The Wool we Weave

by Lambs Prey

4. An Unspecified Hearths Warming Eve - XXX A.C.

Author's Note:

This is only a short chapter because I felt it right to do something for Christmas. You know. Just because. 😶

Sunrise. Sunset.

The year waxed. The year waned.

Spring, into summer, into autumn, into winter.

A bubbly rebirth of life. Into a bright, warm time of plenty. Into a snug, gentle period of winding down. Into a relaxed, laid back season of rest.

Well, at least that was how seasons progressed in Equestria. A comfortable, predictable, well-trotted path round the block, as it were.

The calendar's hanging on ponies walls told them exactly when spring, summer, autumn, and winter began and ended. A thing of great convenience. It made it really easy to plan out seasonal sports and holidays!

And the most iconic and beloved seasonal holiday, (besides the Summer Sun Celebration of course) was without any contest, hooves down, Hearths Warming.

What wasn't there to love about it? No, really, what was there not to love? Even if you were one of those older ponies who'd sprung up in recent years, complaining about the commercialization of Hearths Warming, there was still so much to enjoy.

Like getting to behold the fresh-faced wonder on little colts and fillies faces as pegasi brought in snow for the first time in their young lives.

Or the unmissable feeling of snugness, when you curled up by a frosted window with a steaming mug, a well-worn book, and a crackling fireplace.

Or taking long brisk walks in the park, significant other at your side, laughing about nothing and everything, wrapped up in knitted scarves.

And seeing the woven wreathes studded with bright colours over doors. The strings of twinkling crystal glow-lanterns hung between lamp posts.

Combined with the taste of hot, roast cinnamon buns and the scent of spiced cider. That extra-special crunch when you stepped on a perfect fallen leaf. The jingling of far-off bells and singing.

None of these special experiences required the giving of gifts, even if you were one of those crotchety old ponies who complained about capitalism.

But assuming you weren't one of those old complaining humbugs, and did get into the Hearths Warming spirit of gift giving, then oh, the whole festive holiday season opened up to you! And what was Hearths Warming without presents?

Hearths Warming! 'Tis the season of giving!

Without a good, honest exchange of wrapped, multi-coloured gifts, why, it couldn't really be called Hearths Warming now could it? If you love somepony, give them a gift, even if its just a small one. Elsewise, how is everypony else supposed to know you appreciate them? Was there anything more obvious in the world?

---

The thestral looked down at the bright red wrapped package she'd been given.

She turned it over this way and that, gripped between her wing claws. It was done up with string, tied in a neat pull-knot so the string could be reused afterwards. Practical.

She finally looked up at the thestral opposite who'd given it to her, "What's this for?"

He blinked yellow slitted eyes, "Happy Hearth's Warming, or something."

"Happy Hearths Warming," She returned automatically; "But what's this for?"

He shrugged his wings, "I don't know. Just I overhear everypony talking about giving gifts."

"Why though?"

"I don't really know. But its what they do here in Equestria, and we're supposed to be fitting in."

Now it was her turn to blink, then frown; "Oh. Well. I need to go shopping then."

"It's rather annoying, yes. And weird." He agreed, turning to pull his helmet from the armour rack.

She shook her head in bemusement, looking down at the red wrapped gift, "Compared to everything else they do around here, it's not that weird I guess. Oh, thanks by the way."

"Huh? Oh right, you're welcome." Her patrol partner for the night grunted, distracted closely inspecting his helmet's strap.
She stuck the gift in her locker where they both forgot about it, and went back to getting into her armour. They had much more important duties to attend to.

They were Night Guards of Princess Luna. The seasons might come and go, but the last two loyal thestral clans were determined that this would always remain the same.

They would stand watch for the warning signs to ensure that Endless Winter, nor Eternal Night, ever fell again. And that started by getting on their armour, and getting out on patrol. One night at a time.

---

Hearths Warming. It was almost synonymous with the word 'snow'.

Hastily convened weather meetings, and just as hastily rushed through decisions were the norm for Cloudsdale at this time of the year. Pegasi who were tired, yet still somehow jittering with energy, all crammed into the white walled cloud room. Although not much of said walls could be seen.

