Mysteries of a Boring Pony

by Mindscape

Mysteries of a Boring Pony

My name is Whisperwind, pegasus agent of Her Majesty Princess Celestia’s Secret Service. Almost two months ago, I fulfilled my fillyhood dream and I took my vow of service before the Princess herself, and shortly thereafter I was finally granted my first assignment. I swore that I would fulfil any mission I was given to the best of my abilities, no failure, no hesitation, no question.

After receiving the docket on the target of my surveillance I set to work, gathering information, locating his whereabouts and figuring out his timetable. Whinnyvale is a small coastal town, perfect place for someone to lie low if they were trying to. The ponies here don’t pay too much attention to who comes and goes, and there are a number of beach houses that act as holiday homes.

I have worked tirelessly to develop notes on his frequented locations, the ponies he speaks to, along with any and all movements. After almost a full month of surveillance, employing all the techniques and training I learned from four years at the academy, I can say with utmost assurance that this pony I am following… is the most uninteresting and boring pony I have ever laid eyes on. And I have the receipts to prove it.

A middle-aged unicorn of average build with a grey coat, black mane and the cutiemark of a white mask. He keeps a fairly consistent timetable. He wakes late in the morning, almost ten, and has a light breakfast of cereal and toast. He then goes to the library, finds a book from among the shelves and comes to the outdoor seating at a nearby café, orders a coffee and reads for the rest of the morning. Around lunchtime he orders a dandelion sandwich, continuing to read. By the time Celestia’s sun is starting to sink into the horizon, he leaves the café. If he has finished his book, he returns it to the library, otherwise he returns to his home and gathers his guitar to earn his bits playing music at the pub nearby, late into the night. He heads home, goes to bed, reading the book he borrowed if he hasn’t already finished it, then goes to sleep to wake up the next morning.

On the weekend seems to be his only deviation when he goes to the markets to shop and cleans up his home during the day before heading to the bar to play once more. And then the whole cycle begins again. It was mind-numbing in the utter nothingness that happened in this pony’s life.

That’s not to say that he always drifted through life without affecting any other pony he crossed paths with. I’d seen how he speaks on friendly terms with the market ponies he frequents. The placid expression he always carries washes away like the tides that change nearby. He wears an honest and warm smile when he actually takes the time to talk and joke with others.

The first weekend I followed him, he spent a good deal of time talking with the vegetable vendor. She had been worried about her granddaughter stuck in hospital after an accident, and he appeared to show real concern and sympathy. At first, I was still expecting hidden meaning behind everything I saw or heard, so I felt a slight amount of guilt when I dug deeper and found that the mare’s granddaughter was indeed in hospital after a flying lesson went poorly.

One day, when I was sure his movements would not be disturbed, I broke into his house by picking the lock on his door. I ensured there was nopony around at the time and swiftly examined his abode, careful not to disturb anything he would notice.

I’m quite proud of my skills in this regard. Not everypony can pick a lock with a broken feather. It means I always have the tools I need wherever I go.

On first glance, his home seemed as empty as his life. It was sparsely furnished and very small. The foyer transitioned seamlessly into the living room, where he had a couple more stringed instruments resting on stands and sheet music was neatly organized on the table by a couch. One of the cushions was significantly flatter than the other, worn down by use with few to no guests on the other side. The bookshelf was loosely stacked, and a couple of random accoutrements rested on top. A miniature dog statue, a large shell possibly picked up from the beach nearby, and other odds and ends.

Stacked within the shelves were a number of fictional novels, a brief history of Equestria and a dictionary. There were a couple of loosely bound notebooks I examined that appeared to be musical notation. It looked personal, so possibly his own compositions? There were a lot of question marks written in pencil next to notes however, so maybe he was trying to figure out how to write another piece of music.

Strangely enough, the fireplace looked untouched, considering the time of year. This town wouldn’t get a lot of snow this far south, but it was already starting to get colder. There weren’t any cinders or ash and it looked as though the fireplace had never been used. In fact, I had a quick look up the chimney and it had even been blocked off entirely. Just what did he do to keep warm deeper into winter? Wrap up in blankets and hope?

Ensuring everything returned as it was, I moved further in past the kitchen and dining room combination. There was little of note here, but the stove and kitchen top looked well used. He seemed to be the kind of pony that knew how to cook for himself, sparse and simple as his supplies were.

The bathroom likewise had little of note. The cabinet was the only place that could have had any secrets squirreled away, but only had soaps and toothpaste, and no hidden compartments I could discover.

Moving on to the bedroom however, I was met with the first thing that made this place look properly lived in. A large oil painting hung on the wall opposite the bed. A figure that was undoubtedly Princess Celestia stood on a grassy hilltop at night, looking up towards an enormous moon that dominated the sky. The Mare in the Moon had been depicted just as massive, but seemed to be angled slightly so it appeared as though they were staring at each other.

I couldn’t quite tell how the Princess was being portrayed. She stood with poise and purpose, but her face was unreadable. Staring up at the moon, was she defiant? Mournful? Thoughtful?

The Mare in the Moon. My father was working at the palace during the time it happened, well before I was born. He and the other servants still didn’t really know what happened, but he had described the battle that took place over the old palace between Princess Celestia and another alicorn he did not recognize. All he knew as a result of that night, was that Princess Celestia’s sister had disappeared, and there was a new pattern in the face of the moon. The Princess had been beset with grief over the whole ordeal and seemed like a different pony in the aftermath, yet still managed to maintain order in a chaotic time.

I sometimes asked Father if he knew anything more, but he would go quiet and said it didn’t feel right gossiping about old tragedies.

I found myself staring longer than intended. This couldn’t have been made by my target. There were no paints or brushes among the house, and this was clearly created by somepony with a good deal of talent. Had he commissioned the piece? Or did he happen to find it by chance? It clearly meant something to him, given its placement in the house. Was he once a worker at the palace and saw that night also? He might have been old enough for that.

I carefully checked behind the painting to see if there was anything hidden behind, but found nothing but a blank wall. In the end, the rest of the room was just as uninteresting as the whole house had been. There were a few odds and ends, a couple of dress shirts and empty coat hangers in the wardrobe, a slightly rusted music stand, an old, red knitted scarf folded in a box under the bed. Things he must have picked up over the years, but nothing seemed too important or had any hidden meaning to themselves.

With my head full of questions and next to none of them answered by the time my investigation ended, I ensured everything went back where they had been and made my way out.

As I was leaving, I noticed he had a calendar hanging on his front door, days consistently crossed off in order. It was one of those cheap things that had a landscape picture for each month and an insightful phrase or quote intended to inspire the viewer.

There were no personal marks or notes, other than the passing of days. Why does a pony bother keeping a calendar if every day is the same as the next? Did he really need that much help remembering which day of the week it was? I suppose I would, if I had as little going on in my life as he did.

There was no word to describe it other than… depressing.

Why in Equestria is this stallion of interest to the crown? I had to check the docket back in my hotel multiple times to make sure I had the right pony, but each time I was able to confirm that yes, this was the pony I needed to keep an eye on.

