> Perfect Green
>  by Glen Gorewood
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Perfection Marred
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The town of Ponyville

The day is wonderful and bright, and across Ponyville everyone is filled with joy.  Vendors sell their wares in the marketplace as foals play in the streets and yards of the small town.  Older ponies rest in rocking chairs, reminiscing on days of yore.  Couples walk down the streets hand in hand or giggle over a snack at the local bakery, some stare into each other’s eyes over tea at the Daisy cafe.

The bookish folks of the town, or those behind on schoolwork, spend the day reading books in the castle library.  The sun filtering through the great replica oak tree windows, ensuring even those inside do not miss out on Celestia’s gift to her ponies.  Not a cloud is in the sight, minus a small one with a rainbow tail visible as it drapes over the edge.  This is a perfect sunny day, and everypony is happy.  But today is also a very special day, for you see it is the day of The Ponyville Annual Lawn competition qualifying round.  A local custom where the town’s garden club goes to participating homes and judges their lawns.  The winner gets a year of free of lawn and garden care supplies, and a hefty bag of bits.  It’s a fierce competition indeed, however for three years now one lawn in particular has won that coveted title of “Ponyville’s Most Perfect Lawn”.  

The someone who owns and cares for that lawn is noted to have declared they will “defend their title no matter the cost.  None are worthy of this honor but me!”, in a recent interview from Equestria Garden and Lawn.  This particular creature was also noted to be rather ornery, his wife making an effort to keep him calm and preventing him from chasing the interviewer away.  The article had mentioned that as they left the three year winner of the title had shouted at them, “Don’t you dare so much as brush a blade of my perfect green lawn on your way out!”.


That someone lives on the edge of town, in a well cared for and quaint little home.  Not a tree exists within the lawn proper, no ornaments mar the green perfection that stretches from one end of the property to the other.  The lawn is clipped perfectly up to the fence line, and manicured in such a way that the only a single line of free blades of grass shoots are hugging the wooden barrier.  Keeping the bottom of the fence perfectly hidden under the lush hues of the grassy waves.  Not a single weed, nor flower, or anything of the like blemish this glorious glen.  Indeed, it is almost unnaturally perfect, as if not a single hoof has stepped foot upon the trimmed field in years.  

The only thing not green that is visible is a brick foundation porch in the back, with a stone trail that leads to a shed with two doors.  And a perfectly designed stone pathway leading from the gate by the road to the front door.  It is intentionally crafted in such a way that even the largest of visitors can make it to the door and not disturb a single blade of grass.  It is surreal, an almost impossible feat for any pony.


However the owner of the perfect scene knows better, for he is no pony.  As he stares out the window at his perfect lawn, frown lines adjust as his muzzle turns upwards into a smile.  The only thing that makes him smile wider is his lovely wife Matilda.  An angel on four hooves is she, and such an understanding loving soul.  When he declared his intent to have a perfectly uniform grass lawn four years ago, she had acquiesced so long as she be given a place to garden.  The owner of the home did more than merely give her a space in the yard for. garden.  He had purchased the adjoining lot and built his beloved a greenhouse and a sectioned garden with his own achy hooves.  Her joy had been undisguised that day, and ever since she had allowed him his perfect green lawn to craft as he saw fit.

And craft it he had, every day he would look out upon his lawn and search for imperfections.  Each week he layered a grass special feed upon it, and twice a week he mowed it to exactly 1/4 of an inch from the ground.  He also mulched it five times a year, and only allowed his hooves to touch the grass as he trimmed and pruned the odd wild blade that sought freedom from his perfection.  The owner was a lord of his lush green domain, and it had paid off.  Upon his wall hung three awards for “Ponyville’s Most Perfect Lawn”, and his bank account had been well bolstered by three years worth of bits from defending his title.  

Cranky Doodle Donkey loved his lawn almost as much as he loved his wife.  This year he would add a fourth award to his wall, and with the bits he had decided to do something extra special.  Matilda had always wanted to go on a vacation to the legendary Blue Hills Of Western Equestria after all.  The bits that would come with his fourth title, for no silly pony could possibly beat his ideal perfection of a lawn; would go to buying tickets for his wife’s dream vacation.  It would be the perfect way to celebrate, he could just imagine the look on Matilda’s face as she looked upon the legendary blue hills.  Her mane tucked neatly under her hat, and her hoof holding onto his as they gazed upon the natural grassy perfection before...

“Crunch”

Snapped from his reverie of a romantic vacation Cranky’s ears rotate towards the source of the noise.  The sound of something landing upon his perfectly manicured lush green bladed domain.  Voices filter into his home as he slowly turns towards the front door.

“Oh no, not our ball.  Feather go get it!”

Cranky Doodle slowly, one hoof at a time like a great mountain, moves across the room towards the door.

“But that’s...” a young colts voice sounds hesitant within the donkey’s ears.

His hooves barely make a sound on the plush carpet his wife had chosen to ease the burden on his aching legs as he hastens his steps slightly.

A more feminine childish voice responds “Just get the ball Feather.  The sooner you get it the sooner we can get back to playing.” 

Cranky Doodle Donkey can feel his old self rising to the front of his mind.  He is ready to defeat those who would invade his home, deface his perfection, to drive them back to where they came and keep their projectile as a trophy of his victory.  His pace picks up, and soon he is at the door.

The colt’s young voice again, the one the other two called Feather, can be heard.
“Fine, but if Cranky gets mad at me I’m telling him you made me do this.”

As Cranky Doodle Donkey reaches a single hoof up and grasps the door handle, the most horrendous sound is heard from beyond it.  The crunching and snapping sounds of four tiny hooves desecrating his glorious green even further.  This will not be allowed to stand, and Cranky Doodle yanks the door open just as the sounds of the hooves stop. 

Before his eyes is a scene that comes from his worst nightmares.  Three young ponies can be seen, two are on the walkway by the open gate like good little foals.  One is a unicorn filly, with pale lavender pink fur while the other is a rather plump grey earth pony colt.  Both are obvious good children, staying on the path as they should.  But about one foot in from the walkway, mouth closed having just grabbed the projectile of canvas destruction; is a young Pegasus colt.  His hooves having made a distinct and visible trail upon Cranky’s beloved lawn.  

The two by the gate begin backing away, as the colt with a feather cutie mark slowly begins to lift his neck up.  Quickly twisting his head to toss the ball at the others, the filly of the group catching it in her magic; he stammers in horror as if to use words to try to assuage the pure fury visible on Cranky’s face.

“I..I.. can explain.”

Cranky places both hooves on the doormat, and takes a deep breath filling his lungs.

The colt backs away carefully, continuing his vain attempts at parlay.
“See Truffle kicked the ball too hard and it flew over the gate and landed in your yard while we were playing..”

Cranky begins to see red as the silly colt wastes precious time yammering instead of moving off his beloved green field.

Featherweight continues his explanation, speaking faster as he continues to back away; trying oh so very hard to only walk in the places his hooves had crunched and marked before.  
“Liza refused to get the ball with her magic, because she is not that good at levitating large round objects yet.  I sprained my wings earlier, but I was the only one who had a chance of causing minimal damage and getting the ball and..”

At that moment Featherweight slips, his rear right hoof having been on the walkway but his left having clipped the well polished edge.  Time slows to a crawl as the Pegasus colt falls downwards, sprained wings flailing to try in vain to lift him up.  In the end his body slams into the ground with a resounding “thump crunch”, the grass beneath his body collapsing under his weight.  Their delicate perfectly pruned blades bending and flattening in the shape of a very small, and very terrified, Pegasus colt.

As Featherweight scrambles to get up and move onto the pathway, his two friends turn and Liza flees through the gate without stopping.  Truffle grabs him by the rear hoof and hauls him up onto the path, just in time to see a furious enraged donkey scream.

“GET OFF MY PERFECT LAWN!”  

A beyond infuriated, beet red with anger Cranky screams at the two colts.  As they both turn and run like two twin blurs down the pathway and onto the road, tails tucked between their legs in terror; the ornery old donkey’s rage fueled tirade follows them.

“You horrible little monsters!  What have you done to my beloved green!  You have decimated my lush green lovingly tended blades of grass, bent them and flattened them!  How dare you!  How dare you call yourselves ponies!  You are less than ponies, you are filthy rotten destroyers of innocent lawns!  If I ever see you near my home again I will make sure you pay dearly for what you have done!   You Tartarus damned fiends!  I’ll have your tails for this!”

The terrified colts and filly have long since left hearing range when Cranky finishes his shrieking screaming tirade.  His throat hoarse, his hooves seem heavy as he walks down the stone path to survey the damage to his domain.  A minute passes, and he reaches the epicenter of the destruction.  Where grass once grew in perfect harmony on all sides, a uniform meadow of his own design; there is now a large very visible section of damaged grass in the shape of a small colt and a round ball.

Cranky collapses onto his rear hooves.

“No...”

His voice still hoarse, the single word comes out sounding like cracking dry leaves under hoof.

“Not today.. why did they have to wreak this destruction today?”  

The anger gives way to desperation and despair in the old Donkey as his eyes take in the brunt of the destruction.  There is no way to repair the lawn before the qualifying round surveyors for the contest show up in two hours.  He is finished, he will lose his title, Matilda won’t get to go on that vacation.  Worst of all, the likely winner if not him will be those three panic stricken mares.  Well two of them really, the third girl is new; it’s quite sad really what happened to the original third of their trio.

But none of that matters to Cranky now, all that matters is that he is going to lose to the least qualified, most insane, and noisiest ponies possible.  He can’t stand it, and as the wind blows leaves with no source around him he laments and begs to nopony in particular.

“If only there was a way to save it, to make my lawn perfect again..”

The wind and leaves seem to focus on him now, a pile settles next to the donkey on his walkway.  Though in his grief Cranky is oblivious to the unusual green red veined leaves that now mar his polished stone pathway.

“I would do anything, pay anything for that.  Anything so that my meadow can once more be perfection.”

The pile of leaves twitches.

Cranky stares at the indent in his beloved green field, the remnant of those pint sized monster’s rampage.  He bemoans his loss to what he thinks is nothing but the sky and his desecrated lawn.

“But it’s impossible.  No creature known to Equestria could manage that.  But from the depths of my soul, I wish such a thing were possible.”

A deep and very smooth voice comes from behind Cranky, one slick as oil and fresh as a newly trimmed lawn.  It speaks in a dialect he does not recognize, startling him.

“I wold noht be so hasty ta claim te likes of anytin to be thaht me lad.”

Cranky spins around, looking about before spotting the pile of leaves from before.


A rather peculiar creature no more than five hooves tall stands on two legs atop of the pile of foliage.

A smile upon its face, its thin tail wrapped around its waist like a belt.  It's mane is unusual, a perfect green like that of a wild meadow from the hills flow from under a rather large deep green bowler hat; with a deep red band wrapped around it held with a clip in the shape of two leaves crossed with the stems pointed and curled upwards. It’s green and red eyes are slanted, with bushy eyebrows akin to moss arching outwards into a manicured curl.  A large beard of green with red streaks is fashioned into a leaf like shape, except at the ends where it splits in two and curls to rather side.

It’s body is clothed in red striped vest over a deep grass green short, with matching green trousers.  Around its neck is a red and gold chain, that falls under the vest proper.  The edges of its long sleeved green dress shirt are embellished by a pair of small red and gold cuff links whose shape cannot be discerned.  Its hooves are covered by odd pointed shoes, that look to be no more than green leaves with red veins woven together.  A buckle belt of green and red vines can be seen under its tail, and the forelimbs of the creature split into five digits, each ending with well manicured nails the color of the red at sundown. Upon its face is a somewhat catlike nose, and it’s pearl white teeth are clearly visible as it continues to look right at Cranky Doodle Donkey from its perch.  It’s ears, if it has any, are hidden beneath its well styled though seemingly wild mane.

Truth be told it looks to be a rather dapper well groomed sort of fellow.  Cranky merely stares at the creature for a moment linger, gathering his wits about him the donkey asks.

“Where did you come from and why are you here?”

The creature merely smiles wider, far wider than should be possible, and responds in that deep and smooth voice with the odd dialect.

“Oh tis naht important howe ah came ta be haer me lad, nor wher be mah home an hearthe.”

It reaches into its trousers with those odd digits and pulls out a rather large notebook that should not be able to for in so small a pair of pants.  The notebook is deep green, with grass green patterns upon it and lined in red and gold.  An odd foreign language is embossed in gold lined red upon the cover, and a sprig of a green branch is attached to the side like a pen.