Papers and schedules pinned up to boards made cork and balsa-wood to be as light as possible, (a necessity to enable the feather-weight enchantments inlaid into gems in the boards corners to function) filled most available surfaces.

It spoke of rushed work-loads, and lots of overtime. Nevertheless, it was a positive sort of work energy, the kind where everypony did their best because they knew everypony else here had their backs. Team work makes the dream work!

The cloud room was a rush of voices and ruffling feathers, and many pegasi pointing at weather maps and scheduled runs all at the same time:

"Those last cloud runs were short."

"I need you to give me at least two more pairs of wings!"

"Them last snow clouds aren't going to keep. Two days, tops, before they break on their own.

"There's four-no, five extra coming in from the North. The winds shifted."

"Great, that almost makes up for the fifteen we're missing from down South."

"I got a form here, Flower Fields are petitioning for another eight inches of snow on Thursday."

"No way. They already had their allotted snow!"

"Its signed and stamped and everything. They want an extra eight inches."

"We can't do that, they can have..." A pause as a hoof was run down a rumpled list, eyes flicking across the data points, "...Three. Four inches at most. That's all we can spare on Thursday."

"-And schedule in some overtime to cover it. Pencil in Black Thunder's team, they had Hearths Warming off last year. S'only fair."

"...Black...Thunder...Thursday...overtime. Okay, got it. Next, Site 48, they've sent a request in here for...Two whole weeks of weather relief?! Over Hearths Warming? Are they mad?"

"Site 48? Where's that even supposed to be? Why hasn't it got a proper name?"

"Hey, I know that one!" A mane wind-swept co-worker leaned over to chime in, "It's out on the coast by the border. Doesn't have a real town, its just scattered mud farmers everywhere."

"Then tough-cookies for them. Nopony's got the time to fly all the way out there. That's what their local weather tower is supposed to be for, for Celestia's sake."

"There was a reason, says here... Let's see... Ah, that's one of the sites that was being covered by that weather tower that went down in that freak disaster or something."

"The bureau still hasn't gotten that fixed up yet? It's been, like, a year!."

"It's bad luck for them still. We really don't have anypony to spare this time of year to fly out to the borders. Send a note, tell them we'll be there as soon as we can squeeze it in after Hearths Warming though."

There were no doors in cloud houses, so rather than the door slamming open, the cloud entrance parted as a pegasi stuck his head in, flight goggles still on:

"Hey everypony, look alive! North-easterly has shifted four degrees. Scramble! We need wings in the sky yesterday.

"Let's go go go!", "Move it slowpokes,", "My granny flies faster than you lot!"

Hearths Warming waited for nopony!

---

Cloudsdale floating above and to the side, puffy and pristine white

Canterlot, built atop and jutting out from Mount Canter, golden and gleaming.

Beneath. Down. Down down, running deep down through the mountain, delving into twisting cracks and past crystal caverns.

Immovable rock and unyielding stone. Titanic bedrock and lightless caves.

All the way down here, deep beneath Canterlot, right in the belly of the mountain.

Yet in these depths where sunlight had never once touched, there still existed a sickly green light. It came from hardened glowing slime on a stick. Not even an old fashioned torch, just a source of weak illumination to help highlight shadows and edges.

And holding it clamped between its clenched mandibles, a scout crept. A Changeling drone.

It, not a he or a she, had been sent to map this tunnel. Alone. Although not alone. A Changeling was never truly alone. But it was physically alone.

The winding intestines of Mount Canter were more twisting than any maze, more unforgiving than any labyrinth.
There was a reason why this new scout had been sent in alone. And why it was a new scout. That was how all drones were deployed inside Mount Canter now. Alone. One by one.

The losses were much more manageable that way. And when a scout disappeared and their mind cut off, then the Hive knew which direction not to go in their agonizingly slow, halting mapping progress.

Far above, through tones of stone and miles of rock, up in the bright sun, ponies were celebrating Hearths Warming.

The drone did not know what Hearths Warming was.

It did not wonder what Hearths Warming was either.

It did not know it was supposed to wonder.

It did not know what this mountain was called in the pony tongue.

