> The Pony Who Planted Trees
>  by Speckle21
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> Chapter 1
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	The war was over and peace had been declared in all of Equestria. But the effects of that conflict had devastated all the lands. Blood continued to leach from the bodies of many creatures and colored the rivers with a sickening reddish hue. The countryside was scarred deep from unicorn magic applied to military ends. Even the very sky above me was darker with clouds of soot and ash from fires, dust storms and volcanos, all weapons in our quest to destroy ourselves.

        It was a year since I returned to my foalhood home in Mt. Windie but I could not stay. Everywhere I looked I saw the deeper wounds of conflict. Families destroyed, foals who await parents that would never return, great holes in the lives of everypony around me. Even our very town carved into the rock was crumbling, having been struck multiple times by unicorn magic in the conflict we dared not recall. There was nothing for me here, I had no attachments or obligations, so I left. I took off straight into the air and did not look back. I made no attempt to plan where I was going, only that I had to fly in a straight line through the clouds. I could not possibly get lost, for I had no home or destination.

        As I flew I realized I was still wearing my armor from the Pegasus Knights. Force of habit had made me put it on when I left. I quickly tore it off and let it fall into the misty abyss below. I would not need it anymore.

        I continued for many days toward the infinite horizon. But the war that had been my past continued to be my companion in the present. I flew over barren wastelands of rock and stone. Perhaps once rich with life but now scorched to smoking cinders.  Occasionally I would spot a rock farmer but the despair in their eyes drove me away before I could ever meet them. Armor and weapons also littered the wasteland and I would see looters and scavengers pick them up to sell as scrap.  As I flew through the nights I saw nothing but darkness, no lights of campfires or homes. The moon only illuminated a dull haze of the dust that the winds blew across the lifeless landscape. The sky itself seemed to beckon me with its twinkling stars. The sky was so peaceful compared to the destruction below. For a time I thought of simply leaving the world and joining the stars forever. Still, I pressed on.

        For how many days I had continuously flown I do not recall, but my water had run out and my pack contained only dry nuts. I looked around but there were no clouds to rest on or drink from and I could not recall seeing any in the days before. Below me was the infinite patchwork of broken mountains, valleys and hills of stone. As I continued I grew more desperate and many times I flew into a valley hoping for a river or stream or even a puddle to drink from, I found none. I considered taking up the offer made by the sky of eternal peace and rest, but I continued.

        Finally, I noticed a slight patch of color in the sea of grey terrain. If there were plants there had to be water I reasoned. So I made my way toward the island of hope. As I approached I saw saplings, small but healthy and gently swaying against the wind. I touched down and for the first time I found the solid ground comforting. I trotted amongst the knee-high saplings but took special care not to injure or break them. They stood in remarkable but gentle defiance to the lifelessness of the world beyond. As I continued my search for water I saw a figure in the distance. It was likely a rock but I made my way toward it nonetheless.

        It turn out to be an earth pony who wore a wide hat to keep out the sun and was carrying large sacks of seeds which I presumed he was planting. It was clear this stallion was the source of the saplings I had seen earlier. His brown mane had several bald spots and scars littered his grey coat. Nonetheless he seemed well-groomed and moved slowly but deliberately. He blended in seamlessly with the broken stone of the wasteland but stood out in stark contrast against the healthy green saplings. What struck me most about his appearance was that his cutie marks had been burned off and combed over. I knew he was a soldier like me, as I had done the exact same thing when I was discharged. Many of us younger ponies were drafted into the war before we found our special talents, a desperate but still cruel measure by all sides to increase their ranks. For those of us that fought on the battlefield before we even learned to read and write we found our special talents in war. But those talents were of no use in a peaceful, civilized society. So those that choose to leave the army like myself burned our cutie marks, we did not want to be reminded of a foalhood we never truly had. Like myself this earth pony was a warrior, but chose to defy that destiny.

        For a brief instant I wondered what faction he was from. While technically there was an armistice the animosity among the factions still ran deep. He looked at me straight in the eyes as if to assess my character and then reached into his sack to retrieve a canteen of water. When he offered it to me our histories, affiliations and beliefs were immediately rendered irrelevant. I eagerly drank the entire canteen.

