Fine Steps

by TwilightSnarkle

In which wings are given roots

The wedding had been lovely, even if the groom had to be reminded of his lines. At the nearby Pasofino Conservatory, ponies gathered to celebrate the nuptials and give their best wishes to the happy couple.

Down the hall from the main stage, two mares headed towards the dressing rooms to freshen up. “Ugh,” Saber Dance muttered, tugging at her bridesmaid’s dress and hanging it on a nearby peg. “Moss green does not go with purple.” The small, lavender mare continued grumbling unintelligibly as she ducked into the showers to freshen up.

Bulwark followed behind, laughing. She removed her dress coat and cummerbund and hung them on the next peg. “Maybe we should have swapped outfits? Green would have worked better with white, although I’d likely need two of your dresses to fit me.” She shook her head in amusement, then shoved her mane beneath the tap at the sink and turned it on. “Anyway, the ceremony wasn’t about you, Saber.”

“I know,” Saber called, raising her voice over the rushing water. “I’ve had my own ceremony, after all. Amaranth and I have been together, what, almost ten years now?” There was a pause, and then, “No, eleven?”

Bulwark stepped back from her ablutions and closed the tap. “How old is Tea Blossom now?” she prompted, before shaking out her mane and wrapping a towel around it.

“Eight, so...” The shower cut off. “Yes. Eleven.”

Bulwark laughed. “I’m sure Amaranth would be thrilled to hear you remember your wedding so well.”

“Hmph!” Saber stepped out of the shower stall, dripping everywhere, but still found a moment to grin savagely. “What about you?”

“What do you mean? I’m not married to Amaranth. Honestly, he’s too fond of his books for my taste.”

“As if you know what one looks like.” She spun a towel around her mane, then stepped to the other shelf to pick up a second.

“A book, or a stallion?” Bulwark pursed her lips in thought.

Saber stared at her levelly, then returned to drying off. “A book, of course.”

“Well, of course I do!” she responded, nose in the air. “I’ve got one under the left side of the headboard. My bed wobbles otherwise.” Bulwark lowered her voice, and smiled roguishly. “The difference, I guess, is that a stallion makes it wobble harder.”

“You’re impossible!” Saber huffed.

“You must have meetings,” Bulwark murmured in reply.

“What?”

“The number of ponies who tell me that, in that exact tone of voice?” she remarked with airy innocence. “Can’t be coincidence.”

“Ugh. Forget it. What I mean, Bulwark, is where’s your paramour?”

Bulwark shrugged. “Well, I’ve dated...”

Saber stepped over to the mirror and began combing out her mane. She addressed Bulwark’s reflection. “No interest in settling down?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I mean, that might change, but I think I rather enjoy answering only to myself.”

“Heh.” Saber grinned into the mirror. “I still answer to myself, Bulwark. And now, Amaranth does too.”

“Oh, you’re so wrong.”

“What can I say? Some mares got it...”

“I’ll leave that one alone.” She took down Saber’s dress and gently rested it across her back, then pulled down her coat to do the same. “Want me to drop off your dress at your place? I’m gonna run my coat back to Velvet’s shop.”

“Yes, thank you.” Saber turned back to her friend. “Wait, that’s a rental? But it looked so good on you.”

Bulwark shrugged. “No need for it. I’ll remind Amaranth of the party if I see him. See you back here in a few.”

“See you.”

---

Sundown swept his wings in slow, regular strokes and soared over Pasofino. Beneath him lay the town in all its charm, and he could just make out a gathering of ponies trickling into the Conservatory. From his high vantage point, he watched a dappled grey stallion clad in a dark green sash pace atop a cloud bank that had been positioned to keep the partygoers cool.

The new pegasus flared his wings in agitation and seemed to be muttering to himself. Sundown banked and began a slow glide towards him, dragging his hooves across the cloud-stuff to slow his approach. Before he could even fold his mismatched wings, the new recruit was well into a practiced complaint:

“I’ve nae time for canoodlin’!” he began, running his hoof through his auburn mane in frustration. “I’ve got ranges t’ learn, updrafts t’ keek, patterns t’ find—”

“You seem to think I’m giving you a choice, Skean,” Sundown interrupted. “If you want to be a weather pony for any earthbound town—especially a primarily earth-pony town—you’ve got to understand the importance of their ceremonies.”

