Limestone Pie Meets Petunia Paleo
“You did what?” Limestone Pie said out in the field, and she stamped and cracked a rock in two through sheer lack of concentration.
Pinkie Pie had joined her for the usual Pie Sister’s Surprise Swap Day, which was a bit of a misnomer as Limestone had suggested, planned, timed, provided guidelines for, and scheduled every second of the day three months in advance. Since Limestone virtually never left the farm, Pinkie had to visit her on-site; after all, if the Limestone would not go to the Pinkie, then the Pinkie must go to the Limestone. And Limestone’s present had obviously been the superior one; rock candy so hard that Pinkie had chipped a tooth on it, rock cakes that could crack a skull at sixteen paces, and rock jelly that only wobbled under tectonic pressure.
Pinkie had merely gotten her a Holder’s Boulder Magical Tracking Device. Apparently, someone called Twilight had made it. Limestone didn’t trouble herself much with politics, provided the political process stayed the hell away from Holder’s Boulder.
She’d dumped the present in her room before heading to work. Just because family was coming over, didn’t mean she had a second to slack.
Still… Not a bad present, all in all. You never knew when some overambitious thief might try to make off with Holder’s Boulder in the night. Multiton egg-shaped rocks were, in Limestone’s mind, the crown jewels, and all that stood between the boulder and the entire international criminal underworld was her. That evened the odds somewhat.
Still, it was the thought that counted. So the fact that Limestone had trained herself to sense a feather touching Holder’s Boulder while she was several miles away, locked in a safe room, and asleep was just a minor detail.
And now this.
“I thought it might be nice to send a friend over for a week!” Pinkie skipped around her, giddy over her own imagination. “You two would get along so well! You like rocks, she likes rocks, her parents think she’s weird, Mom and Dad think you’re weird, she never gives up no matter how hard it gets to dig, and you never –”
“Pinkie!” snapped Limestone.
Pinkie stopped mid-excited-jump. “What?”
“She’s an archaeologist.”
“Uh huh?”
Limestone growled. Much as she loved her little sister, the time spent away from the rock farm had clearly perverted Pinkie’s already-perverse habits of thought.
“They dig up bones,” she said.
“They dig up fossils,” said Pinkie triumphantly. “Like last week, she dug up a whole Brontopony skeleton just outside Ponyville! It was fantastic. Mayor Mare herself took a picture and tried to get more ponies to come on vacation and see it. She called it ‘drumming up business in the tourism trade’.”
“What the heck does that mean?” said Limestone, less out of curiosity as out of outraged disgust at the weirdness of the wider world.
“I dunno.”
Limestone stamped and cracked another rock open. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not coming to dig up our farm.”
“But I already asked Mom and Dad, and they said yes!”
With a wince, Limestone remembered the arguments. As usual, she’d been quite heated, hitting the table and bellowing loudly, while all the time Mom and Dad had simply weathered it and then, as usual, carried on without her.
It wasn’t fair. She was past the age when they ought to be dictating to her what was going to happen. Privately, she felt some quid pro quo was in order.
Not a tremble broke through her voice when she said, “That’s because they’re getting soft in their old age. This place would fall apart without me. Everyone knows it.”
“And I asked her to ask her Mom and Dad if she was allowed to come, and they said yes.” Pinkie frowned. “They also said not to let her have any treasure she digs up, in case she gets greedy and suddenly turns into a pirate. Oh, and don’t let her near any axes.”
“Why?”
“Uh… don’t remember? In case she gets mad and suddenly turns into a murmurer, I think they said. Well, they more whispered it so she wouldn’t hear, but I think I got the gist.”
Limestone snorted. Her next stamp was so heavy it cracked the rock, the layer beneath, and several nearby protruding gemstones which only innocently happened to be in harmonic resonance and therefore didn’t deserve this treatment.
“She sounds like a nutcase.”
“They’re a little… worried about her cutie mark.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s a skull.”
“Yeah? So?”
“That’s what I thought!” said Pinkie with obvious slumping relief. “But would they listen –?”
