The Gift of Giving

by Comma Typer

The Caribou Carnival

The village of Rennefer busied itself with its holiday festivities.

Resting on top of a snowy hill and surrounded by pine tree after leafless pine tree, Rennefer was having a restlessly fun night out in the friendly cold. Past the city walls, reindeer of all shapes and sizes and colors trotted around on the snow-laden paths, greeting each other a good Caribou Carnival evening under shielded lanterns lighting up the streets and making the snow there glisten, creating tips of fading white flares on the ground. The noise of greetings and farewells and just casual talk rippled through the air, accompanied by jingling bells rattling by the antlers of hooves of professional bell-jinglers.

On the frosty front yards of their wooden cabins lay piles of random items, although the residents wouldn’t call them that. These present piles, so called, contained a variety of desirable things: baked pies still piping hot, scrolls of poetry hastily written hours before, paintings done of various spots around in town, instruments like bongos and guitars—even a ring garnished with a diamond the size of a sizable brooch. At least, over there, this cabin’s owner had her antlers decorated with shiny rings, sputtering out her abundance of Thank you!’s to her lover who was grateful that they somehow appeared in the market.

There were also reindeer pulling sleighs, catching the falling snow and their relatives: the snowflakes. These snow sweepers kept the village’s paths from being snowed in, instead throwing them off to the front yards and the facades of homes and shops and market stalls for the calves to play with and for the grown-up reindeer—the bulls and cows (not bucks and does)—to use for more functional or more artful purposes, like carving big snow sculptures. There was even a snow sculpture contest being held nearby, complete with a judges’ table and an uppity host who was way too fond with the mode of speech known as shouting. Still, the sculptures were pretty to feast one’s eyes on: here, this one tried to mimic a chair; there, that one was a perfect depiction of what it would look like if a fifty-hoof tall snowflake landed on the ground.

Near the center of the town lay the market where a good majority of the reindeer were perusing the stalls. Buyer and vendor were happily chatting with each other, talking it up as they shared stories of family, friends, and personal happenings, too. The young ones and the slightly older youngsters trotted past the stands, awed and amazed by this year’s offerings. They all had the winter merchant caravans to thank for: toys and tomes from the Earth ponies of not-so-far-away Equestria, exotic spices and condiments from the zebras of the mysterious Quagga, smooth-tasting vanilla from the yaks of shivery Yakyakistan, precious gems from the dragons of the menacing Dragon Lands....

From the marketplace, they could behold the centerpiece of the village, this town’s crowning achievement: the public’s hall. Lavishly adorned with heraldry-riddled banners, it was an enormous establishment of timber, multiple stories high. Armored guards dotted the place, prepared with sharpened and bladed antlers like they had mini-swords hanging from the forks on those antlers. However, despite their imposing figures and their stoic faces, a steady stream of conversational civilians were entering the hall with no qualms attached, some following the tempting scent of exquisite food.

Inside, one long hallway was cut in the middle by a very, very, very long table, stretching from one end of the building to the other, bypassing dozens of doors, a couple of paintings, and two sporadic lines of more guards who’d been promised a trooper’s dinner later that night. Instead of chairs, the common reindeer sat on two benches, maximizing seating capacity and minimizing personal space. However, the reindeer enjoyed it: there, everyone (or roughly half of them) were on the same bench together, individual chairs unable to hold them back from freely speaking their minds and thoughts to one another, filling the hall with reindeer camaraderie. At the table itself, a line of waiters and outgoing cooks served a seemingly endless supply of dinner consisting mainly of thinbread sandwiches with jam and cabbages, pasties filled with cheese, and seasoned nettle soup with chunks of thick pasta.

At the far end of the table sat an elderly old bull. He wore glasses, had a white beard; his antlers were spruced up with jewels and gold rings, as if a crown had been exploded and its debris was considered wearable. But, he wasn’t eating like the rest of them. Instead, he was offering calves the chance to be in a painting with him, complete with a painter who’d claimed to paint a good image in five minutes tops... and he did, and so the line of happy calves chugged along under the watch of their parents who were more than proud to have their kids have a picture with the monarch.

