• Published 3rd Feb 2012
  • 20,741 Views, 142 Comments

A Great and Powerful Heart - Deep Pond



Trixie is coerced into searching for a missing foal and finds out what kind of pony she is at heart.

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Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The road heading east of Promise was broad and flat, and despite having come this way a day before, had never looked better to Trixie. True to his word – and to her mild surprise – Sheriff Brass had accepted her word as to the fate of the colt, turned over her wagon, and even given her a small pouch of bits as payment. Wasting no time, Trixie had slipped into her harness and headed east, determined to put Promise behind her as quickly as possible. She was perhaps a mile down the road before it even occurred to her to think of where she was heading.

Hmm . . . the next town is Bridledown, which sits on a crossroads . . . The hollow feeling in her middle made Bridledown much more appealing than it might have been otherwise; Trixie had been planning to purchase supplies in Promise. Yes, Trixie will pick up some food there, then head south to Hoofsborough; she hasn't been there in a few years. The countryside should be safe this time of year . . .

. . .who was that second foal? And what possessed them to head into a wildland?

Trixie shook her head vigorously. That was over, and she wasn't going back. The fate of two foals she had never even seen wasn't her concern. Let Brass worry about it.

Yeah. That's likely. That lazy excuse for a . . .

Whatever. It's not Trixie's problem any more.

Trixie was so engrossed in her thoughts that she failed to notice the other pony until she was almost upon her. By the side of the road was a pegasus mare, gray, with a blonde mane and tail and a cutie mark of several bubbles. She sat beneath a large pine tree in a dejected pose, and her amber eyes – oddly crossed – were filled with tears. She was such a picture of abject misery that it was almost funny – a parody of sadness.

Trixie eyed the pegasus, slowing her pace, but the mare paid her no attention at all. Instead, she stared at the ground before her hooves, tears dripping from her muzzle. At her side, Trixie noticed a set of saddlebags.

The pegasus mare drew a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out gustily. Trixie came to a halt, her curiosity battling with her pragmatism. After another moment – during which the pegasus continued to ignore her – she spoke up.

“What's wrong with you? Are you hurt?”

The gray mare looked up . . . at least, sort of. One eye focused on Trixie, while the other seemed to be staring at a spot several yards to the left. In a voice thick with tears, the mare said “I've lost my muffin.”

“Your . . . muffin?”

“My little muffin.”

Trixie blinked. “Trixie . . . is not sure she understands. You've lost a muffin?”

“Not a muffin!” the pegasus said insistently. “My muffin! My little Dinky!”

“Dinky? . . . Oh. Is that a pony?”

The pegasus nodded, sniffing loudly. “My little Dinky, the best filly in the wole hurld.”

“The wole . . . the whole world?”

Again she nodded.

Trixie does not need this. Trixie does not need this. Trixie does not need this.

“How did you . . . come to lose Dinky?”

“I don't know!” the other burst out. “She said she had a new friend, and they were playing together, and she never came back! She's usually such a sensible little muffin, too.”

A new friend? . . . Oh Celestia, no . . . it can't be . . .

“And the sheriff, Beriff Shass, he said he couldn't help because he was too busy taking care of the town to help outsiders, and besides it was p-probably my own f-fault for not t-taking better c-care –” The pegasus buried her face in her hooves, seeming on the verge of breaking down completely.

Trixie closed her eyes, caught between frustration and disgust. Sheriff Brass, Trixie is really starting to loathe you. Aloud, she said “Look . . . stop crying. It will be all right. Trixie will –”

She paused. What was she doing? This wasn't her problem; in fact, she had just managed to escape this problem. She had no intention of wasting her time with this walleyed wonder, and even less desire to spend any longer in the vicinity of Promise. Somepony else would have to help this mare find her missing filly.

Her missing filly.

Damn it.

“Trixie will help you find Dinky.” As she spoke, Trixie slipped loose from the harness of her wagon.

“She will?”

“Yes. Finding a runaway filly will be mere foal's play for the Great and Powerful Trixie.”

The pegasus looked around as if expecting somepony to appear out of thin air. “Where is she?”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “No, you silly – me! I am Trixie!” Unable to resist, she hoofed a bit of glitter dust from one of the many small pockets sewn into the inside of her cape; with a dramatic gesture, she swept it through the air. The dust glittered and sparkled as Trixie struck a pose, eyes closed, head high and angled just so. “I am the Great and Powerful Trixie, the most magical unicorn in all of Equestria!”

“Ooooooooooo!” The pegasus mare's eyes widened with amazement, although they continued to point in two different directions, her sorrow momentarily forgotten. “I'm Derpy!”

“Derpy?

“Derpy Hooves. I'm a mailmare.” The blonde pegasus pointed to her saddlebags, and Trixie noticed an emblem on the side: a winged envelope. “Always get your letters through. That's why we're here: special delivery. It took me three days to find the address.”

Trixie can believe it. She seemed friendly and harmless, but so far Trixie was underwhelmed by her new companion.

Her stomach gurgled, reminding Trixie of more immediate concerns. “For now,” she said, “Trixie needs food.” She glanced reluctantly back in the direction of Promise; she hated the idea of going back there, but it would take at least a day to reach Bridledown, and her supplies were at a low ebb. Pine cones . . . ugh . . .

“I have food!” Derpy exclaimed excitedly. Flipping open one of her saddlebags, she upended it, dumping its contents onto the ground. Trixie blinked, seeing not just letters – the obvious thing to find in a mailmare's saddlebags – but also several pair of socks, a number of muffins, several apples, a multi-colored scarf, a cabbage . . .

“How do you happen to be traveling with all this?” she inquired, poking at what turned out to be a pot of butter.

“I emptied Carrot Top's fridge.”

“Who is – never mind. Trixie will have a muffin.”

“No! That's my muffin!”

“It's Trixie's muffin now!”