“Any weirdo who digs up dead bones for a living deserves any weirdo cutie mark they get.” Limestone grunted and stomped over to a less-cracked patch of the farm. Absentmindedly, her one forelimb grabbed hold of the cartful of stones by the yoke and, with barely a tug, wheeled all three tons of it over to her new spot.
Then she flicked a stone off the back and prepared to stamp.
“What was her name again?” said Limestone, trying to convey that she wasn’t asking through ignorance, but just to hear again how stupid the name sounded.
“Petunia Paleo,” said Pinkie proudly.
Limestone grimaced. “Even her name’s weird. Where’s the rock? Why isn’t she Pyrite, or Pumice? No one who digs up things in rocks should be named after a weed.”
“Oh, silly! Petunias aren’t weeds.”
Expertly, Limestone cracked the stone in two. Clean break from top to bottom. She smirked at her hoofiwork.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” she muttered.
She was the judge of it as soon as Petunia Paleo hopped off the carriage at the train station the next day. Limestone had insisted on fetching her, mostly to make sure she stamped out any subversive thoughts and Holder’s Boulder-related schemes. Anyone might make a move.
Now she looked down at the curious, wide eyes of a filly who… ugh… was so obviously trying to be cute.
Petunia blinked, and it was so cutesy Limestone swore she even heard each individual blink.
“Are you… Mrs Cloudy Quartz?” said Petunia cautiously.
Limestone’s glare lowered itself to her level. “Do I look like a ‘Mrs’ to you?”
“Oh good!” Petunia sighed with relief. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find you at the station when I got off!”
Limestone looked around the otherwise-deserted train station. Picking Limestone out of a crowd was easy once there was no actual crowd to muddle things up. But Petunia seemed proud of her facile feat.
In fact, Petunia almost swelled with pride when she extended a tiny hoof up. “I’m Petunia Paleo, Miss Cloudy Quartz! Honoured to make your ‘quaintance!”
“Yeah, I know.” Limestone looked at the hoof. “We don’t shake.”
Quickly, the hoof dropped down. “Oh. OK.” The smile rose up suddenly. “Do you hug?”
“Not if you want to live.”
“How about hoofbumps?”
“I can smash granite with my hooves. You don’t wanna bump these.”
The smile faltered. “Um…”
“And no, we don’t touch in any way. This is a rock farm.”
Petunia pouted up at her. “You know, you’re nothing like Pinkie Pie.”
“Too right I’m not. Come on. Mom and Dad are making dinner. Up to you if you want any or not. Now follow me.”
“But what about my luggage?”
“What about it?”
“I can’t carry it all by myself.”
Limestone looked up. There were maybe two cases. That was it.
She scowled harder. “Don’t be such a baby. Those things look light as feathers.”
“I had a hard time getting them off the train! I can’t do it one at a time again! I can’t walk that far!”
Making the usual impatient sound against a world determined to annoy her, Limestone stepped around her and plucked the suitcases as easily as if they were made of paper. Sure, they were a little heavier than she’d expected, but only in the same way that a bed quilt was heavier than a blanket. She didn’t see what all the fuss was about.
“You were spoiled as a kid, weren’t you?” Limestone jerked her head, indicating that Petunia could follow her but that Limestone would not be looking back to check if she didn’t.
“Oh, Mom and Dad were very nice to me. They got me all kinds of cool presents! Princess dolls and action figures and little dresses and a bucket and spade I could take to the beach whenever we went on vacation!”
Limestone shook her head at the decadence of the outside world. “Spoiled. All you need is a pickaxe.”
“I liked the bucket and spade best. Mom and Dad thought I was digging for buried treasure.”
“Uh huh.” Limestone stomped down the steps and away from the station.
“I was gonna be a pirate!” Petunia hopped down the steps after her.
“Uh huh.”
“Mom and Dad said that was crim’nal activity.”
“Uh huh.” Limestone would have shrugged. Most things not approved of by Mom and Dad constituted criminal activity. It was actually quite impressive what they considered bad behaviour, up to and including “not being interested in rocks”. And now they were turning into soppy liberals, if they were letting archaeologists onto the farm.