The creature tilts its head towards the book, its eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight.  They seem to be smiling along with its mouth, grinning in unison as it finishes its answer.

“As fer whye ah have com’e to this ere place, well tha is quie simple gud felloe,”.

The creature open the book, flipping a few pages in before showing the presented page to Cranky.  It reads in perfect Equestrian,  P. B. Lugh’s Meadow Miracles, followed by a description of services offered and a guarantee of a lawn or garden worthy of the gods themselves for a bargain price.

The page on full display the creature grins a little wider, it’s voice echoing into Cranky’s dumbstruck mind.

“Cranky me boy, ah ave com’e ta offar ye thaht miracle ye ask’d fer.”
> Perfect for a Price
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cranky Doodle Donkey is frozen, his eyes glued upon the page held out before him by the odd dapper creature.  The wind rustles the bent and damaged sections of grass that mark the only imperfection in his lush yard of green.  He has few options, the suns position in the sky is not stagnant after all.  Time will not wait for him to try to salvage the unsalvageable damage, the destruction wrought to the very thing he had put so much of his time and tender care into.  

Donkeys do not have the magic of earth ponies, they cannot will a garden or lawn to grow as they wish it to.  They cannot strengthen their fields with the legendary green hoof, or heal damage done in minutes if need be.  No, Cranky like all donkeys must do things without magic.  His lawn was brought into being by years of constant care.  Hours of mulching, fertilizing, feeding, pruning, mowing, and traditional non magical nurturing went into his beloved grassy yard.

He even made sure to only plant the grass seeds at the perfect time of year, using only varieties of grass that would thrive in the local climate.  Cranky spent hours searching his great grassy expanse for blades growing wild, walking softly on his tip hooves so as to not damage his pride and joy.   Hours spent researching the newest non magical plant care techniques, hours more perfecting them.  He had even used some of his grandfathers old tricks and secrets from the start to ensure his lawn would be exactly what he desired.  Almost half a decade of nonstop work year round had kept his lawn the picture of perfection.  

It had all been destroyed in a single moment, the great fruit of his efforts gone.  Only a miracle could possibly bring his green back to what it was.  Cranky did not believe in miracles.  Because he knows nothing is free, yet despite all that he can’t look away from the page before him.

The creature before him, strange as it appears, is offering him what he had wished for from the moment that colt had bent the first blade of grass with his fall.  It is tempting to merely accept its offer without questioning it.  However Cranky Doodle Donkey is not one to merely sign on a dotted line without first learning the nature and price of a deal.  After all, donkeys are not like those oh too trusting ponies.

Shaking his head, Cranky moves his eyes with great effort off the page presented to him.  He stares at the creature, looking directly into it’s odd slanted eyes.  Just like his father had taught him to do when negotiating anything from a home to the price of hay.  

Trying to sound as professional as possible, Cranky makes sure his tone conveys his feelings quite clearly as he speaks in his trademark grumble.

“I do not recall asking you for a miracle you odd fellow.  Despite your dapper appearance, your use of the word miracle shows you think me daft.  I may be old, but I am no fool.  Miracles, if they even exist, are never free.  So what is it you wish me to pay for your services?  I will not stand for games, I am a Donkey, not some silly pony who laughs all day for no reason at all.”


The creature widens its eyes, lifting up a five digit hand to adjust its bowler hat before it grins even wider.  It’s teeth are even whiter than Cranky had thought before, contrasting with its green mane color in such a way that they seem to glow.  A light rumbling noise echoes in the air, which Cranky quickly realizes is the creature chuckling.  Bringing its hand down from the hat, it adjusts its vest before responding.  It’s voice as slick as ever, though far friendlier than before.

“Ahh what a good lad ye are, ah aven’t met one so fine o’ mind an sharp o’ wit in ages.  Oh ah do apologize fer offendin ye if’n ah did.  Is just a’times ah can’t quie help meself.  Tis naht of’n me offers o’ miracles be questioned, ‘tis quite refreshin, tha’t it is.”

The grin grows serious, yet the creature’s eyes sparkle despite its change in demeanor.  Unlike Cranky, it seems to be a genuinely jovial sort, which shows in its voice as it speaks.

“As fer yer ask’n bout a miracle, that ye did indeed do.  Ah came a’runnin whe’n ah eard ye on te wind is’elf, hoping ta help ye in yer time o’need.  Tis naht of’n ah he’r such a plea, ‘twas liken yer soul i’self were begg’in fer aid.”

The creature takes a step forward, still holding the book out turned to the same page as before.  With its free hand it points to the print under the page header.

“Now Cranky me boy, if’n ye read this here part o’ tha missive ye’ll see tha ye were quite right.  Miracles ‘ave a price, tha’ they do.  Mine be no differ’n.  Tha price just be moor er..flexible ye migh’t say.”

The page is in Cranky’s field of view again, the ornate well written Equestrian words beckoning him to read them and take what they say in.  The creature waves its hand as if to encourage him to read the page.  Not too insistently though, for it is too jovial and dapper to be so forward.

“Ye can read tha words Cranky my lad, tis just the terms n’ price o’ me services.  Ah won’ be one ta insult ye with’n no word games.  Tis a straight as can be contract, read it’n decide if’n it be worth yer time.  But do naht dally my boy, time won’ stop for thee to read it.”

Cranky Doodle Donkey looks over the words on the page displayed to him.  Reading under his breathe, the more he takes in the more intrigued and interested the old Donkey becomes.  
The terms are quite good, the contract is indefinite in length and can be cancelled at any time so long as a fee of his choice is paid.  The fee is agreed upon at the time of cancellation of services.  Other than that the price is not paid in bits, for which he is most thankful.  Instead the services are rendered for a hearth, home, and regular offering of food.  Something odd to see in this day and age, but it makes sense in a way.  Mention is made of a bond between the service provider and contractee, but the details make no sense to Cranky since they are in that odd dialect the creature speaks in.

In return his lawn will be cared for, and all damages or destruction upon it repaired immediately.  He is guaranteed a lawn and yard worthy of a god, as well as advice and celebrations for each quarter year he keeps the services.  Near the end of the page, right above the dotted line, is a sentence that catches his attention.

It reads, for the agreed upon price the field shall be kept a perfect green.

Cranky clears his throat and once more looks the creature in the eye.
“These terms are quite agreeable, though I do wonder why you do not ask for bits for your services.”

The creature grins in glee, sensing the intense interest coming from Cranky concerning its offer of services.

“Cranky me boy, wher’n ah come fro’m bits be not worth a ting, it make‘n more sense ta ask fer a home’n hearth an o’ offering o’food ta rejuvenate meself than worthless coin ah can’not much use back home.”

The answer makes perfect sense to Cranky Doodle Donkey, after all if the creature’s home does not use bits or have a trade agreement with Equestria, then it’s terms make far more sense.  The sun has not stopped its march over the sky, and with time running even shorter the old donkey makes up his mind on the matter.  Though not without one sideways glance at his once perfectly uniform green lawn, and envisioning it as he always dreamed it to be.

With a small smile now on his face, he states his decision on the matter.

“I suppose your terms are most agreeable, and I do have space in my garden shed where you might live and rest.  You may take whatever you wish to eat so long as it doesn’t cost my Matilda and I none too much.  So long as you keep to your end of the bargain and contract, you may stay as long as you like.”

Lifting his left hoof up, Cranky looks for a pen but finds none in sight.
“How am I to sign without a pen?”  He asks the creature whose services he shall soon reap the rewards of.

The creature reaches over to the spine of the book and pulls out the green sprig, that Cranky now sees is an ornate old style reed pen.  Holding it outwards for Cranky, it comments on the antique as Cranky takes it in his left hoof.

“Tha sprig be an old’n, might take a shake’r two ta loos’n tha ink.  I’might give ye a splinter if’n you shake too hard.  It’ll do tho fer a signature.”

Cranky shakes the pen a bit to loosen the ink, and like he was warned the sprig shaped pen pokes his soft fetlock.  Wincing away the pain, Cranky pays no heed to the fact that there is no blood in the wound; or the tiny sliver of green and red wood now embedded where a scab will later form.  The pen begins to drip ink, an unusual brownish color, but it being an old pen he pays it little attention as the donkey writes his name in clear crisp letters upon the dotted line of the page.

Cranky Doodle Donkey 

When he is finished, he returns the pen to the dapper creature, who promptly blows on the page to set the ink before closing the book and returning the pen to its spot on the spine.  With a flourish, it then puts the book back wherever it came from within its dress suit.

A grin still set upon its face, the creature holds out its left hand.  Cranky gets the cue, and grasps it with his left hoof.  The creature smiles, eyes glittering in the noonday sun.

“Now tha te bond be signed an’ bound, ah can tell ye me name so to make‘n things easy’r on ye.  My friends, few they be, call me Lugh.  Me full name be P.B Lugh, and I ahm now at yer service Cranky.  Ye can rest easy know’n that all will be well’n ten minutes time.”

Cranky raises an eyebrow, but knowing the contract can be annulled at any time he is willing to let the creature called Lugh try to repair his lawn in such a short time.  The two shake each other’s forelimbs, before letting go.  Lugh waves Cranky off, indicating for him to be left to work as he surveys the grass damaged by Featherweight.

Cranky turns and walks up the pathway towards his home, hope in his heart that he might yet win that 4th Ponyville’s Most Perfect Lawn award and retain his title.  Looking back a few times to ensure Lugh is still there, he spots his new yard aid pull a pouch out of his vest.  Thinking it some sort of secret fertilizer and nothing more, Cranky leaves the creature to its repair of the yard and enters his home to rest before the Contest Judges arrive in twenty minutes.

Something tells him this is the beginning of something wonderful, he can feel it in his left fetlock.






One month later 

Cranky and his beloved Matilda stand upon the Legendary Blue Hills of Western Equestria.  The wind caressing them both as they stare in wonder at the glory before them.  No pictures or pamphlets do the Hills justice, and for the past week the two married donkeys have basked in the Blue Hills legendary majesty and wonder.  A vacation that was so long overdue has been well spent, from picnics on the hills to cataloguing and identifying different plants that abound. 

Cranky even tried his hoof at painting much to the amusement of his wife, who as it turns out was far more talented at the art.  Indeed this trip is one the two will never forget, though it is now at an end.  The happy couple must return home in the morning, taking the long train back to Ponyville.  But for now, they stand side by side upon the tallest of the hills, and gaze upon the full landscape of Western Equestria from it’s peak.  

Matilda leans her head against her husband Cranky’s neck and lovingly whispers into his ear, “Thank you Cranky, this is a dream come true.”

The crotchety and ornery old Donkey smiles, reaching out his right hoof to hold his beloved wife closer to him.  “Matilda, if this is a dream then I hope it is one of prosperity and fortune for the both of us.  I love you my angelic flower.”

Matilda just chuckles and grabs hold of her husband with her left hoof with a sigh.
“Cranky, you can be such an incorrigible romantic at times.”

Cranky Doodle Dandy grins at his wife, “Well would you rather I be an ornery old codger my lovely angel?”

Matilda lightly and playfully shoves her husband, a playful look in her eye as the two settle down and sit side by side atop the grand hill.
“Hmmm,” she muses, “I think I like my Cranky to be a romantic once in awhile.”

Her husband just smiles, and hugs her close as the two watch the sun set over Equestria in one of the most romantic places possible.  

When twilight begins to fall the two make their way down to the private cabin they rented for the vacation, tired from the long week of surprises and wonder.  Both yearn to return home in the morning, to tend to their respective gardens and fields.  Matilda frets as she lays down to sleep that her garden will be in tatters due to her being gone so long.  However deep down she does not mind that much, after all she finally got to see the Blue Hills she has dreamed about since she was a small filly.

Cranky reassures her that her garden will be fine.  After all he has the best creature for the job watching over their home, hearth, and gardens.  With her worries calmed, Matilda falls into the land of dreams followed closely by Cranky.  When morning comes however, they waste no time getting to the train station with their luggage.  To their surprise, they are the 500th senior couple of the season to ride that particular train; and are given an upgrade to first class.  


It seems like a dream to the two of them, but it is very much real.  As of late Cranky and Matilda’s fortune and luck have gone extremely well.  It started with Cranky winning the Ponyville Annual Lawn Competition last month for the 4th year in a row.  This year for some reason the contest had far more prizes than usual.  Besides the award that is proudly displayed on the wall at home, the bag of bits was triple the usual amount.  The lawn care supplies included more than double the options from last year.  Finally, for winning four years in a row Cranky was allowed to choose a vacation anywhere in the world and the competition would pay for it in full.


