Life, Death, and the Journey Between
Falling Leaves of Oak
Life, Death, and the Journey Between
Trees are living symbols of knowledge. Growing, adapting, stretching to the sun for life, and bending with the wind, they bear every experience of their years written on their bark and deep within their flesh. Even when they die, their pulped remains are used by ponies to capture another sort of knowledge, the experiences of flesh instead of plant. Still, trees are much like ponies, fighting against forms of death every day. Worms, fungi, frost, drought, floods, fire, disease, pests, and young lovers looking to carve their initials into the tree’s skin to proclaim their eternal bond. Oh, and time. It is the worst devourer of trees, the inevitable reaper who claims even the strongest and the most healthy. There are no alicorns of trees, living forever and keeping watch over their kind.
All trees die. And so do ponies.
Of course, before a tree or a pony dies all the way, there is a long period of decay where leaves grow wrinkled and manes fade until both tree and pony reach their immobile ends.
One such pony plodded slowly into town. At one time, he had been young, but that was many, many years ago, and time had taken its toll until he was nearly the uniform grey of road dust. Other ponies looked up when he arrived, but then looked away once they saw his cutie mark of a single oak leaf, still green despite the owner’s fading.
Ponies do not like to be reminded of their mortality, and an Oakleaf was only to be found when death was in the air.
Destruction had swept across Ponyville with Tirek’s rampage, tearing open houses and laying waste to the countryside, but the only fatality was the library. In some regards, the new arrival to the town would much rather the body count have been the opposite, for a library without patrons was—in his opinion—far more preferable than the smoke-wreathed stump he saw. He had been brought in to save library oaks in many stages of disability, from leaf wilt to boring beetles, but they had always been possible saves. There was no hope here, other than in the begging eyes of the town mayor and Princess Twilight Sparkle.
Cursed eyes.
The mayor understood, but the princess did not, despite her reputation. To her, there was nothing impossible with the help of her friends. Together, they had rescued a princess from a nightmare of legend, saved a crystal empire from endless darkness, and defeated a monster from the depths of Tartarus. Certainly, bringing a tree back from a charred stump would be possible, if difficult.
He wanted to leave. She talked him into staying, if only for a few days. To try the impossible and fail, as was inevitable.
Oakleaf remained at the charred stump while the others returned to their lives. It was only expected that he poke around the edges of the roots, looking for some sort of life that his earth pony magic could coax back into growth. It was a foolish quest, taken by an old fool who knew what Tirek’s fire had done to every growing cell of the destroyed oak tree. No earth pony could set hoof in the area without feeling it, the sense of curled death under the ground, life stolen away and not returned.
Still, he acted as expected. Not out of fear that the town would send for another Oakleaf to do the task which he could not. No, there were no other Oakleafs remaining in all of Equestria. Centuries ago, library oak trees grew in every small town and village across the country, and his family tree likewise was filled with leaves, but as ordinary buildings made of stone and tile replaced the messy organics of bark and wood, so did the number of Oakleafs dwindle. There were only a few of the old trees remaining now, ancient survivors who did not know when to quit, much like himself.
This had been a magnificent tree, larger than most, and packed to the bark with books. Only scattered scorched pages remained now, with the survivors having been evacuated to the princess librarian’s new home of crystal and light. No, this was the resting place of the dead now, from the dank air and dry roots of the empty basement to the shattered bits of its noble crown, which had been stacked by the sides of the road for other ponies to use as firewood.
When he died, Oakleaf wanted to be cremated just like the eventual fate of the trees which he had cared for all of his life. It would parallel the time he got his cutie mark to now, a long decline to an inevitable pile of ash. All of the Oakleafs he had known passed in the same way, with their deaths unmourned by ordinary ponies and their ashes quietly scattered around the roots of the trees they loved so much.
After a close inspection of the basement failed to turn up any unrescued books, Oakleaf plodded up to the surface to watch the sun set. This evening, he would sleep next to the wooden corpse, the dead and the dying together. Tomorrow he would leave, back out onto the road and his slow progress to another town, and another tree.
