Chapter 49
The Haunting
Admiral Biscuit
I could have made my bed with new sheets, but instead we spent the rest of the night at Milfoil’s house.
Even though I was tired, it took me a while to fall asleep. Her house made different noises, and the things in the bedroom cast different shadows in the moonlight. Her bed was softer than mine, and her pillows were harder.
Still, she was with me, and that made all the difference. When I put an arm around her, that was familiar. When I pressed my nose into her mane, that was a comforting smell, and that was enough to get me to finally relax and drift off to sleep.
•••
I had a moment of discombobulation when I woke up. I was alone in bed, in a foreign bedroom and most importantly I couldn’t remember where the bathroom was.
Luckily, that feeling only lasted for a second, and I got out of bed and found the bathroom and waited patiently by the door for her to come out.
She was already starting breakfast by the time I came downstairs, building up the fire in her stove. “What are we having?”
“Pancakes.”
I nodded and found a bowl and the flour. “How hungry are you?”
“We can always have leftover pancakes later.”
“You haven’t got a lot of flour left anyway; might as well use it all.” I still measured it out; I hadn’t gotten the hang of estimating ingredients.
“I know. I’ve been meaning to go to the miller and get more.”
“I’ve got plenty.” She’d insisted I buy a sack last time we’d gone to the miller's, and I didn’t bake as much as she did. “So we won’t have to rush. Besides, good romances always start with giving your neighbor a cup of flour.” Or was that sugar?
“Oh, do they?”
“I swear, it’s true. It’s a human tradition.”
Milfoil stuck her tongue out at me.
“What do ponies do? How do hackneyed pony romances start?”
“Well, that depends on the tribe. Pegasus stories are full of ponies who fly in and save somepony else, and unicorn stories are all about special spells and sometimes potions even though potions are more of a zebra thing.”
“Let me guess, earth pony stories involve plants?”
“Well, why shouldn’t they? Farming is good. Spells won’t fill your belly, but alfalfa will.”
I cracked a couple eggs into the mix. “I can’t argue with that logic.”
•••
There weren’t very many plants to move around any more. It was empty inside my house without them. They’d brightened the living room and taken up the space that my meager furnishings hadn’t, and I suppose it was a human thing to think, but I’d kind of considered that my house was a store of sorts, and now the shelves were barren. That hurt my modern human sensibilities; shelves were never supposed to be empty. Things weren’t supposed to run out.
But, every time I went back into the yard to get another flower, I saw all the plants in their proper place, and it eased the minor discomfort I was feeling.
•••
By the afternoon, we had nothing to do. Everything was prepared for tonight, and I was getting antsy. Tonight would be the last night planting, and I didn’t know what was going to come next. I thought that when we finished planting the garden, Windflower would move on, and I didn’t want that, even though I knew that that was what should happen. She needed to find peace; she couldn’t go on as a ghost forever.
And we did, too. It fell to us to help her finish what had been left undone, for her and for us.
I went over and gave Milfoil a hug—she was swishing her tail and flicking her ears more than usual, and pacing around the ground floor of my house like a caged animal.
It would have been smart to take a nap, be well-rested, but there was no chance that was going to happen, so we needed something to distract us. Something to get our minds off tonight, but I had no idea what would do it. There wasn’t TV, and I doubted that a book would be distracting enough.
I walked over and petted her mane. “I hate waiting.”
“Me, too.” She nuzzled my stomach. “You know, it’s warm enough, let’s stretch our legs a bit.”
“Well. . .”
“Race you!”
That wasn’t fair at all, but I ran out the door after her and through our backyard and out of town. Intellectually, I knew that she was holding back, but that didn’t matter. I wanted to catch her—I needed to catch her.
Houses and fields and farms blurred by and then we were on a road through the woods and my thinking brain had tuned out completely. Everything narrowed down to just the chase.
She darted onto a small side-trail and I followed behind as we climbed a bit of a rise. Up ahead I could see what looked like a bit of a drop-off, and sure enough, she leapt off the edge of it, curving in a perfect arc from nose to tail and a second later I was at the edge and it wasn’t ground on the other side, but rather a pond.
I didn’t even hesitate; I cannonballed in right after her.
My timing couldn’t have been more perfect; she’d just got her head above the surface as I crashed into the water, sending up a satisfying splash.
The water was colder than I’d expected. I should have anticipated that; it hadn’t been that long since there’d been snow on the ground. Still, for the moment, I was hot and dripping sweat and it felt just perfect.
Milfoil paddled to shallower water, and I followed her, swimming until I could put my feet down. My only regret was that my shoes were wet; it would take hours for them to dry, maybe days, and I didn’t have a second pair.
I reached down in the water and unlaced them and then waded ashore to set them on a sun-warmed rock, followed by my socks.