He had chosen to surprise Matilda with this week long vacation to The Blue Hills of Western Equestria.  One of the most exclusive vacation spots, a dream come true for both of them.  However their fortunes did not stop there, Cranky’s lawn was now the envy of all.  A perfect uniform green that none could help but stare at in awe, Matilda could of sworn she saw the air shimmer over the blades of grass one morning like some sort of mythical field of old.  But it was just dew, or so she told herself.  Most of the changes in their fortune were little things, like her fruit trees bearing fruit early that tasted more heavenly than ambrosia.  Weeds seemed to avoid both Cranky’s lawn and her garden, same for pests in general.  However these could be chocked up to a string of good luck, same for the first class seats they had been given on the ride home.

After all, a strong of good fortune happens to everyone once in awhile.





Cranky and Matilda returned around noon to their home, the lawn in perfect order with not a blade out of place.  Kissing his wife, Cranky walks Matilda towards her garden path and bows to her like a knight causing her to giggle.  Giving him a peck on the cheek, Matilda goes up the path and opens the gate that leads to her garden lot.  Waving to her surprisingly friendly husband, she goes in to check on how her plants have fared in her absence.

Cranky Doodle Donkey gets up onto his four hooves and stretches.  It’s somewhat odd, lately he has felt more spry than usual.  Almost as if years have been taken off his life, or perhaps he is just going senile in his old age.  Turning towards his home, the old codger spots a paper shoved into the mail slot.  Grabbing it, yanking it free from where it had been hastily shoved, he trots into his home and closes the door.

Sitting down upon his favorite chair, a bright multi green plaid piece, Cranky unrolls the sheet of paper and freezes.  The sheet had been in the sun for at least half a day, but that is not what catches his attention.  He had thought it would be a community event planner, or maybe some silly sales pamphlet.  It is neither.

What he holds in his hooves is a missing pony flier.

It is written up by hoof, with a photo of a young earth pony colt in black and white delicately glued onto the center of the page.  The colt is quite plump, with chubby cheeks and a messy brown mane and tail according to the description.  He has a medium grey coat, with blue eyes and a cutie mark of a knife and fork side by side.  The description describes him as having last been seen two weeks ago, playing in the streets of Ponyville with friends.  The colt’s name is Truffle Shuffle, and Cranky recognizes him.

He is one of the three who almost cost Cranky the lawn competition with their antics.  The old donkey snorts, folding the missing flier in half and stuffing it into a book to use as a place marker.

“The young rascal probably is off at a friends house, giggling at the panic he is causing by his absence.”  Cranky grumbles as he gets up and moves towards the backdoor.  

Opening it with a “creak” he walks onto the rear porch and smiles, the sight of his perfect green lawn brings joy to him in a way only his wife surpasses.  The knowledge that his lawn assistant Lugh has obviously cared for it so well in his absence makes his smile grow wider.

“Ye be smiling in glee at me aid to yer handiwork again Cranky my boy.”  A slick deep voice comments from the donkeys left side.

Turning his head, Cranky spots P.B Lugh standing in the grass without causing it to bend or dent at all.  Almost as if he is balancing on the very tips of the blades.  It’s quite curious how he can do that, standing on the grass and not causing it to bend or break.  But the old donkey decided shortly after first seeing the feat that it was due to some innate magic the creature had.  

Grumbling, he replies to Lugh’s comment.
“It is a fine lawn fit for a god, just like you promised Lugh.  Even if I built the foundation, you and whatever it is you do turned it into what it is today.  It’s a work of beauty.”

Lugh nods, his bowlers hat staying firmly upon his head. 
“True enough, tha blades be well fed by the offerings and food that fertilize an feed em.  Tho t’may be a day o’ two more yet b’fore tha colors match again.”

Cranky gazes across the yard to see what Lugh meant by the colors being off.  Sure enough, over by the fence line is a small square of grass that is slightly darker than the rest.  No larger than a small foal, it does not stand out too much with the edges already beginning to match the rest of the lawn in color.  It’s the second one since Lugh moved in, he never thought to ask what caused the colors to be off for some reason.  Having it pointed out to him by the dapper fellow, his curiosity is piqued.

“Lugh, might I ask you something?”, Cranky grumbles in a way reserved for those he might call friend.

The creature look at him with his odd slanted eyes and responds in kind.
“Aye, Ye may ask what Ye will Cranky.  Is jus’t us two ere for th’ moment.”

Cranky grins, the creature known as Lugh has become far friendlier over the past month.  It not only has done what it promised and cared for his beloved green, but has also begun to play the part of a sort of friend towards him.  In time the old donkey feels that the creature might become an actual friend of some sort, despite his quirks.  If it hasn’t already.

“Well Lugh, I’m just curious as to why the grass in that square is a different shade rim the rest.  Do you know why?”

Lugh grins, his deep chuckle that Cranky has learned indicates he is amused for some reason echoing over the yard proper.  With a sigh he glances at Cranky, his eyes matching his grinning mouth as he responds.
“Tha be due t’ tha fertilizer an feed Cranky my boy.  It has t’ be set just so, lest i’not work right n’proper.  Tis o’ little importance lad, heed it no mind.”

Cranky, the old yet now feeling quite spry donkey nods; satisfied with the answer he has been given.  About to leave, he suddenly has an idea to pose to his live in garden assistant.  After all, though he is at home quite often he can’t be here all the time.  And if he had not grabbed that flier earlier, his poor Matilda might have instead.  The sight of it would have sent her into a fit of worry, and Cranky hated to see his wife worried in any way.

Glancing to the left, he sees that Lugh has turned and is staring right at him with those eyes of his.  Almost as if he is anticipating or waiting for something, his toothy grin on his face as usual.  Though for some reason it seems ever so slightly unnerving.

“Lugh,” Cranky pauses before saying anything more.  He realizes that he has forgotten something important he should have done earlier.  A basic form of courtesy that no matter how irate he is should always be followed. 

With a deep breath Cranky says, “thank you for watching over Matilda’s garden as well as my own for the past week Lugh.  It was good of you to do so until we got back, though I’m sure she can handle it on her own for now; I thank you.”

Lugh’s expression shifts as quick as lightning from that unnerving grin to his usual jovial one. 
“Oh what a fine lad ye are, rememberin tha proper courtesy due t’ one who h’as helped ye out in’a bind.  Tis always good t’ give thanks where it be due Cranky.”  The creature pauses for a moment, studying his contractee for a moment or two before asking, “Though, Ye have more on yer mind.  Speak up Cranky me boy, what be so important tha’ ye hesitate to speak o’ it?”

Cranky gazes upon his lawn, so well tended by Lugh that it has seemingly stopped having any problems at all.  No weeds, no pests, not a blade out of place or a patch too tall.  Outside of the fertilizer square that will fade in a day or two, it looks perfect; the green lush meadow of his dreams made real within his own yard.   

Pondering on how best to ask the creature for this favor, Cranky decides to just be out with it.
“When I got home today, there was a missing flier in the mail slot concerning a local colt.” 

As he begins to speak, unbeknownst to him, Lugh’s left eye is focusing upon the discolored green square of grass by the fence.

“Now I recognized the colt as one of the three who brought destruction upon my lawn on the day we first met Lugh.  The little foal is probably just hiding out somewhere to cause trouble as part of a prank.”  Cranky snorts the last word out in distaste.  

Lugh raises his right eyebrow at the donkey, intrigued by what he is hearing as Cranky continues.

“That little plump grey earth pony colt was with a lavender pink unicorn filly and a rather small and thin tannish yellow Pegasus colt they called Feather.  The reason I am certain he is hiding somewhere is because that rascal is the one who kicked that damned projectile onto my lawn.  He then sent his Pegasus friend in to get it, so in the end he was the cause of all the damage done to my precious green!”  Cranky emphasizes the last word with a stomp of his left hoof upon the brick porch.  

A resounding “kkkkttttkkkrack” sound akin to a tree snapping echoes about from the force of the old donkeys hoof hitting the porch.

Lugh heaves a sigh, one that brings to mind the subtle sounds of an ancient tree’s branches shifting in the wind.  “Wha d’ ye wish me t’ do Cranky me boy?” The creature asks the old donkey.

Cranky, his anger calmed for now; responds in a soft for him grumbling way.  
“I want you to make sure that any fliers about missing colts, fillies, or ponies left in my yard or home; are folded and placed within the blue book on the living room table.  The one with the lawnmower and the make griffin on the front.  I wish you to do this for me so that my beloved Matilda might be spared having to see them.”

Lugh contemplates the request for a moment, closing its eyes and smiling serenely with a nod.  “Tha’ ah can do Cranky.  Yer beloved wife won’ have t’ worry bout tha missin’ so long as ah call yonder shed hearth and home.  Ah swear ah’ll keep th’ sorrow a’way from her my boy.”

Cranky releases a grateful sigh and looks at Lugh with a face that seems to shine in gratitude.  “Thank you Lugh, you are...a real friend” the old donkey smiles at the last word as it leaves his muzzle.

Lugh grins wider than he has since that first day.  That impossible grin, with his long beard seeming to curl ever so slightly at the tips. 
“Ah Cranky, it be a right honor to hear ye say those words t’ me and mean it so.  Indeed, a friend o’ me and me kin ye be.  Now....”
The creature points his hand at the door behind the old donkey that was never fully closed.   His voice echoes with a combination of seriousness and mirth,
“Ye best be gettin’ inside a’fore yer wife come in tha front door.  Friends we may be, bu’ ah will naht be able t’ help Ye if’n yer beloved decide to skin ye fer supper.”

Cranky chuckles, turning and heading back into the house before his Matilda gets home.  Lugh always has such a dark sense of humor, but he means well.  Today Cranky has realized that he considers that creature a friend, even though he is only here due to the contract made a month ago.  Glancing back, he smiles and waves his left hoof at his miracle working friend.

Lugh grins, and waves back with his left hand; an odd mark like a thorn visible in the center of his palm.

Satisfied, Cranky closes the door and makes his way to the front to assist his wife with her no doubt bountiful harvest from the garden.  Despite his itching left fetlock, he still has a good feeling about how things are going.  Cranky Doodle Dandy has long since accepted in his mind that the price for Lugh’s services is merely a home, food, and a hearth.  Not once has he asked if there might be another form of payment, the thought has simply never occurred to him.






While it’s contractee aids his wife inside the home, the being who goes by the name Lugh stares intently at the off color green patch by the boundary of the lawn.  Moving it’s lower limbs, the creature seems to blink from where it was standing to the edge of the patch of grass within seconds.  While Cranky had been speaking, Lugh had spotted a problem with the fertilized ground.  Leaning over, its body causes not a sign that anything is standing on that spot of grass at all.  Lugh reaches his hand down to a single spot on the boundary of the normal colored grass and the darker square.  

Gently, it grabs hold of the edge of what looks to be a lavender pink colored stone shaped like the front half of a hoof with three fingers.  Carefully, Lugh pushes the hoof shaped stone into the grass coated ground with a light “squicrrackk” .  The dirt swallowing it up seamlessly as new shoots of dark grass sprout from the spot where it had been visible.  Within seconds there is no sign such a thing had ever been there.  Dusting off its hands, Lugh looks down at the dark green patch of grass.

A dark, rather sinister smile slowly grows upon its face as its eyes take on a somewhat malicious gleam.  Its off color eyes seem to shine as the sun moves towards the horizon, Lugh seems in that moment to be something otherworldly and dangerous.  A very far cry from the creature Cranky knows as his friend.

In an oily predatory voice that would cause the most stoic guard to fall onto the ground in fear, its speaks to that off color grass square.
“No need t’ try to be up little one.”

Lugh’s teeth in the twilight seem to be sharper, its body larger, and its tail follows suit by looking longer and more lethal.  In a single movement, Lugh quickly crouches before seeming to disappear into the twilight as it transitions into proper night.





“Whoooshwhoomp”

The sound of gale force wind echoes through the town of Ponyville, the third one heard in as many weeks.  The sound is oddly never accompanied by a real wind of any sort.  It had become a local mystery as a result.

However within the Doodle Donkey home, or anywhere within its fence line boundary; there is no indication of the sound being heard.

Almost as of something, or someone, is keeping the sound itself out.
> The Price Paid in Part - Finale Part One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





Time flows by, months pass, and things for a Cranky and Matilda keep looking up.  Like a bud in bloom the lawn grows grander and greener, with each week that passes from that day back on the first of May the Doodle Donkey couple’s luck gets better and better.  It’s almost unnatural, for as time flows by around them their own seems to be reversing.   Of course that is only the most minor of things that are changing around Cranky and Matilda, for each month marked a greater streak of luck and prosperity than the one prior.