Admittedly, I had been taken aback the first time I saw him play his music. Not necessarily for the musical talent, although he certainly was somewhat skilled in that regard, but it was his magical prowess that was surprising. While he played his guitar with his hooves, on stage he wrapped other instruments in his magic and played an entire band’s music by himself. Percussion, accompaniment and harmony were all played by his magic with surprising precision, and I could hardly wrap my head around how one unicorn could have such control. Certainly, such a precise talent for levitation magic could be a powerful or useful asset for Equestria, or dangerous if against it. However through all my surveillance he has never used magic to such a degree for anything else.

It was baffling. Especially considering this talent was not what he received his cutiemark for, as far as I could tell.

The dossier was scarce on any reason why he was important, as was typical for this department. A target of surveillance could be a matter of security, witness protection, or an important asset to the future of Equestria. We were instructed to treat all assignments with the same importance to not encourage complacency, but part of me was wondering if this first assignment of mine was just another test to see if I was truly ready for this line of work. That the higher ups were still watching and evaluating my efforts in the face of what appeared to be a farce of an assignment.

Well, even if it was just another test, I wasn’t going to let the boredom get to me and shirk my duties. I would tackle it just as if I was a guard to royalty, or investigating a terrorist with plans against Equestria. Just because I didn’t know why he was important, didn’t mean that he wasn’t.

But it just seemed so pointless. Day in, day out. Go to the café, read a book, order a sandwich, go play music, come home, go to sleep, rinse, repeat. Nothing ever changed.

…

Until it did.

It was a few days after I had scoped out his home. I had taken my usual table before he arrived at the café and had my notepad out and ready, not expecting to have anything new to write on his movements. I made out I was a writer on holiday, so nopony would question the various notetaking I would be scribbling during my assignment.

My coffee had just arrived when I saw him, but instantly I knew something was different. Mostly because he didn’t actually go to the library, or even enter the café, instead he walked right past.

I’m sure I must have stared dumbfounded as he left my vision. Once I realized I was letting him get away, I scrambled to get my things and dropped some bits on the table to pay for the untouched coffee and shot into the air, hoping to not draw too much attention.

I grabbed a low-lying cloud for cover and poked a tiny hole through the bottom to watch him approaching the markets. Normally he simply carried whatever book he had with his magic as the library was so close by, but today he had his saddlebags with him, so something was clearly different.

But why now? Had something happened to change his plans? Maybe while I was searching his home? That would explain why whatever he was doing now wasn’t marked on his calendar. Although I got the feeling that even if something had changed while I wasn’t looking, he probably wouldn’t have marked it anyway.

“Good morning Cloudy,” he said, approaching the vegetable seller.

“Oh, good morning,” the vegetable seller said with an expression that felt a million miles away, barely drifting back into reality.

He frowned. “Oh dear, is everything alright?”

She shook her head, bringing her back more effectively. “Sorry dear, just lost in my thoughts and a little tired. Never mind me.” Cloudy frowned, realizing something. “Wait a minute, it’s not the weekend is it? Unless I’ve been lost in my thoughts for even longer than I thought. You’re not usually here this early in the week.”

“Oh dear, I haven’t become predictable, have I?” he chuckled.

She laughed as well. “You do have a certain pattern I’d say.”

“Special occasion today,” he continued, answering the earlier question. “I realize there are a few things I need that I don’t actually keep in my pantry often enough.”

“Ah well what can I help you with then?”

“Nothing for today, I just wanted to check up on you as I passed by. And hear the latest on your granddaughter’s recovery.” He paused and his smile faded in concern. “Has something happened?”

Cloudy’s face fell once again, staring off into thought. “Well, the doctors were curious how the accident happened in the first place, so while they were changing the bandages, they had another look at her wing. They’re not yet sure what it is, but her feathers aren’t growing properly. It sounds like it may have been something from birth, meaning there’s a chance she’ll always have trouble flying. It just breaks my heart to think about a pegasus that cannot fly.”

“Oh dear.”

“I know it’s silly, but I can’t help but worry that it could be because my daughter married an earth pony. I don’t mean anything against the stallion, but…”

“I’m going to stop you there Cloudy,” he interrupted, holding up a hoof. “Because there aren’t many good places a sentence can go if it starts with ‘I’m not racist, but…’”

“But I never said…” she stopped, appearing to think on her words, then deflated slightly. “I was going to say something horrible, wasn’t I?”

“I can’t really blame you,” he said gently. “You’re worried about your granddaughter and you’re looking for a reason why it’s happened. In times of distress, finding something, or even somepony, to blame makes us feel better because it gives us a direction to point our grievances. Even if we’re wrong. If your granddaughter never learns to fly, it certainly would be terrible, but hardly the end of the world as long as she has her family to support her.”

The pegasus gave a huff. “I suppose it would be hard for you to understand, not having wings of your own. And this is not incidental racism this time, there’s just something a pony can’t understand if they cannot fly under their own power. Feeling the wind under your feathers and seeing the world beneath you brings a sense of wonder and freedom to a pegasus. It’s part of what makes us who and what we are. Just think, what do you think you would do if you suddenly were unable to use magic?”

“I’d learn to deal with it,” he replied without skipping a beat. “Once upon a time, I had no idea how to use magic at all, just as you lived the first few years without the ability to fly. We coped then when we were children, does the fact we are now adults change what we were once capable of?”

Cloudy seemed taken aback for a moment. “But… that’s a different matter entirely. At least when we were foals we knew that one day we would be able to.”

He pondered for a moment. “I recall a series I once… read,” he said after a pause. “One of the side characters was a young pegasus filly. She and her two best friends ran around trying all sorts of different adventures to try and find their cutiemarks, and together they found them as a group. But the young pegasus never flew during any of their adventures. It was never directly addressed, but in the subtext of their adventures, it seemed she was disabled, and there was a question if she might ever learn how to fly. But aside from one time when she was being bullied for not doing so, she never seemed to care. She was more concerned with her friendships and the connections she made with other ponies. She lived her life on the ground, but the tips of her smile always pointed to the clouds. Your granddaughter may very well have a chance of never learning how to fly as competently as other pegasi, or even not at all, and I understand that’s a scary thought. But as long as she has friends and family who care for her, which she clearly does, she’ll be able to fly in other ways.”

Cloudy’s mouth hung slightly ajar, looking like she wanted to say something but lacked the words to fill the gap in the conversation. In the end she closed her mouth and gave a long sigh. “You are a walking repository for clichéd words of wisdom, aren’t you?” she said with a dry smile.

He shrugged. “I’m just well read.”

She gave a light snort. “Well as trite as it sounds, I do feel a little better after listening to you.”

He chuckled and tipped an imaginary hat. “You’re quite welcome milady.”

“Oh, go off and finish your shopping would you?” she laughed, shooing him away.

He tossed his head in mock offense “Very well, I see where I’m not wanted.” He stopped before leaving however and turned back with a sympathetic look. “In all seriousness though, I do hope she recovers fully.”

“As does everypony else,” she sighed. “But thank you.”

They said their goodbyes as my target went on to his shopping. Part of me couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young filly they spoke of. His friend Cloudy was right, there was something about flight that the other pony races could never understand. If I weren’t so focused on my target’s movement I may have pondered more on the subject, but while I had a job to do, I would remain focused.