Skean turned and glowered, his green eyes dark. “I ken marriage, Sundown. I’m nae glaikit.”

Sundown rubbed his forehead and made a mental note to cover slang later. “It’s different for pegasi. A witness, a few words mumbled, and we’re in or out, and it’s just as easy either way. For these ponies, it’s a lot more serious. It’s like... tying yourself to your clan.”

“Tying?” Skean bristled, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I’m born an’ bred Eriskay, an’ I’ll—”

Sundown raised a hoof to forestall him, and shook his head. “You’ll appreciate if I don’t speak so lightly of it. I know. My flight instructor was from the Hebridles. Maybe even of your clan, if I recall rightly. That’s why I requested you when I saw your name come up.” He reached up and adjusted Skean’s sash, then clapped him on the shoulder and gestured to the bustle below.

“Look. Earth ponies put different weight on things than we do. This isn’t a party for a party’s sake, it’s part of the tradition for their weddings. While we treat marriage as a contract, for them it’s a life-choice: A permanent thing, and not easily broken even if both parties desire it.”

Sundown strolled a few paces away and stretched out his wings, testing the joints on the artificial span. Satisfied, he looked over his shoulder and put a point on it. “Much like joining a clan, as I said, if you don’t have the fortune to be born into one.”

Skean frowned, mollified, and dropped to his rump. “I think I see. I think m’ Da would be shocked, how little we ken about earthbounds. It was his idea t’ join the Weather Corps.”

“They know just as little about us. It’s why we have to be open, and warm, and... approachable when we’re out here. They told you when you signed on for the Corps that you were to consider yourself an ambassador.” Sundown stepped off the cloud and hovered, waiting.

“That means you have to watch your words, and watch your temper. Earth ponies, on the whole, are a lot slower to anger than we are, even if they are quicker to forgive.” He beckoned to his understudy with a hoof. “Never forget this: An entire generation of ponies will look at you as the exemplar of our culture.”

“Ach. I think I can manage it.” Skean flapped over to his mentor. “I jes need t’ shut m’ geggy so I dinnae look a dobber.”

“It’s all I can ask.” Sundown descended towards town in a slow spiral. “Now, about slang...”

“Aye?” Skean asked. “What of it?”

---

“He’s a cute one. You say he just arrived?” Bulwark sipped her punch, but never took her eyes off the new pegasus at the other end of the room.

“This morning,” Skyshine agreed. The grey mare looked him over appraisingly, shielding her gaze by fidgeting with her mane which was still coiled in elegant braids. She wore her gown, but had removed the train, and had kicked off the formal shoes somewhere. “He’s not really my type. I like ‘em a little more grounded, and besides, I haven’t properly trained Worker yet,” she mused. “But he certainly looks mysterious.” The corners of her mouth crinkled in amusement.

Bulwark gave her a disparaging glance, then looked back at the visitor. “Who is he? Just passing through? New resident?”

“I think his name’s Skein.” Skyshine set down her cup and scanned the rest of the crowd, but continued her conversation. “I’ve not had a chance to talk with him yet. He’s Sundown’s new project, as he’ll be retiring soon and wants to help the new weather pony get settled in.”

“New weather pony? I’d not heard!” Bulwark beat her hooves against the parquet in irritation. “Why do you townies have to keep so many secrets?”

“Secrets?” Skyshine looked back at her friend and frowned. “You were sent an invitation to his retirement party. When’s the last time you checked your mailbox?”

Bulwark’s ears drooped. “Uh...”

“Too busy with your adventures?”

“Oh, yes,” Bulwark replied, pausing for a sip of punch. “There’s this beautiful copse of trees around a spring just south of...” She trailed off as she saw Skyshine grinning at her. “You’re mocking me.”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I just know how you get. I’d wager you know the wilds better than Holly by now, even if she’s got you beat on medicines.” Skyshine leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “I’m going to go find my husband. He’s probably taking apart something by now.”

“Go on, you. I’ll go see if I can find out some more about our mysterious new weather pony.”