“…and then I’m gonna learn swordfighting,” finished Petunia. “Hey! Are you hearing me OK!?”
“Loud and clear,” said Limestone.
“I can tell. I’m good with ponies.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, this is so exciting… I’ve never seen a rock farm before!”
Limestone stopped so suddenly that Petunia bounced off her flank. She turned, and then pointed.
“There’s our rock farm,” Limestone said. “There. Now you’ve seen one.”
Wide open rock. Windmill creaking as though about to collapse at any second. Silo standing cold and dead. Tiny little shack huddled in the midst of empty bleakness. If brown and grey were acceptable colours, then the place was a kaleidoscope. Of dull.
Petunia stared. For once, she gaped as though at a loss for words.
After a minute, she still didn’t move.
A twinge of concern prompted Limestone. She wasn’t used to so much staring.
“Uh?” She cocked her jaw, thinking. “You just gonna stand there all day?”
“It’s… beautiful…” Petunia breathed softly.
Limestone looked her up and down. She seemed genuine enough…
“Yes it is,” she said, matter-of-fact.
They took in the bleak desolation together for another minute before Limestone shook herself down. Too indulgent. Too slow. She hurried onwards, hearing Petunia’s frantic hoofsteps try and catch up.
“You know what, Miss Cloudy Quartz?”
“It’s Limestone!”
“I think I’m gonna like it here.”
And it was a mark of how much Limestone was not used to this sort of comment from visitors… that she completely forgot to warn Petunia not to touch Holder’s Boulder.
Dinner was stone casserole. Not Limestone’s favourite, but it did the job. Petunia was obviously not fitting in, as she had eaten around the stone instead of, as it were, through it.
In fact, when Mom and Dad had brought the dishes round, Petunia had actually pointed out the rock in it. Like it was a fly in her soup, or something ridiculous.
“Eat it,” said Limestone.
Petunia grimaced and looked down at the thing. “Um… I’ve never eaten rock before.”
“Let her be,” said Mom calmly. “Thou wouldst do well to remember she is a guest.”
Dad turned to Petunia. “To thee and thine alone, I say: eateth what thou will.”
Whereupon, Limestone glared at Mom and Dad opposite her. “That’s not how you brought us up.”
“Mm hm,” said Marble next to her.
Sometimes, Mom and Dad didn’t need to use words. A look would be enough.
Still, Limestone was growing out of their influence. She met glare for glare before sulkily returning to her own dish. Of course, Marble had overcooked the stone. She always overcooked it.
“Um?” Petunia waggled a hoof. “Excuse me? Are you all rock farmers?”
Mom nodded solemnly. “That we are.”
“Mm hm,” said Marble.
Petunia caught her eye. It was harder than it sounded; Marble always wore her cascading mane over half of her face, and the other half generally pretended not to exist in case it accidentally was rude to anyone.
“Pinkie Pie said you’re her twin.” Petunia announced this with the air of one namedropping a king they happened to have lunch with. “I didn’t know twins could look so different. I always thought they looked the same.”
Limestone glanced across and saw Marble blush. Frankly over-the-top behaviour.
“Pinkie looked like her once,” said Limestone.
“Mm hm,” said Marble.
Petunia cocked her head. “What’s wrong? Can’t you talk?”
Helpless in the face of a negatively phrased question, Marble looked pleadingly at Limestone, who translated: “Marble’s under a vow of silence.”
“Why?”
“Because Pinkie does the talking for two, that’s why,” she said irritably. “You wanna take the vow?”
“Um… Does it hurt?”
Marble shook her head.
Dad’s voice rumbled into gear. “‘Tis a test of self-control, to silence one’s thoughts and temptations thus.”
Mom coughed genteelly. “Thou mayst discover that life on the stone demands strong constitution.”
“These be the hallowed traditions of yore.”
“Mayhaps unfamiliar to those from yonder.”
“Yet, i’faith, I dare say thou shalt learn much from our example.”
“As we have learned from our forebears over unfathomable ages.”
Blank eyes met them. Petunia skewed her jaw in childish contemplation. Eventually, she said, “Okey dokey?”
Before staring at the stone in her dish.
