The twins splashed around in the pool, the earth pony using his bulk to do cannonballs and douse his sister while she wove up magical whirlwinds to launch jets of water right back at him. Their laughter rung in my ears like the sweetest songs.
“Refill?” my wife asked, levitating the pitcher of lemonade.
“Naw,” I replied. “Plants need tending to.” I rolled my eyes toward the garden. We didn’t really need to grow our own food, but sometimes an earth pony couldn’t help himself.
“Daddy!” our youngest cried from up near the rooftops. “Look how high I can go!” Fresh off her first week of flight school, and I loved her fiercely.
“She must take after your great-great grandmother,” my wife said, always with a tenuous grin. I forced a smile.
Yes, I’d told her that. I didn’t have a single pegasus in my family tree. Neither did she.
Oops. That puts a bit of a spin on things, doesn't it?
No names but it smacks of the Cake family a few years down the road.
Ouch. One could argue that the genes lie in every pony... but the evidence veers in a less pleasant direction.