“Good luck!” Skyshine whispered enthusiastically, before she vanished into one of the hallways.

---

Nodding his hellos and wearing a frozen smile, Skean made a beeline for the back door. Once outside, he took a deep breath and leaned against the railing that bordered the gardens. He had barely taken a second breath when he heard hooves behind him.

“Oi, Skean,” called Sundown. “You alright?”

“Yeah. The place is heevin’. So many ponies in one place...” He shuddered. “It’s nae natural.”

Sundown grinned at him. “Heh. Claustrophobic?” He stepped a little closer, then sat, keeping a pace or two away. “Hate to say it, but you’ll get used to it. Earth ponies really don’t mind close quarters, and if you’re going to be pressing hooves then you’ll be in these situations more and more.” He looked up at a passing cloud. “Then again, most of them have a fear of heights, so I guess it’s a tradeoff.”

“A tradeoff, mibbe. But it dinnae make it easy.” He stared into the distance, willing himself calm.

“I’ll give you a minute, but I would like to see you back in there in a few.” He stood, and turned to leave. “Fair enough?”

Skean gave him a withering look, then sighed in resignation at Sundown’s arched brow. “Fine, I’ll check in soon.”

“Glad to hear it.” He spared him a sharp nod, and trotted back inside.

Skean grumbled, but stood and stretched out his wings. He folded them, and turned to go back inside, but stopped short. Soon, he thought, did not mean now. Grinning, he turned towards the yard and and stepped into the gardens behind the Conservatory.

He paced the rows and soon found himself trotting. Before long, he was at a gallop, keeping a tight route around the planters and raised beds, flaring his wings to help him take the corners. Suddenly, he realized someone was watching from the deck.

He turned and nodded at the pony who waited. “I said I’d be right in, Su—” He froze, his ears burning scarlet. “You’re nae Sundown.”

“Oh, you’re a sharp one,” replied Bulwark, grinning. “But you’re right. I’m not Sundown.” She tossed her mane towards her shoulders. “No wings, for one.”

“Aye, I noticed that.” He nodded, flicking his ears as they resumed their usual shade. “Different color, too,” he noted, cantering up to the railing between them. “An’ his mane’s a bit thinner.”

“Now you’ve done it. Sundown’s very proud of his coiffure.” She turned in place, and took a half step towards the door. “Just wait until he hears about that crack.”

“Wait,” Skean said, lifting a hoof. “You don’t have t’ go jes yet.”

“What, afraid of what he’ll hear?”

“Nah,” he drawled, shaking his head. “But I was enjoyin’ the company.”

Bulwark’s cheeks reddened. “Oh.”

Skean stepped closer, and extended his hoof once more. “Skean Dubh, of Clan Eriskay.”

Bulwark blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“My name,” he clarified. “I’m Skean Dubh.”

“Ah,” she replied. “Um. Bulwark.” She reached over the rail and shook his hoof. “My name’s Bulwark.”

“Bulwark?” he remarked, his voice rising in surprise. “A warrior clan, in Pasofino?”

“Nothing so fabled. It’s a family name.”

“Mibbe you can tell me the tale behind it, then.”

“So forward,” she laughed. “I could almost imagine you mean that.”

“Course I do.” Skean glanced at the door. “I’m due back, ‘fore Sundown pops that vein in ‘is forehead. What say we both go, and you can tell me about it?”

Bulwark nodded, and turned from the rail. “I’d be delighted. Just one thing...”

“Aye?” A raised eyebrow accompanied the question.

“Skein?” she asked, dragging out the pronunciation.

“Ach, no. Nae weavers in the family.” He shook his head, and scratched at his stubble in thought. “Like ‘gain’, but wi’ an S a’fore it.”

“Skean.”

He nodded sharply. “Thassit.”

She smiled. “What does it mean?”

Skean walked to the door and held it open. “That, m’dear Bulwark, is a barry tale on its own merit.”

Bulwark stepped towards the Conservatory. “Why, mysterious and a gentlepony.” She paused next to Skean and looked him in the eye. “Whatever shall a mare do?” she crooned, then entered the building proper.

Skean’s muzzle curled into a roguish grin. “What, indeed?” he murmured to himself, then followed close behind.