Light waned from bright to dim as the domain of the sun transitioned into night, the blazing hot summer sun making way for the cool moon to cast a wan illumination over his bed of matted grass and trampled flowers for the evening.
And another light.
There was a young unicorn colt sitting next to Oakleaf with his horn lit to provide a dim orange glow over the area. In the hornlight, his eyes seemed almost black and his blank-flanked coat shimmered between several shades of puce and vermillion. He did not say anything other than to look at Oakleaf with his mouth just barely open enough to show the faint glint of teeth. Then he closed his mouth and turned off his hornlight before turning away and trudging off into the night.
Morning dawned far too early for Oakleaf. Summer made little time for sleeping and far too much for sweating under the blazing sun, so even the short nights became shorter, going from too hot, to too cold, back to too hot once the sun had risen. The chill of the evening made his joints stiff and ache even worse than normal, but the cold breeze of night had been damped by the wool blanket draped over his shoulders this evening.
A blanket which he had not placed there.
When Oakleaf opened his eyes and squinted into the bright morning sun, the same colt sat a short distance away, watching him in return. Neither pony said anything for a while, then Oakleaf got up with a grunt and returned to examining the dead tree. There were young ponies like the annoying unicorn everywhere Oakleaf went, peeking and poking their noses into his business. They were tolerable, barely, provided they did not speak.
“Excuse me, Mister Oakleaf. Did you want anything for breakfast?”
Oakleaf stopped and turned slowly around until he was looking at the skittish colt.
“No.”
“But—” managed the colt before Oakleaf could get his old body turned back around.
“No buts,” snapped Oakleaf. “I’ve got a job to do. A futile job,” he added in a low mutter.
At least it made the annoying colt leave, but after nearly an hour of blessed silence spent poking and prodding the dead wood of the stump, he returned. This time, the colt brought a low table and several baskets of food, which he sat down and proceeded to arrange.
“Told you I didn’t want no breakfast,” snapped Oakleaf.
“It’s for me.” The colt picked a muffin out of one basket and bit into it before continuing. “I’ve got some extra, if you want. Otherwise, it will just go to waste.”
Oakleaf returned to his job, but the proximity of food made his disobedient belly rumble, his mouth water, and his hooves eventually track back over to the low table.
“Stupid,” grumbled Oakleaf through the crumbs of a delicious apple-cinnamon muffin.
“Sorry, sir.” The unicorn colt bobbed his head in a short nod. “I was hoping I could watch you work. M’name is Dust, sir.”
“Let me guess.” Oakleaf finished his muffin and dusted off his hooves. “I see you don’t have a cutie mark, so I’ll bet you thought you’d get yours in healing library oak trees like the Oakleafs have done for centuries.”
Before Dust could do more than nod again, Oakleaf turned his back and stalked to a nearby root of the dead library tree. He gave it a vicious kick to knock a piece of wood off, which he grabbed in his teeth and threw at the young unicorn colt.
“There!” snapped Oakleaf. “Use your magic and turn that into a tree. Go ahead!”
The unicorn was too stupid to be properly insulted. He floated the chunk of wood to the ground, took a deep breath, and poured his magic into a spell with enough force that sweat instantly began to run down his cheeks. Oakleaf watched silently as magic made the wood shimmer, twitching and jumping at first, then settling down to a low tremor that did not change as long as the unicorn focused his will upon it. After nothing happened for some time, the orange glare of his magic began to fade, and eventually Dust sat down on the muddy grass with a thump.
Oakleaf gave a disinterested grunt and returned to his task. He hoped the blank-flanked colt would get bored and leave, but once he had gotten his breath back, Dust began to shadow his steps, peering under the same bits of bark and pawing at the same patches of ground.
The sun rose higher in the sky until they stopped for lunch with the leftovers from breakfast, then their slow progress around the dead stump continued through the afternoon, young hooves following old.
“What are you doing?” asked Dust, far later than Oakleaf expected.