And then the rest of my clothes as well. They wouldn’t do me any good in the water.
I thought about chiding her for not telling me to bring a towel, but her heart was in the right place.
•••
Once we’d cooled off in the pond, we played around for a bit. I was no Michael Phelps, but I was still a better swimmer than she was.
I was shivering when we finally made our way to shore, and the few bare rocks around the pond weren’t flat enough or big enough to fully lie on. She shook herself off, and I didn’t embarrass myself by trying to imitate her technique.
My clothes had gotten mostly dry, save my shoes. I dried my hair off with my shirt as best as I could before getting dressed again, and the two of us just lay on the shore lost in our own thoughts until it was time to go back home.
•••
“I don’t like the look of this.” Milfoil’s eyes were to the sky, where dozens of pegasi were moving around clouds, silhouetted by the setting sun.
I wasn’t too keen on it, either, but: “You ponies control the weather; what did the schedule say?”
“I didn’t look.” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter what the schedule said anyway. Sometimes in spring, they’ve got to have a storm even if it isn’t scheduled. There’s a lot of magic in flux, and it doesn’t always balance like it ought to.”
“Balance?”
Milfoil nodded.
“Like, there’s too much on the ground and not enough in the sky, so they have to give us clouds?”
“Exactly.”
I hadn’t expected to be right.
“Everything is a circle, and when one part of it goes out of balance, another part brings it back to where it should be.” She glanced back up at the sky. “Hopefully, it doesn’t last too long.”
“And if it does?”
“I don’t know. We plant in the rain if it comes to that. The flowers won’t mind, and we’ll just be muddier. It’ll keep us cool.”
I deepened my voice. “Our arrows will blot out the sun.”
“What?”
“Then we will fight in the shade.”
Milfoil frowned. “Have I ever told you that humans are weird?”
“Frequently,” I said. “That’s why I love you.”
•••
Windflower came before the rain. She circumnavigated the garden, inspecting the flowers and approving their location before coming up to the back stoop. We stayed sitting, content to just watch her.
She hesitated long enough for us to stand and then zipped into the house. We’d already set her garden sketch on the kitchen table—not that she needed it—and she spared it a glance before going into the living room to examine the last remaining plants, and then the work began. Once again, Milfoil and the old stallion planted while I carried plants out of the house and into the garden.
We were nearly done when a flash of lightning lit up the yard as bright as day. Windflower shot up and looked around before racing back into the house like a frightened child.
I started gathering up our tools as big fat raindrops started hitting the ground.
“Leave them,” Milfoil said. “A little rain won’t hurt them.”
So the four of us crowded into the kitchen and watched the storm roll through. I could see pegasi in the air, occasionally illuminated by the bright flashes of lightning.
Windflower stayed between Milfoil and the old stallion until the storm had moved off in the distance, then rushed back outside to inspect the garden.
There was a little damage, but not much. Milfoil set about straightening it up, while the old stallion planted and I fell back into my role as a plant carrier.
•••
I took off my shoes and socks and worked barefoot. It felt right to have the muddy soil against my feet and I’d be tracking in my house shoes or not. That didn’t matter; that could be cleaned later. We were running out of time and we were running out of plants.
Any other time I’d been faced with a large task, I’d have been counting down towards the finish, but not this time. The thunderstorm had been a blessing; it had given us a few more precious minutes together.
There was only one more plant left, and I hesitated before picking it up and going into the yard one last time. I wasn’t sure if I should announce it was the last, but just in case she were to vanish suddenly when it was planted, I knew I ought to.
Windflower led us over to its spot, just as she had for all the other plants, and I stood there as the hole was dug, keeping my eye on her. She had the same concentration as always, but I swear she flickered as the plant touched the ground.
The ponies moved back, and we stood around uncertainly while Windflower drifted up and got a bird’s-eye view of her garden.
She circled the perimeter, and then dropped back to ground level and started going through the rows. She’d occasionally brush up against the plants. Most of them didn’t respond to her, but the amaranth did, bending slightly as she passed.
I thought she’d return once she’d looked over the garden, but she didn’t. She reached the end of a row and then moved across the yard, fading from sight as she crossed the street.
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Are we really approaching the end now!?
Well, I guess she's found peace now.
I wonder if they'll debate naming their first kid (adopted or otherwise) after her.
Three hundred plantings valiantly making their stand. It brings a tear to the hardest heart.
The question is whether this is really goodbye. I'm honestly not sure if I want it to be or not.
Heh, most Pegasi and Gryphons would love watching 300. It's so much their kind of story-- if a bit bloodier than typical Equestrian tales.
"Only if your weather team is not well managed."
-Probably Silver Glow
It could have been a good ending, The Ghost accomplished it's mission and the went and faded. The end.
