• Published 17th Apr 2023
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My Next Life as a Pony - Love_Bite



A human is reincarnated as a pony. Let’s hope he makes the best of it!

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Chapter 1: Speak like a Child

The world is dark. Not total infinite darkness like the void; more like when you're hiding under the covers on a Monday morning because you don’t want to go to work. It’s a cozy darkness. There’s a sort of red glow surrounding me and I hear a thumping sound.

The thumping is in time with my heartbeat. Am I hearing my own pulse? That’s a little worrying because it’s never been that loud before. And far away, like I’m underwater, I can hear people talking.

Around me, the walls of my dark world contract. I feel them squeezing against me, pushing me upward to an even tighter space. The voices grow louder. I think someone is screaming.

What is going on?

Being squeezed is starting to get uncomfortable when I feel a new sensation. Someone is grabbing my head. I don’t know how or where, but someone is grabbing me and pulling me further into the tight space.

Then suddenly, the darkness is gone and a bright light forces my eyes shut. I feel cold. My head is cold and wet. The shouting is now clear and sharp. It stings my ears. It sounds like a woman in pain.

The force pulling me gives another tug and I feel the rest of my body slide out of the warm tight place. I’m drenched in something thick and slimy. I can’t open my eyes all the way so I can only catch fleeting, flickering images of red and white and pale green.

Coughing, I spit up some viscous fluid and I start screaming. This is crazy! Someone is lifting me up to the light. Shadows pass back and forth in front of it.

The woman’s screams stop. Now all I hear are the whimpering cries of a baby. Wait, the cries are in time with my own screaming. Weird.

Something warm and fuzzy is being wrapped around me. That helps with the cold, thankfully.

Khi’so oi-no wiro!

Strange, foreign sounding words reach my ears. The voice is male and close. I think it is whoever is holding me. They rub the slime from my face with some cloth and pass me to someone else. With the slime gone, I think I can finally open my eyes properly. The light doesn’t seem so bright anymore.

When I open my eyes I’m greeted by two smiling faces; one masculine, one feminine. They remind me of Faust.

The male has dark brown fur and his mane is an even darker brown. On his face is a small amount of stubble which is odd considering he’s already covered in fur. His eyes are golden and even though he’s smiling, he’s clearly holding back tears.

Heiyo, leudo-kulte.

His voice is strong and low. He shifts closer to the female and kisses her forehead.

Thondyu.

I notice then, unlike the male, she has a periwinkle blue horn poking out of her head. It matches her fur. Disheveled white hair frames her face and though her eyes have tired, dark bags underneath, they still smile happily down at me. They twinkle with magenta irises.

Khi’so bellpello… Eg’sa blithy-swa yu’motten.

Her voice is soft and gentle like a summer breeze. Both of them stare down at me with eyes of adoration. Something clicks in me.

These two are my parents. I’m not sure how I know that, but I feel strongly that it’s true. I try raising my hand to touch my mother. I want to feel her fur.

A tiny cream-colored hoof extends from out of my wrapping. That little hoof is mine. God! I’m an infant. I’m a baby version of the two horse-like figures before me. Those last few bizarre minutes… was I just born? Faust said I’d be reborn in her world and well, it appears that wasn’t just her being figurative.

The male horse reaches out and takes hold of my hoof like it was a treasure.

Myné noma’so Brembé-Elmer. Eg’so sui patr.

He, my father, gives my hoof a little squeeze. It’s weird that he's even able to. Our hooves have no digits, and yet I can definitely feel something squeezing around mine. It is a comforting grasp telling me, “I’m here for you.”

Ed thes’sa sui matr, Estari-Bella. Wes’se sui perendé.”

I wish I understood what he was saying. The impression of the words comes across though. My mother holds me close, nuzzling me against her nape. She is very soft. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and her scent soothes my thoughts.

More voices start talking. Opening my eyes again I see a whole group of these horse-like beings gathered around the bed my mother rests on. Some of them, females by my guess, wear nurse caps and have coverings over their forelimbs, almost like gloves.

A male horse is speaking with my father by the bed. This one wears half-moon spectacles and a stethoscope hangs from his neck. In his hoof is a clipboard he is showing my father. I guess this is a hospital room.

Medical equipment lines the walls of the room. Pale green covers lay over my mother, matching the color of the drapes hanging around the bed. Some of the female horses, those with the nurse caps, gather up dirty rags into a bucket and leave the room. Only two females are left in the room now and the male one with the clipboard. I figure he must be a doctor.

My mother is humming something. Maybe it’s a lullaby? Lethargy seeps into me. It’s getting hard to keep my eyes open. The earlier ordeal didn’t seem like much, but it took a lot out of me it seems.

I hear the doctor ask my father what sounds like a question.

Yus thenkus oi-no noma?”