        He put the canteen back in his sack and motioned for me to follow him. As I did, he lead me through his magnificent nursery of saplings. It was not large by any account but the dedication and constant care was nothing short of extraordinary. He lead me to a well he had dug and refilled his many empty canteens including the one I had drunk. I should have offered to help but he seemed not to mind at all, perhaps he wanted my company. When he was finished he lead me to a stone house he had built. It was small but solid and strong. Inside he shared a meal of vegetable stew with me and I eagerly took to it, I had not realized how much my aimless journey had taken out of me. When it was clear I no longer needed tending he left me to continue eating while he picked up his sack of seeds and poured them on the table. He began separating the good from the bad. I realized he was not planting seeds that day; he was collecting them. There was quite a lot and for the first time since we met I spoke the first words.

“Would you like some help with that?” I asked him.

“It’s my work.” he simply replied.

He continued his work silently as I ate. His small home was very neat and tidy and jars upon jars of various seeds filled many shelves. I don’t think he ever expected to have company but he was an excellent host. He continued meticulously examining the seeds and rejecting them as the piles of good seeds became smaller and smaller. Finally there was a modest pile of perfect seeds. He retrieved an empty jar from the shelf and filled it with his pile. It occurred to me I did indeed have a way to repay him for his generous hospitality and I retrieved my sack of edible nuts. I had come from such a faraway land that I was certain the nuts I had were not in his collection. As he turned to see what I was doing his already content and serene face seemed to light up even more as I poured the pile of mixed nuts onto the table. With both my hooves I pushed it toward him as an offering. For a moment he paused as if to ask me if I was certain I wanted to share it with him. I pushed the pile again and he understood. He sat down and began separating the nuts according to type, and then again according to quality.

I awoke the next day to find my own canteens of water refilled and my sacks filled with edible seeds from his collection. They were the lower quality seeds he had rejected for planting but I was still extremely grateful for the restock. I looked around the home to thank him but I could not find him. I ventured outside and quickly flew around the saplings to spot him quite a bit away in the barren wasteland beyond. I set down nearby and silently observed his work.

Lashed to his hoof there was an iron bar and after walking off several steps, but still within sight of his home, he drove the bar into the hard earth. Working it as best he could with his other hoof he made a hole from which he withdrew the rod and then dropped in a seed. He carefully packed down the earth over it before repeating the process again several steps away. Throughout all this he was calm and quiet, he did not grunt or exert himself. His eyes had a content look that this task was as natural as the wind.

He made his way toward me and for a moment I thought he would reproach me for invading such a private duty. But he was merely going to another hill and I just happened to be on the way. I asked to join him and he accepted as if it was the most natural thing in the world, or perhaps that nothing could upset him.

At the hill he continued planting trees as I watched. I had nowhere to go so I remained observing this simple earth pony act against all of reality, even against his destiny. I asked him what his cutie mark was and he said he did not remember. I suppose I would have given him the same answer had he asked me. I asked him if he had any family. His silence was all the answer I needed. I asked him if he owned the land, he said he did not. I asked him if he knew who did, he said he did not. He assumed the land was common land or simply unclaimed. He said he saw the land being destroyed and he vowed to remedy that after the war. The ownership of the land seemed like a trivial matter.

For several more days I stayed with this humble pony. Without a place to go I could not really set out a direction. He seemed to know this and always welcomed me in his home and at his table. I tried to find someway to help him or ease his work but somehow it seemed wrong to disturb this perpetual act of kindness.

One day while I was preening my wings among his saplings he asked me if I would join him on a journey. I eagerly accepted his offer and trotted beside him as he went across the barren land. Trotting was so slow compared to flying but I dared not take off and disrespect this earth pony. We travelled for many miles across increasingly rocky terrain and several times I lost my footing and used my wings to stabilize myself. But this well-travelled earth pony moved across the treacherous landscape with more grace and dexterity than a mountain goat.

