked Sundance, and an irked Sundance was not a happy Sundance. His scalp felt hot enough to fry an egg on, his mane had a most annoying prickle, and all over his body, his skin felt a few sizes too small. The roaring flood of blood through his ears made it difficult to hear anything, and his barely-contained rage reached a boiling point, a point of no return. His fury was such that it could drive any mild-mannered pegasus into savagery.
Baring his teeth, he spread his wings, and hurled himself skyward.
Everything seemed to be holding together and nothing had yet torn open. The skin of his back was tight, as were his muscles, but everything held. A new burning sensation could be felt, the one of physical exertion, and he reveled in this wonderful pain. As he went hurtling through the sky, his head cleared, the roar in his ears ceased, and the fever of rage cooled. Snarling, he smashed through an errant cloud and shivered as the soft, clinging coolness tickled his skin.
He’d lost some strength in his wings; there was now a keen awareness of that. The owlbear had torn his back open, ripping and tearing at precious flight muscles, but Corduroy had sewn everything back together and sealed it with body spackle. Twisting his head around, he cast a glance over his withers at the bright red streaks that ran the length of his back. Nothing opened, nothing was leaking, and nothing showed signs of coming apart.
Teeth gritted, he willed his muscles to obey. Some of his fine control was lost, but that would come back. With a flick of his primaries, which acted like claws raking at the curtain of wind, he rolled, banked, and looped, all to see how his body would react. His back felt as though he was being stabbed by hot pokers, but he didn’t care.
Going still, he slipped into a smooth glide and allowed the updrafts to keep him aloft. There were mountains to the east of him, and to the north, with wide open plains to the south and to the west. So much of his barony was still unexplored, such as the jagged crags beyond the top of the waterfall. Yellow steam rose from vents in the ground and there were boiling pools of shallow, yellowish murky water. He’d seen it from the air, but hadn’t gone down for a closer look.
A bit more to the west were the Crags, actually called the Crags, and from the Crags came the river that wound through the orchard ravine. Beyond the Crags were the mountains, real mountains, not foothills or almost-mountains. The snowmelt from these mountains poured down into the Crags, formed pools, these pools overflowed, and the runoff—laden with rich black dirt—eventually flowed into the orchard sheltered in the bottom of a ravine.
From up here, Sundance could see everything, and had an idea of how it was all connected. Things made sense from up here. Everything felt logical. Water, the lifeblood of the land, all flowed downhill. The water provided. Of course it offered no solutions to the troubles on his mind, but something about the natural beauty and the order of this place was soothing.
A few miles to the north, he could see the bubbling, boiling lake of tar. He’d seen it before, but never up close. It was the source of the barony’s pitch, which fueled the lamps and torches that gave them light. When the wind blew just right, the fumes from the tar lake made the barony extra smelly, adding nuance to the stench of really bad eggs.
Flight was effortless. Why, Sundance barely even had tension in his wings. It was easy to be buoyed along by swirling, rising currents, and he kept his primaries spread wide so he could maintain his grip. His wingspan… was impressive. At least he felt that way. He wiggled his primaries a bit, hoping to gain just a few more inches to show off.
It occurred to him that there was a reason why not many pegasus ponies flew over the barony, and that reason was quite simple: it smelled bad. The hot, redolent stink was a living thing that permeated the air, and any pegasus riding these updrafts would become a stench-ridden bearer of feculent funk. But this stench was his stench, and he rolled around in the wisps of sulphurous musk, no longer caring about how he might smell.
From below, he saw movement. It was a quick thing that he only noticed on the edge of his vision. Whatever it was, it caught his attention, and his response was almost predatory. With a smooth suppleness, he doubled around in the air, cast his gaze downwards, and waited for whatever movement there might be to register again.
Again, the movement happened, right on the very edge of his vision. He rolled, banked, and leveled out, hardly even using his wings at all in a marvellous display of airborne domination. He flew with ease, without effort, and now he circled in the area just above the waterfall, trying to spot whatever it was that he kept noticing in the outer edges of his vision.