My father looks at my mother; they both nod. Taking the clipboard from the doctor, my father starts to write something down as he speaks.

Sé, khi noma’so Leithester.

Leithester. Lodestar. For some reason the word comes to me. I don’t know how exactly, but I know it is my name. My name is Lodestar.

With that revelation, my eyes droop close once more and I fall asleep. My mother’s lullaby guides me into a deep slumber.

My dreams are filled with many things; flying horses, unicorns, bright shining starlight, the Sun and the Moon, and a huge rainbow. I can’t make much sense of it. Rather than dreams though, they feel more like visions, like they hold some sort of prophetic importance. Most of the images fade quickly once I wake however.

It’s now been a few weeks since I was born. Most of my time is spent in a cradle staring up at a mobile of stars. Sometimes one or both of my parents come to fawn over me. But yeah, being an infant is horribly boring, if I do say so myself.

Sometimes I cry just to make my father or mother come running over to see if I’m okay. They fuss about making sure my diaper is clean and I’ve been fed enough formula. Once they’re satisfied I’m okay they leave to another part of the house and I cry again to make them dash back over and start the routine once again. Maybe it’s cruel, but it’s my one joy in life right now, okay?

My parents must be fairly well off. When they brought me home I got a glimpse of our house. It is on a street corner in a bustling town. Far behind the house is a mountain with what looks like a white castle perched on the cliffs. It gives me some serious fantasy vibes whatever it is.

Our house marks the end of a line of picturesque town houses, all of which are three-stories high or taller. I think I’m on the top floor of our house; the fourth floor. My room has a sort of penthouse feel to it.

I’m pretty sure there are more horses than just my mother and father living here. Nearly everyday I see other horses, some male, but mostly female walking through my room. Some mornings they’ll open the drapes of the great bay window in my room to let in the sunlight. Some nights one of them will join my mother in reading me a bedtime story or singing me a lullaby. I must say, these horses have some great singing voices. They know how to blend in harmony perfectly.

My favorite time is when they read me stories. Picture books are the best. I can make associations with the pictures they point at and the words they say and start to pick out some meanings.

For instance, I’m fairly certain my mother’s name, Estari-Bella, is something like Star Flower. I get the feeling it’s not quite right, but I’m definitely in the ballpark. At the very least, I can confirm she is my mother. She always points to herself while saying matr or mamma. That one was pretty easy to figure out.

Which also confirms the one I’m calling father is indeed my dear old dad. Patr or papa aren’t too difficult to make sense of. His name though, is more of a puzzle. Brembé-Elmer. My mother is able to point at the stars on my mobile and then to herself when saying her name to help me associate the stars with Estari. But my father hasn’t found a good analog yet. I think Elmer has something to do with a head, since he always seems to point there when he says it.

Understanding their language will come in time which I have plenty of, but actually saying the words is much more difficult I’m finding. Every time I open my mouth to speak all that comes out are the mewlings and mumbles of an infant.

Maybe even if I’m used to speaking properly, it will still take a while for this body to understand what I want it to do. That would also explain my total lack of motor skills currently. Well, I was never much of an athlete to begin with, but I figure I should at least be able to crawl around my crib if I want. Oh well…

So the weeks pass by and turn into months. Another oddity I notice thanks to my big bedroom window is the plethora of horses flying by our house. That’s right. Horses. Flying.

And if that isn’t enough of a head trip, yesterday I saw something even more incredible. My mother fed me my formula like she does every morning, but getting sick of drinking the same mush day in and day out, I threw the bottle out of my cradle. Instead of bending over and picking it off the floor, my mother levitated it back up to me. Her horn glowed in a magenta-colored aura, the same aura encased the bottle, and she magicked it back into my gaping mouth. Now that was some trick!

The really cool thing is that once, when my father was bathing me, I got a good look of myself in the mirror. I am a little tannish cream colored guy with light purple hair. I also have a little nub of a horn sticking out of my head. Does this mean I’ll be able to do magic as well one day? Time will tell, I suppose.

In other news, my language comprehension is coming along. I now know what to call these beings. The word is poni. So yeah, not horse, but pony. It’s true the word fits better as they are a lot cuter than horses. It’s odd that it sounds so close to my own word for it though. In fact, a lot of their language is eerily familiar to English, like it belongs in the same linguistic family.

I figured out the word from one of my mom’s picture books. The book showed three types of ponies: Oinacern, Pfedewan, and Erda-pon. I translate these as Unicorn, Pegasus and Earth Pony. The second one, Pfedewan, is a little off though. I think more literally it’s something closer to “feathered one,” but the only analogous creature I can think of is a Pegasus so that’s what I’m calling them.

It’s surprising how quick I can pick up on these words now. Perhaps my infant brain is better suited to learning new concepts. Certainly, I was never this good back when I was taking Spanish in college. I hope I can keep it up though. But hey, que sera sera.