July

In July then couple had decided to head out to watch the local celebrations.  Cranky had felt more energetic than he had in decades, and Matilda had noticed a reduction in wrinkles and crows feet on her face.  Though she claimed it was due to her healthy eating habits and beauty regime, after all that was the only logical answer.  During the event, as Princess Twilight Sparkle addressed the crowd about how important the day was, the loving couple had sat quietly near the back.  Once during the speech, Twilight had made mention of the trying times and worried families; but promised to speak one on one with those affected.  Cranky had ignored the comment, as well as the amount of people who grumbled about more needing to be done.  No less than eight families at the time were in that number, and so as far as the donkey was concerned it had to be some sort of burglary spree.

After the speech was done, Cranky and Matilda walked amongst their fellow townsfolk; accepting comments about how healthy and good they looked with no reaction.  Cranky won multiple prizes from the assorted booths, causing the local head weathermare to stare in shock.  Matilda merely smiled, holding onto him like a youth in love.  Both had much fun at the summer sun festival to their delight and surprise, after all usually nothing went right for Cranky in particular at the celebration.  He hadn’t won a booth game in decades before tonight, and never so many in a row.  After winning a particularly large sweet apple pie and a gallon of cream from the Apple Family booth, they both decided to call it quits on the games.  

Instead they enjoyed the night, as the stars changed above them at the whim of the princess of the nights will.  They decided to wander about the fair grounds, not mingling but not avoiding other ponies either.  It was one of the most wonderful summer sun festivals the two had ever experienced, and Cranky didn’t snap at a single pony.  Their wandering drew them to the far edges of the grounds, and they opted to merely enjoy the night side by side; Cranky pulling the prizes they had won in a wagon he had also won during the cart pulling event.

As the night drew late, a familiar bowler hat was spotted near the far edge of clearing where the festivities were held.  Cranky smiled and waved his left hoof to it, and spotted a familiar glint and cream of narrow eyes and a joyful greeting returned.  It seemed his friend was enjoying the night as well.

In the distance, DJ P0N3 could be heard blasting her beats to the crowd.  But Cranky and Matilda preferred the calm solitude where they were, and eventually Cranky also realized his newfound energy and spry body had its limits.  The couple returned home to celebrate in their own way.  Before they did so though, Cranky left a piece of pie and a mug of cream on the back porch.  After all, it was not polite to have such good food and not share it.

After a wonderful night with his wife, when morning came and the sun rose above the horizon; the well tired donkey checked the back porch.  He smiled, for the cream and pie were gone, and in their place was a thank you letter from Lugh.

The rest of the month was a flurry of luck and good changes for the couple, from incredible harvests to the ever more common reward for being number something somewhere.  And every day as Matilda was away Cranky talked to his odd friend about things, as one Is wont to do.  Each week was marked by a new dark green square by the fence, but it always faded in a day or two so Cranky paid it no mind.  His yard seemed to gleam in the day and shimmer at night.

Though his left hoof continued to itch, he genuinely could not remember a time things had gone so well for him for so long.





August 

The Doodle Donkey streak of good fortune continued, despite rumors of ponies going missing weekly and never returning.  Cranky chocked them up to runaways, mid life crisis, or fools trying to be like that Daring Do fictional character.  Lugh was chipper as always, and seemed to be a bit taller than when he had begun working on the yard.  Whenever luck gave Cranky and Matilda free pie and sweet cream, which was quite often, he would share some with his now very dear friend.  Lugh had opened up a bit more to Cranky after one particular August day when Cranky had mentioned his years in military service.  Lugh, the odd fellow, had taken quite the interest in this.  From that day onwards the two odd pair of friends would spend Thursday evenings while Matilda was at Bingo chatting about their old war stories.

Lugh, as it just so happened, was a veteran of many conflicts in his home country.  Though the names and places were unfamiliar, Cranky was as fascinated by Lugh’s takes as he his.  Some of the characters in Lugh’s past seemed to have bad luck when it came to names, after all what kind of pony or any creature at all would name their filly Dearg-due?  Apparently she was quite a looker though, but might drink you dry if you were not careful.  Hearing about her made Cranky very grateful for his Matilda, how he ever managed to keep such an angel on his arm he would never know.

It was during this time that Cranky ran into a bit of a problem with the amount of bookmarks, or missing fliers that Lugh hid within in his book in the living room.  He was unfortunately out of space for Lugh to put the them in the book without ruining the binding.  Fortunately his clever friend was willing to give him a different book to use.  It was an odd one, with a dark brown bark cover and hemp bindings; the words were indecipherable to him and all he could make out was what looked to be a picture of a hill and hole within it decorating the cover.  It was unusual, but holding it made his left hoof stop itching.  

But Cranky accepted the gift and gave Lugh more pie and cream in return.  His friend really loved the stuff, acting as if it was the greatest gift possible.  

Ponyville stopped reporting missing ponies by months end, apparently the problem had moved on to elsewhere.  Cranky was sure all of those who had vanished would reappear eventually.  The dark green squares had no moved to the left side of the shed when they appeared.  But the fertilizer and feed was working, for his lawn was an almost magical shade of green.





September 

With the start of school came less possible problems with the local foals.  After all they can’t cause trouble if they are at school learning.  Not like the local children had been around lately anyway.  They had stopped coming near the Doodle Donkey home back in July, claiming a monster lived there.  Foals will be foals, superstitions and all.


However September was a particularly odd month for a few reasons.  

First off was a new plant. Matilda found in her garden.  It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, seeming to be a translucent green yet bearing fruit the color of the rainbow.  As an experiment Cranky and Matilda tried the fruit one evening.  The results were very unexpected, almost primal.  Upon waking in bed the next morning both found that the fruit had an unusual side effect, well besides the rather enjoyable one of course.  It seemed the rainbow colored fruit had literally turned back time on the Donkey couple.
What were the chances of finding a fruit of youth?

Of course the effects were not all permanent, but Cranky and Matilda made it work.  It was better they look like their old selves most of the time anyway, after all if any pony or creature found out about the fruit besides themselves and Lugh, their home would be flooded with ponies and others; whose presence would destroy their peace and Cranky’s beloved lawn.

The second oddity was when Lugh was invited to dinner.  It was mid September, and Matilda had left for the weekend to visit family.  Cranky had set up his supper upon the back porch.  Just some orange juice, a fruit salad, fresh grains, and strawberry pie with cream.  He had set it out picnic style, desiring to be as close as possible to the lawn that now shimmered day and night.  The greens glowing like water, perfect and serene.  He had been startled to see Lugh staring at him, a hungry look on his face and his eyes focused on the pie and cream.

Cranky had wasted no time inviting him to supper, even preparing a plate for him from a spare he had been using to keep the orange juice off the stone patio.  It had been rather delightful, they had talked about things; with Lugh commenting on how good the feed and fertilizer available in Equestria was.  Cranky had agreed, the fertilizer was rather good and likely due to the magic that permeated the ponies who made it.  Lugh had simply agreed, saying that the ponies really did make a huge difference with feeding the lawn and fields.

After the meal had finished though, a Lugh had posed a question to the old no longer grumpy donkey.

“Ye like what changes be happenin’ bout yer home an life?”  His friend with the bowler hat had asked.

Putting plates atop each other so they are easier to carry inside, Cranky responds affirmatively. 
“ Of course I like them.  I’ve never had so much good fortune in my life, it’s changed everything for the better my friend.  My lawn is perfect, no beyond perfect, and just gets greener every day.  My finances are so well stocked I can hardly believe it.  My wife and I’s table is always filled with delicious food, and the both of us seem to be getting younger day by day.  Not to mention we have been more, intimidate, than we have in years, with anyone.  It’s like we have stepped from the drudgery of a dull pointless life and into one where everything is going better every day, and our prosperity keeps growing.  It’s as if all our hard work in life has been paid back to us a thousandfold.  Lugh, I want things to continue this way forever.”

The creature, no his friend, smiles like a child on winter wrap up.  His eyes grow large and his hands clap together as he does a quick jig; snapping up the last bit of cream while he is at it.  His face is almost sparkling with eagerness and glee, his voice so filed with joy that it seems as if it will burst.

“Tha be what ah want t’ hear Cranky me friend, tis nah’ of’n one responds as ye did now.”  He pauses and winks an eye at Cranky, the glittering jewel seeming to burn brighter in the evening light.
“O’ course, Ye need naht tell me bout yer wife and ye’s antics.  Tis hard not t’ hear em each night.  Ye both be going about it like t’ gods the’selves fer Others sake.  If’n ah not know Ye be wise n’ well lived n’ life; ah would think Ye a set o’ young lovers n’ t’ hay.”

Cranky grins, trying to stave off the blush of embarrassment he feels at the knowledge that his friend can hear that each night.  The donkey did not think they were that loud, after all the neighbors never complained.

Lugh, quite pleased with the reaction it has gained from its contractee and friend, continues on with a short chuckle.
“Ha, tis be fine indeed Cranky.  Now, Ye be sure Ye want this t’ be th’ way thing be forev’r?  Ye certain these be th’ words Ye want t’ use my friend.  After all, Ye never asked bout t’ price tha’ be paid fer this.”  The last sentence is delivered in a mock serious tone by the yard worker.

Cranky already knows the answer, he talked it over with Matilda last week.  They both want the same thing now, after all, having lived like this for a mere few months they already can’t imagine going back to the way they were before.  Nodding at his friend, Cranky states the fateful words he can never take back.

“Yes Lugh, both Matilda and I want things to stay this way forever.  For things to always be more prosperous, for my yard to be an beyond perfect green and her garden to bear the most bountiful of harvests.  We both agreed, no cost is too high for this life, for a long and joyous future as well.   Of just for us either, I want you to stay forever Lugh you...”. With a gulp the donkey speaks the last part of his sentence.  “You are my best friend besides my wife Lugh, ever since you appeared in my life I’ve had everything I’ve ever wanted and things I never knew I desired.  So yes, I want things to be this way forever.”

As the final words leave the donkey’s mouth, a warm wind scented with clovers passes over the two.  And the smile on Lugh’s face grows wider, to one who did not know him well they would describe his expression as a devil who had just sealed a jackpot of a deal.  His eyes glimmered, as he responds with a voice that can best be described as bubbling.
“ In tha case ah m’ gonna offer ye th’ chance t’ meet me kin.  E’ry year we hold a celebration on th’ eve o’ th’ first day o’ fall Beltaine.  Tis a marvelous thing, with feasting an dancin’ an ritual galore. If’n Ye make it th’ night n’ pass th’ test n trials me relations set fer ye, yer life as it is now will be tha’ way forever.  Ye will nev’r grow old o’ die, Time herself will reverse for Ye, an the bounty an harvest be prosperous for’ever more.  Tis in the fine print o’ th’ contract that this be possible, but only if’n Ye desire it n’ agree as ye just did.”

Cranky can hardly believe his luck and ears.  If any other creature had spouted such things he would have had questions, or been suspicious.  But as he had told Lugh, this creature was his best friend, and the donkey believed him.  Smiling, barely containing his joy, he asks, “When is this fall Beltaine then? I’ve never heard of it before, so I’m unsure on what day it falls.”

Lugh, still grinning, responds.  “Oh, tis the day after the eve of All Souls, October 30 in yer time system it be.  Ye will meet me here at 6pm, alone, wi’out yer missus, and ah will take Ye to th’ celebration.  No need t’ dress fancy o’ the like, me kin will oblige ye a proper costume when we arrive.”

It sounds absolutely perfect to Cranky, and Lugh’s family seems so polite as well, to have clothing and costumes ready for him as well as the feast.  The donkey knows that Matilda will be off in Manehatten volunteering for the week of October 28-November 2nd.  So he says what anyone would to an invitation to feast and meet family of a friend.

“Lugh, I’ll be here ready to go on October 30th, on time and ready to attend this gathering.  I can’t wait to meet the family of one who had done so much for my wife and I.”

The creature called Lugh nods, turning to head over to the shed and check on the feed.  His response come back on the wind as he goes, feet not bending nor touching the grass below.
“Aye, they be most eager to meet Ye too Cranky me friend.  Now be off to the inside o’ ye home, ah have work t’ do so th’ grass be green er in th’ mornin.”