---

Two ponies walked together down the town’s main thoroughfare. A white mare, her coat glowing orange in the sunset, and her companion, a grey-and-white dappled stallion, spoke quietly with one another, paying little heed to their steps and less to their surroundings.

“So, firstborns, then?” Skean asked.

“No, only first-born earth ponies. Let me think...” Bulwark studied the clouds. “The first one I can remember is Crimson Bulwark, back in Hoofington. She’s my... well, there’s a lot of greats. I’m sure I have have great-uncles and cousins and what not with the name that I don’t know about.”

She shrugged, and continued down the lineage. “Then there’s my great-great-grandfather. He was just ‘Bulwark’, like me. Great-gran Crystal moved here, had my granddad Spires—they’re both unicorns. Great-gran Crystal passed a few years back.”

“I’m sorry,” Skean offered.

Bulwark shook her head. “Nah, don’t be. She had a long and happy life, and died peacefully. Can’t really ask for more, now can you?” She smiled at Skean. “There’s my ma, Saffron. She’s an earth pony, like me, but she wasn’t the first-born. That’d be my uncle, Verdant. His full name is Verdant Bulwark, but he never uses it. And then there’s me! First-born earth pony, so I get the name. Have to say, though, I think it fits.”

“Why issat, d’ya ken?”

“Lately? I’ve been fighting the town’s expansion.”

“Brave lass. I’ve met your mayor. She’s a formidable mare.”

“Nah, just what needs to be done, and there’s really no venom between us. It’s just... we’re building out, and we could be using what we’ve already got. I don’t want my town ending up like Hoofington. That place stretches for miles to either side of the river, and doesn’t even feel like a town anymore. It’s more like an all-day fair.”

“So th’ shield...”

“...is for the woodlands, yeah. If I ever have kids, I want them to enjoy the wilds as much as I did, when I was little. Or as much as I do now.”

“I think you’d love th’ Hebridles.”

“Fair enough. Sounds like it’s your turn, then.”

“It is, that. M’ name’s from an old tradition. Used t’ be, back in th’ day, a stallion would keep a weapon or two—or three, if y’ can believe m’ granda—on ‘im, ‘case of a beast or a fight. Even when things were calm, or if visiting a friend, most would keep a small knife about. Those were called skean dubh. In the old tongue, it means ‘knife black’, lit’rally, or ‘hidden knife’.”

Bulwark nodded. “So, you’re a secret weapon?”

“Ha!” he barked, causing several ponies to stop and stare. He shook his head and continued. “Nae, my life t’ now’s been study, and practice, and more study. Signed on t’ th’ Weather Corps a few weeks back, and Sundown here invited me over. Seems he’s lookin’ to retire.”

“So I hear,” she commented.

“So, I got here a few days back. Been studying the airflow, the natural patterns, where the farmland is, an’ so on. Today, Sundown tells me to spruce up and head to this reception thing. My first one, that.”

“Really?” She looked askance. “You don’t do receptions over there?”

“Well, we don’t really do the whole ceremony thing. I mean, we do marriage—we call it hoof-fasting—but it’s not quite the same.”

“Little differences?”

“Y’ could say,” he demurred.

Bulwark changed tactics. “So, tell me about these ‘Hebridles’. What’s home like?”

Skean smiled, and his step seemed more lively. “Dunno if you’ve heard stories of Cloudsdale...”

“Big, white, fluffy, full of weather gear?” she interjected.

“Thass th’ one. Well, imagine something sim’lar, but a little less formal. The Hebridles are islands with braw hulkin’ mountains and rich fields. Lossa oats an’ barley. Potatoes and root veggies further south.” He gestured skywards. “Above it all are the villages, onna cloudtops. Each clan has one. The Eriskay fare out near the northern spans. Each of th’ villages defends a set of islands from creatures like dragons, or sea-serpents, or chimera.”

Bulwark marveled at her companion. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Eh, could be, I guess.” He shrugged. “But it’s kinda old hat. The only trouble is the dragons, and once we convince ‘em the islands are nae good for a den, they usually jes head elsewhere. Last one o’ them was, oh, ten years gone.”

“So, if you’re so busy keeping the islands safe,” she asked, still imagining pegasi battling dragons, “why come out to Pasofino? Doesn’t your home need you more?”

