Morning triumphant
Tappity-tap; the rain that tapped against the glass startled Nut from his slumber. Confused, sweaty, and with the tang of soap in his nostrils, he attempted to make sense of the world around him. For a moment, he was certain that he would sneeze, but it passed and the painful pressure subsided. All of his thoughts seemed somehow noodly, though he could not say how or why, and he could not remember what he had dreamt about. Against the window pane, the rain kept tapping, perhaps it sought an invitation to come in.
Warmth lingered through the night and now, with the grey of dawn, he found his room unpleasantly stuffy. His eyes, crusted over from sleep, were dry and irritated. Whatever he’d dreamt about, it was probably silly, or frivolous, though disturbing was a possibility that he could not dismiss. Beneath him, his hammock creaked as he flexed his legs, and though stuck in a half-awake stupor, he began to plan his day. There was lots of work to be done, that was a given, though he could not be certain what else might happen.
“Nut, you awake?”
Tater Blossom’s booming indoor voice came from just outside his door.
Before he could respond, she barged into his room, drew near to him, and said, “I heard you laughin’ in yer sleep. It was scary, Nut. Sounded all kinds of wrong. Scared me silly. Can we get something to eat? Please? I’ve not had a thing to eat for at least—”
Nut watched as her lips moved, and he assumed that she must be counting.
“—ten hours or more. Maybe longer. Don’t just lay there, Nut. You gotta get up and feed me. We ain’t got a kitchen and there’s no food. Hurry up. Don’t be lazy. If we had roosters, they’d be a-crowin’.”
“Oh, ten hours… it’s an emergency,” he said in a dry, raspy voice that was excellent for conveying sarcasm.
There was a thump that rattled the window when she stomped her foot. “It’s not funny, Nut. It really hurts. My insides is all achy and empty.”
“Fine, fine, I’m getting up. Give me some time to sort myself out.”
She backed away from his hammock so that he’d have room to get up, and asked, “Tell me, Nut… why does everything stink like soap? The whole place just reeks with it. Did something happen? It kinda burns the eyes, Nut.”
There was no rain. Oh, it had been raining, but it wasn’t now. A glorious dawn burned away the rose-tinted fog and brilliant illumination pierced every dirty, water-spotted window. Nut could not remember a more beautiful dawn in Vanhoover, and the eye-searing luminescence told him that today would be a truly special day. Dawn came a little later for those who lived in the shadow of the massive cliff, and the sun made up for its tardiness with a truly spectacular show.
Overhead, airships were loitering, drifting and bobbing on breezy currents. Factory freighters waited to pick up product that could be processed as they moved inland. A whole fleet of boats prowled the calm waters of morning. With the sun barely even in the sky, it was already a busy time for the city that never slept. As Nut locked the door behind him, he watched as his apprentice skittered about on legs still stiff from slumber.
With the door locked, he pulled out his ornate key, and it occurred to him that no one thing was immune to change. Stones changed, eroding over time. The raw materials of the universe changed, their half life slowly altering their very existence. Land and sea changed, with whole continents vanishing or sinking, and vast bodies of water flowed elsewhere, adapting as the foundations of the world went tumbling about. He had changed; the introduction of Tater Blossom into his life had altered him in some fundamental way that he could not begin to comprehend.
And yet, he felt those changes were indeed for the better.
For all of the good the changes wrought in him, they left him feeling noodly. Why noodly? This he did not have an answer for. It was just the way it was; he felt noodly at times. Long and flexible. When the changes of life were flung far too fast, one’s rigidity could not be maintained, and one became long, flappy, elongated, and noodly. One’s spine surely vanished to allow such bends and twists, and if one happened to be spineless, then one was surely noodly.
“It’s beautiful in a way that home wasn’t,” Tater Blossom said whilst she basked in the golden rays of Celestia’s sun. “I wonder how Pa is doin’.”
“I’m sure he’s fine.” Nut took a moment to admire the view, and found himself in agreement with his apprentice. “Come, breakfast beckons.”
A coal fire blazed in the grate of the common room; not for warmth, but for cheer. It merrily crackled and popped while it cast a ruddy orange glow. The common room smelt of sour ale, sawdust, vomit, and there was still a faint hint, a mere suggestion of blood. No matter how it smelled, it still felt like home, perhaps more so now than ever.