In the midst of it all was Aurora, seated before her fresh meal. She was quite enjoying herself, keeping in touch with one of her sons, Thern, over several crispy loaves of salty bread.

“... and I then had to bring Austral to the barber shop,” Thern told with a tinge of panic in his voice before groaning. “Even paid to trim her antlers at the barber’s like a queen.”

In true grandmotherly fashion, she clucked her tongue at her grown-up son, shaking her head in filial displeasure. “That’s what they do to you if you’re like that, spoiling your calves around like you’re their uncle. You give ‘em an inch, they’ll take a kilometer!... or however they say it these days.”

“A mile, ma’,” Thern said, turning his head and his antlers away from her face and towards his food, hoping that that’d be enough to change the topic. “It’s a mile, not a kilometer.”

“I’m learning, I’m learning!” she replied fast, ending with a stifling laugh and a slap on her knee.

Before Thern could relish in this victory with a spoonful of soup, he heard a gracious ring of bells he was certain he’d heard before.

He and Aurora looked behind themselves and saw Bori trotting to them, levitating a couple plates of baked goods onto the table, their offerings still hot from the oven and the stove.

“Bori!” greeted Aurora, smiling at her and shaking her hoof. “How’s things going so far?”

Bori wiped her forehead with a floating rag, getting sweat off of her face. “You know!... the usual when it comes to the Caribou Carnival: so many things to do, making sure there’d be no spills unlike last time with unlucky Randus.”

Thern then gave Bori a wide-eyed gaze. “Randus is still alright... right? I haven’t heard from him since then!”

Bori sighed, rearranging the plates she’d just placed so they’d line up nicer. “You should’ve visited and not gone off to wait an hour before your party’s visitors arrived. As of last night, he’s fine, but he can’t get up from bed today. The boils flared up really bad.”

Thern frowned, resorting to chewing on his bread and counting on its taste to drown the regret away.

Bori knocked her antlers, looking at Aurora that way. “Sorry to make it short, but I gotta go! They need me in there!”

Aurora could’ve said her farewells, but Bori was too quick for that, having disappeared through the kitchen’s door just as another chef levitating her own plates was coming out.

Now, it was just Aurora, Thern, and the background noise of more than a hundred dining reindeer at the table.

Aurora then drank some of the somewhat tangy nettle soup, having grown attached to its green appearance which, she remembered, terrified her grandcalves when she’d introduced it to them. Then, she put the bowl down and, like a refined lady, cleaned her mouth with the provided napkin.

“Well, Thern,” Aurora continued, facing him, “you know he’s fine... but, remember what I just said to you about your daughter. It’s bad to spoil her—”

“Hi!”

And both grandmother and father yelled “Agh!” at the sight of a suddenly appearing Alice, carrying a box of things on her back.

“Got you something!” Alice said cheerfully, her antlers glowing and floating a pair of bright red bows from the box, sending them to Aurora and Thern. They were just like the bow she was wearing right now.

Thern smiled, putting it on his hoof and examining it by turning his head here and there. “Aww! It’s so cute! Austral would love it!”

Aurora shook her head, slamming her face with her hoof in severe disappoint over her doting son. Then, addressing Alice, “Thank you for the gesture, but... nah. I’m not parting with this,” pointing at her scarf.

“Come on, old-timer!” Alice prodded, nudging her on the elbow. “If you won’t part with it, why not put the bow on it? Double the appeal!”

Not so bothered by what Alice just called her, Aurora put on a smile. “I’m more than old enough to let you know: I make my choices, and you’re not going to force one of those things on me!”

Alice rolled her eyes, knowing that this was the time to retreat and fight for bows another day. “Eh, you snooze, you lose! Gotta go!” and she sprinted off, carrying her present pile with her.

