As an old stallion, you reminisce with an old flame.
You're an old stallion now. You've had a long, interesting life full of challenges and adventure, with precious little regret... except for one loose end that has haunted you for sixty years. And so you must go back to where it all began - Ponyville - to finally put these inner demons to rest. Will you finally be able to reconcile your matters with Annabelle "Granny" Smith all these years later?
Another sun down. Another day passed. Another kettle boiling on the stove.
A room away, you stand with a horse brush firmly secured to your old hoof. You look into the large, expensive mirror opposite you. An old, humble pegasus, with a grey mane and tail like steel wool, stares back. He has as many wrinkles on his brow as he’s had adventures in his life. Honestly, you don’t think you look that bad, considering your age. Whenever you grin at your reflection, you’re reminded that you still have quite a lot of your teeth.
The few teeth you had, in fact, lost had stories behind them; that time you exchanged fisticuffs with a minotaur (eh, you think a missing tooth’s bad, you should have seen the other guy!), and that time you crashed face-first into a rampaging hydra hoping to knock it over, only to have it backfire on the grounds that fully-grown hydras are built, quite literally, like brick walls. Ah, good times.
Except for that chipped upper-tooth near the centre of your mouth. You run your tongue over the tooth’s worn ridges, thinking back to how you gained it. Of all the things you’ve encountered in your long, crazy life, that tiny chip in your tooth had to be the most painful thing of all. At least, it was at the time.
You keep running the horse brush though your mane. It’s still as thick and full as somepony your age can hope for (please do not stare directly at the bald-patch), complimenting your tail and old-stallion stubble that hugs the folds and wrinkles of your face. Honestly, a life of adventure has made you quite rugged and acceptable considering how old you are; you could lie about your age to a stranger, say that you were twenty years younger and still be believable. You’d still be called an old fart, but still.
Of course, you display every wrinkle, bruise and scar you have with pride. However, there’s one part of your body you’d refuse to show in public.
Your wings.
Placing down the horse brush, you spread whatever remains of your secondary limbs, showing them off in the mirror. It’s a sorry sight; on one wing - if you can still call them wings - there’s four feathers dotted here-and-there along the otherwise skeletal appendage. On the other wing, there’s only three. That’s seven feathers total. Wing-Rot is a real pain.
The only way to be cured of Wing-Rot is, quite simply, to run out of feathers. While this may tempt somepony to simply get their wings plucked just to get it over with, there is one fatal flaw in that plan.
Once Wing-Rot has claimed all of the feathers, it claims the victim’s heart. It is almost always a grim conversation whenever it comes up. So you simply avoid talking about it whenever you can.
Oh! That whistling. The kettle’s boiled.
If there’s one thing that can give you consolation in the lavish Canterlot home where you reside, it’s the fact that you can sit in a comfy chair in front of the crackling fire. Enough about the impending… results of your illness. It’s always best to remain calm and dignified about such matters, after all. Scarlet Wings are always calm and dignified, especially in the line of duty.
Ah, the Scarlet Wings; the old flight team that you’d been a part of for most of your life. Heck, it WAS your life! Five years in training at their academy, Twenty-five years working your way up through the ranks, before taking the helm as the team captain for a further twenty. Sadly, they disbanded ten years ago, and by that point, you were far too old to do much else with your life.
And it was around thirty years ago that some of the members, lead by a hip young stallion, split to form a flight team of their own; the Wonderbolts or something. You believe said stallion’s daughter is the captain of that team now. Of course, she doesn’t nearly compare to you. But that’s fine; it might be the goggles of nostalgia clouding your old mind, but her stories as captain of her flight team is nothing compared to the memories of your own.
Yes, you think to yourself. A Scarlet Wing’s captain, back in the day, would stare down a dragon had one ever shown the cheek to so much as trample a flower bed! A Scarlet Wing’s captain would single-hoofedly tear through enemy lines without feeling so much as a scratch! A Scarlet Wing’s captain would stare right into the face of- by criminy what the heck oh geez!
For a split second, the sudden appearance of a young stallion’s face in the window startles you; nearly made you leap out of your matted fur coat. Once you regain your marbles, you recognise the face is that of a friend. Better let him in. He looks exhausted and desperate for something, and you have a good idea what that might be.
*******
The next day, you help your young friend out with his problem; long story short, he had an argument with the love of his life in Ponyville, and he wanted to call in a favour you owed him to save his relationship. Something you, with all of the connections you’ve made over your long life, could do easily.
Apparently, the filly in question was a huge Wonderbolts fan, so it didn’t take long to book a hotel in the exact same resort two of the members were staying at. Something about a show in Las Pegasus. Didn’t cost much. At least, not much to the ex-captain of the world famous Scarlet Wings.
Before your friend flies away with the hotel’s confirmation receipt nestled between his feathers (lucky guy, he still has all of his), you ask him something… not too important. Just curious.
“Actually,” you say slowly, “you said you came from Ponyville?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there still an apple orchard there?” you ask.
“Yes, there is.” he pauses for a moment, as if wondering why on earth you’d ask that, “It’s called Sweet Apple Acres. Why?”
“No reason,” you wave away the chance for him to dig too far into why you wanted to know, “Now, I believe you have a relationship to salvage.”
“That I do. Thanks for everything. Take care.”
*******
After saying goodbye to your friend (the uncomfortable numbness in your wings reminds you that it may very well have been your last farewell to him), you retreat back into your home, and into your mind.
So, the old Apple Farm is still active in Ponyville after all. You wonder if… a certain somepony still lives there. Maybe she sold it to somepony else and left. You’ll never know for certain unless you go there and see with your own two eyes. In fact, that’s exactly what you should do. You might never get the chance to do so again.
It’s best to make the arrangements as soon as possible. Maybe a cup of tea would help you focus.
Two days (and to your frustration, two lost feathers) later, and you’re sweeping into the bustling Ponyville streets on a paid pegasus-drawn carriage from Canterlot. Sure, it’s more expensive than taking the train or an earth pony-drawn carriage, but money’s no object to somepony like you. Besides, it’s not like you could fly there yourself. Not with those feeble wings of yours, hidden from the public eye by the trench coat you cover them with (the light brown sort that was in fashion around the same time the saying “twenty three skidoo” was popular).