With an occasional flap of my wings, I drifted my cloud cautiously well above the markets as he went from stall to stall. I kept my notebook open beside me, taking note of what he purchased. There wasn’t a lot exciting, mostly flour and other baking ingredients, however he did spend some time choosing a bottle of wine. I hadn’t seen him partake in a lot of alcohol, if any, during my investigation, so this was certainly something different.

After finishing his shopping he returned to his home, making my observations difficult as there was only so much I could do without drawing attention to myself. He remained there for some time unfortunately, and when I passed the window, I stole a glance and spotted him in the kitchen baking.

After a few frustrating hours of waiting, he finally left his home again as the sun hung low above the horizon, casting an orange glow and long shadows over the town. His guitar case was strapped to his back so at first I relaxed, thinking he would be going to the pub to play his music, but then I noticed he was also carrying a picnic basket? My next hint that he wasn’t going to the pub, was when he turned and began walking the complete opposite direction away from town.

I groaned at the further complication, adding it to the pile, and followed after on hoof.

Thanks to the long shadows cast by the setting sun, I had to remain a bit further behind him than usual, with the sun directly behind us.

Just where was he going? Was he going to meet somepony?

Wherever it was, his steady pace soon took us out of town completely. Thankfully there was nopony else around, but while the lack of other ponies meant it was easier to go unnoticed, it certainly would raise a lot of questions if I was spotted, and out here close to the shore there were far fewer places to remain unseen. Not that he ever looked back my way, thankfully.

He came to a stop underneath a lone tree on top of a hill, and I took refuge behind a convenient bush part way down the same hill. He removed his saddlebags as well as his guitar case from his back, and silhouetted against the evening light, he began setting up a blanket as if preparing a picnic. Was he expecting somepony? I cast my gaze around from my hiding spot to ensure nopony else was coming, but the field remained blank and empty, other than its sole occupant.

After setting up what looked to be a packed evening meal, he sat with his back once again to the sun, and in turn me, and he tuned his guitar with a practiced hoof. Now he definitely seemed to be waiting for something. And I supposed I would have to wait patiently as well.

I grumbled silently to myself as I sat down and prepared for however long this wait would be. He poured a mug of what could be coffee from a thermos and again I began to regret leaving any of my own supplies behind. I’d grown complacent over the course of my investigation. With such consistent movements I had been able to purchase food without letting my target out of my sight until now. But the change had put me on edge and I dared not break away for fuel in case I missed something important, so the only thing I’d eaten had been the light breakfast of this morning before he woke up. I doubted I’d have any chance to eat before the evening was out at this rate.

About a half hour later, it was time for the sun to finish setting and the moon began to rise. I was getting antsy and the warmth was being absorbed by the grass and soil I sat on. The cold and hunger were frustrating, but I wasn’t going to let it get to me.

As the light of the moon crested the horizon, his form cast a long shadow down the hill, and he began to play a tune on his guitar I had not heard before. Over the month, I thought I had heard most of his repertoire he played at the pub. He had a habit of playing slow, lonesome tunes filled with melancholy or spoke of tragedies in the lyrics.

This tune shared a similar tune and feel of loss, but there was something more. Like a longing of reconnection and… redemption? He was singing too, but I couldn’t quite make out all the words from my position. From the music and what little words I could hear, it almost felt like a loved one who had been away for a long time but finally home and the subject didn’t quite know what to do. Or was the loved one unsure what to do?

He was silent for a moment after finishing his song, then in the dim glow of his magic, I saw him pick something up from the basket. It was the pop of the cork that told me it was the wine bottle he ordered earlier in the day and he poured a glass for himself and held it up in a toast to nopony. He was speaking softly, and I was starting to wish I got closer so I could actually hear what he was saying, but I thought he might have said “fifty.” A birthday or anniversary perhaps?

After having some of the food he prepared, and finishing off his glass, he picked up his guitar and began playing again. This time a more casual tune with no lyrics that I could tell.

I couldn’t understand it. Had he just come out here to play more music? It looked like it was some kind of celebration, but why out in the middle of nowhere and alone? Was the night-time significant somehow? From my vantage point, it almost looked like he was playing to the moon itself, and my thoughts drifted back to painting in his room. I didn’t know what any of it meant, but at the very least, there was certainly more to my target than met the eye.

Whatever the reason, I doubted I would learn much more tonight, and it didn’t seem he would be meeting anypony else here. Just another mystery in the strangeness of this assignment. I would have to take note of the anomaly, but I just felt that nothing else would come of it.

He’d probably be coming back along my path when he decided to leave, so I figured I would be able to keep an eye on him surreptitiously from a cloud just as easily as the ground. Unfortunately, the ground beneath my hooves had other plans. When I tried to kick off the ground into the air the ground gave way ruining my momentum and instead I simply kicked dirt away and ended up flailing loudly as I crashed into the ground and began tumbling down the hill.

Not one of my finest moments.

I also failed to hold back the curse from escaping my mouth at the bottom when I struck a tree.

“Hello? Are you okay down there?”

I froze. Of course he heard that. There was no other sound for miles and even his music had gone silent.

It took a moment for my eyes to focus after the impact, but I could see a definite light coming my way and the sounds of approaching hoofsteps. I felt a bit disoriented, but I wasn’t too dizzy to get out of there.

He shouldn’t have had a good look at me from a distance, so as long as I left fast enough I’d manage to keep anonymity intact rather than engaging in civilian interaction.

I tried to stand up and take to the air before he got too close, but I found myself a bit more sideways than I realized, and just embarrassed myself by falling over again. Okay, so maybe I was a bit dizzier than I thought. Civilian interaction it was.

“Woah, easy there,” he said as I failed to get to my hooves. “Try not to stand up too quick. That sounded like you took quite the tumble.”

“I’m fine,” I grumbled, putting a hoof to my forehead to stop the world spinning. “More dizzy than anything else.”

“You sure?” he said as he finally approached me, and my eyes cleared up enough to see that he was casting light from his horn to find his way to me. “Your wing looks like it’s lagging a little.”

That didn’t sound good. I was still a little numb from the shock, but I did a mental checklist. Head was still ringing, but clearing up, legs fine, right wing felt good, but I winced involuntarily as I pulled in my left wing. Damn. “Nope, all good,” I replied with a little more strain than I intended.

“Are you sure?”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I snapped, moving to stand up.

He gave me an annoyed frown and his magic pressed down on the tender wing.

The shot of pain shot through my spine from the joint, though probably more from the surprise than actual injury. “Augh! What the heck was that for?!” On the plus side, the shock seemed to dispel the dizziness almost instantly.

“If I can get that kind of reaction from just a little tap, then it’s clearly worse than you’re making out. Now stop acting like a child and let me see that.”

I grumbled, but he was the one holding my injured wing in his magic. Even injured I likely could have taken him, but I’d messed up enough already and didn’t want to blow my cover anymore. He seemed to think I was just stubborn so I guessed relenting sourly would match the impression he had. “Fine,” I said, sitting back down.

I had expected him to be rough like before, but he surprised me with a gentle explorative touch around the joints of my wing. I winced as he moved down to the base of my wing, where it connected to my spine. “It doesn’t look like anything’s broken,” he said as he gave it a once over. “Probably just pulled something when you fell over. It should heal fine on its own, as long as you keep it restricted and don’t move it for a day or two. You seem quite fit though, so I wouldn’t expect it to take too long for you.”