Leaving his friend to his work, Cranky grabs the plates and cutlery and takes them inside.  Sitting down in his chair after placing them in the sink, he wonders what Lugh’s family is like.  He does not think it odd that everything in his life has changed since meeting the creature and signing the contract.  The sheer amount of changes seem merely the result of years of hard labor.  The magical fruit, the youth, everything that had changed he feels is what is due to him.  The missing don’t even cross his mind despite using the fliers to mark his books.  It’s almost as if he is under a spell of some sort, but that’s preposterous, no such spell could make things like this happen.   No, it’s merely true good fortune Cranky earned, that he deserves.


His hoof no longer itches, though an odd mark seems to have embedded itself within it.  Starting at the fetlock and ending in the center of his hoof, is a long branchlike braided marking.  His left eye has an emerald gleam to it, right in the corner.  Cranky thinks it makes him look dashing, and wonders what awaits him at the feast of Beltaine.






Canterlot Castle - October 1st - Department of missing ponies - DOMP

“I don’t understand!  It makes no sense.  Ponies just don’t disappear and not leave a single trace behind.  We’ve tried everything Princess.  Every spell, every technique, we even called in the Rovers to try to sniff them out.  Nothing works, it’s like they vanished off the face of Equestria.”

Subtle Trace slams her hoof down again causing the papers on the desk to fall to the floor.  Folders and folders from Ponyville to Fillydelphia of missing ponies that have disappeared over the past five months without a trace.  16 from a Ponyville, 12 from Neightucket, 20 from Fillydelphia, 15 from Trottingham, and more from surrounding provinces.  Not a single one has been found, not hide nor magic trace.  It’s as if they just vanished from existence.  

The subtle silver grey stockings on the otherwise solid grey batpony mare with pale bronze eyes contrast against the yellow of the folders littered about.  The previous mess of organization made even worse by her outburst, the mare with the cutie mark of a sliver of the moon over barely visible hoof prints just shoves the remaining folders into the floor.  Much to the chagrin of the one listening to her report.

Standing before the desk is Princess Luna, who has been involved in the search since the beginning.  The DOMP falls under her jurisdiction, and with the sheer amount of ponies going missing it’s getting frustrating for her to keep calm.  Subtle Trace is right, not a single sign of the missing has been found.  Not in the waking or dream world.  She has spent nights trying to find them, only to learn the next morning of another pony joining the unfortunate missing souls.

With a tired voice she asks, “Are you sure you have tried everything?  Because We have scoured the dream realm and had no luck.  My strongest scrying spells can’t locate or predict the next victim.  It’s as if something foreign to Equestria itself has invaded our world and begin stealing our ponies.”  The final word is followed by a series of coughing sobs that cause Subtle Trace to rush over to comfort her liege.

The batpony allows Luna to use her to steady herself, the princess of the night exhausted from four months of searching on little to no sleep.  As Luna’s breathing slows down and her sobs cease she quietly asks, “What.. what could do something like this?  Make them all just vanish, and so many.  One every night, young and old.  All those poor innocent foals, just gone.  Why can’t we find them?”  

The Princess of the night stares down at the veritable sea of folders on the floor before her.  Each one numbered, with a name and date they went missing on the front of every one of them.  But breaks her heart are the photos, the images of the missing attached to the front of each manilla folder and protected by preservation magic.  All those faces looking out at her, every single one having seemingly vanished from the face of Equestria without a trace.

Her eyes move towards one folder in particular, the oldest of them all.  Her eyes tear up anew as she sees the young colt’s face.  The plump little grey earthpony with a messy dark brown mane and blue eyes, his cutie mark a fork and spoon.  He was the first to disappear back on in May.  His parents claimed he had been out with friends that evening, those friends said he had headed home after they finished playing a game of ball.  Poor little Truffle Shuffle hadn’t been seen since.  The worst part was his friends disappeared in the following weeks, all of them young foals.

Luna can’t hold it in anymore, and lets loose the tears she has held in for these five months.  Subtle Trace sniffles, trying to hold hers in to be strong for her princess but fails completely. The two mates sit amongst the folders of the over one hundred missing, sobbing and crying for those who seem to have faded from this world entirely never to return.  They also cry because deep down they know, there will be a new folder in the morning.  A new face to add to the pile of the lost.





Beltaine eve, October 30th , 5:59pm, Cranky’s home, Ponyville.

Cranky Doodle Donkey stands on his patio waiting for Lugh to appear so they can head out.  As the twilight grows he hears a shuffle in the perfect deific green grass.  Turning his head his eyes widen as he sees the lawn seem to part, folding up like water to reveal an old wooden walkway beneath made from bending boughs of long dead branches.  At the far end of the path, in front of the shed, is Lugh.  The fellow waves at Cranky, gesturing for him to come over.

The donkey puts a hesitant hoof in the pathway, shocked at how solid it seems.  A few more hooves and he is standing upon it, marveling at the beauty and strength in the wood.  A whistle draws his attention, his friend gesturing urgently for him to hurry up.  Without a second thought as to the strangeness of the situation, Cranky trots down the walkway of braided boughs until he reaches Lugh at the shed entrance.

“Where is your family Lugh?”  He asks, confused for all he sees is the old garden shed door.

Lugh, his eyes twinkling like fire and beard twitching with excitement, grabs the handle to the shed door and turns the knob.  He is noticeably taller today, though still not as tall as a full grown pony.  As the door open he gestured inside and says.
“Why, they be waitin’ jus’ beyond’ th’ passageway thru th’ entrance ere’ Cranky me friend.  We be th’ last t’ arrive too, all th’ other guests arrived long ago.  Jus’ follow me an all will be well.”

With that the creature walked into the opening beyond the door, that at the moment seemed to be pitch black.  Without a moments hesitation, Cranky Doodle Donkey follows at Lugh’s heels.  His left hoof making a “crick crack “ sound as he moved forward following the green bowler hat with the red band.  Following it through an impossibly long passage of inprobable distance, as the hat gets closer and closer to eye level as of rising up from the ground.

Finally, Cranky takes a step forward and finds himself no longer surrounded by darkness.  All around him are countless hills of the most perfect green grass.  What plants besides the blades of green exist blend perfectly with the landscape, as if some otherworldly entity had painted them there in a moment of absolute inspiration.  The sky above is a dark greenish black, with shades of purple that seem to twist and twirl into shapes he cannot discern.  Further along the path he stands upon, the same boughs as before though larger and definitely alive based on the sprigs upon the edges, he can see a great green and silver light covering an entire massive clearing beyond.

Within that clearing a celebration is occurring, hundreds of ponies and other e titles dance and feast away in front of a pile of fruit and grain.  Their eyes sparkle, and songs of merriment echo up the hill to the donkeys ears.  His jaw is loose, eyes sparkling green in awe as he looks upon the ideal festival in the most perfect of fields.  Cranky is jarred from his state by a familiar voice speaking to him from his left.

“So, Ye wish to stare at th’ celebration all night, o’ do Ye wish to join them and meet me family an kin as friend and kin o’ me Cranky?”

Lugh is much taller now, up to Cranky’s height in fact.  His face is now more noble, though still similar to how he has always been.  His tail thicker, his hands slightly more predatory, and his coat resplendent in shimmering fireflies.  He grins at the donkey, his teeth a mix of carnivore and herbivore oddly comforting.

Cranky grins back in kind, “I would like to join them, to meet your family, and celebrate the wonder of this land and all Ye have done for me.”  He says, with a slight unusual accent that goes unnoticed except by Lugh.

The creature grins wider, gesturing towards the light beyond.
“Come on then Cranky, we be like kin soon, best not dally when the light is ju’ o’er there.”  

With that said, the two odd friends walk down the path, towards the festivities beyond.  The boughs not bending beneath their weight, and the fires welcoming them to the feast of the otherworld.  

Beneath the boughs though, unbeknown to Cranky as he walks towards the light and Lugh’s kin, there lie the foundation of which the boughs grow from.  Brilliant white tibias and sections of hooves criss cross with the great plants that feed upon what remains of their marrow and minerals.  Most are old, older than Cranky by hundreds of years or more.  Glittering white and yellow bones, skulls in all sorts of shapes and sizes can be spotted amongst the bone field below the boughs.  Some limbs seem to be reaching up towards the branching prison above, as if grasping for a vain hope of being saved from their fate.  Those skeletons that remain intact, are connected by vines and roots that wrap about the long rotted to dust corpses like muscle.  Each one of these vines leads up to the main boughs, twisting into the path that Cranky and Lugh are now reaching the end of.

Each of these unusual skeletons has one thing in common, the vines and roots begin on the end of the front left limb.  The same place as the mark on Cranky’s hoof.
> The Price Paid in Full - Finale Part 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The World Beyond the Shed Door


Cranky is awed by the verdant green rolling hills in the world of dark green and purple skies and grassy smooth textured knolls.  As he steps off the bough built walkway, his eyes are finally able to behold the celebration in all its wonder.  

The clearing is not empty of green grass but instead seems to be coated in moss and clovers, wound together into a cloud like carpet by means unknown.  Little patterns can be seen within this plush floor of vegetation, glowing an iridescent green and shifting like living beings.  Ancient runes and words, icons and symbols, speaking in a tongue beyond that of the old donkey.  The clearing floor is a living, breathing, sea of green upon which festivities are beginning to take place.

All across the clearing collections of odd floating lights flit through the air, glowing wisps of green and teal giving light to the activities within.  Some of these glowing orbs spin side by side, leaving trails of shimmering light dust in their wake as patterns shine in the air momentarily before collapsing slowly like falling stardust.  The largest of the witch lights are the size of a bonfire, and are settled upon seemingly randomly placed torch pylons made of great ivory colored branches that grow up from the green carpet below.  Leaves that shimmer a gilded green grace their sides, growing in patterns that seem to form a series of living icons and symbols that shimmer in the fey lights glow.

Scattered around the great torch boughs are beings of assorted sizes and types, many unknown to the old codger who is slowly being led towards the clearing proper.  Some stand upon two legs, their lower halves similar to many creatures the donkey knows of but the upper halves akin to hairless apes.  Many have horns or ridges upon their heads and brows, in some cases they trail down their spines mixing with their manes.  A few dance or perch upon interwoven boughs, singing or playing instruments that seem to excite their listeners into dance.  The rhythms are intoxicatingly foreign, yet also feel familiar at the same time.  Like an old lullaby from child that had passed from your mind in time, but whose tune will always stay within your body and soul.

One such creature stands before what looks like a collection of ponies wearing cloaks, smiling as he paints a picture upon a leaf bound canvas.  Smaller creatures run about the clearing, holding dishes and trays filled with everything from food and drink to assorted accessories and musical instruments.  Their eyes large and bright, shimmering in the lights around them as they seem to fly from one being to the next.

Great creatures whose skin seems to be made of bark and leaves roam the grounds, often accompanied by beings in flowing cloaks of ivy and green mist whose hair is covered in flowers; great wings of many hues folded upon their backs.  The tree creatures seem to be revered by many, being given quite a bit of space as they pass by.

Other creatures are more unreal in nature, their unnatural proportions causing Cranky to glance away.  One creature in particular seems to exude a sense of wrongness, it’s great cloven hooves at the bottom of a skeletal equine body with interlocking muscle and flesh being all that keeps it together.  Merged unto its back is a ghastly thing, bearing a vague similarity to a hairless ape it’s great twin horns upon its head, it’s jaw hanging loose and it’s eyes glowing a green hued red while its long clawed arms fall to the ground beside it.  It sits by the far side of the clearing, surrounded by dark green almost black mosses, and attended by creatures whose visages are hidden by dark green hooded cloaks.

Others have pointed ears and slanted eyes upon varied faces and forms, one Cranky recognizes from Lugh’s stories as the female he once had the misfortune of dating.  Her luminescent green gown a stark contrast to her pale white skin, dark hair, and nearly black eyes that glow from within.  Her unnatural beauty both intrigues and repels Cranky, though many seem to not be as wary of her as the should be.  She sits alongside a horselike creature whose mane looks to be made of reeds, chatting amicably while drinking from a wooden goblet.

Scattered across the clearing are hundreds of equine shapes mingling with more unnatural and fey creatures, many of these seem familiar in form to equestrian ponies.  Other hooded creatures of all varieties dance around wisp lights alongside the fey and fiends that have gathered together for this celebration of Beltaine.

The purple sky above has patterns of green twisting through the clouds, the great shimmering moon of this world seem to have creatures dancing upon its surface to the music below.  The sky is filled with other winged and serpentine rebel era, some made of no more than mist and fog.