Thern sipped from his eggnog, watching Alice try to present her bows to a dating couple. “What a carefree child she is!”

“What she gets when Mommy and Pappy are working overtime here almost every day for public service,” Aurora commented half-meanly. “At least they’re part-nocturnal—Alice is the sort to enjoy the nightlife, after all.”

“Isn’t the Carnival all the better at night?” Thern suggested, giving her a smug smirk.

Aurora brushed her son off with a spoon-wielding hoof. “Bah! Enjoy your meal and make sure your Austral gets here, too!”

That left Thern chuckling to himself as he gorged on hall dinner. In between bites, he glanced at his snacking mother.

“Never change, Ma’,” he whispered, low enough that she wouldn’t hear.

---

Hours later, it was almost midnight. The festivities inside the public’s hall had migrated outside, though multitudes still remained within the wall’s confines to eat their fifth serving, much to the dismay of some chefs who already wanted to go home.

Aurora had left the hall, but she didn’t want to join in the rowdy festivities outside. Plenty of horns were a-blowing and a-blaring along with the accompaniment of banging frame drums; out there, the hall’s courtyard had become an impromptu dance floor, with reindeer stepping and strutting and swaying to the beat in harmony. It was like a contest to see who could be the noisiest or the most melodious reindeer of the hour, and Aurora wasn’t fond of that kind of boisterous chaos.

So, she made her way home, backtracking through the marketplace and through the streets, passing by calves who called her out and wished her a good night for the Caribou Carnival. She waved them a good night, too, wearing a pleasant smile for them but secretly hoping that she’d be inside her house already.

After five more minutes of walking through the winter landscape, she reached home.

It was a neat little lodge, sitting close to the edge of the city, those city walls towering twice as tall above it. They had their guards at their posts, but they, too, were having a ball in the festival’s activities: sharing food and drink all around, telling a listful of jokes and responding with uproarious laughter, showing off their presents to each other, and, as was tradition, telling stories by the bonfire several floors above ground level.

As for Aurora’s house: it was two floors tall and looked very square—no, it was a square, topped with a slanting roof so it didn’t completely look like she was living in a cube. By her door were some potted conifers, their forever green colors matching up against the icy white of snow and frost all around.

She trotted up the door and entered.

The living room wasn’t much. It was very tiny and there were few amenities to be had here. By the corner were her natural fridges, really just lids and tiny rooms under them to keep food either hot or cold. By the window resided a rocking chair, and beside that was a bed away from the bedroom upstairs which wasn’t daunting to her figure. A few sweaters hung on the wall, showing off her skill in the art of knitting which her knitting kit on the table also showed off; it even had her name engraved on the metal box, which was a nice touch.

This closeness she’s had with her home of over half a century was a, well, close one, as she trotted to the rocking chair, wanting to curl herself up with a blanket under the warmth she’d grown used to. She’d guessed she might fall asleep on her chair, but she didn’t mind: she’d been sleeping on chairs and couches a lot lately, but at least she slept. No need to stress herself on going up the stairs just to sleep, especially when her grub was here.

So, Aurora got herself a pillow, put it on the chai—

Felt something warm.

Kept being warm.

Looked at her antlers, her suddenly warm antlers.

They were glowing, pulsating slowly but surely.

“Huh?” was all she could say at first. “Well, I never—”

Then, food. She thought of food. The antlers or whatever it was that made them glow—they reminded her of food. Something warm, something hot and nutritious to bring.

Feeling the urgency of it, Aurora rushed to her fridge lids. She took the lids off of the ground, grabbed two pies while screeching “Yow!” at how heated it was down there, retracting a reddened hoof. No time for that, though: she was a cold reindeer living in a cold town surrounded by nothing but cold, and so, following her strange new gut instincts thanks to her strangely behaving antler—thanks to that, she hurried out of the house.

Outside, now, she was using her scarf to hide the pies from plain sight. Why hide? She didn’t know why, or at least she didn’t know how to articulate why; all she could say was she had to bring them somewhere outside of Rennefer… yet, outside? The Caribou Carnival was still going on, and even if it wasn’t, she had qualms about going outside.