Mud pits. Pools of water, some of which steamed. The flowing creek that fed the waterfall. Wildflowers of every colour. Patches of the greenest, lushest grass, the sort that could never, ever exist in a city, or anywhere near a city. Then, as his eyes scoured the ground, he felt something, a tickle in his mind, something that he could only process as a call for help. How?
He didn’t know, but allowed his instincts to rule him.
Angling his wings, he dropped into a steep dive. Mindful of his back, he stuck with power gliding, applying a bare minimum of effort to maneuver through the air. As the ground came rushing up to meet him, he saw it, off to his left. With his hind legs trailing out behind him, he angled his hips and this turned him. Primaries spread, he leveled out as he headed towards whatever it was he had seen from the air. Something small, something in need of aid, though he had no idea how he knew that.
Now, mere yards above the ground, he saw it. Something flopping around in a steaming basin of mud. Not boiling mud, but hot mud nonetheless, and he could hear squeals of pain. Something had fallen in, and couldn’t get out. Some poor, small, furry critter of some sort. No, upon closer inspection, he saw feathers, and wings—stubby underdeveloped wings that flapped in the mud. It looked a lot like Owlister did, a creature still growing in feathers.
Sundance came to a hover above the hot mud basin and extended his hoof down towards the struggling, flailing creature. A hot reek burned his face, it made his eyes water, and he felt sharp claws sinking into his flesh just above his hoof. A second later, he was scalded as the poor creature pulled itself up out of the muck, which was like far too hot bathwater. Not boiling, but hot enough to do real harm. As the hot mud soaked his pelt, it was all he could do to not cry out.
Hot! Hot! Hot!
He wanted to shake his leg, to cool it off, be he was afraid that doing so might shake the poor critter right off. Claws like tiny needles sank deep into his skin as the muddy creature hung on. The claws cut, sliced, but Sundance had greater concerns. Hovering meant flapping his wings, and flapping his wings made his back burn as if it were a forest ablaze.
An owlish face stared up at him, gratitude plainly visible.
Already the first blisters were rising up the surface on his leg, not a good sign. Sundance watched bright red rivulets of blood trickle down his leg and from his hoof. The hot mud was caked on, to both the poor creature he had rescued and his own leg. As much as he wanted to fly around and shake the mud free, he couldn’t. All he could do was grit his teeth and allow the steamy mud to scald him.
“Hang on,” he said to his passenger, “I’ll get us some help!”
Corduroy was not a happy nurse and Sundance winced every time she looked at him. He’d refused treatment, even shouting at her, and she had only reluctantly looked at the rescued critter that Sundance had dragged into her infirmary. Mud was everywhere, along with a fair bit of blood. While his nurse went to work, he waved his leg around, because the cool sensation of moving air was quite a relief on his scalded skin.
“It’s an owlcoon,” Corduroy said as she poured water over the miserable creature. “Poor little fella. Hmm, looks like his thick fur saved him from the worst of it. This could’ve been a lot nastier. Still some burns and blisters though.”
“I felt him in my mind,” Sundance blurted out.
“Huh?” Corduroy rolled the owlcoon over on the table so that she could pour water over its belly.
“Don’t ask me to explain it,” he said to his nurse. “It was like with Owlister, but different. Similar, but different.”
“I’d rather you explain what you were doing… flying.”
“Will he be okay?”
Corduroy leaned over the table, looked down, and her jowls wrinkled with kind concern. Both of her triangular ears rose, fell, rose again, and then she reached up and adjusted her beanie. With one paw finger, she parted the muddy fur of the owlcoon, had a good look, and then examined other places.
After a few moments of intense examination she said, “She’ll be fine, I think. Scalded, cooked a bit, but not too bad. Honestly, I think you might have it worse. That leg of yours is a mess.”
“I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “It’s a she?”
“She is a she. Nice work, Sundance… once again, you rescued a damsel in distress. Is this your new hobby?”
“Might as well be,” he replied while still waving his leg around.
When his nurse scowled, he added, “I saved a really nice diamond dog damsel from the evil clutches of society—”
“Oh, you went there, did you?” Corduroy’s brows furrowed, and she shook her head. “That’s it, I’m getting the iodine.”