It did not know why the Queen was taking this route.

It did not know what sunlight looked like in real life.

And it did not wonder about any of this or the joys of Hearths Warming, and why would it?

It was a drone. It wasn't even four months old. Just one of many, hatched on only the thinnest gruel of love. Skeletal, thin, obedient, and dumb.

It was hatched to be a scout. It was laid with the sole value of being replaceable in mind.

The Queen and the Hive no longer had the stock-piles to invest like that.

Above, Canterlot celebrated and prepared for Hearths Warming.

Below, a fallen Queen laid out bitter plans for years to come.

---

The giving of gifts. The joy of selflessness. Ribbons and bows, fancy wrapping-paper, gift-tags and cards.

Nowadays, gifts were an expectation of Hearths Warming. Everypony gave gifts. The mystery of what you might receive was part of the seasonal excitement.

It was not a character-flaw per-say, but nearly all had forgotten the original meaning behind the giving of gifts. But it had been centuries ago, and the years moved on one by one, traditions and meanings changing.

Gift giving. It came from a different time. It came from a deeper place. It had meant more. Giving a gift to somebody back then. Somebody, not somepony, had been an act of great sacrifice.

It came from a time when you might have almost nothing, a time when you struggled to find enough firewood in the depths of winter, when the ground was frozen and the branches bare, and your own stores were almost gone. Back then, giving a portion of what precious little you had to a neighbour who had nothing meant helping to save a life.

And much, much more meaningful.

That the real meaning behind gift giving had been lost was sad. But that the need for it was lost too was not.

Not having the need to sacrifice what little you had to save someone else was a good thing. It was a very good thing. It meant nobody needed saving in the first place. No not have people freezing or starving to death, it was a wonderful thing.

The times of merciless winter, of vicious blizzards, of pitch black nights, of barren fields, endless snowstorms, they were now nothing but a faded age in the pages of history. And they would not be missed.

And now as a result, the giving of Hearths Warming could remain a light-hearted, innocent, and frivolous affair. Mostly.

---0---

There was a knock of a horseshoe on a non-descript, plain brown door of a single floor house.

---I---

A garden path, lined with sleeping flowerbeds waiting for spring, lead up to a green door with a little coloured glass viewing window. There came a pull on the bell.

---#---

The rapping of a sun-shaped brass knocker sounded out against the a red apartment door, hung with a hoof-made wreathe and a four-clover horseshoe.

---0---

*Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.*

---I---

*Jinga-lina-ling-ling-ling*

---#---

*Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap*

---0---

The plain brown door opened a crack, caught on the chain. A single eye in a drawn mare's face peered through the crack, "Yeah?"

---I---

"Coming, coming!" A distorted face peered through the coloured glass window for a moment, and then there was a clatter, a latch being lifted, and the heavy green door swung open.

---#---

The red door with its wreath and traditional clover-shaped horseshoe decoration was quickly pulled open, "Hello? How can I help?"

---0---

"Er, does a Mrs. Lilly Blossom live here? I've got a package for her."

---I---

"Happy Hearths Warming, sir! I've got a delivery here for one Scenic Paint."

---#---

"How ya' doing? I've got a delivery if you wouldn't mind signing for it as Randy Pickaxe."

---0---

The mostly hidden mare beyond the door did not unlatch the chain, "Who's it from?" She asked suspiciously.

---I---

The brown spotted earth stallion blinked eyes which didn't look quite right or clear, "A delivery? I wasn't expecting anything. Who's it come from?"

---#---

The chestnut furred stallion beamed, "Sure thing, just let me find a pencil-Oh you've got one, thank you. Oh, who's this from?"

---0---

"Uh, it doesn't say. There's no return address. Look, you are Lilly Blossom right? You just need to sign for it and I'll get out of your mane."

---I---

"Ah, see, it's a mystery package. There's no return address or sender."

---#---

"The sender was withheld. You expecting anything from anypony special perhaps though? Hmm?"

---0---

The single eye visible of Lilly Blossom narrowed, "Leave it on the door step."

---I---

Scenic Paint hesitated, eyeing the brown paper wrapped parcel. Then he shook his head and held out a hoof, "Sure. Thanks for bringing it."