But her antlers glowed, urging her on, almost physically pushing her to move towards the city walls, towards the gate.

Everyone else was caught up in the festivities, telling all about the presents they got from this and for that, and so on. Aurora passed by them, others thinking that she was just celebrating the carnival in her own way: maybe she didn’t have time to prepare or hide her gift properly, which could explain her wobbling around holding something in her scarf.

After making a few turns, she was closing in on the gate.

It was a sturdy structure, arched in a mixture of wood and metal and designed to fit with the architecture of the city walls. For now, it was open, and there, the guards weren’t doing much in the way of guarding. They were partying just like everybody around them: enjoying their crunchy snacks, singing songs with their varying levels of instrumental acumen, and even bringing out a collection streamers to play around with.

Aurora gulped, though. They didn’t wear armor for nothing. They didn’t brandish weaponized antlers for nothing. One step in the wrong direction and she would have their whole attention, and it wouldn’t be the good kind of attention.

So, hunching her body a little, she changed her trotting gait into a wobble, passing through the gate in that old I’m-just-a-grandmother-passing-through kind of manner. Observing her left and right, the guards were still occupying themselves with their revelries. A few glances went her way, but even the somewhat attentive didn’t pay much mind as she left went under the gate’s arch.

Before she left the gate, though, she heard the creak of wheels and then a huge wagon rolled up to view, skidding to a halt by a pair of merchant ponies.

Merchant outsider ponies.

“What a close call there!” yelled one of the merchants, sporting a mustache and a thick accent. He was brushing his mustache with the comb his horn was floating, perhaps to remove any stray bits of snow on it, before putting it back under his hat. “Sorry, ma’am! Just in a rush, that’s all! You deerfolk wanted some big surprises right now—about the speed, there!” He looked at his partner in crime. He edged him on the wing and tugged at his scarf, ignoring the wince on his pegasus friend’s face. “What’re you waiting for, Single Flap?! Unhook the both of us and let’s get these gifts rolling!”

Aurora breathed a sigh of relief as, by then, all the guards’ attention was on the wagon, not on her.

The merchants came bearing gifts: the loaded wagon was sure of it, filled to the brim and several hooves above that. There spread packed crates and sacks full of stuff, ready to be unloaded for Rennefer’s marketplace to feast upon like with the public hall dinner.

Already, a hoofful of guards went to the wagon to help the merchants unload, though the merchants themselves were under scrutiny by more of the guards who stayed behind, receiving their cautious stares.

Catching this opportunity, Aurora whisked away to the other side of the wagon, unseen as the guards were distracted either by the cargo or the merchants, however leery security was of the ponies’ appearance and their otherness as two non-reindeer.

Aurora didn’t think about that. She merely trotted on, making sure she was trotting right in front of the big wagon and its cargo so they’d block her from her fellow deer’s sight.

It took her fifty or so steps on uncivilized snow to realize she’d done something she’d never done before.

She’d stepped outside Rennefer.

Aurora halted, getting to her own skidding in the snow. Her forehooves felt the freeze of snow piled up on them, but that only made her mind race in a confusing cluster of worries: What if they catch her now? What if they snapped out of their celebration and realized they’d just let a reindeer go out of safety?

The antlers glowed, and Aurora gasped, feeling the doubts melt away.

They were pushing her on.

Raising her eyes to see what’s ahead, she encountered a downward slope. She’d seen that slope too many times to count whenever Thern gave her a ten-minute trip through the city walls on the way to meet his friends in the guard, but she’d never traversed this slope before… or anywhere outside of Rennefer, for that matter.

Now, far away from the comforts and cares of her village, her antlers told her to not look back. She had to follow where they were leading her: forward.

Alone. Forward alone in the lonely chill of nothing but pine trees and snowy ground.

Aurora trotted forward, trying to take care not to slip and tumble over to the bottom, yet she almost did—the snow proved slippery in more than a few spots.