Red Maple was hunched over a tankard filled with coffee. From the looks of her face, she was up far too late. Nut wondered when she would leave for home. Tater Blossom sat beside the sleepy pegasus mare in relative silence, enjoying herself with all of the good cheer typically possessed by morning ponies. Dreadful beasts, the whole lot of them.
When Black Maple came down the stairs, Nut found that he was excited to see her, though he showed no outward sign. He watched as she approached the table, and was just a bit surprised when she smooched him on the cheek. A second later, she smooched Tater Blossom on the cheek as well, and before Red Maple could protest her smoochless existence, Black Maple kissed her mother as well. Then, without saying a word, she sat down hard enough to almost tip her chair over, and then collapsed against the table with a substantial thump.
“Somepony’s in a good mood.” Red Maple’s remark caused a half-smirk to appear upon her daughter’s lips.
“Celibacy almost destroyed me,” Black Maple remarked to her mother and then she turned her attention to Nut. “I had a Warden show up last night. This… this is why I don’t summon the constables. It never, ever pays to get involved, Nut. This creepy Warden shows up last night and scares away most of my customers. They jumped out the windows, for crying out loud. She asks me a bunch of questions about what happened, and then she asks me a whole gaggle of questions about you. Dumb questions about excessive force and if I felt your actions were necessary. Did I mention that she was creepy? Because let me tell you, Nut… she was creepy.”
“I found her rather charming,” he said to Black Maple.
Right away, her lips pursed into a tight, pouty pucker, and her narrowed eyes informed him that he’d just said the wrong thing. The pegasus mare bristled, her ears rose, fell, rose again, and then swiveled forwards over her eyes in a manner that implied violence was imminent. Nut found the mare’s response amusing, but he dared not show even the slightest reaction, for it was too nice a morning for fighting.
Harrumphing, Black Maple turned away from Nut and gave all of her fickle attention to Tater Blossom. “Hey… you and I, we’re going to finish what we started before everything went crazy. Mom’s going to stay one more day, and she told me this morning that she’d like it very much if the three of us could spend some time together. I give you my word that there’ll be, uh, no unpleasantness like last time. No anxiety attacks. I’m in too nice a mood to be bitchy.”
“And what was that a moment ago?” asked Tater.
“It wasn’t me being bitchy,” Black Maple replied. “I mean, I thought about it, but… meh.”
“Perhaps with regular servicing, my daughter can be a nice pony again—”
“Mom, you’re not helping.”
“But I’m not wrong.”
“Mom.”
“Everypony owes Nut a hearty thank you. Why, Blackie, you’re almost tolerable.”
“Mom…”
“See, right now, you’d already be going for the throat, sweetie.”
This time, she sighed, “Mom,” whilst she rolled her eyes. Then, to change the subject, Black Maple’s ears pinned back as she gave all of her attention to Nut. “No more charging for meals. Your money's no good here, Nut.”
He raised an eyebrow, the left one, the sinister eyebrow, which was all that he felt needed to be said. Black Maple spent a moment reading his face, or at least Nut thought that is what she might be doing; it was hard to tell. She leaned closer, and so he did the same, because he found that he enjoyed this moment, this silent contest of wills. Why, Black Maple was downright tolerable in her current state.
“Look around you, Nut”—she gestured around the common room with her extended wing—“over half the regulars that you see get their breakfast on a tab. Which, I should mention, will probably never be paid. If I didn’t feed them, they’d go to work hungry. These ain’t the rough and rowdy regulars that come in here at night and spend their paychecks. Since we’re being civil, I gotta say, I never did understand your insistence on paying. Those times when you went hungry, it drove me crazy because it felt like I couldn’t help you.”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked.
Black Maple seemed taken aback. “Yeah.” Her head bobbed up and down. “Let me into your head.”
“We nobles took far too much for far too long. I felt that it was important that I established that I could make my own way, and not live on entitlement alone. For the record, I think that I’ve learned what I needed to know and I am ready to move on to whatever comes next. Some changes are necessary.”