You give the pegasi pullers a generous amount of bits for a tip before bidding them farewell. To get your bearings, you head towards the important-looking building at the centre of the circular plaza you find yourself in. That’s obviously the Town Hall. From there you cast your eyes outwards to the edge of town.
Sweet Apple Acres was always a fair distance away from Ponyville itself, but then again, it’s been years since you've set hoof here. New buildings have been built in the place of old ones, and the town itself has grown considerably. Luckily, Ponyville doesn’t look like the kind of town that would turn an orchard into an apartment block.
You adjust your trench coat. Its heat is near-stifling, but you have no desire to walk around displaying your weakened wings, nor the five remaining feathers, to the public. You set off in the general direction you remember the farm being in. Hopefully, it should still be there.
*******
Wow.
Yes, it’s there! It’s definitely there. More than that; several hills are covered in apple trees, and a huge field surrounds the noticeable barn house in the centre. To say that it’s grown a little since you were last here is an understatement.
You don’t see your old friend anywhere. Of course, if she were still around, she certainly wouldn’t be ploughing the fields like the stallion over there; a gentlecolt with such a large physique that he seems to be pulling the plough with little or no effort.
A thwack! A rustle. A tumble. You turn towards the source of the sounds to find an orange mare, a fine specimen by your account, bucking the nearby apple trees. A moment later, the apples would fall out from the rustling leaves and land with a collective tumble into the carefully-placed buckets below.
Just as she takes a break to mop the sweat from under her stetson-clad brow, you decide to stroll up to her, while she’s taking a breather, so you’re not interrupting her actual workload.
“Excuse me, miss-”
Her heavy sigh cuts you off, “He’s down in the cornfields, workin’ with his hands, but please don’t get in his way. He still gets awful nervous when he’s surrounded by too many ponies he doesn‘t know, and if I were him, I personally wouldn‘t like it if ponies came from all around just to gawk at me, so…”
“Pardon?”
“Hmm?”
The mare blinks twice, portraying a blank expression of confusion. A moment later, she shakes her head, as if waking herself up. “I’m awful sorry, mister,” she crosses a hoof over her heart, a habitual sign of sincerity, “I thought you were here for somethin’ else. Welcome to Sweet Apple Acres, by the way. I’m Applejack, and if you need somethin’, you need only ask.”
“Well, actually…” a lump forms within the pit of your throat. Do you really want to ask the working mare the question on the tip of your tongue? Do you really want to ask her if your old friend even lives here? What if she says your friend moved away years ago? What if the ravages of time caught up with her, and she passed away? What if-
No. No matter what the answer would be, it would still be a better path to take than just walking away and never knowing for certain.
“Somethin’ wrong, sir?” the kind mare’s voice brings you back to reality.
“Um,” your voice hasn’t been this hesitant for as long as you can remember, “I’m actually looking for a Miss Annabelle Smith. If she still lives here,” you add for the sake of lessening any awkward silences that follow.
Fortunately, any silence is broken by the soft chuckle of the young lady; “Annabelle Smith, huh? That’s a name I ain’t heard anypony say in a long time. You’re not from around Ponyville, are you stranger?”
“So she doesn’t live here anymore..?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that! O’ course she lives here!” the mare called Applejack chirps. You feel a tightening knot in your stomach when you hear that. “Folks around here just call her Granny Smith nowadays, I ain’t heard anypony call her Annabelle in a donkey’s age. I guess you‘re an old friend of hers, am I right?”
You swallow dryly. “Yes. A friend.”
The mare points you toward the homely looking barn nearby, telling you to knock gently before entering. “Granny loves visitors,” she adds, “especially ones she can catch up on old times with.”
You’d remark on how alike this Applejack is to the woman you knew from another age, but that’s not as important as the real deal. Annabelle. She’s right there, in that house. Bidding a good day to the working mare, you trot across the dusty, hot courtyard, your mind swirling and your old body tense.
Upon finally reaching the front doors - as ornate and brightly painted as the rest of the barn - you don’t even pause to consider before knocking briskly three times. Your body is functioning on autopilot right now; no matter what you could possibly think, there is no way you’ve gone this far just to turn back. Get it over with and get on with your life. What little there is left of it, at least.
The wait, however short, is still nearly unbearable. Maybe it’s the heat, and the fact that you’re wearing that heavy trench coat over the remains of your wings, or the worry of coming face-to-face with Annabelle Smith herself after sixty years of being apart. Screw the Scarlet Wings and the monsters they faced on a regular basis; this is Annie Smith we’re talking about.
The doorknob turns from the other side of the door before it opens. Your aged nerves squirm when you realise who’s pulling it open.
An elderly earth pony, pale green in colour, stands in the doorway. Her mane is washed white, done up in an old lady’s bun. Her fiery amber eyes meet yours for the first time in decades, and you can see them going through so many expressions in so few seconds.
A sleepy welcoming smile to the latest guest in her homestead. A moment of faint recognition - she knows you from somewhere, but can’t quite…
A wide eyed intake of breath. Her lips part in disbelief. The memories come flooding back. Every single one of them.
What else can you do? What else can you say other than…
A fine selection of groceries - oranges, pears, pretty much anything that wasn’t apples - rolled across the recently cobblestone’d streets. The unfortunate soul who had dropped them had also dropped the unpleasant exclamation in despair. It wasn’t easy carrying extra shopping when both saddlebags were full. It was even harder to hold the paper bag with a fore-hoof and keep a grip on it after bumping into a stallion.
He was a well-built stallion. A pegasus with his head in the clouds; no, in the good way. He was training to be a cloud-soaring, hard working, rear-end-kicking member of the mighty Scarlet Wings. And it goes without saying that this stallion was you.
Luckily for her, you were also polite. You were helping the nice lady scoop up her fallen groceries mere seconds later.
