Bridges and Guides
The bridge was cold beneath the foal’s body. Old, and weathered, darkened where the ice and snow had not stuck to its hardwood planks. The water below was black in the moonlight, with fragments of ice swirling past as the trees surrendered them to the wind. They sky, meanwhile, was also in motion, high winds churning the clouds along, vaguely illuminated from above by the moon and the mare who lived there. On either bank, half-bare trees reached out to her with skeletal claws, their scintillating ornaments rattling in the wind as they moved.
She shuddered, and curled up tighter where she lay. She didn’t like looking at the water. Or the sky. Or the trees.
She wanted her mom and dad.
She wanted to go home.
But she didn’t know the way.
When she heard something rhythmically moving through the snow towards her, she curled up even tighter, eyes screwed shut. She didn’t breathe. Maybe whatever it was wouldn’t see her. But then, she heard a gentle hoofstep on the bridge’s hard wood, and she opened her eyes.
For an instant, she thought it might be her dad. But Dad was smaller, stockier. And this stallion’s coat was silver, not white, shining in the moonlight. But beneath his black mane, his dark eyes were kind as he took another gentle step, saying, “Hey, now. It’s alright.”
She stood up, sniffled a little. The breeze seemed warmer, now, the shadows less menacing. There were a million things she could say, including that she wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.
After a moment, she settled for, “I’m lost.”
The stranger nodded, looking the filly over while he shifted an old guitar case from one shoulder to the next. Her coat and eyes were a sky blue, her mane and tail a bright red.
“How old’re you, li’l girl?”
“Five an’ a half.”
He nodded.
“You know your name?” he asked.
She blinked. “Well, duh-- I mean, uh-huh.” She looked down. She shouldn’t be rude. “Sorry.”
“That’s alright,” he nodded. “Looks like you’ve been havin’ a bad time.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s your name, darlin’?”
She looked up, just a little shy. “My name’s Little Treasure.”
The stallion smiled. “Well, then. Guess your mama named you right. My name’s John.”
The filly smiled back, despite herself. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He stepped up to her. “So. Why don’ you hop on, Li’l Treasure? Let’s get you to where you need to be.”
Little Treasure hesitated only a moment as he knelt down, then clambered onto his back. Then, he was clip-clopping across the bridge, heading along a path she hadn’t seen before.
“Can you tell me ‘bout your house?” he asked.
“Uh-huh,” she said, “my house is the big whitewashed one.”
He chuckled. “Lotsa whitewash houses ‘round here, ma’am.”
But she shook her head, tangled red mane flying. “Not like mine. It’s gotta big point on top, for the attic. When I’m bigger, that’s gonna be my room, an’ my little brother’s gonna get my room. My room’s next to Mom an’ Dad’s, but that’s just ‘till I get bigger.”
He nodded. “What’s your brother’s name?”
“Oh, he doesn’t have one yet, on account of he’s not born yet. Mom says he won’t be here ‘till around Nightmare Night. Maybe a little before. But we love him anyway.”
“Well, that’s good.”
Little Treasure sighed. She lay down on his back, letting her legs fall to either side. “It’s over by the big weeping willows, past the well…” her voice trailed off. “I don’t remember the well’s name. But everypony knows it.”
“Y’know your town’s name?”
“Sure, we’re just on the edge of it. It’s…” she trailed off again, resting her cheek against his withers. “Well, it’s close by,” she said at last.
“Good enough,” he said amicably.
After a while, he started singing:
Little bird, little bird, fly through my window…
Little bird, little bird, fly through my window…
Little bird, little bird, fly through my window…
My molasses candy!
She giggled. He glanced back to her as he went on,
Fly through my window, my sugar lump…
Fly through my window, my sugar lump…
And my molasses candy!
“You got a bird you like?” he asked.
“I like crows,” she offered.
“Well, then,” he smiled, and together they sang:
Crow, crow, fly through my window…
Crow, crow, fly through my window…
Crow, crow, fly through my window…
My molasses candy!
They sang through a series of birds, all in the same basic melody. Most of them, she thought of, though a few John suggested now and then. Occasionally, she started to drowse a bit. But then John would change things up, or shrug a little to wake her up. Eventually, he started singing,
Ladybug, ladybug, fly through my window…
She giggled. “Bugs aren’t birds!”