“Oh.” Black Maple’s ears pricked. “Oh. Alright. Well, now that you’ve established yourself, can we put that behind us? Can I just be nice to you without starting a fight?”
“I will gladly accept your kindness, but only if you accept mine in return.”
“Look, Tater,” Red Maple whispered to the earth pony filly. “The noble savage and the savage noble are negotiating. They used to fight, but look at them now. Afraid to tread upon each others’ hooves.”
In response, Tater Blossom covered her mouth with her foreleg and giggled.
“Change is difficult,” Nut said while Black Maple scowled at her mother. “Truth be told, I was so locked into the changes that I’d made that it slipped my mind that further changes were necessary. It took meeting Tater for me to realise that. I’ve only just begun to make the changes I need in my life, and I was so focused on making them stick that I was dangerously close to being stuck in a rut. So, I am back to making changes again. Lots of them. I think I’ll just ride them out and see what happens, come what may.”
“I had no choice but to change after the orca ate my legs.” Black Maple seemed unusually subdued and she averted her eyes down to the surface of the rough wooden table. “At least you want these changes. You left Canterlot on your own volition. No pony made you leave. Circumstances did not conspire against you. You’ve made all these grand, sweeping changes”—her voice fell into a scratchy whisper—“and this is why I admire you.”
Sometimes, words were not enough. Nut reached out, pulled Black Maple to him, and her wooden forelegs were cold against his body. Other parts of her were warm though, and quite exciting to touch. She offered token resistance, but not much, and sighed when she finally settled against him. No kicking, swearing, or insulting. It was just a nice moment, a real change of pace from how things typically were. For now, the peace held, and it was pleasant.
The future however, remained unknown.
Soapy soapiness awaited Nut upon his return to the garage. Even before entering, he felt the need to sneeze and his eyes watered just a bit from the powerful aroma of cleanliness. There was soapy, then there was soapy, and then there was whatever this was, which was like the distilled essence of pure soap—which was almost too much to bear. The garage would need to be aired out and he worried that his boss might complain. If she did, he would have to explain what happened, and he most certainly did not wish to do that. But lying was out of the question.
He went around the side of the building, to the entrance, inserted the key, and found that the door wasn’t locked. Mrs. Oleander must be here early. He went rigid, his posture perfect, and pushed open the door to find one unicorn and three griffons. Mrs. Oleander stopped speaking mid-sentence, turned to Nut, and studied him for a moment.
“Do come in,” she said in a voice that sounded more than a little amused. “I thought we’d rent out the garage for surgery.”
Frozen in the doorway, Nut tried to find his tongue.
“Don’t just stand there in the door,” the stern unicorn said. “Come in. You’re letting the lovely floral scent out and the stink of the city in. We can’t have that, can we? We have new hires, Nut. Come in. Introduce yourself. And maybe explain why my garage stinks like a soapworks.”
“Nut, this is Gary and Gabija, our new potential hires. Ethelred brought them in and I was just in the middle of interviewing them. Have a seat and pay attention.” Mrs. Oleander gestured at a nearby chair and then underwent a stunning transformation as all of her seeming amusement visibly dissipated. “Ethelred was quite honest and up front about the fact that you were fired from your job. Would you care to tell me why?”
While she spoke, Nut had a seat on the hard wooden chair next to the potted plant.
“No reason was given, but we both know why,” the male griffon said. “We were trying to start a union. The pony workers were reprimanded and had their pay docked. My fellow griffons and I were let go.”
“Tell me more about this factory,” Mrs. Oleander said, her voice calm as ever.
The female griffon perked up, her feathers fluffed, and her exceptionally long tail zigzagged from side to side. “It used to be our factory. Well, sort of. After Mister Mariner, the furniture factory was given to the workers. We all held ownership. For a time, things were pretty good, but then things weren’t so good, and most of us, one by one, we sold our ownership. We all had our reasons.”
“Gabija speaks the truth,” the male griffon said. “She and I, we did the same. We didn’t really understand what it gave us. None of us really understood how to run the factory, we just knew how to do the job there. A mistake was made.”