Then, she squinted her eyes, adjusting her glasses, so she could see the curious figures straggling in her darkened vision, straggling at the foot of this small mountain.

Shifting figures there, lit by something solitary. Maybe a lantern, maybe a torch. Too far away to distinguish what they were in this cold night’s darkness.

Aurora trotted closer and closer to these oddities in the distance, still careful not to slip or trip. Remembering the pies, she hugged it closer to her scarf and chest, although not hard enough to squish them into a mess.

Closer, closer, past the trees, over a fallen log she went.

Now, close enough to see what was going on, what these outside anomalies were:

A pony.

A pony just like the merchants she’d seen back at the gate. This one wore no clothes, however. She didn’t have a horn or a pair of wings either unlike the merchants; at least the wagon-attached lantern didn’t show it. Here lay a simple Earth pony, if Aurora recalled correctly, struggling to fit the broken wheel back into its sack-burdened wagon.

“Come on!” she could hear the mare yell before the pony struck the wheel in tired frustration. “Wh-Why don’t you work? Why can’t you just work?! Argh!”

Aurora slowed her trot to a tip-hoof, quieting herself. She wasn’t sure how to deal with an angry pony like this. This mare could be one of those scaredy types she’d heard about.

The pony struck the wheel once more, attempting to fit it into its spot in spite of itself. A few punches, a few kicks, and it almost went in.

It popped out, breaking down into ten unworkable pieces with a snap!

Aurora recoiled at the sound. So did the mare as she dropped her jaw at this latest headache.

For a while, the thick silence between the two creatures was only cut by the howling of the wind beating on their manes. The mare proved unmoving, lifelessly gazing upon her shattered wheel, upon her shattered hope.

She saw the mare slump to the ground, the lantern casting harsh lights and shadows upon her face.

“... they’re r-right,” the pony muttered, looking at her forehooves in despair. “They told me the weather’s intolerable, outside of pegasus control if I take the shortcut.”

Punched the wheel’s remains with a painful crack!

“But, I want to go home!” she cried, shouting to no one at all. “I’ve always m-made it… made it before H-Hearth’s! N-Now,” forehooves trembling… “honey’s gonna miss me... little Fetsaw and Tutti’s gonna miss me... a-and I’ll be out here, with all these gifts I couldn’t even deliver myself because th-they were right!” and stomped the ground in self-fury, in self-loathing as jets of snow and dirt shot up into the air only to splatter on her face.

“I-I’m… stubborn….”

Buried her face in her hooves.

And then the sobbing. Her sobbing. She sobbed.

Aurora closed her eyes, flattened her ears, and turned away. Gritted her teeth, before letting out a sigh at the ringing anguish of this mare.

The pony’s ears perked up, having heard the sigh.

She turned around, terrified at the reindeer standing behind her, back turned to her.

“Wh-Who are you?!” the mare yelled, backing up to the wagon as her voice echoed through the air.

She grabbed the biggest piece of her undone wheel as her shield, shivering before this mysterious reindeer.

Aurora raised her head, still unturned to the pony.

Slowly raised her hoof to the scarf.

The mare shuddered, gripping the wheel part as tightly as she could. “I know martial arts! I won’t be fooled by your tricks!”

But before the mare could even think of showing this reindeer her own set of tricks, Aurora turned around, holding up a pair of hot pies under her graying, endearing face.

“Here,” Aurora said in her aging accent. “I… I actually didn’t know someone would be out here, but… h-here you go.”

The mare’s trembling abated.

She stretched out her hoof to the pies given. Took them with her hoof, felt the heat radiating from them. She smelled the pies, eyes widening at a smell she hadn’t known in quite a while. Then, she looked up. “Wh-What k-kind of pie is this?”

“Raspberry,” Aurora said, and then her antlers glowed but she didn’t mind. “It’s raspberry, Rack Ramble.”