We did not speak, but I knew immediately when we had arrived at our destination. There were trees taller than I was in a small forest on the side of a mountain. This must have been his first attempt. I felt something different beneath my hooves and noticed grasses and weeds growing. Nature had taken its course and new life was slowly returning to this dead mountain. The tree planter started picking fruits and other edible seeds from the trees and I knew this was where he was getting his food. I offered to help and this time he accepted. He seemed very grateful but I think it was not because I was helping him gather food, but because I gave him the opportunity to share his trees with me.

Our sacks full of food we ventured back to his home. While my host continued to offer his hospitality I felt I had to move on. I helped unpack and store the food we had gathered and walked amongst his saplings one last time. Finally relaxed, I took in the profound but peaceful silence of the nursery, it was a welcome change to the noise and terror of war. The earth pony had followed me and somehow knew I was about to leave as he brought me my sack of provisions. With a nod he kindly encouraged my search for enlightenment. He had clearly found his.

> Chapter 2
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	In the following year, the fragile peace continued throughout Equestria. There was the occasional skirmish or uprising but every living being, from alicorn to zebra, was too weary for another open conflict. I heard of a new princess, but I paid no attention as I continued to wander Equestria. I travelled to a great many exotic locations, from the bombed-out industrial ruins of Stalliongrad to the eternal party in the crater-filled Los Pegasus. I had no real goal, just to occupy my mind with something other than memories of war. While many places were more active and entertaining than the nursery, I never forgot my encounter with the humble tree planter. I had not found any place as peaceful as that simple forest amongst the wasteland. Wanting to again breath the clean air the saplings provided, I made the journey of several days into the former war zone.

His saplings were as tall as my eyes and the nursery of trees had been made much larger. From edge to edge, the patch must have been several kilometers across. I carefully trotted amongst the saplings as if I were amongst a crowd of foals. Their gentle swaying seemed to radiate happiness. Standing at the center of the nursery, the surrounding wasteland seemed ever more distant as the saplings held their ground. I could feel almost as if they were pushing back against the horizon.

I knocked at his door but heard no answer. The saplings closest to his home were the tallest and oldest and further out the more recent plantings were shorter and younger. I was tempted to take off to get a global overview of the nursery but somehow, being this close to the saplings allowed me to more clearly determine their history. I followed this trail from oldest to youngest until I found freshly planted seeds and hoofprints. It did not take long to follow the prints and come upon the earth pony that made them.

I looked around to find myself at the border between the nursery and the wasteland. The soldier in me saw the gentle swaying of the saplings as a slow but determined march of an unrelenting green army. An army waging a furious battle against the occupying forces of the grey barren stone. The earth pony stood as the general leading the charge. But the civilian in me also saw a humble shepherd leading his flock of trees to a new land, not to conquer but to heal. I defaulted to the latter interpretation when he came toward me and again offered his canteen of water, like on the first day we had met.

We returned to his home that evening and prepared ourselves a meal of vegetable stew. The home itself was a bit different but was neat and tidy as ever. It was a single room with a fire pit in the middle over which hung a pot for cooking. The walls themselves were made of the same grey stone found everywhere in the wasteland. Each stone had been carefully selected and fit so perfectly they did not need mortar. The roof was tiled and the wind blowing against it made a sound like waves gently breaking upon the seashore. The dirt floor was smooth and firmly packed from having been trodden on for years. Most striking was that all the walls had shelves upon shelves of seeds, all of them in jars and neatly organized according to type and year they were gathered. In one corner of the home was a table where piles of seeds were sorted. In the next corner was a special stone shelf for storing food and other simple amenities like bowls and cups. In the two remaining corners were piles of thatch for sleeping on. I remembered the first time I visited there was only one pile and I was content to sleep on the dirt floor or outside amongst the saplings. It seemed the earth pony was expecting my return.

This time I came prepared to repay his hospitality with sacks of seeds from every corner of Equestria I visited. His eyes lit up as he poured the seeds into various piles and carefully organized them into various jars. For the first time ever he asked about the world outside his nursery, more specifically he asked about the places I gathered these seeds from. As I ate my meal I regaled him with the stories of my travels. The fire pit cast shadows on the walls of the characters I had met and helped me paint the wonders I had witnessed. I realized that although I did not talk about the weather specifically, he extracted from my words the conditions those seeds would grow in. I told him of the slow moving and heavily clothed ponies of the north, who lived in frigid conditions where only pine trees could grow. To the east I recalled a family of apple farmers who never wore clothes in the balmy weather they thrived in. To the south was the rainforest where I fell in love with an Amazonian princess. He called me out on my lie and I told him I was just making sure he was still listening.