“The new owners were cruel. Unkind. Our hours changed. Shifts went from eight hours to twelve. Hourly pay was switched to piecemeal. We tried to fight the changes, and since so many others are doing so, we tried to organise a union. I don’t think we did a very good job of it. Gary here had detectives show up at his apartment and threaten him just before he was fired.”
“All of us griffons were fired.” Gabija, the fetching female griffon, wrung her front talons together. “We’re good workers. Gary and I are carpenters. Wood workers. We’ve known each other from hatching, practically, and we work well together. He and I are good workers, and we just want to be treated fairly.”
“Hmm,” Mrs. Oleander hmmed, and her lips stretched thin over her teeth when she grimaced.
“Is something troubling you, Mrs. Oleander?” asked Nut.
“Yes, actually,” she replied, her face relaxing just enough to loosen her lips. “Should we be a union shop? Ethelred? Nut? I mean, if we hang a sign over the door, it might attract both workers and potential customers. Seems to be the way the winds are blowing, and I intend to stay ahead of it.”
Nut was quick to respond and had this to say: “I can offer no opinion, as I am largely unaware of the state of the world. There’s too much I’m still learning. I could offer what might sound like an educated opinion, and be utterly, completely wrong.”
Head tilted to one side, Mrs. Oleander considered what Nut had to say, but said nothing in return. She began to pace the length of the room, her eyes never leaving Nut, until she reached the other end and turned around. Then, she faced Ethelred, and scrutinised the somewhat jittery griffon with a critical eye.
“Be honest with me… I’m too objective to be angry about something like this and I don’t allow my own feelings to get in the way of doing business.” She paused, inhaled, and then continued, “The business is more than bricks and mortar. It’s more than the owner. It’s everything, including the workers. A responsible owner takes care of everything. The building, tools, customers, and the workers. Especially the workers. Without my workers, I have nothing. At the risk of showing weakness, I feel vulnerable after most of my workers quit.”
“It wasn’t anything you did,” Ethelred was quick to say. “You’re a good boss. Really. It’s just that with the bridge gone, getting from Lower City to Anvil Island is really expensive if you can’t fly. I heard the cost of the ferry was up to ten v-bits.”
“That’s outrageous!” Gabija cried. “That’s twenty v-bits a day.”
“Capitalism, ho,” Nut said with as much acerbic sarcasm as he could muster.
“Be quiet.”
“Sure thing, Boss.”
His response made Mrs. Oleander’s swivel about in a most unpleasant way. With her commanding gaze upon him, he did his best to appear unassuming. Innocent. Invisible. He looked away, cast his eyes downwards, squinted, and then tried to find lint or debris that he could pluck away from his tweed waistcoat.
Lower lip protruding a bit, Mrs. Oleander returned her attention to Ethelred, but Nut failed to notice because he was lost in the middle of his tweed examination. She shifted her weight from right to left, then left to right, and then back to the left again. Her tail swished to and fro, while her ears pivoted in almost every direction.
“Ethelred, might I discuss politics with you?” she asked.
“I suppose?” The griffon began to comb at his pelt with his claws, much in the same way that Nut attended to his tweed.
“At the risk of causing a stir, I am aware of the efforts of the Equestrian Nativist League.” She paused for a moment while both Gary and Gabija hissed. “Equestria is for Equestrians and all that nonsense. Anti-immigration nonsense. The whole of the city is metaphorically on fire with it, and might soon actually be on fire because of it.
“Ethelred… you found me these two griffons”—she paused for a time, and when she spoke again, her words were honeyed—“surely you could find others who are out of work.” With a turn of her head, she nodded at Gary and Gabija. “Both of you are hired… but with a condition. Bring me more hires. With autumn soon to come, business will pick up as it always does, and I need seasoned workers by then. Put the word out on the streets that this is a griffon-friendly shop.”
Gary seemed relieved, but Gabija remained tense. With his tweed now forgotten, Nut studied them, he tried to read their strange faces and body language, but found that he understood very little. Something told him that this action would surely have consequences, because no good deed went unpunished, but he admired Mrs. Oleander’s resolve. She was his teacher, in a sense, and he owed her much. More than could be said or accounted for.