“Oh my goodness! I am so sorry madam-”
“It’s fine, I was in a hurry-”
“Wasn’t looking where I was going-”
“I’m in a rush, you see-”
“I think that’s just about everything. No wait, there’s just-”
You’d remember this part for years to come; your finicky hoof hovered over a small orange, one of the few things that had rolled further away than you thought. The mare’s hoof reached forward at the exact same time.
You touched hooves together. A warm connection, but for some reason it felt like a mild electric shock for both of you. You both just… stopped in your tracks. Never before had the physical contact of a mare done that to you.
You remember soaking up her appearance that moment; her pale green coat, her dusty blonde mane and tail done up in braids, her amber eyes like a cosy coal fire on Hearth’s Warming Eve. You also remember forgetting to breathe until she spoke.
“Thank you.”
You looked back at the orange in your hoof’s grasp. Then back to her. Bashfully, you popped the fruit back into her grocery bag.
“Not a problem.”
With that, she started to trot away. You noticed her saddlebags were full to near-bursting, and that she was struggling with the third recently-dropped bag in her fore-hoof, pressing it close to her chest.
Not if you could help it.
“Madam? Excuse me, madam!”
She turned back to face you as elegantly as she could with her hefty encumbrance.
“You said you were in a rush? I could help carry some of your stuff home if you like. That way you wouldn‘t be struggling.”
For a moment, she hesitated. As if she was trying to confirm whether or not you were just joking about your offer. “A gentlecolt like yourself? You’d really lend an extra hoof to a little mare like me?”
“I insist.” you smile and nod curtly. Time was really no object to the likes of you. At least, not while you were in your youth. You were more than happy to scoop up her extra bag in your wings, and stroll towards the farmhouse outside of the small, friendly town with her.
“The name’s Annabelle Marie Smith. My friends call me Annie. What’s yours?”
The old mare in the doorway mimics your first word to her in years. Not that it’s the only thing on either of your minds; a thousand questions are trying to manifest at once, and you have no idea which one to start with. Finally, the old mare steps back from the door, beckoning you inside. It should be easier to arrange your thoughts once you’ve settled down.
Once you’re through the doorway, the world around you makes a change for the… cosier. A homely family living room welcomes you. Specks of dust dance in the warm sunlight from the windows. Family photographs and mementos dot the shelves, cupboards and cabinets. A few bits of furniture are strewn about in places where they seemed the most convenient, one of which is a pillow-clad rocking chair by a dormant fireplace.
However, the old mare sits down on the sofa instead, letting you sit next to her. Her amber eyes never stray from you as you look her up and down, just to make extra certain; it sounds impossible to you, but… it’s true. That’s your Annabelle Marie Smith staring back at you.
Funny. You always thought she’d be young forever.
“Time’s been kind to you, huh?” Her voice breaks the thick silence.
You swallow uncertainly, “I wouldn‘t say so.”
She leans back in her side of the sofa, her tired eyes looking you up and down like a puzzle. “So what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s been… sixty years? Sixty years since we last spoke. There‘s gotta be a reason why you‘re comin‘ back to open a long-rotten can o‘ worms.” Her eyebrows furrow slightly; “Aren’t you gonna take that heavy coat off?”
You feel your heart beat faster at those words; she obviously doesn’t know about the sorry state of your near-featherless wings yet.
“I’d rather not.”
“So after all this time, all these years, you come back and you aren’t even staying long?” an edge to her voice can be felt; nice to know that it can still cut.
“That’s not what I meant, I‘m just… not comfortable showing my wings off these days.”
The aged mare’s lips twist as if she‘s tasted something sour. “Who are you and what have you done with the stallion I knew from so long ago? The one that spread his wings proudly at every chance he got. Heck, the stallion whose wings carried him up to his very dreams.”
“You want to know what happened to that stallion, Annabelle?”
You don’t risk calling her Annie to her face; it’s been far too long since you were allowed to do that. Instead, you stand up from the sofa. For a moment, Annie pulls a face as if she was expecting you to head for the door upon getting up. Instead, you undo the fastenings on your heavy trench coat and remove it as carefully as possible; you wouldn’t want to damage your already weak appendages.
Three things drop to the floor that moment. Your coat as it slides away, revealing the quivering remains of your once proud wings. Annie’s jaw when she recognises the grim ailment. Your eyes when you realise you can’t stand looking at her while you’re… well, naked.
It’s a long silence before she gathers herself enough to talk;
“So that’s why you’re here.” her voice is as dry as a wasteland in a heat wave, “Tyin’ up loose ends before-”
“Before the Wing-Rot… yeah.”
You spread your almost-bare wings to show her the full extent of the condition. You feel Annie’s eyes count the five feathers that are still there. “How long do you have left?”
“How long?” you shake your head; any previous attempt to measure your rate of feather-loss had proved fruitless. “Sometimes I can go a whole week without losing a single feather, sometimes I lose three in one day.”
Annabelle doesn’t say a thing. You’d hate to leave her hanging on such a sour note.
“I’ll be here tomorrow, that’s for sure.” you say in a lighter tone, picking up your coat and carefully draping it over yourself, “And I can stay here for the rest of the day, if you’ll let me.”
Annie Smith’s voice makes a sound that you’d expect from somepony finding a diamond in the dirt, but trying not to make a big deal of it. “Of course you can stay here! Heck, we’d set you up in the guest room if it weren‘t already taken. I’ll get the kettle on, you still drink tea, don’t you..?”
“Do I ever!”
From that point onward, the general atmosphere begins to improve. You and your old friend spent the rest of the day conversing about… nearly everything.
“…So after I left for the Scarlet Wings Academy, they just told me to get some sleep on arrival, and training would begin at first light…”
“…Our farm started to grow, sure, but it was difficult handling it with one less stallion and an increasing demand…”
*******
You both had so much to talk about, and it went on for so long. Not a single minute of it was dull or tedious to you as your mind drank up every year of Annie’s life since you last said goodbye.
“About ten years after your… departure, I finally learned to fall in love again. He was a sweet, humble stallion called Oak Apple.”