In any case, I liked the brieve soberness of the scene, it was apropriate.
And thus the end draws near, quietly and unspectacular. I hope Windflower finds rest now.
If anything, she'll leave her temporary 'foster parents' a strong couple now. They've grown a lot during their time with her.
I can't wait to see this story get 1,000 likes.
you know what bothers me, i can't give new likes for chapters -.-
One more stoop along the row I go.
9613947
I think that would be a pretty good reason to prefer pegasus culture tbh. They live a lifestyle similar to mine, and I think I'd get along with Rainbow Dash and/or Fluttershy pretty well.
Oh crud... it's happening... THE END IS NEIGH.
9613977 Those look like Pacman ghosts... Ponies are obviously possessed by them!
9613062
9613077
We are.
9613082
I know, right? Little buggers, they get you when you aren’t expecting it.
9613107
Has she found it yet?
I suppose it would depend on the age of the kid. For a baby (foal), sure, but if the adopt an older filly, she might think it’s weird that she’d got to change names.
Or maybe not; that could be how Equestria works.
9613111
“I thought about the twisted trees that lived by the shore and got shaped by the winds and the storms and each one left its mark on the tree and it grew a little stronger after each one and put its roots down a little bit deeper and still proudly held its leaves to the sky, and the sea tried to forget but the trees always remembered.”
--Silver Glow
Isn’t is always that way?
9613148
I think you’re totally right there. And depending on one’s view of Equestria, I’m not sure if it’s be too bloody for either species. I mean, it’s not a movie you’d want to take your foals/fledglings to, but the overall idea of the story might very much appeal to them.
9613151
9613223
To be honest, she knows a thing or two about that from feral storms, but inland, yeah, that is something she might say.
Sometimes that is the good ending. Even if it doesn’t feel like it in the moment.
Thanks!
9613253
She will, soon.
They have, so if nothing else, she’s left her mark that way. And there’s also the garden, of course; her magnum opus.
9613407
Neither can I!
9613456
I know, right? Isn’t that a bummer?
9613787
9614022
I can’t disagree with you. All the different tribes have their own skills and cultures, and it’s hard to say which is best, but there is a lot to like with how pegasi work.
9614027
It is.
9614032
Of course they are. We know that from Pinkie’s family.
9613948
Is that on here, or…?
9614122
Yes--I can’t give a link, since it’s rated mature, but if you searched “Super Short Clopfics!” you’d find a chapter titled “Nurse Snowheart 4” which is 103 words long. . . .
And so another end is approaching. It is a strange feeling, seeing a story on the cusp of being wrapped up, knowing it is for the best but not being sure if that is what one wants.
A bit like bringing out the last plant.
🎶 they'll always have a piece of you, you left them your garden. 🎶
Oh no! :pinkiesad:
9614442
Agreed--oftentimes what’s for the best or what’s the right thing isn’t necessarily what one wants. But--what other choices did Steve and Milfoil and Windflower have?
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9614777
Oof my heart you my good sir struck a direct hit
On another note this reminds me of a pet I used to have a cockateel named Buddy he was quite aggressive to fingers, my mum believes it was because he was mistreated but he absolutely liked me, the reason this reminds me of him is because we buried him in a pot under a rose so like windflower he finished with a flower which honestly is quite like him(the rose had thorns to be clear talking about the rose we buried him under) he had a beautiful personality but you couldn't touch him with you fingers unless you wanted to be stabbed.
"Now, her sheets are also full of dirt. We're, uh, kind of running out of clean places to sleep."
Cup of ghost filly
Hah. That's a peculiar mental connection there.
Wait, what? Race where, you silly mare?
That probably implies she wants to get caught
There, you see, all you neigh-sayers? He can find things he's better at than ponies
Hah.
Huh...
I'm wondering if that's the last they'll see of her...
9614777
> :pinkiesad2:
That's one of those smileys that have a 2 behind it for legacy reasons
10105588
Eh, it’s worth it in the end.
I suppose that’s one way.
I suppose so. I dunno, I kind of think like that at work or at home sometimes, think about what I have ‘in stock’ and what I need to get to bring things back up to the right level.
Heh, the where isn’t important. Just racing because it helps ease stress to have moving hooves.
Well, of course she does; that’s how the game is played.
Yup. Better swimmer, and better at getting things off high shelves than earth ponies and in time, he’ll be better at fastening and unfastening Milfoil’s harness.
Shame ponies haven’t got DVD players; watching 300 would be an interesting experience.
I wonder how they’d like it?
Nope, not quite.
"That hurt my modern human sensibilities; shelves were never supposed to be empty. Things weren’t supposed to run out."
Wow, that's a really interesting insight, and a fantastic microcosm of human culture! So boldly phrased, too! Love it!