The Forgotten: Traveler

by Jatheus

Chapter XIX

“You know,” Brill said, “I’m not sure what kind of knot you made back there, but I have never seen a snarl like that.”

“Ah…” she replied.

“I’m serious,” he chuckled, “I have seen all kinds of knots, so for you to nearly stump me is quite the rare day indeed.”

The butterflies rested on Mestra’s hat as the two continued their journey.

“In fact, the only other time I can remember seeing a knot like that was when I visited the plains buffalo far to the south. Now, if you’ve ever heard stories about them, most likely you were told that they are mindless savages, but they actually have quite a complex social structure that in many ways is not that different from the way we interact with each other.”

“Well, I found out the hard way just what happens when you break one of their taboos. At the time, I was exploring more than trading, and inexperienced as I was in life, I had a tendency to be a bit cavalier and impulsive. Not that I ever meant any harm, mind you. I only mention it for context. You might say I was young and foolish.”

Mestra nodded, and then realized he was not looking at her as they walked, and so she vocalized sheepishly, “Ah…”

“So, there I was,” he continued as if unaware of her lack of social graces, “wandering the wilds of the south, when I found myself out of water. By the time I fully grasped the seriousness of my situation, I was well aware that going back was scarcely an option. So I did what I could to increase my chances. I slowed my pace, rested during the heat of the day, began traveling by night, those sorts of things.”

“I was beginning to think that the desert went on forever when I stumbled upon, what I later found out, was a buffalo burial ground. Now, there being nothing to constitute shade in such vast reaches, I was amazed to find tall structures, though you might think them crude at first glance. The point is, they were suspended in the air a few yards and were a perfect place to hide from the sun.”

“What happened next is a bit fuzzy in my memory, as I had passed out from exhaustion. I awoke near evening, surrounded by buffalo. When they noticed I was awake, they gave me water, which contented me in a temporary sense to be at their mercy.”

“Well, as it happens, they revere their grave sites far more than we do, and hold them to be sacred. My trespass in using them for shade was quite ill taken, and so they delivered me to their chief to see what would be done with me for the offense.”

“I did my best to explain that I had no knowledge or intention to dishonor their ancestors, but they were quite unreasonable about the whole affair. In the end, the chief did give a bit of leniency since I was, in his words, filled with child-like stupidity. So, rather than bury me up to my neck and leave me for the ants, as is their custom, they tied me to a cactus with some formidable ropes.”

Brill laughed, “That suited me just fine, becoming a pincushion notwithstanding. I think I was removing spines for a year or more. Anyway, being something of an expert on knots, I attempted to free myself, but found this quite nearly impossible. It was made only more difficult by getting pinned by the cactus with each move.”

“I had to employ every rope craft trick I ever learned, and I did eventually, through no small effort, free myself. At that point, I apparently earned some level of respect, and the buffalo accepted me as a guest. They taught me their customs, how to find water, which is more plentiful than you might expect in such an arid climate, and after a few months, I was on my way….”

Listening to Brill’s stories made the day slip by. Before Mestra knew it, the sun had gone down, and the pair found a small clearing by the road that made for a soft place to camp for the night. Brill helped her light a fire, talking all the while. She didn’t mind that in the slightest, for she was rather enjoying hearing about his adventures.

Eating dinner was the first thing that brought substantial silence between them since she’d agreed to share the road, and Mestra Amymone found it somewhat unsettling. Her butterflies danced around their little campsite, carefree as usual. Brill provided apples, and Mestra offered some oats, which they made into oatmeal with a bit of brown sugar and cinnamon from his spices.

“I’m afraid I’ve been an awful traveling companion,” Brill eventually broke the silence during their meal. “I’ve been going on for hours and never thought to ask where you’re from.”

Mestra Amymone took a breath as the memories of the last two years worked through her mind. She couldn’t remember much from before she’d found that cabin in the woods where her Magister had taught her so many things. Her time with Misty and Stormy, and the friends she’d made at school were far more fresh. But where was she from? That was a question to which she had no answer.

She looked up at the trees, vibrant and green in the midst of spring, though painted somewhat ominously by the firelight. She shifted on the undergrowth, which crunched and released its earthy scents.

“I do not remember,” she finally ventured.

Brill let out a small gasp of surprise, “Not at all?”

“No.”

“Now that is interesting. I’ve never met somepony who didn’t know where they were from. I suppose you could begin with what you do remember, if you don’t mind telling your story, that is.”

She took another deep breath, “The butterflies. I remember they led me into the forest. I met my Magister at his cabin. He taught me numbers and letters. He said I should try to find somepony who knew me from before. I was in Hollow Shades for a year. Nopony there recognized me. I made friends.”

“Fascinating,” the stallion stared at her, lit by the flickering of the fire.

Brill seemed as mesmerized by her words as she had felt by his, though Mestra doubted whether she was telling her story with anywhere near the skill that he had shown.

“Now I am going to the next town. Maybe someone there will remember me.”

His eyes glinted as a smile filled his face.

“I have no doubt that you’ll succeed. A pretty mare like you couldn’t have gone unnoticed.”

Mestra felt herself blush again. Confused feelings grew inside her. She felt both good and bad at the same time. His expression softened, and he looked away as if he were aware she had become uncomfortable.

“The forest is coming alive. Can you hear it?”

The mare listened. There were nocturnal insects and beasts of all sorts making calls across the night. She nodded.

“If you would like, I could tell one last story before we get some sleep.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve been in many forests in my travels. This one most reminds me of the northern end of Hayseed Swamps. Now, the southern end is where it gets its name. That whole area is quite marshy, a bog that never dries out, but the northern end is rather nice for three seasons of the year. Not that it gets terribly cold that far south in the winter, but without the foliage in the trees, the wind can be a bit biting.”

“In any case, I found myself there one evening as the sun was going down. The closest town would have been Dodge Junction, which was a fair distance from the forest anyway, so I decided to camp for the night. I went to bed shortly after Celestia lowered the sun, but I awoke in the darkness to discover a cooing sound that I had never heard before.”

“I was a bit frightened at first. Not that the unknown frightens me, but I have learned to be a bit wary of uncertain situations. Timberwolves and ursas are bad enough, but sometimes there are foul creatures that sleep in the forests. It is always good to know the sounds and signs of them to ensure that one steers clear.”

“I cautiously left my bedroll to investigate, and I discovered something akin to fireflies. They were a bit larger to be sure, almost the size of grapes. They flew about like hummingbirds and lit up the night in all different colors, from pinks to blues, purples and greens. They were definitely the source of the noise, which was more like a humming once I got among them. It was as they luminesced that they sang to each other. I never did find out what their right name was, but I called them forest sprites since they reminded me of fairies...”

Mestra Amymone’s imagination began running wild as she stared into the dwindling flames and listened to the story her companion was telling. Hayseed Swamps certainly sounded like a magical place that she must visit should she ever pass nearby. She strained to listen, but her eyes grew heavy as her loquacious companion prattled on at some length. Eventually, she was unable to fight it, and sleep took her for a while. Her dreams were filled with fairies and fireflies deep in a magical forest where the plants glowed and sang in the darkness.