In my travels I learned a bit of weather modification from some civilian pegasi and offered my crude services to the tree planter. He directed me to rain not on his forest, but on a deep basin far west of his home. I could not see the point in filling that particular basin, but he insisted that to help him best it was there that I needed to make it rain. Although I estimated the task would take several weeks, I happily complied.

To help orient me over long distances the earth pony drew directional guides into the barren wasteland. He placed red stones onto the endless grey rock to make arrows, circles, lines and triangles at regular intervals. These signs were large enough so even high flying pegasi could easily find their way over the homogeneous landscape. It was clear the earth pony had extensive experience in their creation as every sign was perfect on the first attempt. He needed no direction from me even though I was certain he could not see the whole sign from his ground-level perspective, presumably he learned this skill during the war. Today I was using such signs to leisurely deliver rain clouds rather than malevolently deliver fire bombs. I was grateful for the change of motivation.

Although it was obvious we were both in the war we never spoke or even acknowledged this fact. From the positions of our scars it was clear we had both personally been involved in many battles and we were both certain the other had killed a great many creatures. He likely had sworn upon the bodies of his fallen friends to avenge their deaths, for I had done the same years prior. But in the present neither of us wanted to carry out that vendetta. Somehow, by never mentioning the war we could maintain the illusion we were both just ponies planting trees. Never having the certainty of which faction the other pony was from meant we could have our current friendship without dishonoring our past ones.

I bucked the rain cloud I was delivering and filled the basin another inch with the torrential downpour. Most of my deliveries were solitary, as the earth pony was busy planting more trees near his home, but this day he was standing in the partially filled basin and was drenched when I failed to notice him in time. He did not seem to mind and in fact stretched out his hooves and stood broadly as if to wash himself of a filth only he could see. I realized I needed a good soaking as well, even though pegasi hated getting their wings wet. I touched down beside him and sank my hooves into the brown mud. I would be unable to fly again until my wings were dry and preened, but I was in no hurry. My hooves continued to sink into the mud and I had to find some large rocks to stand on so I would not get even dirtier. The earth pony already knew where to stand without getting mud on himself. I was about to ask him why he was even in the basin, but as he embraced the rain I think I had my answer. I looked at myself, covered in mud up to my knees and realized with a smile that I was dirtier than I had been all week, but I felt cleaner than I ever had been since the war. Somehow, moving those clouds in this simple task, for the briefest of moments, I felt the same way the earth pony felt planting his trees. We remained under the warm downpour until the cloud was completely depleted.

During one of my stays at his home, a group of gem hunting dogs passed through the forest. They had never seen such a phenomenon as a forest to spring up by its own accord and wondered if there was some magical artifact nearby. I believe they wanted to salvage and sell it. Having sniffed none they attributed the forest to some random accident of nature and went about their way, leaving us and the forest, in peace.

After several weeks I eventually filled the basin into a small lake about two kilometers across. It was up to him now. I stayed with him for another week, but I was not the type of pony to settle down in one place, no matter how peaceful it was. He knew full well my type and saw me off as I once again took to the skies. He did not ask, but I silently promised I would bring back more seeds from wherever my travels took me.

I visited him again every year bringing with me seeds and stories from places even I did not know existed until I saw them. The forest around his home grew to magnificent height and size with every visit I made. The task was nonetheless monumental and to arrive here at this ever growing island of hope I still had to travel several days over empty wasteland. But the earth pony was never deterred and I never once saw him lose hope. I cannot imagine his frustration but surely he had to have conquered despair. I have never once seen anypony driven with such passion and tireless dedication.