“Would you say he gave you a better love life than I would have, Annabelle?”
“Without a doubt.”
“That’s a good thing, then. I’d never wish for you to end up with somepony worse than me.”
*******
Annabelle stays attentive throughout your life-story ramblings too, well on until Celestia’s sun is being brought down behind the mountainside.
“…So here I am. Old. Retired. But satisfied with what I’ve done with my life.” You pause to reconsider your last statement. “Well, mostly satisfied.”
Annabelle leans forward a little, as if expecting you to elaborate. Better not let her down.
“I don’t have many enemies.” You rub your fore-hooves together out of nervous habit. “Most of them either brought to justice or reformed. In any case, I really don’t like the idea of… not…” you struggle to find the right words for a moment, “…not reconciling with anypony who I’ve wronged. Most of all, you.”
“What are you trying to say, dear?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to die without apologising for what happened between us. About our last encounter. About how it all fell apart.”
Annabelle says nothing. You can tell by the look in her amber eyes that she’s weighing up her options in her head, but never too sure with which one to run with. You decide to steady her ongoing silent debate with herself.
“Just think about it for now. I’m here for as long as I need to be.”
She didn’t quite hear you mutter the words “I hope“ at the end.
Eventually, you see yourself out, weary from the conversation, with the intention of seeing her again tomorrow. A friendly game of chess in Ponyville park, she insists. You’ve always had fond memories of that park.
“And look at that one, Annie! It looks like a donkey with three ears and no tail!”
“Which one? Oh yeah, I see it now!”
The pale green mare’s hind legs kicked the air with mirth as she chuckled at the funnily-shaped cloud drifting by on the late summer breeze. You were both lying on your backs, lounging on the soft, green grass that covers a gently-sloping hill. The yellow-maned beauty shuffled ever-so-slightly closer to you. In response, you draped your foreleg over her shoulder in assurance.
“D’aw, look at the one over there!” she jabbed a hoof skyward. “Looks like a li’l bunny rabbit! I wish I could just give that cloud a cuddle.”
“Well, why don’t you?” you playfully nudged her as you picked yourself up and stretched your six limbs. “Gimme a second…”
“Huh? What do you think you’re doing..?”
The way you flexed your wings - in the same warm-up exercise your favourite flight team, the Scarlet Wings, had made mandatory for all hopefuls in training - made it obvious, you thought.
Bending your youthful knees, you bounded off the hillside, and into the crisp, spring air. A few flaps later, and you were face to… er, face with the bunny-rabbit shaped cloud Annie had pointed out.
The look on her face when you simply plucked that cloud from the sky - both fore hooves wrapped around the giant cluster of vapour - and bought it back just for her…
“There!” you triumphantly placed the cloud down, taking care not to disperse it upon the dry grass, by your friend’s side. “For you, Annie Smith, I’d do anything.”
Her pretty face lit up at the gesture, and she made no attempt to cover her modest red blush. “D’aw, ya shouldn’t’ve!”
She edged herself closer to the vaporous, bunny-shaped gift. A pale-green hoof reached out and tried to touch the cloud. The white wisps of weather just drifted around her earth pony touch. At least she seemed undeterred.
“Sure is pretty to look at, either way.” She leaned back into the grass, her hoof propping her head up as her smile betrays her thanks.
“Not as pretty as you, Annie.” In truth, you weren’t thinking when you said that. In honesty, you didn’t care who heard it.
She softly chuckled at your straight-up accolade, and playfully hoisted a hoof over your shoulder. “Shucks, we’re already datin’, you don’t need to shower me with compliments.”
You folded one of your strong, downy wings around her, pulling her into your feathery embrace. “Just letting you know.”
The two of you remained on that very hillside, watching Celestia’s sun pass by, until you both decided it was time to leave. A bite to eat. A nice dinner. Her choice of restaurant. Anywhere, so long as she was with you.
The grass on that hill. Is it greener than it used to be, or less so?
Looking at the very same place through your old, tired eyes, you can’t really tell. Not that you ever trusted rose-tinted memories to the letter.
“It’s good to know ponies are still enjoying that spot, eh?” the elderly mare by your side warmly chuckles. It takes you a moment to realize she was talking about the small family playing with a rosy-red frisbee on the familiar hillside.
You take a minute to watch the three ponies play - a unicorn father and filly, and a mother pegasus - before walking further into the park with your old flame.
“Aren’t you hot in that overcoat, hon?” the mare asks.
“I’d rather feel hot than exposed.”
Of course, she’s talking about the technique you’re currently using to hide those wretched wings of yours. You aren’t really in the mood to discuss that, either, especially since you lost three whole feathers last night. Annie doesn’t need to know that, however. Wouldn’t want to stress her.
Further on down the dirt path is a small row of benches, each with their own square, chequered table for playing board games on. A few of them are already being used, mostly by senior ponies like yourself. Annabelle takes a seat by an unused table, and is already pushing the small black and white chess pieces into position with her hoof. You help her set the game up, like a gentlecolt.
“Gee, it’s been years since I’ve played chess,” you scratch your chin with a hoof, before popping your knight over a pawn for your first move. “I still remember how to play it though. You can never really forget.”
Annie’s face didn’t even move; her eyes just droop towards the board then back up at you as she dryly says; “Then you should know that the white pieces move first.”
You move your black knight back. “I knew that.”
Boy, is it hot here, or is that your overcoat?
Of course, the more you think about it, the more it makes sense; the entire point of chess was that it was an old game based around the battle between Princess Celestia and her then-corrupt sister, Nightmare Moon. And while it’s true that Nightmare started the battle, it’s always known in the history books, and admitted by the white princess herself, that Celestia made the “first move” by confronting her younger sister after she turned. Hence, white goes first. Yeah, now you remember.
Annabelle shifts a white pawn forward two spaces, leaving enough room for her bishop to edge out. You take a knight (not the one you used before, she’d anticipate that) and send it to the front.
The game is slow and steady, both of you covering your defences long before thinking about offence. The ambience of the park plays along with your game; the cool breeze doing its best to cool you off in your coat, the chirping of birds flittering from one gently swaying tree to another.