He affected surprise. “They’re not?”
“No!”
“But... bugs fly, an’ they got wings…” he teased.
“Birds have feathers, silly!’ she laughed.
He chuckled. “Well, then, Ah guess you’d better think a’something better.”
“Um,” she pondered. “How about sparrows?”
“Good enough,” he smiled.
Sparrow, Sparrow, fly through my window…
Sparrow, Sparrow, fly through my window…
Sparrow, Sparrow, fly through my window...
My molasses candy!
She sighed. “We should be there soon, shouldn’t we?”
He nodded. “Almost there.”
She sighed again. He was warm to snuggle up against, and he smelt pleasantly of pine and something else she couldn’t quite place. She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his gait rock her gently as he sang.
After just a few minutes, he asked, “You asleep?”
She stirred. “Huh-uh.”
“Well, we’re here.”
She felt him lying down as he spoke, and she yawned and slid off him easily. Then, with widening eyes, she stared around herself.
“Wait, this isn’t…”
His eyes were sad as he looked down at her. “No ma’am,” he said. “Ah’m sorry. But it’s not.”
The path they’d been following had opened into a huge clearing. Trees were scarce here, bare and broken, ice hanging off their white-covered branches like bejeweled bones. Stones and sculptures loomed over her from all directions, snow drifts slanting against them wherever the wind had cast them. Here and there, something like a stone house could be seen, only smaller, wrongly-shaped. Not meant for living folk, they cast their windowless shadows across the land’s blank canvas. The wind whipped around the two ponies, carrying snow and fragmented ice past them and into the night. Above, the clouds parted, the Mare in the Moon staring balefully down at them both.
She stared up at him, eyes wide and frightened. He met her gaze, his own dark eyes sad and unwavering.
“Ah’m sorry,” he said again. “But Ah promised Ah’d take y’all to where you needed to be.”
“But… I don’t…” She started breathing more heavily, staring around them frantically, backing away from the stallion who had betrayed her.
He set down his guitar case. “What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked.
“I don’t know…!”
“Was it the bridge?” he asked gently.
“That’s just where I was!” She cried.
“An’ before that?”
“No! I don’t wanna—!”
“Li’l Treasure—”
“No!”
Her flank bumped into cold stone. Terrified, she whirled around, saw her name illuminated in the moonlight, frost half-lining the bas-relief letters.
Little Treasure
Beloved Daughter
As she stared at her name engraved in stone, he quietly came up to her, put a hoof on her shoulder.
“Ah am sorry, li’l girl,” he said softly. “Sorrier than words can say. But… you can’t go home no more.”
And as the tears came, he sat next to her and gathered her up in his arms. She buried her face in his mane, and he held the little ghost while she cried.
“We were playing, at the old bridge,” she sighed at last. “We were pirates. Juniper climbed up the missin’ mast, and then she lost her balance.”
“She fall?”
Little Treasure shook her head. “Huh-uh. I grabbed her. But, I slipped. On the railing. And then…”
He hugged her a little tighter as she shook.
“I could swim,” she sobbed. “I should’ve been fine! But I didn’t know which way was up, and everything happened so fast. I couldn’t breathe.” She sniffled, her tears emptied for the moment. Then, she sighed again. “Why’d it have to hurt?”
“I don’t know, darlin’.”
For a time, neither of them spoke.
Then, Little Treasure raised a hoof.
“Who’s that?”
He looked over to where she was pointing. There, amidst the tall, unkempt grass, stood a mare. She was almost obscured by the darkness, her pale coat catching what light there was with a vague luminescence. Her long mane seemed to flow regally in the night, indistinct like a long cloud in a faraway wind. Behind her, a river whispered as it rolled past.
Little Treasure withdrew a little, using the stallion as a shield.
“Is that… is that Nightmare Moon?” she asked, shuddering again.
He gave a sad smile. “No, ma’am.”
She peeked around his shoulder. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure.”
“I don’t…” she stared at the mare, then shrank back into his lap, gulping back a new set of tears. “I don’t wanna go!”