To her own surprise, Limestone relented enough to say, “Eat it. It’s got calcite in. That’s good for your bones.”
A while later, there was a crunch. Then: “Ouch!”
“I make that mistake too. The trick is to use your molars to crack it first.”
“I chipped a tooth!”
“Only one?” Limestone said. “That’s OK to start. At your age, Marble broke three teeth on her first try.”
“Mm… hm…” said Marble, clearly not happy to have personal experiences revealed so openly.
Mom stood up. “I shall fetch the ointment.”
Groaning, Petunia clutched her own jaw. “You have ointment? For chipped teeth?”
Checking the young face for any sign of playing dumb, Limestone said, “Duh. It’d be stupid to work on a rock farm and not have ointment.”
“Miss Limestone? This hurts a bit.”
“Just hold it in. The ointment’ll clear that up too.”
“Miss Limestone?”
Why was this kid picking on her all of a sudden? “What?”
“Limestone!” said Dad. “Manners maketh mare!”
“All right! What, Miss Petunia?”
“When do I get to dig up fossils?”
“Tomorrow.” She glanced across at Dad, who nodded once.
“So where am I sleeping?”
“We have a guest bedroom.”
“Miss Limestone?”
“What now!?” Hastily glancing at Dad, she added: “Miss Petunia?”
Petunia squirmed where she sat, either through dental agony or sheer nerves. “Did I do something wrong? You seem kind of mad at me.”
“I get that a lot,” Limestone said dismissively.
“That is merely Limestone’s way, young Miss Paleo.” Mom came back and placed the ointment carefully over Petunia’s proffered tooth. “Temperament is as the fall of rain upon the field; thou never knowest where thy drop shall land.”
“Mm hm,” said Marble.
“Like Pinkie,” Limestone translated. “We’re not all as nuts as her.” Then she pointed at Petunia’s stone. “Are you gonna eat that? If you don’t eat it, then it’s mine. Got it?”
The next day, Limestone kept close to Petunia. She didn’t like the idea of following the foal, but she really didn’t like the idea of not following the foal. Foals touched things.
To better aid Petunia’s dead bone fixation, Limestone took her to her own least favourite part of the farm; the sedimentary section. Sandstone was probably best for fossils, she reasoned, precisely because that kind of rock had the shame of being a fake mix-up cobbled together from other rocks as though in a desperate attempt to steal the best parts about them. No, give her good, honest igneous any day of the week. And maybe metamorphic: she kept changing her mind on that.
Now she stood and waited sullenly while Petunia wheeled a suitcase over to the site.
Petunia chose a spot randomly and marked an “X” on the ground with her hoof.
“What makes you think anything’s there?” said Limestone, curiosity peeking over perpetual annoyance for a moment.
Petunia patted her own cutie mark. “It’s a talent. I can sense where there’s good digging about! Hey, can you do the same for good types of rock?”
“All types of rock are good,” said Limestone. “Except sedimentary. That stuff sucks.”
Happily, Petunia nodded. “It’s great, isn’t it!? Now all I have to do, now I’ve got the landowner’s permission, is dig!”
Limestone rolled her eyes while Petunia fussed over the suitcase. She didn’t have anything against fossils, per se. But they didn’t belong in rocks. It really was like finding a fly in your soup. Merely thinking about it made her shudder.
Still, perhaps this was a good thing. After all, if you didn’t want flies in your soup, it would help to know someone who could fish them out.
To her surprise, she saw Petunia pull out of the suitcase a spade, a toy pickaxe, a toothbrush, a lot of rope, a little scalpel thing, a brush, a bigger brush, a wad of papers, some pencils, a pencil sharpener, an eraser shaped like a dinosaur, a ruler, a compass, a –
“This is how archaeologists dig?” she said incredulously. “What’s all this stuff?”
“It’s very important,” said Petunia, as though revealing a delicious family recipe that had hitherto remained secret. “See, the closer you get to the fossil, the more delicate you gotta be. And it’s good to make sketches and notes while you’re working, so everyone who sees your work knows what you did.”
“You’re digging up dead bones. What idiot wouldn’t know what you did?”