Rack nodded. “Really? My favorite!” and then she sank her teeth into one of the pies, munching on its sweet fruity goodness—

Until her eyes shot open, aware of something off.

“H-How…” and gulped her bite down before continuing in a stammer, “I-I n-never m-m-met you before! You n-never m-met me b-before!”, her pointed hoof shaky and making Aurora back off a few steps. Rummaging her wagon for something dangerous with her other hoof, “H-How come y-you kn-know my n-name? H-Have you been spying on me?!”

“Spying on you?” Aurora repeated, raising her voice in fear as prey instincts were beginning to kick in—what if this pony threw a spear at her? Still, she steeled herself and continued, “Why, I only knew your name because...”

Then it hit her. Her irises shrunk to the size of needles.

“I-I never asked you your name, did I?” Aurora asked softly, believing that this mare wasn’t crazy enough to throw a spear at her. At least that was her belief.

Rack shook her head, shakily putting the pies onto the wagon but keeping her eyes on Aurora—just to be safe, just to be very safe. “I h-haven’t seen a r-reindeer in my life, save f-for the paintings th-they had b-back i-in school. N-No deer c-could’ve talked to m-me at all!” Desperately looking for a weapon or maybe a sharp object of any sort but finding none in the wagon, she kept her hoof inside, trusting that the bluff would work.

It probably didn’t, since Aurora trotted closer to her, close enough that she was almost at her side. This close, though, it made her face all the more mild to look at.

“Must’ve been great there,” Aurora said, oblivious of Rack being scared enough to bare her clattering teeth. “You had a pretty good time, didn’t you? You were the prized pony in dressage back in Riverraise.”

Rack exhaled a surprised whinny at that, only to shudder more in the end. Now, she was at the edge of hugging her wagon for protection, her eyes dead on upon this incomprehensible creature.

“S-S-Stop!” she screamed or tried screaming. “You’re scaring m-me! I’ll pay you fifty bits if you just stop scaring me!”

“Scaring you with what?” Aurora said, before looking up at her antlers.

Her glowing antlers.

“W-Wait…” holding her head with her hoof, feeling a calming surge through her brain, in time with the antler’s pulsating glow. “Y-you’re right, Rack. H-How did I know?...”

This left Rack alone with her rising fear. Here came this stranger of a reindeer, who most likely had never seen her much less had talked to her before, and yet she knew about some of her life. Not too much, not even much, but what she’d said had rocked the pony to the core. Now, her hoof rummaged around, feeling for anything that could neutralize Auro—

“Don’t fear!” cried out a familiar voice echoing in the distance.

And so, Aurora and the petrified Rack Ramble turned their heads towards the source of that cry.

There, aptly coming down the slope of the hill, coming down from the sparkly lights of Rennefer at the summit, was a pair of short antlers glowing blue against the dark.

But, the voice was enough for Aurora to recognize who this newcomer was.

“Alice?!” Aurora yelled, straining her throat and cupping her mouth. “What’re you—”

“‘—doing here?’” Alice finished, skidding to a halt before her and the mare with her wagon.

Her stopping slide caused clumps of snow to fly around in the air, some landing on Aurora’s face, others landing on Rack’s. Under the lantern’s light, her youthful face could be seen; even the freckles on her cheeks could be spotted over the new scarf she was wearing around her neck.

“Well, ‘Rora,” Alice said, putting a confident hoof on Aurora’s scarf, “I felt my antlers go all glowy and tingly,” bobbing her head left and right to show her antlers off, “and I felt this weird sensation to just give this to someone!”, unwrapping the scarf from herself and then displaying it to Aurora.

It was a rather nondescript scarf, toting no design on itself except for the one color of green. However, it was heavy, good enough to warm the average reindeer in a jiffy.

Then, she looked at the pony who had been hanging on to her wagon in snowballing fear and anxiety, especially over this next supposed gift-giver.

