Few

by Birdring

Keep burning

The day was satisfactory for Dylan. The human worked, a stewardship won through the element of generosity. It was thanks to the influence of a white pony with a purple mane named Rarity that he got a job at the newspaper, had an interesting salary considering the regional prisoners. He published weekly in the newspaper "O interest" where he talked about the most dynamic subjects. The work was not far from where he lives now, it was a little far from the city, at most a few minutes.

These days he's been writing about the relationship between Twilight's inclusive actions and the region's overall economic growth. In just a few weeks they built a new school, renovated the hospital, built several parks and countless other projects that are under construction.

The man went to and from work with his social clothes and a black suitcase, this night he made a point of leaving his straight hair combed.

The road wasn't bad - on the contrary, it was even comforting to walk along the path surrounded by vegetation under the ever-present stars but what annoyed the man was that the magic poles were spaced apart, creating a dark part in between. Dylan never understood why the ponies call the iron object that has a magical light on top of it "hanging ember" but that's just a detail.

Dylan while walking looks at the moon, it was a little bigger here than in his homeland, a fact that made it more flashy, the shooting stars that pass behind it only adds to this hypothesis "Impressive as on earth could never see the stars" he thinks to himself

He was crossing the long, lonely dirt road when he noticed that someone with a larger build than he was walking, very close to his back. The person, whoever it was, cleared his throat, signaling that he intended to speak to her. Dylan stopped and turned around. It was Brannam.

It had been a few days since Dylan learned that a new human had entered Equestria and that unfortunately he had injured Raibown Dash which required a tube to be put down his throat to breathe because of the crushed trachea.

Seeing the most mature human in person was really a memorable experience, wore brown pants, boots, a black shirt, his cap that covered his upper face and a blue-green blouse.

It seemed his only impulse was to get away from there. He felt his heart pound. He wouldn't be able to say a word, but Brannam forged ahead in the same motion, just placing a helping hand on Dylan's arm for a moment so that the two were now walking side by side. He began to speak with the grave politeness that was peculiar to him. "I was waiting for an opportunity to speak with you," said the old man. “I read the article on equine communication in these areas that you published the other day. You're quite interested in the language, aren't you?

Dylan had so many questions, he wanted to talk, but his mouth was dead. He believed that he was the only human who belonged on that planet. Who is this guy really? How long was he here? Does he know me? Has he always been here? Why haven't I seen him before? Why isn't he in the hospital? Do others know you? Why is he talking to me at night in a dark and vacant place?....

All these thoughts went through his head in less than a second and he didn't even realize he'd answered the old man's question completely awkwardly. "N-Not my area."

The place where they talked was between one lamp post and another, making it impossible for anyone to see them, even if they looked in their direction.

"But you use it very elegantly," said Brannam, and then continued, "What I really wanted to say is that I noticed that in your article you use two words that have become obsolete. They have been dropped. Ponian Dictionary?

Dylan gave him an odd look, opening his mouth several times to say something, but closing it again and again as what he wanted to say died in his throat. In shock Dylan answers "no"

"I don't think the tenth will be published for a few months. But a few copies were distributed in advance. I got one. I thought you might be interested in taking a look."

"Of course I do," Dylan said, immediately realizing where this was going.

“Some of the new changes are extremely ingenious for sentient equines. Decrease the number of verbs — I think this is the aspect you will find most attractive. Well, let's see, what if you stopped by my room one of these days? Wait a minute. I will give you the address.”

Somewhat distracted, Brannam felt in both pockets and took out a notebook and pencil. After positioning himself so the pale man could read what he was writing, he registered something, ripped off the sheet and placed it between the fingers of his left hand. Brannam pulls back a little and puts his right hand inside his blue blouse, taking something from the left side.

Dylan was completely embarrassed that he couldn't even make out what the man had written, it was a lot of information to assimilate, let alone what the purpose of it was. The man in front of him extends his arm which makes Dylan instinctively take what Brannam is handing him, for some reason Dylan doesn't know what he gave him, he just felt that the texture of an envelope and that inside there was an object with a shape. geometry of a parallelepiped.

While there was no need to hide it, he realized it was extremely intimate, as if what had happened was a mandatory secret. Maybe it was because of the darkness and the pressure because even if it wasn't said, it was blatant that what happens now should be kept secret in the worst case a maneuver to overthrow the current government, at best just a man wanting temporary privacy, at least it's what goes through the young man's mind.

"I'm usually home at night," Brannam said. "Are you religious?"

Dylan nods, knowing he wouldn't be able to communicate properly.

"May your god give you a good night's rest, believe me when I say we will meet again for sure. I don't know where. I don't know when. But I know we will meet again, some sunny day." Brannam nods and turns away, walking in the opposite direction of Dylan, who finds himself holding the envelope looking at where the old man walks perhaps expecting some response from his divine night-blesser.