---#---

Randy Pickaxe smiled, "Daww. Lemon, it's gotta' be. She really didn't have to though."

------#I00I#------

There was one more yet though.

There came a rather timid rap of talons against the door, considering the talons belonged to a griffoness.

The quill held in its faint silvery aura of magic did not stop its methodical scratching at the page; "Yes?"

"Uh, boss lady. There's a package for you. It came yesterday. But you weren't in. Uhh."

The quill didn't slow or deviate its methodical pace across the page, "From whom?"

Yevetta shuffled her talons, lion tail twitching, "Don't know. I mean, it didn't say. No return address, yes? So I put it in the special corner though, just like you ordered me to." She quickly tacked on.

Only now did the levitating quill stop mid-word, "Confusing. I did not notice anything in the corner. I should've been alerted."

Yevetta ducked her head, feathered crest lowered, "Sorry boss. I'll tell you straight away next time."

"No. That was not what I meant. You did as asked. I should have been alerted another way."

Yevetta ruffled her feathers in relief, "Oh, good. But what other way?"

The quill flew back to slot into its corresponding inkwell, "You do not need to know that at this time."

"Oh. Part of 'business'. My beak is zipped. Operational security. No more questions. Got it." Yevetta nodded, backing up and leaving hurriedly.

"That was not what I meant either." Lemon Pink flatly declared to the empty air in the wake of the griffoness's departure.

Calmly, Lemon Pink rose from the desk. She briefly checked the silver coloured chocker at her throat, and then magically lifted her travelling cloak off the door hook and pulled it on, despite still being inside.

Then she trotted out into the front office, paying no mind to Yevetta who was back at her desk with her feathered head firmly down, and over to the corner.

There was nothing special visibly about this corner of the office in particular. Only that it had been kept carefully clear. Aside from a smallish, brown paper wrapped package placed all by itself on the floorboards.

It did not look unlike the three parcels she'd sent anonymously via Canterlot's post herself, actually. But she definitely had not sent this one.

Slowly, she walked up to the corner, stopping short at some invisible line, and just looked at the small package.

She didn't move to touch it. She did not extent her magic. She just closed her eyes for a long minute and concentrated.

"Oh." Her thin shoulders underneath the cloak relaxed, "From him, not from him. Hindsight. Obvious."

Because why would he go through the effort of first manifesting, then finding someone to get this on his behalf, then to further post it on his behalf, rather than simply appearing to her directly instead? Actually no, not simple. Never simple, never easy. But simpler, at least.

Unminding and unworried now, she swept up the parcel in her silvery magic and started back for her back-office, "He could've waited. The next marrow delivery was only just after Hearths Warming."

Once her thin pink unicorn boss was gone, Yevetta knuckled herself lightly upside the head in embarrassed self-recrimination; "Dah. She meant actual business, not 'business' business. Marrow, duh."

Eggs n' Benedict dealt in the not very popular, and quietly overlooked, poultry and swine trade after all, one of the few such business in Equestria actually. That made way more sense.

It didn't occur to Yevetta to check if they had any scheduled deliveries for just after Hearths Warming in the diary. Well, if she had, she would've found one for a small shipment via the train towards the border.

Not across the border, because Griffonia's trade borders were still firmly shut, but to just this side of the border, where a number of small griffon refugee towns had sprung up. These towns were being closely monitored by both sides with distaste.

In this instance though, it still wouldn't have been the delivery Lemon Pink meant.

---0---

It was not yet, not that extra special day quite yet, but in not too lone, a mare by the name of Lilly Blossom would open her wrapped box marked with arrows and 'This way Up' with much difficulty and liberal use of expletives to find a tiny bonsai tree in a protective glass aquarium, along with a little pruning kit.

She would then go on to stare at it for a long, long minute, before starting to laugh so hard she fell over, and so long she couldn't breathe by the end of it.

---I---

On the day, a cautious Scenic Paint would cut off the sealed packaging and unwrap the protective newspaper to reveal his own gift. It was a knife. Short, with a hoof grip for earth pony use. He spent a long while frowning at it in thought. It reminded him of something just on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite work out what it was.