“So, it’s you!” Alice said gladly, giving the scarf to her, smiling at her to shoo that scared face away. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

The mare gulped, swallowing the fat lump in her throat as she took the scarf—kindness to a stranger wouldn’t be too bad, as long as the stranger revealed she didn’t have knowledge over her life. Mustering up all the courage to talk to this second reindeer: “My name is—”

“—Rack Ramble,” both Alice and Rack finished together.

Alice covered her mouth, blushing right after. “Whoops! Sorry... I just… you know... I’m quick! Other deer call me out for finishing their sentences. I’m that good!”

This only brought up suspicious glares from Aurora and Rack, much more with Rack thanks to the correct guess.

“And just to let you know,” Alice winking at her, “you will make it back to Riverraise before Hearth’s Warming, because you’re gonna get a new wheel!”

To this, Rack stood there helplessly confused—eyes and mouth open in shock, ears drooping in shame. A promise like that told to her plainly: this made her senses reel, as memories of the troubles that came before this hour cascaded onto her mind, onto her heart. Now, she just wanted to sit down, curl up her knees, and cry, cry, cry.

But, she wasn’t a mare without honor or dignity, not especially an Earth pony like her.

So, to combat this promise, she slapped Alice in the face.

“Ow!”

And Alice rubbed her reddened cheeks, feeling the sting of an Earth pony slap. Grumbling, “Hey! What was that for?!”

“You can’t just say that!” Rack shrieked, pointing at Alice with a hoof ready to grab her by the neck. “You don’t know what I went through! All the sufferings I’ve suffered just to get here and face this!”, raising pieces of her destroyed wheel from the snow, as if to say that its destruction was Alice’s fault. Then, pushing the pieces almost right to the reindeer’s face, Rack yelled, “You don’t know at all! You do not!”

“Well,” Aurora began, lifting her head and her glowing antlers, catching Alice’s and Rack’s attention with her unexpected words, “I know.”

“What?!” and Rack staggered back to the wagon, her stance starting to fail and crumble. “How—”

“You’ve always made it back home before the holidays, didn’t you?” Aurora began, her antlers glowing brighter than ever before like a beacon. “Then, you thought the new neighbors were jealous enough to harp on about bad weather this winter,” picked up a piece of snow, and then letting it fall back to the ground—her eyeglasses reflecting the lantern’s own glow... “but it turns out, they were right, you were wrong, and you had to learn it the hard way by too many snowstorms and snowslides. Now, you’re stuck here with a wagon that’s suffered a lot as well, enough to break down and make a wheel go out of place… and here we are,” gesturing towards her, Alice, and then Rack.

The mare’s dread only grew. Silent for only a few seconds, she turned to hyperventilating to cope with the glut of information she’d thought no stranger would ever know.

“Wow,” Alice said to Aurora, smiling a smile that spoke along the lines of I didn’t know you could do that. “Did she tell you her life story or what?”

“She didn’t,” Aurora replied, taking some time off from seeing this terrified pony slumping by the wagon again. She looked up at her glowing antlers. “And… that’s not right. That’s not right at all.”

Alice followed her eyes to those antlers as well. “Yeah… both our antlers are glowy and tingly.” Then, she stepped back and gasped, facing Aurora with a potential oracle in her mind. “D-Did you also feel the… obligation to bring something with you outside Rennefer?”

Aurora nodded, lips puckering as the mystery of their antlers and their urges developed further: to what end, they didn’t know.

“I guess you experienced it, too, didn’t you?” Aurora said.

Alice nodded back. “Uh-huh.”

That line of conversation now adrift, the reindeer turned back to Rack Ramble, resting her head on the wagon, sitting on the ground like she had not much else to do but mope.

Alice wasn’t fazed by this pathetic mare. Instead, she felt inspired to approach her, even as she hid her face from view with her forehooves.

“Trust me, Rack!” Alice said as cheerfully as ever. “Just like I said, you will come home in time! Do you wanna know why?”

Rack wrested her hooves away from her face just to say, “I don’t wanna know—”

“Because Bori’s going to give you a new wheel,” and Alice ended it with a flourishing grin, sure that this was enough to make Rack smile again.