“What, are you a doctor or something?”

“Not really, but I learned some basic first aid when I was younger.”

Really? It was the first I’d heard of it.

“Lucky me,” I replied outwardly. “So, if I promise not to move my wing, can I go now?”

“Not till I wrap that up,” he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have to tell somepony who looks like they know how to take care of themselves, but if it’s not bound it’ll be that much easier to damage.”

“Are you going to tell me you carry bandages around with you too?”

“Hmm,” he looked around with a frown, before turning his head and looking up the hill to his things. “I’ve got an idea. Come with me.” He didn’t even wait for me to protest before starting to climb. “And don’t even think of wandering off while my back is turned. I’ll be very disappointed.”

Disappointed? Seriously? He was treating me like a child.

I could have just left then and there. He had no power over me and he was acting like a jerk. But something kept me there. Was it the curiosity or just the need to complete my mission to the best of my abilities? “Do you treat your own kids like this?” I snorted as I followed him.

“Never had any,” he replied. I could hear the smug grin on his face more than I heard it.

At the top of the hill, I could finally see the array he had set up. There was a loaf of bread and some cheese that already had a couple of slices cut. There was a green salad in a bowl, and some kind of rice dish with vegetables nearby, and in the middle was what looked like an apple pie. It certainly looked more than one pony could consume on their own. The thermos and the bottle of wine sat back in the basket next to what appeared to be a small oil lantern.

With his magic, he picked up the lantern from the open basket and lit it with a match, then hung it from a low hanging branch on the tree, finally letting the light spell on his horn fade away.

“Why didn’t you have your lantern lit already?”

“It’s still early in the evening,” he replied. “And I’m used to seeing Equestria by moonlight. But there are still a few things that could use a proper light source. Now let’s have a look here,” he said approaching my wing again.

“Thanks, but I know how to keep my wing still.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said with an approach one would use toward a petulant child. That patronising tone was really starting to get annoying.

He then picked up a corner of the laid-out blanket in his magic. I did not expect what came next however, as his magic cut a long strip of the blanket free. Cut, not tore.

“What?” I said, eyes wide in surprise.

“Don’t worry,” he said, wrapping the stripped cloth around my wing and abdomen firmly yet gently. “It was fairly cheap. I can easily get another one if I have to.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I explained, still a little surprised. “I didn’t know unicorn magic could do that. I’ve seen somepony holding a pair of scissors in their magic to cut material, but never magic on its own.” I was definitely putting this in my report.

“Oh, really?” he asked, actually surprised at my comment. “I guess it might be uncommon?” he shrugged. “But I wouldn’t have thought it would be that difficult. Just, the right application of magical force.” He finished up and tightened the wrapping to a firm grip. “How’s that?”

“Um… good,” I replied. It was honestly a good fit, and held my wing snuggly. “Thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome,” he smiled. “And sorry if I was a bit forward. It just doesn’t feel right if I leave somepony alone I could’ve helped.”

“No, that’s okay, I probably shouldn’t have been so stubborn. It was just a bit… embarrassing.” I took another look at the spread across the, now smaller, blanket. It still seemed too much for one pony. Well, I guess if I was here, I may as well get what information I could. “Expecting somepony?”

He gave me a tired smile and followed my gaze. “No. I’m just terrible at estimating how far food will spread sometimes. You’re welcome to have some if you’d like” he said, giving a warmer smile with his offering.

“I probably shouldn’t. I’ve imposed enough already.”

Of course, it was just at that moment that my treacherous stomach decided to make its presence known with a loud grumble. The laugh that followed was surprisingly more honest and hearty than I had come to expect of the unicorn, but it broke the tension easily. “Methinks the stomach is more honest than the tongue” he laughed. “Take a seat, I’ll cut you a slice.”

I could practically feel my face getting redder from embarrassment as I sat down, but as I thought on it, he really didn’t seem suspicious of me at all. I may have actually stumbled, quite literally, into a chance to learn more about him after all. This was a prime opportunity to find out what I couldn’t learn from pure observation.

He cut a slice of the pie, this time with an actual knife, and passed it to me on a wooden plate. “Sorry if there are any crumbs leftover. I didn’t anticipate company so I only brought one plate.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. But no magical cutting this time?” I asked jokingly.

He gave me a bit of a half-smile, half-frown. “Do you know how scissors work? That’s kind of the method I used on the blanket. And while I would be curious of the result, I’m not sure the pan would agree.”

Okay, that one earned a bit of a chuckle.

I tried to cover my hesitation to actually eat the food offered with a long gentle smell of the warm fragrance. My nose was filled with the pleasant aroma of apple and cinnamon, but really I was checking for any abnormalities. I still couldn’t trust him fully and it could have been a clever ruse to get me to ingest some kind of poison. I took a small bite when I couldn’t sense anything amiss, but quickly forgot all about tasting any remnants of poison as soon as the assault of flavour hit my tongue. “Wow. This is… good! This is really good!” I exclaimed, taking a larger bite to make a start on filling my grumbling stomach.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he replied. “But really, it’s just apples, cinnamon, sultanas, and plenty of butter and sugar. It’s really simple.”

“Well then let’s just agree that I have simple tastes and accept the compliment,” I said through half a mouthful of pie.

I was glad I could get him to chuckle this time. “Well if simple is your taste of choice, then wait till you try the bread. It’s made of… bread,” he answered bluntly, with a cheeky grin. He placed a hoof to his chest. “Dusk Elegy by the way. Sorry introductions were so delayed.”

Hearing the name of my target was a heavy reminder that I still had a job to do. I already knew his name of course, but it wouldn’t do to let him know that. I swallowed the pie I’d been chewing and offered a hoof and a smile. “Cheer Breeze,” I said, giving him the false name I’d decided on at the start of my assignment.

Dusk Elegy returned the gesture and shook my hoof. “A pleasure to meet you Miss Breeze. So, what brings you out here this late?”

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing,” I said, hoping to turn the question back on him first. After a slight pause however, it was clear he was expecting my answer first. “I just needed to clear my head and so I decided to go out for a walk,” I lied. “I heard your music in the distance and got curious, but I didn’t mean to interrupt you. When I decided to fly back to my hotel the ground fell away under my hooves and I fell which you obviously heard. That’s what I get for not checking my surfaces. And I believe that catches us up to the present. What about you?” I asked, looking around the arrayed food again. “Celebration of some kind?”

He sighed and leaned his back against the tree. He picked up his guitar again in his magic and set it in his lap, starting to pluck a few musical notes absently. “Something like that,” he finally answered with a distant smile that told me his mind was somewhere else.

I waited for him to elaborate, but he just sat there plucking aimlessly at the strings. It wasn’t random notes, they clearly followed a chord progression, but he didn’t seem to be concentrating on it, just letting his hooves go through the muscle memory.

I wasn’t going to get any useful information at this rate. “And?” I asked. He looked up as he came back from wherever his mind had gone. “Is it a birthday or something?”

“Hmm,” he pondered. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Well… truth be told, I don’t actually know the date of my birth,” he replied casually, almost as if he hadn’t said something particularly noteworthy.