“Wasting time.” Oakleaf pried a piece of burnt bark off the dead stump and peered under it. “Tree’s dead, but there ain’t no other library oak what needs my attention right now. Ain’t many of them left at all. I put in a little extra effort and the town’ll give me a few extra bits when I leave.”
“There has to be something you can do. Something useful,” added Dust when Oakleaf kicked a clod of dirt in his direction.
“If the tree had lasted a few more decades, maybe. See this?” Oakleaf nudged a small green acorn out of the matted grass. “Don’t ever see many of these, but it’s unfertilized. Green. Pity, really.”
“Too young to be useful.” Dust sat down in a pile of fallen oak leaves. “I know what that’s like.”
“Go home.” Oakleaf sat down next to the young colt. “Go find something else for your cutie mark. You don’t want to be an Oakleaf anyway. All your time out on the road, going from dying tree to dying tree. In a decade or two, there won’t be any left.”
“I don’t have a real home,” admitted Dust. “I’m an orphan.”
“That’s original,” said Oakleaf with a snort.
“It’s true.” Dust floated up a charred page out of the wreckage and examined it before tossing it away. “No relative wants to take me in, but Ponyville has been more than welcoming. I used to spend all my free time in the library, reading about other places and ponies. Twilight Sparkle even let me reshelve books in one section,” he said with growing pride in his voice. “I loved this place the way it was. The new library is all cold and sharp edges. The crystal makes bright flashes of light when I’m trying to read with my friends.”
“Enjoy your memories, kid.” Oakleaf kicked another small green acorn away. “You won’t find many friends on the road. Stay here, get married, and tell your foals what it was like when books lived in trees, and the world was a softer, better place for it.”
“Maybe.” Dust nudged one of the tiny green acorns, then floated it up in his magic. “Maybe not. Sir, I need to go do something. Will you be here when I get back? Can you please stay here until I return?”
Oakleaf barely had time to nod before the young unicorn bolted, headed into the town with little tufts of grass kicked up in his wake.
It was several hours before Dust returned. At least twice, Oakleaf had begun to trudge away with the saddlebag of supplies that he had been given across his back, but each time he had returned. Darkness was approaching, and he probably would not be able to get very far out of town before having to bed down in a clump of grass by the roadside anyway.
He wanted to leave. The letter he had received from San Palomino was on top of the fresh apples and pastries filling his bags, detailing the poor condition of their similarly ancient library oak. Leaving would mean Oakleaf would not have to face the eager young face of Dust again, and watch dismay sweep across his sparkling eyes. The life of an Oakleaf was filled with such disappointment, but there was no reason to encourage such dark emotions.
“Hello again, sir.” The bright young unicorn colt bowed in front of Oakleaf, then gestured to his companion. “Mister Oakleaf, this is Pea Pod, my… friend.”
The small earth pony filly was barely the same age as Dust, and just as similar. Both of them had the knobby knees and awkward motions of teenaged youth approaching adulthood, when their hopes and dreams had not yet been crushed. She was the light green of a pea plant, matching her namesake right up to the cutie mark of a twining pea vine climbing up her hind leg, but far worse was the look of hope in her eyes that matched her unicorn friend.
“I think we can… What happened to the library?!” It was a testament to the foolishness of youth that Dust had not realized most of the stump had been dug up, and nothing remained of the Golden Oak Library but a shallow hole and a few broken roots. He most certainly did now, and darted back and forth as if to search for some stump-stealing criminal before Oakleaf stopped him with a simple raised hoof.
“Princess Sparkle’s friends took it.”
“But—”
“And I helped,” added Oakleaf. “They’re going to hang it up in her castle and decorate it, I guess. Make it feel more like a home. Guess you’re not the only one who doesn’t like bright reflections and cold stone in a library. Since the tree’s dead, that’s about the only use for it.”
Ignoring the stunned colt, he picked up his saddlebag and shrugged it onto his back. “I’m leaving. Got a letter from another town. Their library tree is wilting on one side, and I thought I’d wander up that way and see what’s wrong. Maybe even fix it. Probably not, but no harm trying, I suppose.”