He ended up using it for trimming his paint brushes.

---#---

When Randy Pickaxe's turn would shortly come, he'd eagerly tear off the brown paper packaging early first thing in the morning to discover what lay inside. And turn his head this way and that, trying to figure out just what the wooden thing was he'd been given was.

In the end, he had to sheepishly go and actually look up what it was. Turned out it was called a T'kamai, from Zebrica, a half instrument, half double-yoyo sort of toy. Randy thought it was great!

------#I00I#------

Lemon Pink opened her parcel with magic, and from a distance. Just to be safe. She levitated up the small card inside and read it, then turned her attention to the actual item. Or items. Two of them.

A rough, uncut crystal, still half embedded in black obsidian, the center cloudy and opaque. The second, an ancient, brittle looking bone. It had been carved by hoof in time long past, that much was clear, but as to what it's original purpose had been was not.

But this would not happen until the day, until Hearths Warming itself. But they were almost, so nearly almost, there.

---

"~Ooooh, the weather outside is frightful! But the fire inside's delightful!~"

Happy bell jingling mixed with festive singing.

The belly rumbling scent of fresh, hot apple pies and roasting honey nuts drifted out of an open bakery's door, and enticed eager customers in.

"~Deck the halls with boughs of holly! Tra-lalalala-lalalala~"

In a pet store positively bursting at the seams with red, green, and of course gold decorations to honour the sun, amid happy yips, coos, tweets, and squeaks, a beaming couple were fawning over an adorable floppy-eared puppy they were taking home for their darling colt for Hearths Warming next morning.

The day was almost here. The great anticipation held by all of Canterlot was almost upon them! And this puppy was going to be the best surprise present ever, the unicorn couple could just see in their minds now.

"Eeeee! Look at his ears, his little nose, his little howl!"

"Every colt should have a best buddy to grow up with. Why, my parents swore by it. Said it kept me out of trouble, ha!"

"~Galloping through the snow, pulling a one drawn open sleigh, over the fields we go, laughing all the way~!"

Rolls upon rolls of wrapping paper in every shade, colour, and pattern, the greatest number of all being sun print patterned were still being bought up last minute by everypony. A few enterprising businesses had tried bringing out blue, night-themed wrapping paper to keep up with the times, but as evidenced by the still mostly full shelves, that idea had born little marketing success.

"She knows when you are sleeping, she knows when you're awake~! She's knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for sunshine's sake~!"

---

It was the night. The night. The last one. Come the morn, and the sun would dawn upon Hearths Warming.
But for now, it was still night.

The air was cold and crisp. The stars clear and so very far away. And the forest was dark.

Not silent, never silent. A forest is always full of things calling, creeping, crawling, and hunting in the dark. And sometimes, even, the quiet undertone of a voice.

"...She knows when you are sleeping, she knows when you're awake... She's knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for sunshine's sake..."

If anyone had been there to hear, and could've found the tree-house, and could've approached, and could've gotten close enough to listen beneath the single, wood-slat shuttered window cut into the log wall, they might've heard a dull, off-key stallion's voice humming that.

If such a person had been there, they would not have heard the second voice. Because the voice wasn't real, wasn't accepted by the world, and so couldn't be heard. Real? Not real?

This intruder would've not-heard a squeaky, rustling reply, "Could you not? There's too much truth to that little ditty."

The reply, muffled through the wooden walls, but still real unlike the second, high pitched not-voice; "I was thinking much the same. Heard them singing it all day, up in the city. Just, got stuck in my head. They sing the words. They don't think about how real they are."

If one had peeked in interest through the shutters cracks, they would've seen nothing. No light, candle, or burning wick.
It was utterly black inside the log tree-house. Too black. Like pitch. "Thank you. For making it tonight. You've said. I mean, you've said that time isn't the same over there. And that it's... difficult to get out."

The squeaky not-voice. Was it bitter? Resigned? Fatalistic? Resolved? Brave? None of these?

"Hey, I try. I'm always trying. I never stop trying to get out. For as long as I can, whenever I can. Until I get dragged back. And then its back to trying."