“What? Really?” The file I had on him hadn’t included his birthdate, so I hadn’t known what the answer would be, but I certainly hadn’t been expecting this. I really didn’t know how to react. “How…”

“I was found. As an infant I mean. Never actually found out who gave birth to me, or when.”

“Oh my goodness,” I said, at a loss of what else to say.

He played a couple more notes. “So instead I celebrate that day. The day I was taken in from the cold and given a home. But I suppose I do call it my birthday for simplicity’s sake,” He added with a smile. “Sorry, don’t know why I told you all that. Just a bit nostalgic I suppose. The number fifty is one of those that make you look back.”

Well that explained what little I heard him saying from my hiding spot.

“Oh, well happy… Birthday?” I ventured. “And… congratulations on half a century,” I added weakly.

Celestia this was pathetic. I was trying to get information out of him, and first question in and I’m already floundering about like a witless filly. I needed to get this conversation back in control.

“Funnily enough,” he added, stealing the conversation before I knew what to do with it. “I don’t usually celebrate my birthday anyway. I guess, with it being such an iconic number, I felt the need to do something more.” He turned to look up at the night sky and my gaze was drawn the way he was looking towards the stars. “Even if it’s more for the ponies that can’t celebrate it with me.”

It didn’t take too much imagination to guess he was talking about a loved one that was no longer with us.

“Is that… your parents?” I asked quietly, stuck between my regret at bringing up a sore subject, and my mission to find out all I could about him. He didn’t answer right away. “Your mother?” I asked even quieter, not sure if I knew whether I wanted him to hear me or not.

After a moment, he answered, just as softly. “Yes.” I looked back at him to find a sad, but content smile on his face, lost in memory. “It was never any secret we weren’t related by blood, and her work kept her up late more at night than the day, but she would always make time for me, and I would make time for her. We’d watched the moon and the stars late at night more times than I could count, but it always seemed there was something new to discover, something new to learn. Ponies often search the land or sea for new and exciting discoveries, but one could stare up at the sky for an eon and still find more to discover. And on my ‘birthday’ she’d always have something special planned. To be completely honest, I haven’t been in the habit of celebrating my birthdays for a long time. I guess I have to wonder, if she were still here, would she have had something in particular in mind for tonight?”

“What happened?” I asked, hating myself to be able to ask such a personal question of a pony who was essentially a stranger, in his moment of weakness.

He looked down at his guitar and strummed a few sad notes. “Life happened,” he replied.

This wasn’t a pony I needed to be afraid of. Clearly I wasn’t watching him as a threat to Equestria. He was an old stallion, celebrating his 50^th birthday and missing his adoptive mother, who was taken from the world before her time, or at least sooner than she should have. He must have been important to Equestria’s wellbeing for another reason. He couldn’t possibly be a threat.

But I still couldn’t say that with one hundred percent certainty. Villains could also lose their parents. Everypony was a child once, and everypony has lost ones as they go through life.

It wasn’t fair. My training meant I still had to look for secrets behind every face, lies behind every word, so much so that even if I wanted to trust somepony implicitly, there would still be that niggling feeling at the back of my head saying “what if?” My conspiratorially focused mind also couldn’t help but notice how vague he was being in some of his responses. Try as I might, I couldn’t convince myself it was simply a desire on his part to not venture too deep into painful memories.

There were times that I really hated how my training had changed me to see the darkness in otherwise innocent ponies. And this was quickly becoming one of them.

“Bah, but you didn’t come out here to listen to me wax on about years long past,” he said, shaking his head of the melancholy and putting on a smile.

“Honestly, I didn’t come out here expecting to hear anything out of you,” I said, bending the truth enough so that it wasn’t too much of a lie. I hadn’t known what to expect following him out here tonight.

“Then I guess we can just chalk it up to my special talent for storytelling and leave it at that.”

“Storytelling?” I asked, looking down towards his flank. He turned slightly to show off his cutiemark. A white mask with a crying face. I’d read the description in the docket and seen it before from a distance, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to see it up close.

“Tragedies,” he said. “I’ve always had a knack for telling them.”

After what he just told me however, I had to wonder if there was perhaps more tragedy in his life that he was drawing on for his own stories. That would certainly be a curse of a cutiemark. The destiny of tragedy.

Well, thank you brain for that depressing thought.

“I probably wouldn’t have thought of that if I was trying to pick what your cutiemark stood for,” I said, hoping to move the conversation to a lighter topic.

“Oh?”

“Well… I would have thought some kind of performance at first glance” I shrugged.

He grinned cheekily “Really? are you saying that storytelling is not a kind of performance?”

“I never said that,” I huffed. “Just it’s not what I was expecting. Honestly, I would have thought it was about playing sombre music,” I said, getting a flash of inspiration. “That’s what you seem to play most of the time.”

“Ah yes, music is but one of the mediums to tell a story, and one I’ve found myself to be quite proficient.” He played a quick sequence of lowering notes, his left hoof dancing down the fret board of the guitar. “And you seem quite knowledgeable of what I play. Have I found a fan?”

“You play over at the pub almost every night, and you do stand out a bit, being able to play four instruments at once, most using nothing but your magic. It’s really something.”

“Oh come now, it’s not that difficult if you know what you’re doing,” he insisted, though his smile had broadened a fair bit all of a sudden. “Besides, I kind of cheat with the other instruments.”

I frowned. “Cheat?”

“It’s the specific spell I use,” he said. His horn shone as he enveloped his guitar in magic and held it in the air between us. “I’m not actually using telekinesis to play the music, it’s more like… hmm, how to explain this,” he mused. “Imagine a page of musical notation. Every note is an… instruction to play a note. Pitch, and duration. Well…” he shrugged. “I effectively crafted a spell that reads the musical notation and imitates what’s written for the instrument.” The aura of his magic glowed brighter for a moment around the guitar and it began playing a piece of music. He set it down on the ground and it continued to play, even as his aura left the instrument.

I tried to grasp exactly what he was saying, “You mean… you make your magic play the instrument? Instead of you concentrating on it yourself?”

“Sort of?” he shrugged. “Difference is however, I don’t have any control over the usual flair or improvisation I could were I using my own hooves. The magic will follow the notes exactly and without fail, but no soul. Always the same, every time. That’s why I at the very least play my guitar and work my voice with the vocals. That’s where I can really work my magic.” He paused. “I mean… my musical talent, not my actual magic.”

I had no idea if this was actually more or less impressive than controlling the instruments with precision, and as it was, I was having difficulty keeping up with his explanation, having no real experience with either magic or playing music. Either way however, once again he seemed to be completely oblivious to how unusual and impressive his application of magic was. Or maybe it wasn’t actually as rare as I thought. I wasn’t a unicorn after all. Maybe this type of magical aptitude wasn’t rare, just uncommon and it just so happened that I hadn’t met anypony that had thought about it the right way, or used it in such an obvious manner. I would definitely have to include it in my report of course.

As far as the music went however, I felt there was something to what he was saying. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t mentioned it, but while the music felt accurate, as far as I could tell, there didn’t seem as much life as he gave the guitar while it was in his hooves. The random notes he had been playing throughout our conversation had been playful, or sombre, or curious. You couldn’t really pin an emotion to the pendulum accuracy the instrument on its own was playing.