One year I brought with me a new iron bar for the tree planter. I knew after years of use his current one would have worn down to a mere stub. The trees around his home were many times taller than I was. I noticed during my flyover that many of the saplings to the east were growing at odd intervals in a seemingly random fashion. I knew from observing the earth pony that he planted in a certain pattern with equal spacing. I wondered if his eyesight was failing him but he told me he had stopped planting on the eastern side altogether. The winds had carried seeds to the east and the saplings I saw were purely from the forest itself, it was now expanding of its own accord. With this revelation, I felt the forest had matured like a foal into a pony.

The earth pony seemed to understand he was no longer needed because the following year I arrived at his stone house to find it empty and dusty. A great panic came over me as I was worried some ill fate had befallen the humble pony. I flew up to search for him and when I looked down at the roof I saw something intended for only a pegasus, for me, to see; an arrow drawn pointing westward. I followed it along and over more rocky terrain to come upon the basin I had originally filled years before. There at the edge was a freshly built stone house and a small patch of green saplings growing outwards from it. I touched down to greet the earth pony hard at work planting more trees. These trees were different than the previous ones he had been planting. The extra moisture from the lake allowed this particular species to thrive in the otherwise desiccating wasteland.

As I watched the earth pony plant another seed, I remembered back to when my surviving friends and I burned off our cutie marks. We had done so to bury the past and leave the war behind us. But deep down I thought we would be incapable of being more; we had, after all, obtained our cutie marks by committing violent or monstrous acts. I had so few memories of a time before the war that it was easy for me to accept destruction as our only ability. I looked forward to the end of my life, not because I was depressed, but because I believed my only remaining duty was to ensure the war died with me. As I saw this markless pony plant another seed I came to realize that choosing to die for a cause was wholly inadequate. This pony had done the exact opposite.

> Chapter 3
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	As the years progressed the earth pony would start a nursery somewhere and when it had been established he would move on and begin anew, building another stone house and changing what trees he planted each time. It occurred to me the earth pony himself was a sort of seed. Where he went life would spring up around him. But unlike a seed, this was not a natural consequence of being him, but from his continued generosity and the unceasing effort he put forth.

I flew over to the mountain where he had originally started those many years ago and I was awestruck at the change. The small patch of forest had grown to cover the entire base of the mountain and crept a considerable distance into the wasteland following the wind. Without any further intervention, this small forest had evolved on its own into a wondrous place. Grasses, weeds and flowers grew beneath my hooves as I touched down. The soil was rich and soft and an enchanting fragrance of life filled the very air. The sounds of birds and insects completed the opus.  As I toured the masterpiece, I noticed streams and ponds where I had remembered there were none. The dense vegetation had retained moisture from the mountain and it now flowed like liquid happiness. I knelt down to taste the stream and felt I had touched the essence of creation.

With each passing year the disconnected patches of forest grew outward and eventually joined, forming a continuous mat of green spanning from one end of the horizon to the other. The trees from the seeds I had obtained from all regions of Equestria somehow seamlessly blended together. Had I not seen the progression with my own eyes, I would have doubted the wasteland ever existed at all. Still the earth pony worked at the outer edges to grow it even more.

During one of my visits he asked me to follow him on another journey to another nursery he was planting. As we approached I noticed a familiar smell in the air. It touched a forgotten memory that began to push its way into my mind. We came upon his new nursery at the base of another barren mountain and immediately I recognized the saplings as the same species of trees growing around my foalhood home of Mt. Windie. He had planted those edible nuts I had first given him those years ago and created this marvelous recreation of my early life. All of my memories came flooding back, not of the war-torn Mt. Windie I had left, but the wondrous and bountiful foalhood home I was born into. The sweet smell that I had grown up with returned me to the most happiest times of my life, a time just before I was drafted into the war. As I stepped amongst the saplings I closed my eyes and took in the fragrance. I saw my parents, my friends and neighbors. I saw the clouds I had played in and the tree tops I constantly fell through when I was learning to fly. I believe, for a brief moment, I saw heaven itself. When I turned to the earth pony that brought me here I realized a tear had come to my eye. He patted me on the shoulder and smiled, he had given me the greatest gift I had ever received.