After a few more turns, you cover your knight’s defence by placing a pawn diagonally behind it, lest another piece try to take it.
“Have you even wondered,” you watch the old mare’s lime green hoof push a rook partway across the board, “about what might have been, Annie?”
Annabelle flicks her eyes up at you for a moment, before dropping them back down to the board. “What might have been between us?” she sighs. “Yes, I thought about that. Especially after I met Oak Apple.”
Oak Apple. Her late husband, as you recall from yesterday’s long catch-up session.
“But even if you came back while he were still around,” the mare continues, “I’d still choose him over you. No offence.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for that,” you reply, withdrawing one of your chess pieces from a dangerous position. “At least he didn’t run away.”
Annabelle doesn’t say anything. She just scrutinizes the board before shifting her queen a single space to the side, lending way to another piece of hers.
“Mind you,” you ramble while keeping the game in motion, “I couldn’t possibly have turned down the opportunity to live my dreams. It just wouldn’t be me. If I’d chosen to live with you instead…” you pause to push a separate black pawn two spaces forward, “I wouldn’t have been the stallion you fell in love with.”
“Do you ever regret it?” She moves a piece, but you don’t really pay attention. You have to look at the board a second time to notice the change; too busy trying to think of the best way to answer her question.
Finally, you reply; “I regret breaking up. I’ve always regretted breaking up with you. But not once have I ever regretted becoming a Scarlet Wing. I hope that answers your question.”
Annabelle’s eyebrows raise to your deductive answer. “I suppose that’s the best I could hope for. I regret breaking up too, but I’d never trade the life I had with Oak Apple for the world.”
You send your black rook forward, with the intent of leading Annie’s queen into a trap. “So we both lived the best lives we could. It’s rare that a silver lining would take up the whole cloud, but in our case we can agree th-”
A split second of whistling, just barely audible, can be heard behind you. It’s getting louder. Closer. In a swift movement, you whip around in your seat towards the noise. A bright blur of red is racing towards you at an alarming rate.
Without a second’s thought, you turn to the side at just the right angle, and grasp the incoming frisbee in your hooves. Perfect catch.
Annie’s face is an absolute picture. A three-pony family - the trio playing on the nearby hill a short while ago - come rushing over. The mother, a grey-coated pegasus with bright golden eyes, apologises profusely, claiming that she couldn’t catch the flying disk when it was thrown to her a moment ago.
“I’m so sorry!” she blabbers. “Darn my eyes, I thought I caught it but I lost focus-”
You dispel her apologetic blitz with a calm chuckle. “It’s okay, no harm done. It happens on the best of days.”
Your old foreleg still proves capable of throwing the frisbee back. The tiny unicorn filly springs from the ground and catches it in her grinning teeth. The two adult ponies smile and thank you before returning to their spot on the hill.
“Nice to see the townsfolk here are as nice as I remember,” you turn back to Annie, who was still in awe of your reflexes. Not that you were smug about noticing.
“And it’s dandy to see you’re still sharp as ever,” she smiles.
A humble nod passes for your reply. “That wasn’t my worst frisbee incident. There was this one time in lower Vanhoover where some jocks threw this bright orange one at me then told me to ‘watch where I was walkin’, jerk’.”
Annabelle’s hoof pushes her white queen forward, taking out your rook, but leading her piece straight into the trap you had laid out. You smoothly wipe out her queen with a conveniently-placed knight, wearing not a winning smile, but a winner’s, before continuing your story.
“Of course, this was back when I was a strong Scarlet Wing on tour, so by the end of our, uh… discussion… they were pickin’ bits of orange plastic out of their teeth-”
“Checkmate.”
What the-!?
In disbelief, you lean forward and glare at the formation of black and white pieces alike. A white bishop had cornered your king in the near-centre of the board, with no possible move that could spare you from either the bishop or her lurking rook. The worst part? Your knight would have been in the perfect spot to defend your king… if you hadn’t moved it away to take out her queen.
“You can, um, redact your statement about me being sharp,” you cough what could be interpreted as a laugh. “Well played.”
“That’s alright,” Annabelle replies, making no attempt to hide the smile that accompanies her victory, “I knew you’d make that move. You saw a chance to kill my queen and you took it. You’ve always been that type of pony.”
“Is that a jab at what happened sixty years ago?”
“Maybe,” the old green mare leans back in her seat. “Feels darn good to win, either way.”
“And since you’re the winner…” you help her scoop the chess pieces away, back in their little compartments under the chess table, ready for the next two contestants, “…I suppose I’m treating you to lunch.”
“Well now, how can I refuse such an offer? Lead the way.”
As you pick yourself up from the chess-playing chair, you notice something drift out from under your trench coat; another loose feather.
Never before has the sight of a feather struck you with so much stomach-wrenching dread; you’re losing them much faster than you anticipated. That’s the first time you’ve lost four of them in the space of twenty four hours.
“Something wrong, hon?”
You quickly recollect yourself. It seems Annie hadn’t noticed your feather yet. You kick it under the chess table and out of sight, if not out of mind. Condemn these feathers, you’re going to enjoy the day with your old flame!
“It’s nothing, Annie. Come on, I wanna see if a certain café is still open…”
While it wasn’t your intention to stay as one, there were some days you just loved being a weather-pegasus. This day was certainly one of them.
You and a bunch of your buddies had agreed to call off the scheduled drizzle for today - just increase the downpour next time, that’s the rule - and cleared away every last cloud in the sky to the point of flawlessness. As a finishing touch, you’d even set up a nice breeze through the town to take the edge off the beating heat of Celestia’s sun. The day is now perfect.
After thanking your weather-buddies for their help (the drinks are on you this weekend!) you dipped your wings into a perfect dive downwards, making a beeline for the Clover Café. If it all went according to plan, the mare of your dreams would be turning the corner… now. There she was, right on time!
Levelling yourself off in a single swoop, your hooves made a gentle thud upon the dusty ground. The glowing smile from Annie upon your arrival was as warm as the fiery ball that lit Equestria.