The not-voice was none of those things. It held nothing in this world at all:

"I'm always trying."

So very faintly, a soft noise. A sound which put in mind rustling straw. Or maybe stuffed cloth. A feathered pillow.

Ah, that's what the noise was to any with keen ears. They might recognize it as so similar to a pegasi foal squeezing a stuffed teddy-bear in a hug.

Murmured, muffled by a tickly head of wool tucked up under against his chin; " 'hank you."

And equally muffled by the embrace of a feathered wing; "Y'welcome, 'rimson."

There was no listener at the shuttered window, and if there had been, they'd have already perished on the hidden defences. There was no listener, but if there had been, perhaps that would've been the point when they smiled to themselves and quietly pulled away. A perfect time to sneak away. But life isn't perfect, and nobody inside the log cabin was trying to set some picturesque scene.

"Happy Hearth's Warming Eve."

"Happy? That's subjective. It'd still be Hearth's Warming Eve regardless-"

"Fine. 'Hearths Warming Eve'. Better?"

"Better. Unspecified Hearths Warming Eve to you, too."

---I---

Comments

[Syroc]

... D'aww. Prey, you're too soft. There's no murder in there at all!

[earth]

Awaken mine brethren. A chapter is upon us!!!

[TheWhisperInYourHead]

and Unspecified Hearths Warming Eve to you, too author

[Flopoflop]

Short, but oh so wonderfully sweet.

[Kyle Dylan]

Very Cute! What a great time to post.

Poor Chrysalis, still trying to figure out what happened.

[HexoRequiem]

how cute! i love these little slice of life snippets :)

[Zwei]

Good to see you back Lambs Prey. Kudos for the Christmas special. Thank you.

[Aitchel_Xesskh]

I wonder if there is a method to make Prey “exist” again? He deserves a true happy ending!

[Fatail]

>doesn't post for quite some time
>suddenly posts a chapter on Christmas Eve
>refuses to elaborate
>leaves

Well, I won't say "no" to a free present. I shall treasure it always.

[SWEETOLEBOB18]

11782523
Found it on the internet.
Zecora = zebra in Swahili.
Also, in the USA it rhymes with "she brah"
The Brits pronounce it to rhythm with "Debra"

[1WickedQuill]

I have hope.

[Jog]

LAMB WORDS WOOO, glad to see my favourite story getting a christmas special

[Jog]

11782289
I'm imagining it being even weirder with all memory of prey having been wiped out.
"Who destroyed most of the changeling race?"
"man idk, the death tunnels"

[GasmaskBrony]

Late but not forgotten I rise to deliver this short-

Error Report:

Elsewise, how is verypony else supposed to know you appreciate them?

[CharnelsChampion]

Always a delight to get more from you, no matter how long it takes

[Kyle Dylan]

11783783

"There was some person we confronted somewhere, at some point, then our civilization ended".

th.bing.com/th/id/R.1c851e9a74e5fca7d68e9683555a98d1?rik=oIInfolMiGoTag&riu=http%3a%2f%2fpre13.deviantart.net%2f45fc%2fth%2fpre%2fi%2f2016%2f234%2f4%2f2%2fthorax_and_spike_by_uponia-daes38j.png&ehk=91bMWv64iL7PLV0BVG2B%2fJkyHh4KydVqxu7lr%2fJpg%2bM%3d&risl=&pid=ImgRaw&r=0

"Also they firebombed the shit out of us"

[Lambs Prey]

11784843
Wow. That's harsh. And really, really true. 😂 Kind of like an old, Viet vet.

[Vibrant lies]

the word—> the world

[Baree]

Ouch. Back then and now still.

[A bad writer]

YEAAAHHHHH

[Zapdroid]

A fantastic Hearths Warming present, thank you!

[hyperiumon]

Great chapter and the lily blossom bit got me wheezing 🤣

[HappyHyena]

Lil crimsonmas gift at the end :))

[One-Of-Three-Names]

Ah, a wonderful gift I didn't notice until now. Thank you for the words!

adorable floppy-eared puppy they were taking homing for their

Small error I noticed.

[Lambs Prey]

11798393
Thank you for the spell checking. 😄