I returned one year with a unicorn who specialized in agriculture. It took us many days to traverse the endless forests. Especially on hoof for the obvious reason my unicorn friend could not fly. She would often stop and marvel at each new species of tree she encountered. Eventually we found the tree planter hard at work planting trees on the side of yet another mountain. My unicorn friend was filled with respect and admiration and immediately began asking many questions about the rainfall and how much was needed to sustain a particular species. I was right about her, she could believe and appreciate the work and beauty of the forest. We had lunch together and my unicorn friend shared a bottle of fine wine she saved for special occasions. We looked out from our mountain side view toward the endless forest that stretched to the horizon and beyond. If anypony had told me during the war a pegasus, an earth pony and a unicorn from three different tribes and factions would be sharing lunch to admire trees, I would have told them it was an impossibility and yet here we were. Many years ago I thought we kept our pasts hidden so as to maintain the illusion of our current friendship. Today, I realized it was just the opposite. Our friendship was what was real and the invisible divisions between our factions were the petty illusion. Like the different species of seeds that had been seamlessly brought together to form the forest, we had been brought together by our love for it.

When we left, my unicorn friend made a small suggestion as to the type of trees that would grow best in an unfilled region to the northeast. She did not press the point, for the simple reason she told me later that he knew more about it than she did. The thought must have been turning in her mind for some time, because a day out in our exit she said he must know more about it than anypony in the world.

That year, a railway was being laid across equestria. It was the most grand gesture of peace and unity since the war. Finally, the petty squabbles of the various factions were being put aside so everypony and every creature could benefit from the economic boost such a railway would bring. The undertaking was massive and a line of trees had to be cut through the forests of the tree planter. My unicorn friend had some political influence and was able to route the line to disturb the forests as little as possible. Thanks to my friend, the tree planter was safe to continue his work.

Many years later I flew over magnificent forests as far as the eye could see. What was hard rocky wasteland had been turned into lush green countryside once again. In the regions where trees could not be planted, the moisture retained by the surrounding forest had allowed meadows and vast grasslands to flourish. I found it more and more difficult to find any sign of the previous war.

 Something caught my eye as I flew overhead. The directional guides the earth pony had made for me were now drawn with piles of black obsidian and many of the signs had been repaired. There were even a few new signs pointing to other regions. There was no reason for the earth pony to maintain them so I sought to find the cause for this occurrence. Obsidian was not a stone native to this region, so it was clear somepony or some creature had made a great effort to move it there. I followed the guides and toured much of the older forest before I finally came upon an artificial clearing close to one of the railroad stations. A small town had been established and pegasi were using the guides to navigate in and out of the region. They were the ones that had reconstructed them and continued their maintenance.

I touched down in the town to find a great many different earth ponies, unicorns and pegasi. They were working together to construct farms and a trading depot. Newly built homes, stores, shops and schools greeted me as I trotted through the town. At first I thought it was a terrible waste to destroy the forest to build this town, but I realized this perhaps was exactly what the tree planter wanted: to restore life. Many young ponies with optimism in their eyes, a pioneering spirit in their souls and romance in their hearts went about their daily lives. Foals played amongst the trees and joyous laughter filled the air.

As I watched the foals I was brought back to my memories of my own foalhood playing amongst the clouds and trees. The vision of the past the earth pony gave me turned out actually to be the future and here I was, witnessing it unfolding. I knew these foals would obtain the cutie marks I had been denied, ones they could take pride in.

As I continued my tour I happened to notice a filly with a rusty oversized helmet on her head. I immediately recognized it as mine from when I had discarded it over thirty years prior. She had found it and it was now being used as a toy in an imaginary game she was playing with her friends. I should have felt angry that she was disrespecting it, but instead I felt relief. In some ways I wanted the war to be imaginary, something that she would never see or experience except through history lessons or stories. I made no attempt to retrieve my possession.

I came across a clothing store that was giving out free t-shirts commemorating the fifth anniversary of the town’s founding. It was a simple design, featuring a clock, an apple and a railway going through the forest. I picked one up and found it to be the most cheap, gaudy and tacky thing I had seen in my entire life. I put it on and wore it with great pride.