You gave her your usual greeting - a hug and a peck on the cheek - before asking how her day was. Of course, you already knew the gist of what she was going to say.
“Aw, honey, the sun was shinin’, the apple trees were swingin’ in the cool breeze, and we got the day’s applebuckin’ done with an hour to spare.”
“The best kind of day, am I right?” you grin. She knew right from the get-go that you were partially to do with the clear skies during what was originally scheduled as a damp, summery downpour. One of the few perks of being a weather-pegasus was that each one had the right to choose one day, just one day of the year to change the weather to what they see fit. You chose to use that perk for today, and with good reason.
No sooner had you both sat down at your usual café table - so many fine memories were made here, as you both transitioned from friends to lovers - did the unicorn waiter approach hovering a pencil and paper. You knew him as Sucré Fraîche.
“Fine evening, is it not?” he smiled at the two regulars. He even gave you a sly nod; you’d slipped some bits his way an hour or two prior, on the condition that he placed your table as a higher priority. Hence why he appeared the moment you took your seats. Nopony else needed to know that however. “Ordering the usual tomato and hay soup?”
“Actually, today calls for somethin’ special, I think,” Annabelle’s eyes drift over to a particular part of the well-worn menu. “I’ll have your special; Ponyville Produce Pie with sides, and a fruit tart for afters.”
Wow, that sounded nice. “Make that two,” you add. “The usual drinks?”
Annie agreed. Sucré jotted down ‘2x sarsaparilla’ at the bottom before leaving you both to enjoy the sunny afternoon together.
The food arrived sooner than it was expected. Maybe the time passed quickly from the company of the mare you love, or your earlier bribe was still paying off.
Everything about that afternoon, as you gabbed and laughed and drank the day away, was perfect. Finally, it was time to leave, and you could think of nopony better to accompany home to her cosy farm. You both drifted through the small town’s cobbled streets, leaning against each other with each sleepy step.
“Mmm… today was just so perfect,” she sleepily mumbled, nuzzling you gently and breathing a blissful sigh. “Just like the first day we met.”
“That it was,” you kissed her on the cheek. “Happy day-we-met anniversary.”
It’s amazing to see how little of it had changed. Despite a few small changes - some new tables here, a lick of paint there - the café you had spent so many years visiting is still open for business and going strong.
The old mare by your side chuckles as she finds herself a two-pony table. “Yup, same old name, same old family that runs it, believe it or not.”
“So, er… Sookrey Friesh’s son works here?”
“Sucré Fraîche‘s son?” a fancy voice to your side catches your attention. A rather familiar-looking unicorn stallion, despite never having met him before. “Non, that would be my father, who retired two years ago. I am Sucré’s grandson, Souriant.”
Well, heck if that doesn’t make you feel old.
“So I suppose ordering ‘the usual’ would be pushing it?” you jest, before you realise that “the usual” may not even be on the menu these days. Only one way to be sure…
“Tell me,” you ask, “do you still make tomato and hay soup?”
The young waiter returns a grin.
*******
Your hoof smacks the table as you roar with laughter, turning a few younger ponies’ heads in the process. The other hoof dabs up the last of the tomato and hay soup up with a bread roll.
“So she just drove the Summer Harvest float off a cliff? Geez Louise, Annie, I know your family‘s always had a penchant for wildness, but that takes the cake!”
Annabelle’s reminiscent grin shines with a happiness, the kind you get when you know that all is right with the world. “Yep, the Apple family tradition of being borderline crazy’s still going strong with that young’un. Still, it was either her goin’ over the edge or her cousin.”
“Well, it could’ve been worse,” you push the empty soup bowl away. “She could’ve lead the whole parade off that cliff.”
“Don’t jinx next year’s, dear, she just might.”
Yeah. Next year’s. You wonder if you’ll even be around for that.
You laugh those thoughts away, reaching for the bill. Two soups and two sarsaparillas equalled about twenty Bits overall.
“Hey Annie, remember back in the day when this sort of meal used to just cost six Bits?”
“Remember when six Bits was a lot of money?” she light-heartedly replies. You suppose the café’s pricing is about the same, considering the worth of currency these days.
“Yeah. Our generation was the best, hooves down. Sucks for the whippersnappers of today, eh?”
Annie chuckles as you take care of the bill. You make sure to leave a generous tip.
*******
As Celestia’s sun lowers itself towards the misty Canterlot mountainside, the laugher of the two ponies - a mare and a stallion of respectable age - can be heard as they merrily trot down the cobbled streets side by side. Any differences are digressed, and past mistakes reconciled, if only for this one night. You can’t really feel the slight chill the evening breeze brings, mostly due to your overcoat. You hadn’t removed that all night, for the same near-featherless reason as always.
The hotel you were staying at slowly comes into view as the two of you turn the next corner. Part of you slumps internally; you know that the night is nearly at an end. The last time you had this much fun, you were still a Scarlet Wing. On the other hoof, you’re exhausted. These past few days have been draining, both physically and spiritually, for a gentlecolt of your age. Annie’s sure to be tired too.
You come to a stop outside the humble hotel’s doors. “I suppose this is where we part ways,” you tell her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk with you the rest of the way back?”
“Oh, pshaw!” Annie dismissively waves a hoof. “It wouldn’t make sense for ya to walk past your own stop to reach mine. I can handle myself darn well.”
“Are you free tomorrow?”
Annabelle’s jovial eyes glisten below the nearby street lamp. It’s amazing to see how little they’ve changed, providing your memory serves well. “Aw shoot, you know I won’t have much goin’ on tomorrow! Come around the farm any time you see fit, I’d be pleased as punch to properly introduce you to the grandkids.”
“I’d like that.”
A brief, parting hug, one foreleg over her as she returns one in kind, and you push your way though the door, your warm heart fending off what little cold you felt.
*******
The hotel’s front door closes with a secure click. The elderly mare smiles to herself, safe in the knowledge that life can still hold its fair share of surprises. But for now, she’s tired. It isn’t far to Sweet Apple Acres from here, and the fond memories of tonight should keep her company while-
Wait.