Dust did not object, but bent his neck until his nose was practically against the ground. “I thought we could fix it together,” he said in a near sob. “Pea Pod’s special talent is growing plants.”
It was an intensely awkward moment, and Oakleaf decided that it would be best if he were to leave now, even if it meant sleeping by the roadside tonight. He shuffled away, watching over his shoulder until he was on the road again, then set himself to a familiar pace.
Every step away from the distraught young colt should have lifted some of the tension from Oakleaf’s shoulders, but all he could think of was his first trip to Ponyville, and when his own father had shown him the Ponyville library. It had been a fair size even then, with a vibrant, bright-eyed librarian straight out of school and books crammed to the walls. A few decades ago when he visited on his own to check a problem it was having with leaves accumulating in the crown and making isolated bits of damp rot, the librarian had moved away and a new one in.
It was like that in every town he visited. Ponies came and went, but the library oaks were forever, growing larger until they succumbed to age or disease and were replaced by cold buildings of stone and glass.
Princess Twilight Sparkle’s new castle was a new thing in his mind. In the light of the setting sun, it was a beacon of fire, a warped mix of castle and tree seeming to be made by a foal with extra glitter to spend. It was far from the warm comfort of the libraries he had seen over the years, but maybe it was the library of the future, when all the oaks were gone. When the last Oakleaf was fed into the fire and the last library oak fell, perhaps the crystal trees would spread their seeds across Equestria, leaving bright and shiny crystal shelves for the ponies to store their knowledge upon. Cold impersonal buildings with cold librarians…
He was lost in thought as he walked, listening to the sound of singing somewhere in the distance and unwelcome visions of the future in his eyes. The setting sun must have turned him around, because he found himself walking back toward the old library and the two young ponies outside of it. Oakleaf tried not to show his anger at getting lost in Ponyville, of all places, but he was still grinding his teeth when he stopped in front of them.
“Well?” Oakleaf glared at Dust. “What were you going to show me?”
“I thought you were leaving,” said Dust. He was still standing next to the young earth pony filly, far closer than simple ‘friends’ would rub shoulders and with both of their big-eyed expressions filled with so much sincerity that Oakleaf could feel the sugar cling to his arteries.
“I am. Just delaying for a mite.” Oakleaf let his eyes wander over to the few stubs of dry roots sticking out of the ground, then back over to Dust. “You might as well try to grow a library oak from a rock.”
“I know.” Dust fidgeted, twisting the tip of one hoof into the ground where the dry grass stopped and the normal growth resumed. “I thought Tirek’s spell might not have gone to the ends of the roots. If we could dig down—”
“No,” said Oakleaf flatly. “I looked when we were digging up the stump. Everything touching the tree is dead, down to the ends of the roots. You’d need—”
It was Oakleaf’s turn to come to an abrupt halt, and he used a hoof to nudge one of the green undersized acorns out of the tangled grass.
“It’s green,” said Pea Pod. “You can’t grow green acorns.”
“I’ll bet an Oakleaf can,” said the young unicorn. He used his magic to stick the acorn under the ground, then gave Pea Pod a gentle nuzzle on one cheek. “You try to sprout it, and I’ll help.”
As much as Oakleaf wanted to object, he was aware of the power of ignorance. Young ponies of all kinds could instinctively do tricks at their age that older ponies had to study for weeks to master. Everypony knew unicorn magic could not mix with earth pony magic, but their auras matched anyway, and the ground beneath Oakleaf’s hooves trembled for one brief second. Green light filtered up from between Pea Pod’s forehooves while Dust’s orange magic glowed brighter than before, lighting up the area until Oakleaf had to close his eyes and try to follow what was happening by the feeling under his hooves.
Magic itched beneath him, the magic of life and love, of growth and rebirth. A thin sprout of an oak tree burst out of the ground, growing as tall as Oakleaf in a heartbeat, but slowing as it rose, until it finally stopped as a sturdy sapling.