But what Rack did again was slap her in the face. “How dare you say such words to me when you just met me?!”

“She’s right,” Aurora was quick to add, looking at Alice in suspicion while the latter was rubbing her cheek again.

“That’s because I know it’s gonna happen,” Alice said, her voice assured in defiance of her throbbing, reddening cheek. Then, raising her hoof and counting with it, all eyes on it—“the answer’s coming in three… two… one—”

“Agh!”

And they all looked to the left.

They saw a glowing pink something flying uncontrollably, somehow going around the trees in the pine forest but not without brushing against its leafy branches. Gracelessly swinging here and there, it rocketed to the sky, and then they could hear it screaming (and some jingling bells) as it whistled down, down, down—

Stopped right before it could’ve crashed on the ground.

Then, the pink reindeer dropped gracefully, getting half of her body and all of her apron covered in snow.

Dropping a whole new wheel she’d held on to for dear life during that whole crazed flight.

It was now Aurora and Alice’s turn to drop their jaws at this next visitor to the scene.

The mare, too, joined in the jaw-dropping festivities, although she likely wasn’t feeling festive about it.

What was left, then, was more silence.

Grunts from the pink reindeer as she opened her eyes, woozy and wobbly on her legs at first, and then slowly recovering, slowly getting back to her four hooves as she wiped the snow and dirt off of herself.

Standing before Rack now was Bori. Her mane was frazzled and her coat was still a nock dirty, but the other reindeer recognized her as good ol’ Bori.

She shyly waved at the pony. “Uh… hi?” Then, turning to Aurora and Alice, she changed her tone and said, “Um, what’re you doing here? Did you get the same thing, too, with the antlers and….”

Bori trailed off, as Aurora and Alice occupied themselves with gazing upon Rack.

So, Bori looked.

By the wagon, Rack touched this new wheel. She slowly lifted it up under the lantern, inspected its rim and its spokes in the illumination. Then, with a gasp of hope, she tried to fit it into the wagon.

Snapped in.

It fit.

The mare gasped again, this time louder, with thrill and exhilaration bubbling in her throat. Standing back to behold lay her eyes upon this miracle: “It’s… it’s—”

“—perfect?” Alice guessed, before receiving a pinch of the ear from Aurora to stop finishing other’s sentences. It was rude, apparently.

The mare neglected the guess. She instead looked at the wagon some more—it couldn’t be this good, could it? So, she pushed the wagon a bit, rolling the wheel a meter or so to test it out.

No creaks, no aches.

It didn’t break.

The mare whipped her head towards the three reindeer. Those three reindeer, standing in this dark winter night away from home, looking back at her with all antlers aglow.

Rack looked at them. Then, she put her head in the wagon, seeing the pies Aurora had given her. Next, she felt the scarf around her neck, the scarf Alice had given her. Finally, she gazed upon the new wheel on her wagon, loving this timely gift Bori had given her.

“Why…” and Rack sniffed, “I-I don’t know who you reindeer are... but… thank you!”

Bori smiled, and so did Aurora and Alice. “I don’t know what we just did,” said Bori, hesitating for a short while… “but, you’re welcome.”

Then, Rack looked up at the sky, seeing the moon high above them all. “Well, I gotta go! I’ve lost enough time as it is! It’s a three-day trip… but, it wouldn’t be three days if it weren’t for you!”

So, they waved each other goodbye before the mare hooked herself to the wagon, exchanging farewell pleasantries.

After that, Rack galloped away, disappearing into the snowy landscape and heading towards the mountains in the horizon.

Comments

[Diamond Sparkle]

What a fun time they are having.

[Venerable Ro]

Some times ya just gotta do the thing.

[MixMassBasher]

Nice alliteration with The Caribou Carnival.

Can't wait to see how these three find out their new condition.

[Godslittleprincess]

So, have Aurora and Alice always had their abilities?