My most major language accomplishment, at least as far as mom and dad are concerned, is my first actual spoken word; Mamma. A round of applause is not necessary, but is appreciated. Honestly, I tried to say the more formal term matr. It came out as mamma, but no matter, we take the small victories here.

Today, mom has me in a pram. I actually get to go outside and see something besides cradle bars! With us is one of the mares, mera, that sometimes visit my cradle. I wonder if she is a friend of the family or perhaps some relative, like an aunt. She couldn’t be my sister as I’m pretty sure I’m an only child. She looks of age with my mom, though that’s only speculation on my part. I don’t really know how these ponies age exactly, but I’m guessing it’s similar to humans.

Mom calls her Esterstrig. I call her Starstruck in my head. Her fur is dark mauve and like my mom she has a horn. Her mane and tail are alabaster with stripes of blue and purple. But what catches my attention is a sunburst tattoo on her flank.

I remember glimpsing one on both my mom and dad whenever they picked me up out of my crib. Their tattoos are different though. Dad’s looks like a spiked helmet and mom’s is a six-pointed star overlapping a flower. It reminds me of her name which I’ve since updated my translation; instead of Star Flower it’s Stellar Blossom. That could be totally wrong, but my gut tells me I pinned the tail on the pony. Maybe it is just the fashion of these ponies to get a tattoo that symbolizes their name? Except for the little ones, every pony I see has one.

It occurs to me now what dad’s name might be. Brembé-Elmer. A spiked helmet. That could be Bramble Helm. Cool.

Mom and Starstruck push me along the cobbled streets of our neighborhood. Townhouses line the curbs in bright pastel hues. Ponies, mostly Unicorns, pass by heading this way and that. Some poke their heads in my pram to admire my cuteness. I play my part, sucking innocently on my pacifier with a couple of “goo-goos” and “gah-gahs” thrown in for good measure. That’ll fool them!

The weather is perfect. It usually is, so much as what I can see from my window. Every so often I see a Pegasus pony fly overhead. Once, I even saw one pushing a cloud with them… sure, why not? If ponies can fly it stands to reason that they can push clouds around like they are solid, tangible objects. I’m willing to accept anything at this point.

In a few minutes we reach what looks to be a town square. A patch of grass rests in the middle surrounded by more buildings. Carts and tents are set up around the square with food and textiles and other goods on display. This could be a market, I suppose.

The buildings around the square aren’t houses, but stores. I see pony mannequins through some of the windows modeling expensive looking clothes. Other buildings have dining tables set up outside and I watch as ponies sit and order food and drink. Those must be restaurants.

We reach a bench and mom levitates me out of the pram and onto her lap. Starstruck takes a seat next to us. In her hooves is a plate full of biscuits. She must’ve gotten them from one of the food vendors when I wasn’t looking. They look really good, but unfortunately for me, mom produces my bottle and urges me to drink. Sigh, I guess I am a baby after all.

At first I found it odd that these ponies would even need a clothing shop. Mom and dad are always in the nude as far as I can tell, not that I’m judging. Starstruck too is wearing nothing but a smile. But as I sit sipping on my bottle I see all sorts of ponies in various states of dress.

An Earth pony in a top hat and cape walks by shuffling his cane to and fro in front of him. A Unicorn carrying a parasol sashays through the square showing off her lacy purple and gold dress. Some Pegasus ponies zip by in blue skin tight uniforms. It seems that ponies do like to dress up. Just not all of them all the time.

Starstruck says something to mom I don’t quite catch, but mom looks to agree with her because she smiles and nods her head.

Sé, thes deg’sa bellpella.

Yes, it is beautiful today. I can understand that much. I wish I knew what to call this language, though. For now, “pony talk” will have to do.

In the distance I hear a noise. It sounds like trumpets. Everyone in the square looks toward the road that leads further up the mountain toward the white castle. The fanfare grows louder and the ponies closest to the noise clear a path in the street to let someone through.

Both mom and Starstruck stand up. Mom puts me back in my pram and then bows her head with Starstruck.

A Unicorn dressed in golden armor canters down the street, his snout pompously facing the sky. He calls out to the crowd as he passes.

Alle hylé, Pri-regia di Kallista!

All hail, the first ruler of the Heavenly Sky. Or something like that. I think I got the first bit right, but I’m not really sure if the second part is meant to be a title or a name. Either way it sounds important.

A column of ponies dressed in shining armor march forth into the square. The sharp polished pikes they hold gleam brightly in the daylight. Behind them is a golden litter and on the litter sits the biggest pony I’ve seen yet.

She is pure white like the faraway castle. Her mane and tail flow behind her in an ethereal mantle of colors. On her head rests a golden crown and a long spear-like horn juts out from it.

Another new thing about this pony is that she has wings. It’s the first time I’ve seen a Unicorn with wings before.