“To be straight, no. We’ve been doing so well, the clan’s fair minted. Some of the more creative types have been workin’ paired, firin’ new trades and startin’ new traditions. But me, all I’m good at is keepin’ th’ heather.” He nodded towards his hindquarters. “Those are th’ flowers on my flank.”

Bulwark’s gaze flickered back, but she pulled her eyes back towards his, her ears reddening.

“Anyway. Since I’m good at weather, I signed on to the corps. ‘sides, this close to Canterlot, I might even get to visit.” His voice softened. “Mibbe see the Sisters,” he said, staring towards the east in awe.

“Worker’s got an invitation,” she replied.

Skean shook out his mane. “Worker?”

Bulwark nodded. “The stallion who got married today. He and Skyshine did. Get married, that is. I’m surprised you didn’t meet him.”

“I might’ve. I, uh, shook a lot of hooves.” He grinned despite himself. “The names kinda blur past a time.”

“You too, eh?” Bulwark chuckled.

Skean shrugged. “My head’s usually elsewhere. I’m nae for names and faces.”

“Sounds like we have a little in common,” Bulwark stopped walking and smiled at her companion. She stepped closer and noticed, with some surprise, that he was slightly taller.

“I wouldn’t object to there being more,” he replied, grinning down at her.

“Why, Skean,” she recoiled theatrically, holding a hoof to her chest. “Are you asking me out?”

He laughed. “Thought that was clear. We’ve walked o’er a mile arready.”

Bulwark blinked, and looked over her shoulder, then at her surroundings. The low brush and the quiet roadway towards Canterlot were all she could see. Her ears turned crimson. “Well, then...” she sighed, “maybe you should walk me home.”

“Home?” Skean cocked his head. “Are you s—”

A feral grin nearly split Bulwark’s muzzle. “It’s getting late, silly.” She snickered at him. “I don’t know what it’s like in pegasus-land, but we earth ponies aren’t that forward.”

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” The stallion’s ears went crimson and folded flat against his head. He looked everywhere but at her. “We will never speak of this again.”

Bulwark turned back towards town, her lips pursed, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “If you say so.”

Skean stepped cautiously, eying her warily. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

She closed her eyes and lifted her chin, strolling casually back the way they had come. “That depends on tomorrow night.”

“Oh?” His ears perked.

“Yes.” She opened one eye, and looked him up and down. “I suggest talking to Sundown about the best restaurants.”

“Oh.” His ears drooped once more.

---

Worker stepped into the master suite of their new home, and noticed his fiancé—no, his wife—looking out the window. “What do you see, dearest?”

“Oh, just another beginning,” she murmured in reply.

Worker stepped closer and nuzzled her neck. “Another?”

“Mmhmm,” she replied, leaning into the nuzzle. “Maybe one day, we can attend their wedding.”

“Wait, wedding?” He looked up, and tried to peer through the curtains. “Who?”

“That’d be telling,” she replied coyly, and pushed him away from the window.

“Oh, come now, Skyshine.” He frowned at her, stepping backwards, but his eyes were filled with amusement.

“Afraid you’ll have to find some way to get it out of me,” she replied primly.

Worker’s legs hit the edge of the bed. Smiling, he channeled off the lights.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Comments

[La Barata]

I understood far too much of what he was saying...

[Noble Cause]

Och, Skean, settle down, hae a pint! *raises Guinness*

[celelorien]

2449260 Me too, and I thoroughly enjoyed it! Heehee... Skean and Bulwark are adorable together, and it looks like Bulwark is taking a page from Saber's book about answering to yourself after all.

[Themaskedferret]

*grins* Oof, but it's grand to hear that slang again. I miss my family out there.

[djthomp]

Ahh, background for Skean, nice. I've been wondering about him since he showed up in Hope.

[Ltblackcoat]

Surprisingly I have not much to say, but nice world building never the less.

[PresentPerfect]

I'd always wondered where the heck Skean came from. :B I hope you've got some of Bulwark's adventures in here somewhere!

[Gyro Steambass]

Should I read as an Irish or a Scottish accent? I have a bit of trouble keeping those apart.