By the edge of the greatest fey light pillar stand a crowd of beings that somewhat resemble Lugh, their auras given off a powerful presence that is akin to and may even dwarf the princesses of Equestria.  One or two of them look like his friend with brighter color schemes,and others range in for, from anthropomorphic badger and weasel to a great stag with rubes upon its skin who stands regally alongside a great bull like creature.  They all turn to stare in the direction of the two newcomers, eyes trained upon Cranky himself with an intensity that would cause most to crumble to their knees.  But the old donkey perseveres, mind nearly overwhelmed with the otherworldly celebration around him and confidence bolstered by his friend who walks alongside him.

Unbeknownst to Cranky a few of the more terrifying creatures have glanced his way with hunger in their eyes, only to be stopped and forced to bow and back away by a glare from Lugh.  As the two friends have gotten closer to the great pillar, Lugh has changed still more than he had upon entering the world.  

Taller than almost any others present, his limbs are no longer short but long and regal, with well defined lean muscle visible under the shimmering pale greenish yellow skin.  His face no longer scrunched but aquiline and unnaturally beautiful, though his off colored slanted eyes have stayed the same they now fit his face well.  His suit has grown to match his new form, and the short thin tail is now long and thick, wrapped around his suit like an old hemp belt.  It’s tip looks like a braided tree in the shape of a sun.  His long green hair now has highlights of red, yellow, and orange within it, flowing down his back and over his shoulders like a royal cape.  And out and framing his bowler hat are two great horns made of ancient black oak boughs.  His beard is gone, replaced by a great neck and chest ruff of the same color, the texture of moss.  His shoes have turned to great green and red gauntlet boots, his feet still obscured entirely from view.  His entire being gives off a green and yellow glow of its own, as he escorts Cranky to the pantheon pillar light.

Cranky tries to pay attention to where he is being led but the celebration is full of distractions that keep stealing his focus.  Great tables made from still living branches, trees, and ivy trellises are loaded down with an exotic variety of foods and dishes the likes of which he has never seen before.  Shimmering crystal foodstuffs, great oversized salads, massive pumpkins stuffed with herbs and spices, unusual fruits and vegetables mixed with what looks like ivory and green tea coated entrees.  Other dishes defy explanation, one being a great bowl of something that keeps rippling to and fro, with nothing visible within despite seeming completely transparent save for the green glow from the surface.

Different groups of creatures running past and giggling draw his eye, and for a moment Cranky could swear that he spotted a small plump grey earth pony colt among them.  But a tap on his shoulder brings his attention where he is within the great celebration.  Standing before him in front of the largest fey light pillar are the group of beings he compared before to the princesses.  

Now close enough to touch the edges of the cloaks many wear, Cranky takes back that assessment.  Whatever these creatures, no beings, are they are more than the two princesses are.  Possibly more akin to the creature known as Discord, yet more unearthly than even he.  All of them give of their own glow of aura light, each one a unique color and hue that represents something unknown to the donkey.  All of them though give of that same feeling he first connected to Lugh, that feeling that no longer affects him as it once did due to the time he has spent with his friend.

Feeling as if he should say something, Cranky opens his mouth to speak only for Lugh to speak first.  His voice still slick, but no longer oily but smooth and wispy, carrying an unspoken weight upon it as it breaks upon the air.

“Me family an kinfolk, migh’ ah introduce ye to Cranky Doodle Donkey.  He be th’ one I told ye about, a might good contractee and friend o’ mine who ‘as agreed t’ th’ trials o’ Beltaine.  I do hereby vouch for a’ exception on h’is behalf, so tha’ he migh’ be given a chance to become as kin to us instea’d o’ joining th’ winding bough ones by nights end.”

The bull like creature is the first to respond, it’s eyes narrowed in derision and curiosity as its low rumbling tone rumbles forth from its toothy jaws.  Eyes focused on Cranky, it grumbles.
“What be the circumstances o’ this exception.  This night has long been one of revelry and sacrifice, ‘tis not of’en a change be allowed.  We ave’ waited millennia for another fro’m that world t’ call upon one o’ us.  To open again the bridge to th’ realm where magic be thick as sap upon the word and it’s inhabitants.  Ye best have a good reason for disrupting this rite o’ tradition that we have waited so long for, even by our standards of time.”

It’s voice sounds like the earth itself shifting, a great reverberating tone full of power, the bull creature ends its inquiry.  

It is soon backed by the stag by its side.  Whose voice in contrast to the bull’s is more akin to a trickling stream.
“I second Cernunnos, what reasons give ye for breaking the rite of Beltaine?  Have we not waited long enough for the completion of the rite with one from the world of Equis?  Will ye make us wait even longer still?”  The feminine voice of the regal stag is contrasted by her obvious irritation and impatience.  

Cranky feels slightly unnerved and confused at this line of questioning.  What rite are they referring to?  Sacrifice must be a metaphor for something else, but obviously Lugh’s request has upset a few of his family members.  The donkey open his mouth to speak, but is cut short once more.   Though a reassuring hand on his shoulder let’s him know he is not being ignored.

This time the one speaking is a tall fair maiden, her hair the color of pine bark with vines and flowers flowing from hair root to tip like strands of a mane.  Her skin is the pale color of beech bark, and her body is covered in a gown made of woven moss and iridescent vines.  From her head branch two feminine horns of twisting boughs and vines, and her eyes are a deep green like old growth of a forest.  Her voice sounds like rustling leaves rippling in the wind, calm yet firm and powerful as it threads its way through those around her.

“ Tailtiu, Cernunnos, your objections to P.B. Lugh’s request are fair and hold some merit.  However, it be not ye festival nor time of power so ye voice and views hold less weight than Lugh or I’s.”

Lugh stares boldly at the maiden as she speaks with an unspoken challenge in its eyes, she is bright counterpart to its current darkness born of the times.  Hand still on Cranky’s shoulder it asks, “So wha’ be yer view on th’ matter Druantia?  Be ye for th’ exception or be ye for th’ rite o’ sacrifice?”

The light forest maiden looks at Cranky, her eyes gentle and serene as she seems to stare deep within him beyond the surface and skin.  Her eyes linger on the mark vaguely visible on his left fetlock, mild surprise visible as she noted the difference from the norm that only those who have been to this celebration before know.  Her gaze travels over to Lugh, matching his challenge with a soft look of agreement shortly followed by a verbal one.

“I be on yer side this time P. Bel Lugh.  Ye decision is a good one, my voice be that th’ creature known as Cranky Doodle Donkey be given the choice o’er his fate.  We ave’ waited this long, regardless of the choice the lad makes we will no’ wait much longer.  He shall either join the boughs or become kin to us by nights end.”

Her decision made the maiden gives a look at the two known as Cernunnos and  Tailtiu that speaks louder than any words could.  The two being grumble in reluctant acceptance, turning away and walking towards a huddle of figures a ways away.

Cranky, mind reeling from a confrontation he doesn’t understand, turns to Lugh and asks, “My friend, you said I would meet your family and kin...”

The being known as P. Bel Lugh grins, ruffling the shoulder of his equine friend.  Lifting his hand he waves it, gesturing at all those visible in the fey light and says. “ Cranky me friend, these here be me family and Kin.  An minus th’ two who jus’ left, I think they be all quite pleased t’ meet ye.”

The Donkey’s jaw drops as a series of greetings and welcomes, as well as wishes of good luck, echo from the beings before him.  The maiden who had vouched for Lugh and him smiles pleasantly at him, her eyes filled with some emotion he can’t read.

Pleasantries completed, Cranky merely manages to get out a gruff “It is pleasant to meet your acquaintances” before another of the beings moves forward.  Kneeling down so that their eyes meet, his resemblance to Lugh is marred by the pure white beard and hair over darker skin akin to an old fossilized tree.  His attire is the color scheme of the sky above, great robes that seem to be woven out of the night itself.  His voice is like the buzz in the air when a unicorn casts a spell, blended with the music of the wind as he speaks, his eyes serious yet cheerful.  A contradictory entity, he begins a discussion that shall end one of three ways.

“I be Gwydion, one o’ th’ few of many skills and powers akin to yer friend Lugh.  Since he has given word for ye, an Druantia agreed wi’ it, it be my duty to question ye and affirm that ye wish this to be.”  A cunning grin light up his face as he adds, “One o’ my powers be o’er illusions so no try’in to lie t’ me my lad.”

Cranky catches the hint and responds, “I am not one for lying, and I do wish this to be.  Lugh explained why he brought me here tonight last month.  I already agreed to pay any price for maintaining things as they have done to be for me and my beloved wife Matilda.”

Gwydion raises a rather bushy white eyebrow in mild surprise, one eye glancing over that the now grinning Lugh.
“Did he now?”

Lugh nods in affirmation, causing the bearded being to chuckle before his facial expression turned serious once more.

“So ye be aware of the choice ye will be asked to make by nights end?”  The being known as Gwydion asks of the old donkey.

Cranky nods and grumbles in response, “Yes I do, and I already know what my answer will be too.”

The old looking being waves his fingered in a pattern over the donkeys head, a light wave of green settling over him like a fine mist.  His task completed he gets up from his kneeling position, and glances down at the Donkey, eyes unreadable.
“Ye have till nights end to decide Cranky, either way ye belong to th’ world we be in now.  Ye may yet change yer mind before Beltaine’s end, either way yer fate is bound to Lugh and our fellow kin.  I wish ye th’ best, th’ truth may not be as easy on yer mind as ye believe it t’ be.”

Gwydion walks back to his place in the group by the pantheon pillar, the rest begin to drift away offering words of warning and good luck that fall on deaf ears of a donkey who cannot understand their tongue.  As they slowly leave, the being known as Druantia gestures at Lugh to come with her.  Glancing down at his friend, the being gently kneels over and pats him on the shoulder.

“Ye did well Cranky, if’n ye make it through the night me promise will be fulfilled and we shall be as kin.  Ye best go an mingle fer now, I must speak with the lady Druantia ‘bout the rites and sacrifices that be paid in price fer yer wish. “

Cranky merely nods and responds with, “Alright Lugh, just promise me I’ll see you before nights end.”

The being smiles, that odd light in his eyes brighter than ever before.
“That ye will Cranky, now I must go.  Enjoy the celebration, it’s all possible due to ye that we ‘ave so many attending tonight after all.”

With a final friendly oat on the shoulder Lugh takes its leave, walking over to the lighter counterpart maiden before drifting away from Cranky.

Cranky, still in shock from the encounter, wanders over to the tables and begins to partake of the feast.  The crystal like foodstuffs turn out to be delicious beyond compare, he particularly likes the ones shaped like apples that are crunchy on the outside and gel like inside.  Rich in flavor and texture, Cranky reluctantly moves on to the other assorted fruits and vegetables of the spread.

As a pair of blue eyes watch him from afar, he delightfully devours a sample of every item offered.  The clear liquid as it turns out, is a type of liquor, one as light as air that sparkles on his tongue like iced raspberries.  He is in the middle of taking his second bite of the ivory colored stalks, the insides similar to bamboo and quite stringy, when a feels something nudge him in the side.

Looking down, still chewing the odd vegetable stalk he spots the cloaked figure from before.  Small, about the size of a colt though a bit on the plump side, it is pushing at his side with its hoof insistently.  Swallowing his current mouthful,  Cranky glances down at the figure.
“What do you want?”  He says in an annoyed tone.

The figure backs away, gesturing with its head in a rather unnatural angle behind him towards a group of cloaked equines.  It paws the ground impatiently, as Cranky finishes his sample of fey cuisine before turning to look at the group.  It’s odd, he hadn’t realized before now how many equines were present since they had been so spread out.  The group the small colt, because it must be a colt, is gesturing at numbers around twenty five.  But as his eyes gaze over the crowd he realizes that there must be well over a hundred ponies of all sizes mingling about.  All wearing grey cloaks with hoods.  Now that he is paying attention, Cranky also notices something else about them.

None of them are speaking or singing.  In fact, compared to the joyous and very verbal creatures around them, the ponies seem unnaturally silent.  They dance and mingle, but make not a single sound, it’s so unlike what ponies are like at parties normally.  For a pony to not be singing or chatting at a festival is unheard of, it’s something so simple yet so off that it disturbs and intrigues Cranky simultaneously.

Moving away from the table laden with food, Cranky walks towards the colt.  For every step he takes the colt backs up one more.  Moving past the group of ponies the donkey had expected him to be with, the young grey cloaked colt does not stop until he reaches a smaller group of two other young ponies.  Both covered in cloaks, though the bulges in the hood and back give both away as a unicorn and Pegasus.  Standing in front of them, the plump colt stops.

Cranky does not.