Something catches her eye as she turns to leave. Something had fallen by her hoof a moment ago, something that her old stallion friend holds dear.
It must have came loose during their hug; a recently shed feather.
*******
Your aged weariness starts to set in as you climb the creaking stairway to your room. You’d have taken one on the bottom floor if they weren’t all booked; it’s a small hotel for a small town, after all. Strange. You can’t recall when you last felt this weary. Maybe the whole day’s adventure is just catching up to you, now that you’ve had all the fun. Yeah, that’s what it is.
You finally reach the room you’re staying in, the clear click of the turning key welcoming you inside. It’s hardly a shoddy room, but it has a well-worn charm to it. For example, the creaking door loud enough to wake the dead. Upon entering, you breathe a sigh of relief as you push the door closed behind you. You’ll relock it later; far too tired to right now..
Off goes your hefty overcoat. It feels so liberating to finally have that hot and heavy thing off. Throwing it onto the nearby coat-hanger, you head for the bathroom to wash yourself before bed.
You open the bathroom door. You take one look at your bony wings in the mirror.
Your every hoof-step echoed around the silent, early-morning mist. It was barely daylight, but this was the time you were due to catch the ever-approaching pegasus-chariot just outside of the small town. Your heavy saddlebag didn’t slow you down as much as it would the average pony. Years of exercise.
You could just about see the chariot that will take you away from Ponyville. But you couldn’t say you didn’t want this; to become a Scarlet Wing, some sacrifices had to be made. One such sacrifice had been left in her bed as you quietly packed your things and disappeared.
Your ears picked up on the hurried rhythm of a gallop behind you. You knew all too well whose hooves they belonged to.
“Wait! Don’t go! Please!”
No, no, no… why was she following you? Weren’t you in enough pain?
Annabelle caught up to you much faster than you thought she would. She even skidded in front of you with her momentum, and thrust her fore hooves into your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks.
Her hair was mussed up and unbrushed. Her eyes were watering. You were afraid of that.
“Don’t do this! Don’t leave like this, please-!”
“Annie,” you raised a hoof to hers, in an attempt to lower one from your shoulders. It went down unwillingly. “We’ve talked about this. You know that I can’t choose between you and-” you waved a hoof towards the dot in the sky; the approaching pegasus-drawn chariot, “…this.”
“But you don’t have to go for it!” Her voice let loose a panicked raise in pitch, as if each second lost was a another risk of losing you. “You can just, I dunno, stay at the farm and… and…”
“Spend my life in a barn while you live out your dream of owning an orchard?” You knew she’d never be able to see it the same way to do. “I haven‘t been preparing my whole life for this just to walk away from it.”
Something caught in Annabelle’s throat, as if she were about to say something, only to reconsider last-second. You had the feeling she was about to retort with ‘I’d do it for you’.
Of course, she wouldn’t. She had a family here, one of the first families to arrive on the settlement no less. Without her family, there’d be no Ponyville, so there would be no chance of convincing her to come with you. Not when she’s only just found a place to call home.
You, on the other hoof, have always wanted to go higher and higher in life, that final goal being acceptance into the Scarlet Wings. But if that meant you’d have to let things go, even those you held dear? Even Annie Smith?
You always thought you’d have to choose between your love or your aspirations some day. You just didn’t know which one you’d pick until you were up against the fence. The answer surprised you, in truth.
The pegasus-chariot was drawing ever-closer. Your ride away from this life, and to the one you’ve always wanted. There’s no denying that.
With your head hung low, you walked past the pleading mare. “I’m sorry” was all you could whisper above your hoof-steps.
“No!”
Your whole body jarred; a sudden drag from behind. Turning your head back, to your frustration, you saw your tail clenched between her bared teeth.
“You’re not leaving me just like this! Not after three whole years of being together!” Despite a mouth full of your tail-hair, her growling was still audible. “I thought we were in love!”
“Do you think I wanted it to be like this, Annie?” you shook your tail in an attempt to shoo her away. She didn’t budge. “If I don’t leave now, I’d just spend the rest of my life regretting it! You don’t want that for me! Be reasonable!”
“You be reasonable!”
You tried to continue trotting towards your incoming ride. She dragged across the floor for a foot or two before digging her hooves into the ground. In the end, you turned back to her and tried to pry her off your own tail.
“Let go of me!”
“No!”
“I’m leaving!”
“You aren’t!”
“Get OFF!”
“NEVER!”
How it descended into a scuffle so quickly, you couldn’t quite recall. You eventually tried to shove her away from you at full force.
Her retaliation was haphazard, her fore-hooves flailing away at you to push you away. One swooped through the air carelessly, before it connected at full force with your upper lip. The involuntary yelp stopped the in-fighting that instant.
Annabelle’s jaw dropped, letting go of your tail. Your brought your hooves up to your face, although the pain had already subsided. The damage had already been done, however, in the form of a chipped upper tooth.
“Oh my stars, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-”
She was cut off by the silent raising of your hoof. “Just go, Annie.”
Annabelle’s face, rife with regret and sorrow, had already burned itself into your mind. The lasting memory that was known as the last time you ever saw her.
By the time you looked up again, she was already a pale-green dot against the backdrop of Ponyville’s young streets. And out of your grasp forever. While you’d endured pain before, heartbreak is something nopony could just prepare themselves for.
The sound of multiple hooves hitting the ground. You turned around; the chariot was waiting for you.
You felt sick. Too dizzy to strike up a conversation with the military-hardened pegasi manning your transport. Instead, you just give them a short, weak nod before slumping yourself onto the carriage, heaving your saddlebag from your side.
The ride itself was a haze. You don’t know how long it took. All you knew was that every moment was spent replaying every moment with Annabelle in your mind. And every memory wrenched your heart as it turned to ashes. She was gone. You wanted this. You got it.