“I… guess I’ll take your word for it?” I admitted in the end. The music from the guitar slowly faded and he picked it up again. “I’m afraid most of it’s just going over my head though.”

“Hmm, shame,” he said, flicking the strings casually once more. “They always say, the best way to find out if you know a topic properly is to teach it to somepony else. I’ve always figured I’d never be a good teacher, but for some reason other ponies I know seem convinced I’d be good at that job. What do you think?”

I shrugged at that. “I don’t know, we’ve only just met. I wouldn’t know that much about you to say either way.”

“Really? I would have thought otherwise, given how often you’re at the same café sneaking glances my direction. Between that, you frequenting the pub, and bumping into you here tonight, I’d almost think you were watching me.”

His hoof ran down the strings, playing a single discordant chord that made my fur stand up on edge. There was nothing aggressive about his demeanour, he even seemed casual or clever, as if catching out a ruse. But I felt the tension in the air had risen slightly. He clearly had seen me at the café, and had taken note of my constant presence. Possibly even realized I’d been spying on him, so denying it might not be the best approach anymore.

I had to play this carefully.

Instead, I took a gamble. “Alright” I admitted with a sly smile. “Yes. I have been watching you.”

He raised a curious eyebrow as his only response.

“I’m a writer by trade,” I continued. I indicated to my own cutiemark with my eyes and he looked down at my flank, and the image of a magnifying glass. “A mystery writer.”

In truth, actual investigation was more my passion and my talent, but it was an easy fabrication for regular ponies, as the idea easily summons up images of trench coats and clever detectives looking for minute details. It was silly really. Real detectives rarely if ever used magnifying glasses in investigations, but the imagery served its purpose as a distraction.

“I watch ponies from time to time as an exercise,” I said with a shrug, sounding casual. “I watch their mannerisms or style and look for ways to incorporate it into my writing. The quirks of real life are far more fascinating than whatever you could come up with within your own head. And sometimes I make up stories about the ponies I see in the world around me. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, most ponies don’t even notice.”

“Ah, so that’s it,” he said with an amused smile as he looked down at his guitar and plucked a few more strings absently. The tone of the little scraps of music he was playing was shifting and the tension receded. There was a little more bounce to it and a sense of slight mischief. “And so, what kind of story am I?”

I didn’t answer right away as I tried to take in his demeanour. He was awfully relaxed for speaking to a pony that admitted to watching him. “A most unusual mystery,” I replied curiously.

“Hmm?”

“You have very… if you don’t mind me saying it, repetitive movements. You keep to yourself and seem very quiet and withdrawn, but now that I’m actually speaking to you, you have a vibrant personality and have a lot to say. It’s almost like you’re two different ponies. Like you’re wearing a mask,” I added playfully. But at the same time, I had to wonder if I had actually come to a realization. Incredibly withdrawn and antisocial, but willing to help a stranger at the drop of a hat and share his food and company. It’s like he was pretending to be somepony he’s not.

“A meandering contradiction,” he mused with an air of the mystique. “But which face is real, and which is the mask?”

I shrugged. “That’s the mystery.”

“Well, quite exciting I may inspire part of a novel, however my rendition is portrayed. By the way, what have you written? Anything I’ve read already?”

I mentally face-hoofed at my amateur mistake. Of course. Tell the pony who reads a new book every day you’re a writer and naturally he’ll be curious if he’s read anything of yours. I was beginning to regret taking the guise of a writer, who should have a far better understanding of books and authors than I did. My husband however was a writer, and I’d managed to pick up quite a number of things from him about this kind of topic. The normally quiet stallion could get very animated when talking about his own passion, and could easily talk your ear off for an hour or more. The lovable goof.

“I… I write under a pseudonym,” I finally answered. “I like to keep my private life separate from my novelist persona.”

“Aw,” he pouted playfully. “Do you think I can’t keep a secret? I’m quite good at that you know.”

“At what? Keeping secrets? Or not keeping them?”

“The former,” he chuckled. “There are many secrets I’ve never told a soul. Words that I will take to my grave, even on pain of death,” he said with a playfully dramatic tone. “Wait, does that even work at that point? I think I may be mixing metaphors in a spectacular fashion again.”

“I think it still fits,” I nodded.

“Well either way, if I do end up in your book, you’ll have to show me. Only polite at that point.”

“It might be a bit difficult by the time I’ve finished.”

“Really? I’d have thought all you’d have to do is walk a few meters from your table to mine at the café.”

“Well, I won’t be here in Whinnyvale much longer,” I said, touching on a partial truth. My assignment was going to end soon anyway. I gave more of an answer to fit the narrative however. “I really only came as a working holiday for a change of scenery.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I hope the story inspired by this trip is successful, and not just because I may make an appearance.”

“So do I” I chuckled. At this point I just needed to start copying what my husband had previously said to me. “It’s so difficult to know if a change of scenery or taking an entire one-month trip for inspiration will be worth it in the end. If I could see forward in time to read the reviews of my book before I write it, then at least I’ll know if it was all worth the expense and I could relax a bit more and actually enjoy the trip.”

“I’d be careful of that if I were you.” Despite the playful shift in conversation, something about the way he said that sounded a bit more serious. Almost ominous. “There are some things that mortal minds should never touch. And to witness the future before its time is certainly one of them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave a bemused snort. “Come now, surely an author like yourself would have heard stories of those attempting to grasp knowledge of the future, only for those attempts to lead them to ruin. Cautionary tales to ward off those with more ambition than sense.”

“Well, sort of.” What he was saying seemed to ring a bell, but I couldn’t recall anything in particular off the top of my head. “Any stories you had in mind?”

His face scrunched up in thought for a moment, silently mumbling to himself. Then, struck by an idea, his mouth curled into a smile. “Well then, my fresh-faced storyteller, if you don’t recall yourself, then let me weave you a cautionary tale of how the curse of foresight may come to ruin those who desire it.” He ran his hoof across the strings, playing a minor chord that sent a shiver down my spine.

“This is the story of the three curses, that I heard from a stranger, a lifetime ago. There once were three brothers, Oracle, Seer, and Prophet, who together sought to breach the veil of the future. They thought with their magic, their strength, and their cunning, they could overcome any obstacles in their path. Their experiments and trials took them years to accomplish, delving into the darkest magics and the most ancient of secrets, but during their journey into piercing the veil, their paths crossed with a creature of foresight, thought lost to the world.”

“The creature commended the brother’s efforts, and had foreseen that indeed they would gain the powers of foresight. It was an inevitability, and so it decided to grant them a gift. To each brother, the creature bequeathed a tome of prophecies, some of which detailed events down to the second. The brothers were ecstatic. They had imagined their experiments would barely grant them glimpses of the future, but before them were entire chronicles of events that had yet to happen. But before the creature left them to do as they would, it gave the three one last prophecy. Each of them would fall to the curse of foresight in their own way. Fear, ambition and greed would be their undoing, for even knowing the future is no simple guarantee.”

“The brothers scoffed at the creature’s words. Surely knowing the future could protect them from whatever woes they may encounter, empower them with knowledge and bring wealth of opportunity to their doorsteps. And so, they parted ways with the creature, forgetting it’s dire warnings.”