As he gets close enough to reach out and touch the colt, the air around Cranky begins to feel thick.  A rank smell rises up and into his nostrils.  It is best described as a pile of well rotten vegetation of some sort that has long since grown fungus and mold upon it.  The three young ponies must not have bathed in a long time, since the stench is obviously coming from them.  The colt shifts a bit, seeming to get into a position to block Cranky from the other two.  Unknowingly or intentionally, his movement shifts the cloak enough to reveal a tattered dark brown tail and the edge of a blue spoon and fork cutie mark.

Cranky freezes, his mind bringing forth memories of a particular missing pony poster from months ago.  Reaching his hoof put towards the small figure, he says.
“Truffle Shuffle from the missing flier? Is that you..”

The words he was going to say freeze in his throat as his hoof brushes the edge of the hooded cloak causing a barely audible snap to be heard.  The hood falls downwards onto the colts back and towards the ground, the old hemp thread holding it together having broken due to exposure and wear, that touch being all it took to tear it free.  

As the hood falls, Cranky gasps in shock and disgust.

Where the colts face should be, where his skin should be, nothing remains.  Rotted muscle and a loose hanging tongueless jaw greet him where a smile should be.  Sinews reinforced by small vines interwoven through holes in the tissue hold the rotting visage together.  His ears are just missing along with half his mane and most of his neck tissue. the only thing remaining of the colts face are his blue eyes, held in place by vines and moss stuffed within like a mummy from Neighypt.  Somehow those eyes can still move, and the blue dead pupils glow from within as they stare at the old donkey filled with a silent accusation.

In the center of the skinless neck of the colt, a large glowing perfectly green seed like object can be seen.  Vines extend from it, interweaving with long dead tissues and tying together bones and muscle belonging to a colt long since dead.  The plumpness is due to a particularly disgusting mass of mummified grey skin, folded and sutured by vine like tendrils around the colts abdomen and center to give the illusion of his former shape.  Most of the mane has been replaced by dark grey vines and leaves, and the legs are little more than hooves with mummified skin attached to bones held together by more boughs. His cutie mark remains, mummified and shriveled upon his flank, surrounded by a vegetative monstrosity that is all that is keeping the colts corpse together after months of decay.

Cranky holds back a gag as Truffle Shuffle tilts his head, causing it to fall upon his shoulder in an angle so unnatural it can only occur if ones neck is shattered.

Backing away, with fear slowly beginning to overwhelm Cranky, the other two behind the decaying corpse of Truffle reach up visibly decayed hooves and pull off their cloaks.  Beneath each is a pattern of decay and greenery eerily similar to that of Truffle’s.  

The unicorn filly no longer has a jaw, just a mass of moss where the lower jaw should be.  Her horn is hollowed out, a flower bud visible on the tip as the edge of a vine has eaten through it’s center.  Unlike Truffle, her skin is mostly intact minus the lower legs and central neck.  However it is shriveled, mummified to a paper like light purple hued canvas over which negotiation has spread its roots and grown in places.  Under the semi transparent skin, vines can be seen shifting where muscles have long since dried up.  Playing the part of sinews and tendons long atrophied or harvested, they twitch as she moves her hooves about in a fidgety pattern all too reminiscent of the living.  Her cutie mark is covered by a large flower that has burst through her skin at the edge of where it would be on her flank.

The small Pegasus, a light tannish brown colt with a feather cutie mark, is in the worst condition of the three.  Despite obviously being fresher, his body has more vegetation than the rest due to the true horror of the fate that has befallen him.  Whole sections of his body have been carved out, his entire left rib section is gone leaving a gaping moss filled hollow behind.  His mane and the skin it is attacked to is hanging loose down the side of his neck, though the region where it should be on the crest of his neck and spine is gone.  More vines have grown over the hole, but the white of the spinal column is still visible.  His left rear leg and right front leg are gone, massive branches sutured onto the rotting stumps left behind.  A section of his left cheek has been bitten off, the tendon vines making a poor substitute for skin allowing one to see into the tongueless colts mouth.  Worst of all though, are his wings.  Or the stumps where they should be, vivid ivory white cracked bones wrapped in green moss molded in the shape of folded wings are all that remains.  His skin is semi mummified, allowing one to see vividly the vegetation within.

His pupils, like those of the other two, are only held into his skull by vines and moss.  They stare at Cranky Doodle Donkey from his decaying corpse, begging and accusing him simultaneously as the donkey backs away slowly.  All three stand together staring, a shining green light coming from their necks, their souks bound to their rotting bodies held together by assorted vegetation for an unknown purpose.  Featherweight, opens its mouth to speak, only for a gurgle to come out instead.

That does it, Cranky bolts and runs from the three walking corpses belonging to three damned young souls, his eyes wide with fear.  The festivities around him no longer seem joyful, but sinister and horrifying.  His thoughts race as he realizes the horrible truth of the grey cloaked equines.  His mind recalls all the missing fliers, ponies from his town and beyond.  Fliers he had brushed off and asked Lugh to hide from his beloved wife.  Fliers that only started appearing after he had made that deal with Lugh.

He bumps into another cloaked figure, causing its hood to fall back revealing a face frozen in a wordless inequine scream. Backpedaling he bumps another, this one in the middle of dancing to a song played by the half naked ape beings.  It’s cloak snaps off completely, revealing a stallion twisted like taffy.  His right and left hooves having switched location, and his neck resembling the swirl of soft serve ice cream.  His light orange coat riddled with flowering vines.

As Cranky backs away, trembling with terror, the stallions body continues to dance to the music as the green light can be seen pulsing from his chest.  Pupils wordlessly dilated, as it’s body moves at the will of the flute.  A prisoner of the magical spell manipulating its movements.

Cranky turns around, unable to watch the contorted corpse dance.  He takes off again. running through the crowd, searching for a way out of the clearing that seems so much larger than before.  Eyes follow him hungrily, as he bumps more and more ponies revealing impossible injuries and deformations beneath the grey cloaks.  Such horror a sharp contrast to the lush green carpet beneath his hooves, such ugliness and death made even more terrifying by the festive atmosphere around him.  Bodies of ponies missing, that should by all rights be dead, move around him like twisted aberrations and mockeries of life.

He bumps into so many grey cloaked ponies that their visages blur together in a morass of monstrous memories.  A leviathan of wrongness, some monolithic nightmare that he somehow knows is all his fault.  Lugh had said that so many were here at this festival due to him, and it is slowly dawning on Cranky what that means as he winds through the crowd of undead corpses and otherworldly beings.

Spotting a break in the clearing edge on his left, Cranky dashes for it, his mind filled with but one goal.  Escape.  As his hooves hit the grass beyond the clearing the sounds of the celebration abruptly stop.  Turning his head to look back against his better judgement, Cranky is met with a terrible sight.

The otherworldly creatures are stepping aside as the grey cloaked equine abominations move as one through the crowd.  At their head is the trio of long dead rotting foals, over a hundred pony monstrosities moving like a grey cloaked tide with one goal and one destination.  They are headed right towards Cranky Doodle Donkey.  Panic overtaking him, the youthful old donkey doesn’t wait for the wave to reach him, but instead takes off through the perfectly green blades of grass.

Time seems to slow to a standstill as he flees, the blades caressing his hooves as he flies over the tips, a green glow coating his form in the fey moonlight as he races away from the tide of pony dead flowing after him like a living deluge.  He can hear them crunching the lovely grass behind him, destroying its green life without care.  Their rotten hooves smashing each blade into the dirty, and to him it feels as if he feels each blade as it is destroyed or damaged under over a hundred sets of hooves.

Despite the pain he carries on, running faster and faster over the blades of grass, not a single on bending or breaking under him.  Memories of everything that has occurred over the past few months that he ignored come to the front of his mind.  Anxiety over the missing ponies, reports of a pony a day disappearing from Equestria.  The news saying that not even the princesses could find the bodies, it was like they vanished off the face of the world.  Matilda worrying about the being behind the missing, terrified they could be next.  All the things he had blocked in favor of basking in the perfection and success borne of his deal with Lugh.

A deal that had made him truly happy for the first time in a long time.  A deal that had made his wishes come true, beyond that of his lawn and fields.  A deal that had a price attached he never once asked about, and even now denied what he knew it had been.  A deal that had led him here, to this place, this otherworld.  That deal that had now ended with him being chased by a hideous wave undead corpses that seemed to desire to hunt him down amid these perfect green rolling hills.  

Wait, the deal had not ended.  Cranky’s mind freezes as he realizes this.  As he runs faster and faster, he looks around for any sign of Lugh or the clearing.  There, ahead of him is a glowing light similar to those in the festival clearing.  Two tall figures stand beside it, one of the two looks familiar even from this distance.  His left front hoof aches, but Cranky pushes on towards that fey light.  His breathe is not ragged, but he is beginning to slow.  Not looking back, the donkey puts all of his energy into one final burst of speed.

His limbs flying over the grassy knoll, he leaps into the clearing and lands in a heap heaving deep breaths in and out as the sound of wailing echoes around him.  Looking towards the clearing edge, still catching his breath, Cranky sees the horde of grey cloaked damned wailing and lamenting his escape.  They seem unable to enter the clearing, the light itself or something more keeping them at bay.

His left front hoof aches horribly, and as Cranky tries to get up his left leg collapses beneath him as of it has turned to jello.  Instead, he uses his other legs to turn himself around to face the two figures before him.  By the fey light pillar stand P.B Lugh and the maiden called Druantia.  His hoof beginning to feel numb, Cranky looks up at his odd friend and his kin, eyes feeling exhausted from his run desiring to merely close and steal him to sleep.

“Lugh.. the grey cloaked ones are the missing ponies.  They have become abominations. Monsters all of them.  They chased me, destroying the grass and fields in an effort to do who knows what to me.  I barely made it here, I’m so tired and my hoof aches. Tell me, my friend, why are they here?  Why did they chase me?”

Lugh glances down at the donkey, a small grin on it’s face he kneels down so as not to force Cranky to use his bad hoof.  It reaches out to pat the shoulder of its contractee before responding.
“They be chasing ye due to they themselves bein’ in tha’ state due to ye Cranky.  They be here due to th’ same reason, an they know it to be true.  Ye knew it too, th’ moment ye first saw the face o’ th’ first offerin’; no need to deny it no longer now tha’ th’ truth be out in th’ open.”

Cranky stammers in response, “How is their state my fault?  What do you mean by offering and the truth?  Tell me Lugh, what is going on?”

P.B Lugh chuckles as it realizes Cranky has yet to put the final piece of the puzzle together. Grinning widely he answers its friend the way he must.
“Cranky my pal, Ye never asked what th’ price of me services be?  Th’ price fer such a miracle, fer such prosperity, it be no small one.  For each day of me services, I was promised a regular offerin’ o’ my choice fer the takin.  True, a fair amount of th’ offerings were determined by th’ ones who damaged ye field and green.  Indeed, the first had t’ be one o’ th’ three responsible; an all three had t’ be taken in time.  However, in between takin the culprits I had the freedom to take anyone I wanted.  One a day for months on end, even af’r the monsters who damaged yer green were gone I had to keep takin’ offerings up till the day o’ Beltaine so I could stay and keep serving ye.  Twas just the price ye agreed to me friend.”

Cranky’s eyes had grown wide as the implication of what Lugh had said set in.  It was all his fault, all of those ponies missing, all because of him.  While he had enjoyed his luck and prosperity, the price had been a pony a day taken to this place.  Having who knows what done to them.  Those patches in the yard of darker green grass that appeared regularly, just the right size for a pony to be buried under.  Lugh’s mentioning of offerings, the festival, the talk of sacrifices.  All of it swirls in the donkeys mind as he croaks put another question.
“ All of them, all those ponies, they were the price?  The sacrifice?”

Lugh tilts his head, looking contemplative though the grin never fully leaves his face.  After a moment or two, he responds.
“Th’ pony offerings and feeding o’ th’ lawn be th’ price paid, though only in part.”

Cranky stares at the mass of grey cloaked fiends outside the light as Lugh continues.

“Th’ full price be paid when th’ sacrifice be made at Beltaine or before.”

As Lugh pauses, Cranky croaks out a question he already suspects the answer to.
“So of the ponies, the missing, were not the sacrifice, them that means the sacrifice is..”

As he trails off, Lugh puts its hand on the donkeys shoulder, staring him in the eyes as it completed the sentence for Cranky.
“Th’ sacrifice was supposed t’ be ye Cranky my friend.  Normally it would be ye..”