You finally touched down by the Scarlet Wings’ academy. Though your legs were weak - though not via a physical ailment - you still picked up your belongings and numbly thanked the pegasi at the helm. Another pegasus, no doubt a high-ranking member of the flight team judging by his attire and attitude, guided you towards the barracks. You were one of the first members to arrive, thanks to your early transport. You had the area to yourself for the first few hours. The high-ranking pegasus said something about using the spare time you had catching up on sleep. You weren’t really listening.
The guide showed you the designated sleeping quarters before leaving.
The moment you were alone, you calmly closed the door, slumped onto your bed, curled into a ball and wept like a foal as your heart broke.
They’re gone. They’re all gone. None left. Not a single feather.
Now you understand why you felt so tired. So weak. You scan every pale, shaking inch of your wings, looking, hoping, praying that there’s a feather somewhere, anywhere, on either of them. No. No there aren’t. You’re out of time.
Your trembling knees buckle from the fear. Or is it from weakness? It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have lost so many so quickly! You should have had more time! You thought you had longer! Another day, another hour, anything!
Who are you kidding? All the time in the world couldn’t have prepared you for this. Your heart’s beating a mile a minute; the fear that’s caught in your chest just spurs it forward, pounding your pulse through your skull like there’s no tomorrow.
There IS no tomorrow. Not for you.
Why? Why are you so weak all of a sudden? Why is it after a whole day with Annabelle and not a hint of tiredness, does this accursed illness suddenly see fit to render you incapable of standing up? You were climbing stairs with no difficulty just moments ago!
You suppose that’s how the disease gets the last laugh; waiting until you’ve lost your very last feather before striking you with such force. Like a professional buck-boxer, toying with a novice opponent until the last ten seconds, then wiping away their confidence in one fell swoop and a speeding rear-hoof between the eyes.
The inner pounding only gets louder. In a brief sense of clarity through the pandemonium that is your mind, you pinpoint a second source of the thumping; the door to your room. Somepony’s on the other side, waiting for you to answer.
Your legs can hardly lift you anymore. You try to tell whoever’s on the other side that it’s open. Or to go away. Or… anything. It doesn’t matter to you anymore. Whatever it is, it just comes out as a pained, feeble groan. Your throat can’t handle much more than that.
The doorknob squeaks. Turns. The door itself swings open, and you’re greeted with the a smudge in the doorway. You can’t even see clearly anymore. Not that you need perfect eyesight to recognise that light green coat of hers. Annabelle Smith. Your dear friend Annie.
Not a moment is wasted when she sees you in this sorry, tragic state. Before you can choke “don’t look at me”, the elderly mare rushes over to you and tries to pick you up from the floor. You don’t fight back against the old hooves that try to hold you up. Eventually, they assist in helping you back to your feeble, unstable hooves. You can hear her talking. Short, fast, panicked words. Sadly, you can’t comprehend any of them. Too much of that rapid thumping sound in your ears. Surely they’re words of comfort?
Annie doesn’t mind you leaning against her for support. In fact, she’s welcome to help you across the floor, one small step at a time, until you reach the cheap hotel bed. Heck, any bed at all is welcome at this point. At least it’s comfortable enough to sprawl over, spreading the two naked, featherless limbs out from either side of you.
Facing the ceiling - ugh, what an ugly shade of brown to cloud your blurry vision - the blood rushing by your ears seems to pacify slightly, if only by a little. Everything’s still a mix of smudges and blurs, though.
“Should I call the staff?” Annie leans into view, speaking slow, clear words that break through the dreadful pulse in your head, “Should I call a nurse? The hospital?”
“-!”
Your first attempt to reply turns into a choke; your throat gives in the moment you try to speak. Instead, you fall back to a whisper.
“No,” you shake your head, just in case her old ears didn’t pick up your meagre words. “What could they do for me? Put me in an ambulance? Give me a different bed to die in? Nothing I haven’t already got right here. It’d be a waste of time. Waste of effort.”
“Is there anythin’ I can do? Anythin’ at all?”
“Yeah. Turn the light off.”
Annabelle doesn’t ask why. The last thing your aching eyes see is the green blur of her getting up and hitting the switch. Then just thankful blackness. You wouldn’t want Annie to see you like this, but you don’t want her to go either. The darkness is a nice compromise.
No ugly brown ceiling to die staring at either, which is, y’know, nice.
You can hear the sound of creaking floorboards as Annie returns to your bedside. The throbbing in your skull seems to have died down slightly. Considering that the throbbing was your heartbeat, that might be a bad thing.
A moment later the whole bed shifts. Annie climbs atop the bedcovers, taking care not to damage your wings - if you could call them that anymore - as she lies down next to you. Comforts you.
What else is there left to do? What else but lie there and wait for the inevitable? You feel Annie’s face buried in your shoulder. Though she’d never admit it, she’s crying right now; your shoulder’s damp.
“Just when I thought I finally had my old friend back,” her barely audible voice croaks, “and now you’re goin’ again.”
“Sorry,” you whisper. “I thought I had longer.”
“Don’t be sorry. You don’t have anythin’ to apologise for.”
You breathe a sigh of relief. You don’t want to be a burden to the poor girl… huh. Funny that you still think of her as the fresh-faced mare from so long ago.
Her voice breaks the silent ambience of thought. “We had fun, didn’t we?”
“Yeah,” you think about holding her closer to you; your old flame being the one to give you comfort in your darkest hour. Shame you’re too weak to so much as lift a hoof. “The time of our lives, right Annie?”
“The time of our lives,” you feel her head brush against your shoulder as she nods.
Strange. You hadn’t realised that you were taking shallow breaths until now. It never seems to be quite enough to fill your lungs. It’s making you light-headed.
“Listen… you take care of yourself, okay?”
Annabelle coughs what could have been a chuckle. “I’ve been takin’ care of myself for years, raisin’ a family atop o’ that. You ain’t tellin’ me what to do.”
Despite the dying throbs of your feeble heart, the creeping coldness that spreads though your hooves by the second… you laugh. Something so small, like knowing that she’ll be happy with her family, is something that pleases you to no end.
With all of the strength you can muster, through the black silence that smothers your mind once and for all, you say one last thing before finally letting your weary eyelids down.