The very atmosphere around me was full of hope and optimism. The special events calendar posted on the town hall had planned for things many years into the future. There was weather planning schedules, sun celebrations and Hearts and Hooves day events. A notice board had job postings to found new towns and villages along key points of the railway. I even saw a pegasus cloud city in the very early stages of planning and requesting assistance from all able bodied pegasi to join the effort. None of these ponies were old enough to be veterans of the war but they carried with them all my generation’s hopes and none of our sins. These were ponies who dared to dream.

        The dozen or so stone houses the earth pony built and abandoned over the years became nucleation sites of new towns. First the home would be found and occupied by travellers and surveyors as they moved through the magnificent forest. Eventually loggers would lodge there as they cut down the nearby trees for their income. Being at the center of the forest that spawned from it the trees that were closest to the stone house were the tallest, oldest and most valuable. Later, the first farmers would take up residence and use the cleared forest around the home to plant their first crops. Finally, around these farms new homes sprung up as families moved in to be close to a source of food and a source of income. With that firm base, new jobs and new opportunities soon followed, civilization was reborn. Where decades before the great cities of the previous era were obliterated into smoking craters, now they arose anew. This was a place and time where one would want to live.

        One fine summer day, where the clouds were fluffy but rare, I visited the earth pony in a hot air balloon my unicorn friend and I had procured. He was working one final patch of wasteland far away from any town, new or old. I had no new seeds to bring him but he did not mind. He never did. I invited him aboard and despite initial reservations leaving the solid earth, he eventually complied. We silently ascended into the sky and drifted over the forest. Our manes were grey, we were slow and jittery, we were old now. But the earth pony never lost that glimmer of hope in his eyes, for he was as pure of spirit now as he always had been. We saw the first mountain he had started on, now teeming with life and surrounded by farms. We saw the second nursery, where he and I first met, now home to a small city of ponies. We visited the lake that I had filled in, now heavily modified by subsequent pegasi into a very large lake with boats and fisheries along its shore. We saw the mountain where he planted my first seeds, above it floated a majestic pegasus cloud city. All such cities had been destroyed during the war before either of us could remember. Now, for the first time, we both saw one. As we drifted I pointed out a river that flowed across almost the entirety of the forest. Finding water was so difficult when he started, it was now impossible not to find it. Sparsely scattered throughout the forest were tracks, roads and the occasional railway line. Every so often we would see travelers moving about and we were flying low enough that they waved at us. In their eyes was joy, optimism and purpose, far different from the hopelessness and despair I saw in the eyes of the rock famers I had come across decades before. The earth pony waved back at every traveller and seemed a bit taken aback after every one. I think he had seen more ponies in that one day than he had ever seen during his entire stay in the wasteland. We could not view the whole forest in the little time we had the balloon, but he was extremely grateful nonetheless. We shared a bottle of wine my unicorn friend had given me and ascended to the clouds as the sun set over treetops. We watched the golden rays dance over the landscape and witnessed the world as it once was, as it could have been. A gust of wind rustled the idyllic painting like a wave across the leaves and made it painfully clear this was not a dream, that it was the world of the present, that it was the world he had restored. He turned to me with a tear in his eye. I patted him on the shoulder and smiled.

Ten years later, it was the coronation of Princess Celestia. As one of the only surviving members of original Pegasus Knights, I was to escort her on a sky tour. I flew alongside the young princess as I showed her the lands she would technically be governing. I recounted the story of the simple earth pony that I had met decades before and how his constant and unending generosity had created this forest. She giggled and laughed and told me to tell her another fairytale. I was dumbfounded. She did not believe me. An alicorn with the power to raise the sun could not believe the endless passion, determined care and unfailing generosity it took to produce such a splendor. It fills me with great admiration that this simple earth pony could surpass the alicorns who walk among the stars. This simple earth pony had performed a feat of magic far greater than even them: He undid a war. 

I flew in awe over the wonder before me. This pony had completely erased the barren wasteland of unimaginable destruction and restored life in all its forms, including that of ponies. He had vowed to do so, but when I ask why, I recall the first words he ever spoke to me: “It’s my work”.

It occurred to me I never asked for his name.

The pony who planted trees passed away 56 years after I met him.