“Now, about this union, how can I help you organise—”
At this moment, with Mrs. Oleander mid-sentence, Fiddle Riddle crashed through the door. The older unicorn was panting, his cheeks puffing in and out with each breath, and he almost bumped right into Mrs. Oleander, who stared at him open-mouthed. Nut’s eyebrow arched; the right one this time, the inquisitive eyebrow with well-intentioned social acumen.
“Mister Riddle… today is not Celestia’s Day. You and Miss Blossom will do your rounds tomorrow. Not today.”
“No,” the old stallion huffed in between gulps of wind. “No!” He shook his head, gently pushed Mrs. Oleander aside, and went to Nut. “We have to do something! You and I, Nut. They’re going to poison the well of public opinion! They’re going to try an innocent pony and convict him out of court by turning the public against him! You and I… we need to do what we were born to do, Nut! We must defend the defenseless!”
“Mister Riddle?” Mrs. Oleander raised a hoof, stood with perfect poise, and with a soft touch, tried to calm the agitated, breathless stallion.
“We have to get involved, Nut!” Fiddle Riddle’s sides were heaving. “Noon. Lunchtime! There’s going to be a special council meeting and they’re even offering free food to lure in the public. As much of them as possible. Nob Thatcher, Mister Thatcher, the owner of the bridge, they’re going to hold him responsible in a council meeting and then drum up a jury to hold him accountable in court!”
“That’s… that’s just dirty!” Mrs. Oleander spat out the words in disgust.
“What can we do?” asked Nut.
“Stop this travesty somehow! I’m friends with Mister Thatcher. I’ve known him since he was a colt. I was friends with his father! His family, they’re wig makers, and Mister Thatcher inherited the bridge from his uncle. It’s not his fault the bridge collapsed.” Mister Riddle sucked in a deep breath, licked his lips, and shook his head. “Well, maybe a little, but by circumstance. He wasn’t negligent, not in the way he’s being accused of. They’ll railroad the poor chap! Nut, I need your sarcasm and your ability to cause mayhem!”
Quite suddenly, and without warning, Nut was yanked up from his chair hard enough that his head whipped back, and he was slammed down upon his hooves. It took him a moment to recover, and when he looked into Mister Riddle’s eyes, he saw just how distraught the poor old fellow was. There was only one thing that could be done in this situation, and that would be the right thing.
Adjusting his collar a bit, he said, “Consider my services engaged.”
“We’ll need young Miss Blossom too,” Mister Riddle said. “She could do with a civics lesson. A healthy understanding of how our government functions. A little betterment would suit her, I think.” He seemed to calm a little, but still he panted. “Noon. The Celestial Midnight Ballroom and Lounge. They don’t even have a council building down here, so they’re commandeering the ballroom.” After a bit of blinking, he stood there on the verge of trembling, and his eyes were pleading. “I have to save my friend.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Nut said in the most reassuring voice he could muster. “Now, Mister Riddle, if you would… please, tell me everything you know about this situation. The more I know, the better. You clearly have a better understanding of what happened than I do. Tell me everything, and spare no detail.”
“Hold on.” Mrs. Oleander, her eyes brimming with concern, moved a little closer to Fiddle Riddle. “Let me get you a glass of water. You look parched, dear.” Then, she hurried out the door and was gone.
With her no longer in the room, Fiddle Riddle’s demeanour changed a bit, his ears pricked, and after he clucked his tongue he said, “She called me dear. I could get used to that.”
“Yes”—there was a gentle nod of agreement from Nut—“we should all be so lucky as to be dear to somepony. Have a seat, Mister Riddle.” He pointed at the chair behind him. “We need you to be calm and in good form for later. You have a friend to save.”
Distractions were difficult, sometimes debilitating things that one had to learn how to cope with. At the moment, Nut was distracted. He was hard at work repairing a wagon, while also reading a schoolbook. To add to this, he worried about the upcoming council meeting, the memories of Black Maple rhythmically undulating against him were still fresh in his mind, and there were a myriad of other minor thoughts that demanded his attention.
Sometimes, it was the little distractions that threatened to be his undoing, like the fact that he was a small terrestrial quadruped with a hairy body. This meant that a great many little hairs were found on everything; clothes, his bedding, his workspace, in the shower drain, everywhere and anywhere that he went, his shed hair left a trail to follow. With all of this hair, he wondered how much time civilised society spent attempting to cope with it. How many collective hours were lost to cleaning and hair removal? Should they ever become a species that wore clothing on a regular basis, what aspects of society might evolve to deal with the shed hairs?