Tears begin to roll down the old donkeys face at those words, crying like a young child that has lost something precious to him.  He is surprised when a soft touch brushes away the tears from his eyes, and the hand on his shoulder begins to pat him calming him down. Looking up, he sees the grinning face of Lugh, his closest friend and the taker of innocents.  A being from another world that had granted his greatest desires, and promised him a way to keep them forever.

Cranky sniffles a bit as a thought comes to mind, though he doesn’t voice it and instead waits for Lugh to speak.

Sensing an opening to talk, the being known as Lugh speaks.
“As I was sayin, normally t’would be ye tha’ would be th’ sacrifice.  However, ah like ye Cranky, and consider ye a friend like me one kin. Make no mistake, th’ only reason ah offered you the deal ah did one month back was because of who ye be.  None have called me or me kin t’ yer world in millennia, so reliant on their earth magic they be.  None have poured so much blood, sweat, tears, and  parts of their own souls into the earth and soil t’ bring about a field like ye have  fer so long the very connection from this world t’ ye own disappeared.  Yet ye managed t’ do so, and that action called me to ye in yer time o’ need.  Don’ get me wrong, tha’ alone is nah why I offered ye the deal of yer wish being made real forever.  Nay, I did so because I like ye personally like kin, Ye gave me gifts an kindness the like ah have rarely seen.  I grew fond of ye, and so I decided to allow ye a choice in the matter of how ye contract ends.”

Lugh ends his statement, mis matched and slanted eyes staring deep into the old donkeys tear reddened ones.

Cranky takes a deep breathe, staring back into his friends eyes with grim determination.  He knows what he has wrought, what his actions have caused, and yet at some level the donkey still desires what he gained from the deal.  So he asks, decision already made and heart heavy with what is to come.
“What is the choice Lugh?”

The being known as Lugh grins wider, responding in his trademark gleeful way.
“The choices me friend be three in total.  Th’ first be to give yeself as th’ sacrifice th’ contract normally requires.  If ye do that, the taken souls will be at rest and ye will join the others as a part o’ the winding boughs pathway tha’ we walked upon to get here from yer world.  The second be t’ try to make it t’ ye own world before the thorn in ye hoof grows thick and devours ye.  O’ course th’ souls will be hunting ye fer all time if ye choose that path and survive.  Th’ third be th’ one we spoke of a month past.  Ye and yer wife will become as kin to me, no longer shall ye be mere mortal beings an’ yer wishes shall forever be made real.  Ye will be changed fer all time, body and soul, but there’ be no dying nor price t’ be paid minus ye own souls being changed to become akin to mine.  It be the choice I had to stand up t’ me kin to make possible to be true.”

Cranky mulls over the choices as Lugh takes his hand from his shoulder and gets up, moving over to stand by the fey light pillar by Druantia.  As the donkey thinks it over, it gives a knowing glance at the being who shares the this day with it.  Regardless of the donkeys choice, the price paid will never be forgotten.  The souls will never return to their world.

A cough draws the beings attention back to Cranky.  The donkey sits up, supporting himself on his three good hooves and says.
“I have made my decision.  But I’ll only tell it to Lugh.”

A sly look from Druantia is all Lugh needs to move once more towards the donkey, his contractee.  Kneeling down for a final time, he holds out his left hand to grab Cranky’s left front hoof.  With a grin, he says.
“Before ye state yer decision, I wish to tell Ye me name in full.  After all, one way or another this be our last conversation as we be now.  My full name Cranky Doodle Donkey, is Puca Bel Lugh; it has been a joy to contract with ye.”

The old donkey known as Cranky smiles as he responds, “Likewise, now..”. As he lifts his muzzle up to Lugh’s ear the only words that can be heard by Druantia before they fall to a whisper are, “My choice is..”





The world known as the otherworld is filled with a reverberating wailing and a cackling laughter of glee.  The grass ripples as a powerful wind surges through the rolling hills of green, turning the blades of recovering grass into a turbulent seas.  The world itself is on edge, as if some great and terrible twist of fate had been set in stone.  




Ponyville, one week later.

On the outskirts of Ponyville Luna and subtle Trace stand before the spot where the Doodle Donkey home used to stand.  It’s entirely gone, Matilda and Cranky no longer seem to even exist as of a week prior.  Not a trace of their aura is anywhere in Equestria.  Matilda was presumed taken on hallows eve, shortly before dawn.  What is odd about her case though is that witnesses say Cranky came to take her home, yet he went missing hours before hundreds of miles away in Ponyville.  He was reported missing after local trick or treaters noticed his house was deathly quiet.  A magical trace spell showed no sign of Cranky where Matilda vanished.  Neither had been spotted or seen since, like the others they just disappeared off the face of the world.

What brought Luna here though wasn’t just the missing donkey couple, or the home that disappeared the next morning as well.  No it was what was left behind after it vanished that caused her to stay up all day to help the investigation.  Nothing can be seen where the home once stood but green grass, perfect and uniform, cover the two lots.  A perfect green landscape, with no signs a home ever existed in that spot.  The other thing though, was the markers.  Using magic Subtle Trace had been able to detect unusual formations under the green sea that blanketed the ground.  All attempts to dig had been met with failure due to the nature of the green blades of unnatural origin.  You see, they tried to drag whoever tried to damage the ground into the earth itself.  Or they wrapped themselves around limbs, cut tendons, and even tried to infest wounds.  No manner of magic was known to cause anything like this, and so the formations had to remain within the earth.   But Subtle Trace was able to get a scan of the forms below, and it was..disturbing to say the least.

Underneath that perfect green canvas of waving blades whose unnatural origin even she could not discern, were what looked to be statues.  Twisted deformed mockeries of those missing, their forms snapped and torn, some in different stages of agony and pain.  Others sleeping blissfully for eternity.  They were not bodies, but something about them disturbed Luna in ways she had not thought possible.  For they all had embedded in them a stone seed shaped object, that glowed a perfect green.

Subtle Trace shivered as she looked at the newest scan image.  She wasn’t dreaming,  but how she wanted to be.  The statue things, whatever they were, they were not stationary.  She had noticed it the past few scans but now she was certain.  Every scan one would seem to be coated in moss or slime, maybe grass seeds is a better term.  The next scan would show the, gone, and the other statues moved or shifted.  This most recent scan though, it had shown something different.  The missing statue things, were all back.  Each of them coated in vines, their white alabaster inner base visible.  All of them.. were staring in the image, directly at her.  She had to tell Luna.




Elsewhere in Equestria,  an unknown time later -

An earthpony not gifted with tilling the fields or growing plants is a rare thing.  Iron Soil is one of those few, despite this he has put blood, sweat, and tears into his land and the result was for a time the most valuable turnips in Equestria.  However last week his field was vandalized by a rival farmer, who seeded it with bull weevils that ha e decimated his prized crop.  Without the turnip crop, his far, is finished.  Iron Soil, normally solid of mind and body, screams onto the wind “Why me?  After all my hard work?  If only there were some way to fix this, his I wish there was!”

The wind blows about him and behind him odd green, red, and brown leaves pile up.  As Iron Soil laments to the wind, begging for aid, the pile twitches and a hoof breaks free.  Slowly, a rather small youthful donkey dressed in an odd looking smartly made suit crawls onto the top of the pile.

“I might be able to help Ye with that,” it says causing Iron Soil to jump and turn to face the rather odd donkey like creature.

In a shocked voice the Earthpony asks, “Who are you?”

The creature grins and responds in a grumbling voice, “Ah be C.D Donkey, and ah want to offer ye a deal.”
> On Pucas and Irish Folklore - Authors note
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pucas are fey beings of Gaelic origin, according to folklore they can be either good or bad.  The good ones bring wealth and prosperity, the bad misfortune and woe.  They range in appearance, being shapeshifters they can alter their appearance at will.  However they are commonly known to take the form of diminutive creatures, short with shoes made of leaves and the like. 

Lugh was playing the part of a Puca, even pretending to be one.  But the being known as Puca Bel Lugh is no Puca, after all a Puca does not need to have the kind of offerings that Lugh does for their services.  Indeed, giving them a gift is more likely to cause them to leave, not act gleeful and chipper.

So what is Lugh?  After all, considering what he does shouldn’t the princesses notice or sense him?

Well if you replace the Puca in his name with another word it might make more sense.  Perhaps the word

Or you could just look up Bel and Lugh, both are Gaelic deities.  One was associated with horses and possibly other  creatures.  As well as the festival sabbath Beltane.  I changed the name a bit on purpose, but it’s the same time.  P.B Lugh is a combination of sorts of both Bel and Lugh, though darker in nature than both.  It’s implied in the story things in the otherworld have changed, perhaps that is part of why the two combined into one?

Celestia and Luna can’t find Lugh because he too has sway over the sun, as well as horses and ponies.  Though he can’t move it like the princesses, he can use its power to hide himself.  It’s why during the daytime he seems, and indeed looks, different.   Lugh can hide himself from the might of Celestia, by using the sun itself to power his tricks and powers.  He also evades Luna because he does not sleep or dream, and being an old fey god is more attuned to the darkness.  It helps he goes to The Otherworld after he grabs his daily offering.  The place exists outside Equestria and between the boundaries of the dimension of MLP and others.  Celestia and Luna simply can’t find him or those he takes there.

The daily offerings are part of the price Cranky agreed to pay.  The part he could not read due to dialect issues.  He was not tricked into signing the contract, for Lugh himself can’t appear before someone unless they truly desire something.  For Cranky this desire displayed in his passion for his lawn, his desire for it to be perfect.  Though the truth is he wanted more, much more.  This is why Lugh appeared before him on the last day of Spring Beltane, and not some lesser entity.  The depths of his desire, the amount sheer amount of things, as well as his dutiful care for the lawn and his wife are what brought Lugh to him.  

In the last chapter when he said that he chose to offer Cranky the choices concerning ending contract because he earned it by “pouring his blood, sweat, tears, and very soul into the dirt and soil,” he wasn’t lying.  Cranky and his devotion to his yard caused him to do just that by sheer force of will.  It was the equivalent of a sacrifice to the patron deity of the harvest, fields, and home.  In other words, Cranky called Lugh and his attention to Equestria himself. 

The reason the offerings are daily is due to Beltane having ended, Lugh needs offerings to remain in the world of Equis and fulfill the contract.  All those missing ponies as you may have guessed, were taken by him as offerings that allowed him to remain.  Those offerings were given to the earth and soil within his temporary domain (Cranky’s property), and crossed slowly to the otherworld instead of him.

The real turning point for the contract, and what determined Cranky’s fate, was when he told Lugh he considered him a friend.  On and off scene Lugh asked him about it multiple times, asked if he was sure he wanted him as a friend.  Cranky always said yes in a way.  That is what led to the change of the two old donkeys into more youthful ones.  The fruit that rejuvenates body, soul, at the cost of being insatiably hungry for a certain thing for a few hours?  It’s a fruit of the otherworld, similar to the legendary ambrosia of the Greek Gods.  Eating it and performing the ritual of life and bounty (sex, seriously the fruit makes you horny), will reverse your age and make you closer to those of the Otherworld.

It was a gift from Lugh, who by September had decided that he wanted Cranky to become kin to him; and with him Matilda as well.  The contract Cranky had signed had a clause in relation to how it ended for the contractee, as indicated by the finale part one that ending wasn’t exactly pleasant.  Lugh is a god, but he had grown fond of Cranky in a way he rarely has before.  Cranky had managed to last till Beltane without breaking the contract, and he had given multiple gifts and offerings.  Lugh really did see him as a friend of sorts, or the closest thing a being like him can get to friends.  His final offer, to allow Cranky to have all he had gained forever, was genuine.  However there was only way to make that happen.

Cranky had to attend Beltane in the otherworld, pass certain tests and trials, and make the decision on his own after the truth was revealed.  If he failed he would end up in a fate worse than death, if he survived and made the right choice, Cranky would never be a mere donkey again.  But he would get his wish.

The horror of what happened is not merely the death toll or the being who caused them.  It is that such deep rooted desire can ends with the one who signed the contract seeking out a contractee themselves.  To get his wish, Cranky had to become a being akin to Lugh.  Who will, every Beltane, search for one like he once was who desires one thing beyond all others.  And offer them a deal.

As for why I ended the story the way I did, well what is scarier?
Knowing that Cranky has become part of a winding bough powered by those who made contracts?
Or knowing that there are now two beings out in Equestria making contracts with unsuspecting beings?

I leave it to your imagination as to what the bodies of the taken looked like, or how things ended for Subtle Trace.

Thank you for reading my tale.
Glen Gorewood