Again, he wrapped his arms around her. “Ah know.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“Ah won’t.”
“Please?”
He squeezed tighter. “Ah’m right here, honey.”
More silence.
At last, she spoke into his barrel, “This isn’t fair.”
“No, ma’am,” he sighed. “It’s surely not.”
“I’ve always been good.”
“Ah know you have.”
The wind blew slowly across the cemetery, stirring the snow around Little Treasure’s grave.
The foal gave another sigh. “She’s waiting for me, isn’t she?”
“Ain’t no rush, darlin’. She’s got all the time there is.”
“Yeah,” she said.
Eventually, she crawled out of his lap, stood next to him. “What…” she looked down. “What happens after?”
He smoothed her mane. “Ah dunno, hon. Ah guess next, you find out.”
The little foal nodded, took a deep breath. Let it out in a sigh. Then, she looked up again, examining the mare carefully.
“She’s pretty,” she said at last.
The stallion nodded, glancing at the vague shape she was scrutinizing. “It’s been said. I’ll confess, I can’t make her out too well.”
“I can,” Little Treasure said. “She’s beautiful.”
He watched as she timidly approached the pale figure.
“Um, hi?”
Silence.
“I’m… I’m sorry I kept you waiting, I just…”
There was another silence then, or at least words that he couldn’t hear.
“You sure?” she asked.
More silence.
“Yeah, okay. I… I guess so.”
Slowly, the mare turned and began walking into the darkness, towards the river beyond. Little Treasure followed. John could see the tips of her sky blue ears as she half-waded, half-bounded through the snow.
Then, suddenly, her little voice cried out, “Oh, no—wait!”
In an instant, she was galloping back to where he stood, her red locks flying behind her as she ran.
He walked forward to meet her. “You alright there, darlin’?”
“Uh-huh. I just, um, can you talk to Juniper for me? ‘Cuz, I think she thinks this is her fault? And I don’t want her to be sad.”
He smiled and tousled her mane a little. “Ah promise.”
She jumped up and kissed him on the cheek, then galloped back through the path she’d made to where the mare waited for her. He watched as together, they walked to the water’s edge. Then, the mare knelt down and let Little Treasure climb on.
As the mare stepped into the water, John’s vision fogged up a little. By the time he’d wiped the tears away, there was no river, and no young foal’s track. Just an old creek, with a few trees on the other side and snow filling the bottom, and no sign of anypony around but him.
By the time John had made his way back to Trottingham and was done talking to Little Treasure’s folks, the sun was getting ready to rise.
It had been going on for months. The knock on the door late at night, some well-meaning pony saying they’d found their daughter and taken her home. And, of course, no sign of the girl when they turned around. Time and again, the young couple had found themselves having to tell the tale to somepony new. The day of the accident.
Their filly. The bridge.
And the river.
So, for all that the news hadn’t been cheery, when they’d heard that their little girl finally was at peace they’d all but collapsed with relief. Meanwhile, their youngest had been crawling around while they’d talked, getting into every dang thing he could. Little fella had enough energy for three ponies, and that was a fact. Healthy set a’lungs, too.
John smiled a little. Celestia help those two when their colt learned to run.
Juniper, meanwhile, was a different story. He’d talk to her and her mama after dawn, of course. He’d promised that he would. But, he’d also talked to Little Treasure’s folks about her first. They knew their daughter’s playmate well, and had agreed to talk to the girl first thing. After all, if the filly was blaming herself for the accident, being told otherwise would matter a lot more coming from them. And no child needed that kind of burden on Hearth’s Warming Eve.
But the Solstice celebrations were still most of a day away. For now, Eastern sky was lightening, brushing away the cold and darkness of the night. John found a suitable evergreen to wait under. He opened up his old guitar’s case, started tuning its silver strings. The old year was dying, and a new year was about to be born. Settling back, he started playing, singing the old song he’d sang to Little Treasure on their way to her grave to help her smile and laugh. Who knows? Maybe somewhere out wherever she was, she’d like to sing along again.
His voice drifted up with the wind, circled the moonlight, and headed out among the stars.
THE END