The future, it seemed, was in laundry.
“How do you do that?”
Nut’s concentration almost broke and he tore his gaze away from his book.
Ethelred pulled away a section of wooden frame that was a seat mount and asked his question for a second time. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“That. What you’re doing. Reading a book while working.”
“Truth be told,” Nut began, “I don’t know. This is pretty common behaviour for many unicorns, but I struggle with it. There are unicorns with immense multitasking talents, and I am not one of them. But this is my regimen to be a better unicorn… which I must confess, I allowed to lapse for a time. But now, I am dedicated to a better version of myself.”
“What are you reading?” the inquisitive griffon asked.
“Equestrian history,” was Nut’s simple response. And then, he elaborated: “Reading about the Age of Enchantment, a time in Equestria’s history when unicorns were considerably more powerful, and still relatively few in number. Magical education was a bit better than it is now, largely due to the fact that most unicorns were part of the ruling class, or educated upper class, and so prospered the time of relics, when Equestria produced powerful magical artifacts that not only changed society, but the world at large. We’ll not see those times again.”
“Why is that?” asked Ethelred.
“Too many unicorns, too little magic.” Nut closed his book, set it down upon the table, and went to work assisting Ethelred in the removal of the coiled metal springs located beneath the floating seat frame. “Equestria’s sorcerer, I cannot recall his name, but he’s a brilliant little colt. He figured out the diminishment of magic. Essentially, the more unicorns there are in existence, the weaker they all are, because magic happens to be a finite resource. Well, there are a few exceptions, and I have no idea what makes them special.”
“That can’t be good for unicorns.” With a tilt of his head, Ethelred focused upon his task.
“It is theorised that there will come a day when there are so many unicorns that most of us will be unable to even ignite our own horns. We discussed this in class, during the spring semester. Nopony quite knows what this will mean for equine society, or how we’ll progress past it. We’ll certainly never have an Age of Enchantment ever again.”
“So, what did unicorns make during the Age of Enchantment that cannot be made now?”
Nut paused and had to focus his mind to recall worthwhile examples while also compressing the coil springs so they could be freed from between their mounts beneath the carriage seat bench. They were old, a bit rusty, some of them were saggy, and all of them would be replaced with new, fresh coils, so the new seat would be extra cushy.
“Spark reactors,” Nut said at last. “I know very little about them. Storm gems. Enchanted gemstones that bleed tremendous quantities of electricity. I understand they installed them in some of Equestria’s warships for the Celestium lift. Clean and pollution free. Now, coal or some other combustible must be used for electricity production. We’ll never see production of spark reactors ever again, at least not on a meaningful scale. Equestria used to have thousands of them, but over time, and with wars, many ended up on the bottom of the sea or lost to conflict.”
“That’s something.” Ethelred whistled, a soft sound that was easy on the ears. “Just think. When something goes from being so common that it is essentially disposable to a precious, priceless artifact. That tells you a lot about the world, don’t it?”
These words caused Nut to pause and consider. Yes, they were rare and precious things now. Too valuable to put at risk in an airship. But he didn’t know where they were stashed away to be kept safe. He thought about his family's home, the Agate Tower, and knew that there would never be another. It was a relic from the past that could no longer be reproduced. The unicorns powerful enough to create such a dwelling no longer existed.
The future appeared to be more and more mundane as technology replaced magic little by little.
“Your magic left you behind,” Ethelred said to Nut while more pieces were disassembled. “There was so much dependence upon magic and then came the day that Equestria had to catch up to the technology that the rest of the world had. Like the minotaurs, and their advanced steam boilers. Coke-fueled engines. All of their complex gas powered machines, like methane turbines.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Nut replied. “From what I understand, there are places in Equestria with thatched roof cottages, little provincial villages, places where technology has not yet taken root because of the dependence upon magic.” He thought of the Widowwood, but it was not a good example. “There are places where unicorns keep the fires going and earth ponies scratch a living from the land. Electric lights are unheard of. Without electrical appliances to aid them, these ponies somehow manage to scratch out a simple, primitive existence.”