Petunia placed the spade in her mouth. It was almost as tall as her.
Automatically, Limestone wrinkled her nose at it. Spades were beneath her.
“Don’t you know how to dig with your hooves?” she said.
Surprise slackened Petunia’s face enough to drop the spade. “Me? Yeah. Only in sand and mud. Mom and Dad said I mustn’t use my hooves on rock.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s rock.”
“That’s crazy. I use my hooves all the time on rock. What’s the big deal?”
Petunia squirmed where she stood. “Well… I’ve actually always wondered… Doesn’t it… Isn’t it… Do you hurt when you do that?”
“No,” said Limestone promptly. She quickly stifled most of her earliest memories on the job, and reclassified them as anti-weakness preparatory training when she couldn’t.
Petunia’s eyes widened. “Wow. You must be very strong.”
“That I am.” Limestone resisted the urge to preen herself. Such an urge was sissy.
To her surprise, she saw Petunia blush.
“What?” she said, trying not to sound too put-out.
“Um… could you… teach me how to dig with my hooves?”
“Teach you? It’s digging with your hooves. There’s nothing to teach.”
“No secret tricks?”
“You just dig.”
Disappointment hung on Petunia’s face. In all honesty, Limestone wasn’t used to this. Digging in rock was usually greeted even by rock family foals the same way visits to the dentist were. Limestone herself had got by learning not to wince at her earliest blows, and even then she’d failed to stop the odd tear. Rock farming was something a pony had to grow into. Pedicures, for instance, were ruled out as an option pretty early on.
Under her breath, Petunia murmured, “You just dig. You just dig. OK. You just dig.”
Feeling more was expected of her, Limestone added, “And try to keep your back straight to get all the energy you got. Don’t flex about.”
“OK.”
“And no half-measures. You’re hitting it or you’re not.”
“OK.”
“And… Look, just do it. Don’t try and psyche yourself up for it. The rock doesn’t care how you feel.”
“OK!” With that, Petunia promptly reared up and smacked her hooves down hard.
She yelled in pain. She fell over. She shook her legs and hissed trying to suppress her own agony.
“It’s so hard!” she said.
Limestone stood frozen to the spot. By now, Dad would have said some encouraging words, or at least have stood closer without doing anything as forward or indulgent as actually hugging anyone. But encouraging words came easily for him. Limestone’s idea of encouragement was: “If you touch Holder’s Boulder, I will make grit out of your bones.”
“You OK?” she managed to say.
Weakly, Petunia picked herself off the ground and nodded.
“I think I chipped a hoof,” she said, and offered it up for inspection.
Limestone made a show of examining it. “Not too bad,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” Petunia walked over to her spade.
“What for?”
“I thought I could do it first time. I wanted to do it first time. But I guess I’m just not strong enough to do it.”
“Huh? What are you talking about? That wasn’t a bad attempt.”
Confusion stayed Petunia, who peered up through shiny tears. “It wasn’t?”
“For a foal.” Limestone cocked her head. “No one does it first time.”
“But rock ponies are so tough and strong! I read about them in my book!”
Limestone grimaced; books were advanced technology on this farm, and she’d only mastered the art of reading Pinkie’s letters because she couldn’t get letters that actually talked, like real ponies.
Anyway, she wasn’t sure about those tears. Were they of pain, or of disappointment?
“Books don’t tell you how to rock farm,” she said, but her eyebrow dangled a question mark at the end.
“Oh, but these ones did!” Pain forgotten, Petunia took the dreamy look of the terminally obsessed. “And they made rock farming sound so interesting! They said rock farming traditions have stayed the same for hundreds – no, for thousands – of years. It’s amazing how they’ve survived so long, and against all the changing history in Equestria. That’s cool!”
Now Limestone was thoroughly stumped. “Cool” was not a word she associated with rock farming. She stood stock still while her mind tried to grasp the idea – the wildly insane idea – that someone who was not a rock farmer might actually be interested in rock farms.
One unambiguous thought got through; these books knew how solid it was. Although the “thousands of years” bit surprised her. As far as Mom and Dad had known, they’d been around for “hundreds” at best.