It was not a complete library, but it did have all of the distinguishing characteristics of a library oak. There was a bright red door nearly large enough for an adult rabbit to enter, and tiny little shelves on the inside of its hollow interior, bringing the sapling’s top windows to just over Oakleaf’s head with a balcony right at nose level. At the rate that the trees grew, it would be a decade before the library could hold more than a few paperbark books, or thirty years until a librarian could make herself at ease inside without knocking something off a shelf.
The glow of magic had not completely faded away when the tree stopped growing, but continued as the young colt’s flanks gave one bright flash of light and a green oak leaf cutie mark appeared. Dust gave out a wheeze of joy, but could not do more than to drop his rump down in the tangled grass and lean against Pea Pod, who was similarly exhausted.
Oakleaf took the opportunity to walk around the new sapling, taking in the slight tilt to the interior floor and several small branches which needed pruning. He made two trips around it before stopping in front of the tired colt and giving an approving nod.
“Not bad.”
“Thanks,” gasped Dust.
“Wasn’t talking to you. Talking to the tree.” Taking a moment to look over the colt’s new cutie mark, Oakleaf added, “I suppose that mark means you think you’re an Oakleaf now.”
Dust managed to turn enough to look at his own flank, but his grin was unmistakable, particularly when Pea Pod gasped and gave him a crushing hug. The oakleaf on his flank was not the plain broad expanse of Oakleaf’s cutie mark, but both a leaf with a magnifying glass above it, a compound mark of the type that the young ponies of today seemed to be fond of.
“Ain’t a real Oakleaf,” he countered. “Maybe I’ll go as far as to call you Leaf, but that’s it.”
“It’s a start. But I couldn’t have done it without—” The seriousness of the situation seemed to soak in on the newly named Leaf, and he exchanged a certain look with Pea Pod that spoke louder than words.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll talk to my parents. I’m sure they’ll let me travel with you.”
Oakleaf shook his head. “It’s a long, hard road. There ain’t many library oaks left—”
“We’ll plant more.” Pea Pod stood up next to Leaf and fixed him with a steady look. “We’ll take all the green acorns from Ponyville with us, and plant a new library in every town we visit. Branch libraries for their existing buildings, foal’s libraries for small towns. Princess Twilight will pay for it,” she added, overriding Oakleaf’s impending protest.
Leaf remained silent, but he did nod with the expression of somepony who knew better than to argue with a mare—even young—who had that kind of fire in her eyes.
“Princess Twilight?” Oakleaf tried not to scowl. “I still don’t see how she’d approve of me taking two young ’uns out across Equestria.”
Both of the small ponies did not seem discouraged. In fact, they seemed suspiciously positive about their chances.
And by the next morning, when he found himself standing at the train station with two young apprentices, each wearing a new set of saddlebags filled with traveling necessities and green acorns, he understood.
“So… Neither of you two has been to San Palomino before,” said Oakleaf.
“We learned about it in school, Mister Oakleaf,” said Pea Pod.
“And we’ve got a railroad map, sir,” said Leaf.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” started Oakleaf. “You’re willing to travel across Equestria with an old, beaten geezer, planting libraries and dealing with old, beaten oak trees. And you still look this perky?”
“It’s going to be an adventure,” said Pea Pod. “We’ll have all kinds of fun in our journey, and learn things to make us better ponies.”
“Like you, sir,” added Leaf.
To make matters worse, Oakleaf could see the sparkling vision of the future in their bright eyes. Young library oak trees sprouting all over Equestria, cared for by the townsponies until they could be filled by books and eager young readers. Leaf and Pea Pod traveling side by side through the countryside with their foals, teaching them about the responsibilities of being an Oakleaf. Future generations of both trees and ponies, stretching into the distance as far as the metaphorical eye could see.
Even after he was gone, there would be Oakleafs to tend the trees and carry on his life.
His story would not end as he expected.
A new one would start.
And he found himself looking forward to it.