“Each brother had a different plan on what to do with their new found power over the future. The eldest brother, Oracle, read through his prophecies and was startled to find tragedies that would befall him. That his wife would fall for another. That his friends would abandon him. That his livelihood and works would fail. And in the end when he had lost everything there was to lose, even his life would be forfeit. The eldest decided he would do all he could to prevent the tragedies he predicted, and set to work. He began to watch his wife, and restricted her freedoms so she could not meet any others that could steal her away. He forced his way into the lives of his friends so they could never forget him. And he took risks and new ventures in his work, far greater than he had dared before.”

“And in doing so, he fell for the first curse. His wife, stifled by his demands, quickly fell out of love for him, and found herself with another that treated her as an equal, and not property to be controlled. His friends quickly tired of his upstart and attention seeking ways and did their best to avoid him. And the risks he took in his livelihood failed over and over, leaving him destitute. Finally, the brother realized that in his haste and paranoia, he had created the very future he sought to prevent. Having lost everything, including his will to live, he cast himself from a cliff to the icy waters below, and drowned himself.”

“Meanwhile, the middle brother, Seer, had a different idea. He saw the many natural wonders that would happen in his future, and for the most part was content to simply watch and take advantage of things he foresaw. Opportunities were obvious in his way, with knowledge of a future set in stone. But that all changed, when he read of a terrible future he would commit. It was written that he would kill another. He didn’t even know the individual, only a name. But when that unfortunate soul crossed his path, he knew what would happen, for it had been written so, and so many other prophecies in the tome had already come true.”

“He had no reason to slay the unfortunate victim, but feared what would happen if the future he had seen did not come to pass. So even as he attempted to delay the inevitable, find a reason for such a crime, none was presented. In the last moments before the predicted incident, he flew into a panic and madness, slaying his victim in unrivalled brutality. The brother had seen it, and so it must be. He was tried and found guilty for the murder, when his defence was naught but “it had to be.” He was put to death for his crime, and thus succumbed to the second curse.”

“And finally, the youngest brother, Prophet. He did something far braver than his other brothers were, but just as foolish. He went out into the world, using the prophecies to foretell other’s futures. He became an icon, almost on par with the gods, and others flocked to him to hear his words. He would warn the farmers when their crops would fail, or when they would flourish. He would foretell disasters or fortune that others could prepare for, and all of them came true. Prophet lived a few good years, basking in the glory his book of prophecies granted him. But just as quickly as fame followed him, it also quickly caught up with him. After all, it was just one tome, and although the prophecies were detailed and exact, every book may only hold so many pages.”

“He began to panic, knowing full well that all his fame and glory required the accuracy of his fortune-telling. Caught up as he was, he could not imagine a life without the ability to foretell the future and could not reveal the source of his prophecies, as he had kept the tome a secret from his followers. And so, the brother began to fabricate new prophecies that he had no knowledge of, attempting in vain to imitate the futures he had become so dependent on. With every failed prophecy of his own, his followers became more furious and started to turn away, refusing to believe his words. He eventually declared a tragedy so terrible that the sky would be torn asunder and the earth would crumble beneath them all. Those too foolish to realize his trickery began to panic as he did, and tore the town apart in their fear to save their lives and their belongings. Those of a more level head confronted Prophet and he confessed his lies. For the destruction of their town for the sins of the brother, he was put to death by the very ones who once worshiped him, succumbing to the third curse.”

“And so, all three met their untimely end. All failing to read their own demise in the futures they so sought to understand. So focused on the future, they forgot that life is lived in the present. And so, the creature, his task complete, retrieved his tomes of prophecies. Ready to pass them on to the next unfortunate souls who would peer past the veil, as it knew they would. Like moths to a flame, mortals would always venture far beyond their means and attempt to grapple the reins of the future. And the creature would be ready to keep safe the sanctity of the future, by granting those foolish souls exactly what they desire.”

His hoof strummed a final chord across the strings of his guitar. The haunting melody finally ending with his story. “Knowing the future is a burden most terrible you understand. No mortal should ever have the power of foresight.” He gave me a knowing smile. “Your thoughts?”

My thoughts? I didn’t know what to think. He clearly had a far deeper and philosophical mind than I realized. From what I had observed over the course of my surveillance, he had seemed to be a pony of few words. When he did speak in conversation it was mostly with a playful or joking tone, but simply conversational, nothing quite like the deep narrative he had woven in this short meeting between us. This was possibly the most I’d seen him speak in the near month I had been investigating him. Even his friend at the market didn’t get this much out of him, yet here he was bringing forth the philosophical equivalent of a thesis to a complete stranger.

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one before,” I finally replied, trying to not sound like a mute at the end of his story. “But I just wanted to read the reviews of my books before I finished them, nothing like what you described.”

“It all tracks,” he said calmly. “Say your reviews read well. That could unconsciously cause you to be overconfident and lax in your efforts to write so they never reach the quality the reviews once described them, causing a paradox of quality. Or perhaps the reviews are so great and you struggle and stress to write your stories to meet the praise. The very act of witnessing the future has the potential to alter it, therefore making future sight a most troubling and maddening skill.”

“I see,” I mused. I wondered if I had something to tell my husband after I got home. But, no. It was just his personal philosophy. Surely seeing the future wouldn’t be that terrible. “But doesn’t the third son usually find some way around the problem?”

“Oh?”

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t fit the pattern. Your story has the feeling of one of those old myth type fairy-tale stories,” I said, recalling a conversation I had with my husband on one of his impromptu lectures. “The ‘Three Brothers’ is a common enough setup. The trope of everything comes in threes is as old as storytelling itself. But usually it is the youngest sibling that finds a way to overcome the creature or power that acts as the antagonist of the story. A way to present ambition or laziness as flaws, while cunning or kindness in the third shows to be superior so the author can present the morals their story intended to impart. But your story had all three succumb to the curse.”

He shook his head. “There is no winning when it comes to predicting the future. Apparently, even Starswirl the Bearded tried his hand at time magic only to come up short-hoofed with his results. And then rightly decided it was best not to pursue that avenue of research any further.”

I frowned. “Who?”

He sighed. “A powerful unicorn wizard of yesteryear. But I suppose it’s not important. Just surprising how quickly some commonly held names can become forgotten in a generation or two.”

Now that he mentioned it, the name did ring a bell, but I wasn’t sure where I would’ve heard the name before or what he was known for. Probably magic, given what we were talking about.

My line of thought was blown away as a gust of cold sea air swept past us, and despite my attempts to stop it, I shivered in the cold. Dusk Elegy shut his eyes quickly as his mane whipped around his face, but other than that the cold air didn’t seem to bother him. “How do you cope with this weather?” I asked, rubbing my side most exposed to the wind.

“Trust me, I’ve had worse,” he said with a knowing smile. “But you don’t have to suffer for my sake if you want to go back inside. Your company has been most welcome, but I’d feel guilty if you caught a cold for mine.”

“You’re not packing up yet?”

He looked up towards the sky again, staring directly at the moon. “No, I think I’ll stay out here a little longer for the atmosphere. Quiet thoughts and old memories enjoy the solitude. But thank you for entertaining this old stallion and his eccentricities. And I hope your wing feels better soon.”