“Darn right,” said her pride, though even it was struggling to catch up with the sheer time span involved.
Down below her, she watched as Petunia aimed another lunging dig –
“No, no, you’re doing it wrong,” said Limestone, holding out a hoof to stop her. “You don’t throw yourself into it. Proper digging technique means using your own natural strength. Look, watch me.”
It wasn’t even effort. Limestone ploughed through the first metre of rock as easily as if it were water. Sand sprayed around her. Her hooves were a blur, her legs pumped and slid like well-oiled machinery, and the darker the rock became, the deeper she got, and the more she had to let her body lean down to keep pace.
Then she stopped and gestured at the hole.
Petunia’s eyes were so wide they seemed to be swallowing up her whole face.
“That…” said Petunia.
“Er?” Limestone wiped the grime off her own forelimbs. “You feeling all right?”
“That… was…” Petunia’s eyes watered again.
A brief panic flared up in Limestone’s heart. “You’re not ill, are you?”
“Awesome!”
“It’s just digging. Don’t go nuts.”
“But I was just imagining it, a thousand years ago: ponies like you would have been digging in that exact same way! Isn’t it amazing? It’s like travelling backwards in time, and all you have to do is see a clue living right in front of you! It’s the most magical thing I’ve ever done.”
At last: Limestone’s brain clicked into place. She’d found solid ground.
“History buff, huh?” she said. Archaeology was mucky, but history. Well, history was something else.
“Uh huh,” said Petunia, swelling with pride. “And isn’t there this tradition, that rock farmers take? Of leaving home on their eighteenth birthday to go explore the world? And they see what it’s like, and they decide if they want to stay on the farm or go find a new life elsewhere?”
Limestone… wasn’t impressed, exactly. Lots of ponies probably knew about it from the occasional rock farmer who decided to go find a new life elsewhere. But she was looking at Petunia as though she might, in some unfathomable way, be some kind of lost relative, newly discovered.
Maybe this foal wasn’t as far gone as she’d thought.
“Come here,” she said, moving away. “I wanna show you something.”
After all, if the foal wanted history, then on a rock farm there was one piece of history she simply could not be allowed to miss.
Holder’s Boulder.
It loomed up before them, as vast as history, as old as time itself, as indestructible as truth. Merely to gaze upon it would be a time traveller’s dream. And when she turned and saw Petunia stumbling along behind her, mouth agape and face trying to fill up with comprehension and joy all at once, she saw – for a moment – her own childhood staring back at her.
Was she ready?
“Is that…?” Petunia gulped. “Is that… a dragonstone?”
Yes, thought Limestone. The foal is ready.
“That,” she said smugly, “is Holder’s Boulder. You want history, you got it.”
“Wow…”
“Holder Cobblestone had to fight a dragon off to get this baby.” Limestone patted its firm, reassuring side. “Anyone else would have croaked, but he was tough as diamond and twice as sharp. He beat up the dragon and scared it half-to-death all the way off the land.”
“He scared it?”
Limestone grinned nastily. “Rocks do not know pity. Half of rock farming is showing no mercy. Holder Cobblestone got a good one, all right. Ever since, this farm has had nothing but good luck thanks to him. He even built the farm around it and never once hurt himself or had an accident or nothing.”
“So this… is… as old as this farm?”
“Exactly. Find me a fossil that’s worth half of this bad boy.”
Petunia simply stared and gazed in awe and rapture. The holy moment glowed upon her countenance.
Then she reached forwards to touch it.
“Ah!” Limestone blocked her with a hoof of her own.
On Petunia’s face, the spell broke.
Gently, Limestone lowered the tiny hoof again. She shook her head.
“Not just anyone can touch Holder’s Boulder,” she said. “You gotta be a farmer to do it. And you gotta earn it through hard work.”
“Oh.” Petunia hung her head in shame.
To her own surprise, Limestone was actually enjoying herself. She’d never had a foal to boss about. There just wasn’t enough time for that sort of nonsense.
But a fellow enthusiast? Perhaps she could make something of that.
She said, “So you were digging up some fossils, yeah?”