“I couldn’t live that way.” Ethelred shook his head and his beak clacked together, a sound of agitation. “Equestria has given me a certain quality of life that I am unwilling to give up. I’ve been to Griffonstone. It was beyond awful. After a week there, I was ready to return home, and I brought my aunt and my cousin with me. From what I understand, the land is mostly dead because all of the earth ponies left. It’s all just dust now, barren rocks, and scorpions. Which the griffons of Griffonstone have learned to eat.”
Nut had heard stories of just how bad it was, but said nothing for the fear of being rude.
“Equestria has creatures that still care,” Ethelred continued. “We griffons, we’re awful to each other. Every griffon for themselves. From an early age, we griffons are neglected and told to get strong. We’re left to fend for ourselves. My mother told me this. She left home when she was young. Came here, To Equestria. Had me. And she raised me the same way you ponies raise your young. With lots of attention, love, and care. There’s a lot of good to be had here, even if it seems bad at times.”
These words caused Nut to cease his efforts so that he might look Ethelred in the eye.
“Like you, for example. You helped that earth pony that you rescued. In just a little while, you’re going to go and help a total stranger that you’ve never met. That is the reason why I love this country. Ponies like you and Mrs. Oleander are what we should all strive to be.”
At this moment, Nut was painfully aware of his own flaws; every awful thing about himself. All of his shortcomings. Every aspect of himself that could be better. He thought of the pony that had left Canterlot and wondered what sort of pony he was now. It worried him how others might see him, and he had a newfound awareness that he could be doing more for the world. His mother’s words rang in his ears, everything she had said, all of her talk of how he could be doing more—and she was right. But change meant commitment, and Nut danced around the idea that he might have issues with commitment on some level. To be involved meant seeing things through—which he avoided by offering up excuses about his own plans, his own desires.
But Potato Blossom changed all of this; one simple twist of fate altered everything.
“Nut, you have this… this… surplus of dignity. I mean, you could be off anywhere, doing anything. Right now, you could be in Canterlot, doing whatever Canterlot ponies do. Instead, you’re here, with me, and we’re both tearing out the old seats in this carriage. You bring a real sense of dignity to the work, Nut. The fact that you’re doing it and that you seem to enjoy it, that makes me proud to do it. Some jobs, they feel demeaning, or degrading. But everywhere you go, you bring a little dignity with you, and things just seem better somehow.”
“Why thank you, Ethelred.”
“I mean it.” The griffon’s dark golden eyes gleamed with keen avian intelligence.
One thing was for certain; Nut owed the world the best possible version of himself.
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Damn, Ethelred. That was really inspiring.
That description amuses me. It brings to mind something so strong that you don't just smell it but also taste it.
He is wise enough to acknowledge that. A lot of people could stand to do that.
Words I sure Nut never expected to hear but always want to.
I meant to ask before but was the collapse of the bridge a reference to Galloping Gertie?
Clearly they need to increase the supply of magic. Manufacture it or mine it or farm it instead of relying on hunting and gathering.
9834631
Not exactly. The bridge collapsed due to rust and neglect. We'll find out more soon. Remember, toll bridge.
Yes. indeed it does.
9834862
You are correct.
Her fellow pegasus ponies sort of turned on her for her moment of youthful foolishness.
This is what I love and hate about Kudzuhaiku. so far I have enjoyed every single one of their stories, and out of the hundreds of chapters I have read, barely even a handful have been bad writing. Problem unfortunatly is that there is such a quantity. Literally dozens of unfinished interwoven stories that all get updated in fits and starts, left at cliffhanger moments for months or even years. Part of me wishes they would start and finish a story arc before moving onto the next, but at the same time I know doing so would ruin their entire flow of writing, and their stories would suffer from it. I dread the day that their muse fails, or something else happens to make them stop, because I know deep down it will come eventually, and there will be some things left forever unfinished.
9834645
Gotcha! 👍
the minotaurs have coke fueled engines, huh? is that a reference to franky from one piece?
9836794
No. I don't watch anime.
Coke is just refined coal.