Upon mention of the word ‘iodine,’ Sundance whimpered. He thought about running, maybe even flying, but that was stupid. If he ran, Corduroy would give chase. If he flew… he would have to land sometime, and his nurse would be waiting for him. As much as he was fond of her, she was a little too enthusiastic about the application of iodine and making certain that wounds were scrubbed clean. Cleanliness was good-dogginess, as she liked to say.
On the table, the owlcoon squealed, hooted, and squealed again as Corduroy rinsed off the mud. It was a baby still, that much was obvious, and had run afoul of nature. Her owlish face had racoon markings, the black bandit mask, and her tiny body was mostly racoonish, save for the wings and the owlish talons up front—the same talons that had sliced open his leg.
“I’m going to have to trim off some fur,” Corduroy said, mostly to herself. “The little fuzzball is going to need a caretaker, and I already have somepony in mind.”
“Who’d you have in mind, Corduroy?”
“Well,” the nurse replied, smiling, “he keeps pestering his mother for a puppy, or a kitten, but I think this will have to do. Hollyhock will probably grouse a bit, but I think Lemongrass will be thrilled to have a buddy.”
“Lemongrass?”
“Why not, Sundance?”
Still waving his leg, he couldn’t think of a reason to object.
Stats
Page generated in 0.039 seconds
Total duration
791 users online
1,040,498 hits today, 2,004,447 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Sylphie the owlcoon bout the only thing I could think of right now...
Call her Otome. "Damsel" in Japanese.
I throw my hat in for Galena.
It’s lead sulfide and as they live in a sulfur rich area.
Tytonidae procyon. Titan Prose.
Well, she was found mired in mud so, Mira?
Hankette.
Perhaps, Raphtalia?
More of Sundance's land pact, I assume.
Well, if she were male the name 'Sue' would fit.... Ivote for Galena.
Something like RALPHTALIA XD
CoonieMc OwlFace? How about Potsticker or Dumpling?
Glad to see Sundance flying again. I love the pegasus descriptions. I’m sure they are happiest flying.
Longhaul
Could they be issued crown-backed, zero-interest credit? Just until things are "sorted out"?
I mean, it's hardly an ideal solution, but it addresses many of the concerns.
I say we name the critter Avengeline, Lady of the Bandit Face, Keeper of the Garbage, and Hooter of the Moon.
Best I can come up with is 'Procy', as in the genus of raccoons, Procyon. Or maybe 'Striggy', from the genus of typical owls, Strigidae. I dunno, I'm bad with naming things.
9601135
There's only one L in Raphtalia.
9601187
Or low income housing etc. someplace convenient to the rail lines so that they didn't have to rent in the city.
Jackie (as in Jack Tar)
How about Duolingo?
She survived burning mud?
Perhaps naming her Pele would be acceptable?
After a certain goddess of volcanoes?
Just throwing it out here Coondence.
Solfatara definition: a volcanic vent emitting only sulphurous gases and water vapour or sometimes hot mud |
So, maybe name her Solfatara after the mud bath she was found in. Tara for short. I'm just not sure who in the group would come up with the name, maybe Paradox.
Raquel Rockette. Bet no one gets the reference
Lynn maybe?
*deleted because not as funny as I thought myself*
9601499
Uh... she has an owlface.
Plus, that name is racist. So no. Sorry.
9601501
Well shit, thats something I didn’t know. My apologies to anyone I might have offended in my ignorance.
9601509
No worries, mang.
Coonface is another name for blackface.
I think that's mostly been forgotten though, which is a good thing.
Raccowloon
What about Pickle? She was certainly rescued from one.
...Hankette.
9601577
but it is your story so go ahead and do what you wish.
LOLOLOLOLO i agree please name it (her) that!
If she will be named from the perspective of Lemongrass than it would make sense that he would take some part of her "adoption" story into it.
How about Pitchy?
Considering a kid is going to name it I could see her name being Fuzzball.
Oooo, a new owl resident for the barony.
That's fair.
Love Sundance being snarky with his nurse. XD The owlcoon sounds kind of cute.
Hank would have been perfect
Peggy would've been good