For a moment, Petunia’s face was uncomprehending. Then light dawned.
“Yeah! Can you teach me? Can you teach me?”
“Why not?” Limestone shrugged. “You’re about the right age. Come on, I’ll show you proper digging technique.”
“OK!” A while into their returning walk, though, she added, hesitantly, “Um… If it hurts again… can I use my spade?”
Limestone shrugged. Deep down, she knew she was getting far too soppy, but most of her didn’t care anymore. “Sure. I’ll play ‘Mommy’ today. Also, Mom always keeps some bandages ready in the kitchen. Just in case, yeah?”
The week ended far too soon.
Both of them waited at the platform.
Both of them watched the train roll in.
Both of them watched Pinkie cartwheel out of it.
Petunia broke ranks by glancing from one sister to the other. Limestone wished she didn’t. A true rock farmer was supposed to look stoic. Unflappable. Poised.
Oddly, Petunia was wearing bandages on her front two hooves. Yet she wore them as proudly as badges of honour.
“So!” said Pinkie, quickly glossing over this detail in the name of good cheer. “Today’s the day! Today’s the day you go home, Little Miss Daring Do, you! Hi, Limestone!”
“Hm,” grunted Limestone.
Pinkie paused, apparently surprised, but recovered quickly and bounced about.
“Miss Grumpy Pants enjoyed her time with the intrepid explorer, huh?”
“Yes, I did!” Petunia burst out excitedly.
Pinkie paused again. “No, silly, I was talking to –”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we know who you were talking to.” Limestone waved her off and turned to Petunia. “So.”
“So,” said Petunia, and Limestone almost beamed. She’d taught the girl well. With luck, some of the lessons would remain uncorrupted, out there in the big, wide world.
“Nice to have you over,” said Limestone coolly.
“It was fun!” Petunia caught herself. “Er, I mean: It was fun,” she added, much more calmly.
“Good girl. You know what, Pinkie? We just might have recruited a new convert to the cause.”
Now Pinkie’s pause was so overwhelming she almost went backwards in time. “Limestone? Is that you? You’re not some imposter, are you?”
“Don’t be stupid. Look, are you taking her back, or aren’t you? Mom and Dad and Marble already said their goodbyes. I’m just seeing her off. Got it?”
Pinkie gave her a funny look, but said nothing. “Are you OK, Limestone?”
Limestone shrugged. In truth, her mind was spinning a bit. History and archaeology kept churning up her thoughts, and she was becoming very, very vaguely aware that, beyond her rock farm, rivalling Holder’s Boulder, and standing alongside her own proud stories of rock farmers past and present, there was this thing called The Rest Of The World that might, if she was open to exciting heresy, be full of interesting things with histories of their own.
Not as interesting as her own, of course. But there was wiggle room for “mildly interesting”.
“Well, if you say so…” Pinkie shook her head and beamed down at Petunia. “OK, Petunia Paleo! Let’s go say hi to your mom and dad!”
“OK, Pinkie. You go on. I’ll catch you up.”
Pinkie shrugged, winked at Limestone, chuckled, and hopped onto the train, ever the optimist even to the last.
Whereupon, Petunia leaped and seized Limestone in a surprisingly tight hug.
Limestone said, very slowly, “I’m not a hugger, you know.”
Petunia backed off at once, blushing. “Oh, sorry.”
And Limestone relented enough to add, “You clearly are, though.”
The last week had trained her well; she stayed put while Petunia gave her another hug and hurried onto the carriage. When the filly opened a window and leaned out and waved so hard at her that she almost fell out, Limestone resisted every urge prompting her to wave back. But she did allow one very small smile to peek through.
After all, she’d seen another side of life. And on the whole, it had been an eye-opener.
So when Pinkie too leaned out of the window to wave before the train started moving, Limestone leaned closer and whispered, “Hey. Pinkie.”
“Yeah?” Pinkie whispered back.
Limestone fought to get the right words into place; this sort of thing wasn’t her thing. But she gave it a go:
“Can she come back next year?”
A year sounded about right. No point rushing things, after all. That’d just be silly.