She smiles serenely at the crowd as the litter passes. It is in stark contrast to the stoic gazes of the rest of her entourage.

Mom and Starstruck are nearly groveling on the street when the litter comes near. Mom loses her grip on my bottle and it rolls out along the cobbles only to stop directly in front of the litter.

Poor mom goes into a quiet panic when she notices her faux-pas. Starstruck is also living up to her name. They both start to crawl over to grab the bottle when they stop. An aura surrounds the bottle and levitates back over to them. The color of the aura doesn’t belong to either mom or Starstruck. It’s then I notice the long white horn of the winged Unicorn on the litter is also glowing.

The litter and the armored ponies stop and the winged Unicorn steps down to the street, carrying the bottle beside her.

Heiyo, myné leuda-pones. Eg thenka thes’se sui’sen.

The bottle settles down next to me in the pram. She stares down at me with a warm smile. There’s definitely something different about her compared to the rest of the ponies. Her whole vibe reminds me of Faust in a way, except not as potent.

Th-thondyu, Pri-regia.

Mom is doing her best to hold it together in front of the winged Unicorn.

Khi’so oi-no kuud wan. Mekha ais’sa khi noma?”

Leithester, Pri-regia. Khi noma’so Leithester.

The words come out as a breathless whisper as my mom bows once more. I’m not certain how I feel about this clearly powerful being knowing my name. I try to remember where I’ve seen this pony before.

I think it was in one of my vision dreams. There was a pony just like her standing in front of the Sun facing another darker pony standing before the Moon. And those images are similar to one of the picture books mom read to me. It is the same one where I learned the names of the different types of ponies.

The two of them are circling one another; the Sun chasing the Moon. Mom called them swessora. Sisters. Sisters of the Sun and Moon. They are Pri-regara. First rulers. No, that’s not it. It’s close, but something different. It’s more like… Princesses.

How about that? My first day out and I meet a princess. I’m starting to think cosmic coincidences are just attracted to me and I’ve yet to decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I hope it’s the former.

The Princess and mom exchange a few more words. Mom calms down when she realizes there’s no trouble. Starstruck can only manage a few nervous shakes and nods. All told, our little meet and greet with royalty goes fairly well.

After some more pleasantries courtesy of mom, the Princess bids us farewell and returns to the litter. The trumpeters sound another fanfare and the royal parade continues down the street. Once the last pike slips out of view, Starstruck falls back onto the bench. Yeah, she totally just feints like an anemic grandma. I definitely picked the right name for her.

It takes a bit for mom to get Starstruck back on her hooves again. By then, the hustle and bustle of the town is back in full gear. Ponies talk excitedly to one another, probably about receiving a visit from the Princess.

The three of us head back home by midafternoon. Mom carries some groceries she bought at the market in her shroud of aura. Starstruck also bought some things; some cloth and sewing needles. They float beside her as we reach our house.

Mom takes me back up to my room and leaves me in my crib. Starstruck stays with me while mom goes back downstairs, probably to prepare supper. She takes a seat by the window and starts pulling out the cloth and sewing supplies from her bag. I watch her take the needles in her aura and thread together different cloth into an intricate pattern.

Lacy weaves of stars and crescent moons take shape as she works her needles. Clearly, she’s had a lot of practice with using her magic like that. I’ve seen mom trying to knit with her magic and it never looks as clean as this.

I wonder if I’ll be able to do things like that with my horn? I’ve already tried—in the long hours lying in my crib—to make some kind of magic happen. It never does. The trouble is, unlike language, I have no analog to base it off. Back on Earth, magic is just a parlor trick. The wackos who claim they can bend spoons and float objects with their minds are just charlatans.

When I’m older, perhaps I’ll get a teacher?

A knock comes from the door and Starstruck looks up from her work to see who it is. Dad enters, fresh off from work it seems. I can tell because he’s always sweaty after work. I don’t know what he does, but it must involve a lot of physical activity.

Heiyo! Eg’so heim.”

He trots over to my crib and gives me a kiss on the head.

Wilgonen heim.

Starstruck gets up to greet him. He turns and pulls her into a deep kiss. Uh… what?

Now to be entirely fair I’m the alien here. Perhaps this is just a local custom? The thought immediately sounds ridiculous. What kind of husband full-on French kisses another woman, er mare, besides his wife?!

The two of them break apart a little breathless. Bramble beams at Starstruck like she’s the love of his life. Another knock sounds at the door and in walks mom. She greets Bramble, promising supper in a few minutes, and he pulls her into an identical kiss to the one he just gave Starstruck.

Great, my dad is a total sleezeball. I wonder if mom has any idea that her husband is cheating on her in her own house? I can’t even fill her in because, oh yeah, I'm a baby pony! Faust, what have you gotten me into?