I placed a hoof thoughtfully on the makeshift bandage holding my wing tight. In the cold and distraction, it already was feeling much better. “Thanks,” I replied, and stood up. “Are you sure you’ll be fine out here alone?”

He gave me a warm smile. “Perfectly. Goodnight Cheer Breeze.”

“Goodnight, Dusk Elegy.”

As I slowly made my way back down the hill, my eyes began to adjust to the darkness of the night away from the lantern. It was actually surprising how much I could see in the light of the full moon. I stole a glance back at Dusk Elegy on the hilltop, and I could hear the melodic sound of his guitar again, along with the deep sound of his song voice. I felt like I’d learned a lot about my target, but at the same time those answers opened up so many new questions. After tonight, it felt like I wasn’t looking at a target anymore, but a real pony, with a whole life I knew nothing about. There was so much life and depth to him than I had ever realized from his outward appearance.

And yet he preferred to remain alone. He was a kind and thoughtful pony, willing to help a complete stranger, but he celebrated his birthday alone, and in solitude.

It didn’t feel right to simply watch as an outsider, not now that I had actually spoken to him. I knew that actually taking action would be outside the scope of my mission. But I guess some things were best left out of my report.

Dusk Elegy sat at his usual table at the café, silently reading his book. He seemed distracted however as he kept looking over the cover of his book to scan the café. There was something in the air that felt unusual, something he couldn’t quite place his hoof on.

The waitress, Morning Glory came over with his usual order of a daisy sandwich. At least, he thought it was, right up until he noticed the lit candle over the top of his book. He looked up from the page in confusion to see a small cupcake with a single candle burning on it. “Happy Birthday,” Morning Glory said.

“What? But I never told you…”

“You never told any of us,” a voice interrupted from behind him.

“What?”

He turned around only to get bombarded with a group of ponies crying “Happy Birthday!”

The elderly stallion almost dropped his book in surprise. “Oh goodness! What is all this?”

“Don’t give us that Dusk,” Cloudy said coming up and giving him a hug. “Just how did we manage to be friends for all this time and you never told us about your birthday? And for your 50^th birthday even.”

“Oh, well… it didn’t feel that important,” he stumbled through his answer.

“Not important?” Foamy Swill said, walking up next. “You’ve been playing at my pub for years. I feel mighty guilty I never even thought to ask.”

“And you even told me yesterday it was a special occasion,” Cloudy piped up again. “But you never said it was your birthday. We would have all done something proper yesterday if you let your friends know.” There was a chorus of agreements and nodding from the rest of the ponies now surrounding him. “If we couldn’t be there on the day yesterday, then at least we can cobble something together here today.”

“But how… how did you all find out?”

“Your friend Cheer Breeze told us this morning.”

“Cheer Breeze did that?” Dusk looked over to the table where I usually sat, finding it empty, as it had been all morning. “Where is she?”

“Oh, didn’t she tell you?” Cloudy asked. “When she approached me today, she said that her holiday was ending and she had to leave, but she let me know what you told her yesterday. She knew you wouldn’t be up for a few more hours and by then she would be gone, so I promised her I would round up more of your friends and let you know how much you mean to us.”

Dusk looked surprised, but also touched. “She said she’d be leaving soon. I just didn’t realize that meant today. She did all that?”

“If by ‘all that’ you mean tell us what you should have told us years ago, then yes” Cloudy huffed.

While they were all chuckling at that, another pony arrived, slightly out of breath. “Surprise,” he panted. “Oh, did I miss the Happy Birthday?”

There was another chorus of laughter and the newcomer walked up and placed a basket he was carrying on the table.

“What took you so long Tiller?” Foamy Swill asked.

“Well, I had an idea. Remember when I said my cousin’s dog on the farm had puppies a while back?”

“You didn’t,” Dusk said wide-eyed.

Tiller pushed the basket forward towards the birthday stallion. “Happy Birthday Dusk.”

The blanket was pulled back and a tiny puppy looked up and yawned in the midday sun. It looked curiously around at the ponies all staring. “Oh, he’s so precious,” Cloudy cooed.

“I think it’s a girl actually,” Tiller commented.

“Okay, what are you going to name her then?”

“What?” Dusk asked. “I don’t… I can’t own a dog?”

“Why not?” Foamy asked. “It’s not like you don’t have the time.” Some of the others shot him a dirty look. “What?” he said defensively. “It’s not a lie.”

The puppy scrabbled out of the basket and started sniffing at Dusk’s hoof that was resting on the table, then looked up at him with a tilt of the head.

“Oh look,” Cloudy said squeakily. “I don’t think you have a choice now, she likes you.”

The puppy sniffed the air, and faced Dusk’s cake on the table, it scrabbled over and started sniffing again, coating its nose with frosting. “No no,” Dusk called out to the puppy, scooping it up in his forelegs and pulling the small pup into his lap. “I don’t think chocolate cake is healthy for dogs.” He took a napkin in his magic and gently brushed the frosting off its nose.

“Well at least you know how to take care of him,” Tiller said. “Besides, I… kind of already told my cousin I’d found a home for this little one, so I hope you can take her, cause I don’t really have any other ideas.”

“Tiller, you are the epitome of evil,” Dusk said dryly as the puppy in his lap yawned once more and settled down to sleep.

“Uh… thanks?”

“I don’t think that was meant to be a compliment Tiller,” Foamy said. “But accurate.”

“… I don’t get it.”

Ponies laughter filled the café once more, easily rising up to the cloud I was hiding in to watch it all pan out. I sighed, feeling content.

That turned out better than I could have hoped. It was surprising how well he was loved by the community, considering how antisocial he had always been. The impromptu birthday had been a risky idea, but I couldn’t find any real reason not to.

I wouldn’t be finding out anymore information about Dusk Elegy, no more than I could have from our conversation last night. I was using field judgement to declare the mission over in my report. My cover would be hard to maintain now that we had spoken face to face, and any further surveillance would only jeopardise that cover for what was only scheduled to be a few more days. The risk didn’t seem worth it.

Dusk Elegy was a good pony, and he deserved more happiness than he gave himself credit. It wasn’t much, but I hoped it was enough to show him he had more in his life than he realized, even if it was just other ponies to share his birthday with him.

I flexed my one good wing and pushed my cloud along, causing it to drift away from the café. I didn’t need to watch the whole celebration. It was good enough to know that I’d made a difference, even in just a small way.

Author's Note:

I wanted to write something a little shorter this time, and had planned for a single chapter short story, but as usual I've underestimated how long I write my stories, so there will be an epilogue coming soon.

Big thanks to my friend Maldivinine for proofreading this one.

Songs I listened to while writing:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gPUP52qMVk
Sight for Sore Eyes

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6Ur74vjTPQ
A timeless place

Comments

[Nostalgic_Brony]

nice story

[ponygrad]

This is pretty neat.

Definitley some universe bending transformation going on but I don't think it's too important? Then, is the assignment more for Dusk or Whisperwind? For all that, it doesn't leave me wanting

[BlueMoonHarlot]

Really liked how it resolved in the end. That was super nice and heartwarming.