The House on Mayberry Hillby AlexanderChaptersPrologueBindweed OrchidConversationsA Description of Palmer OrchidIncident on Corner LaneA Day in SpringMistakeDeparture and TragediesLeavingThe MistressThe HouseThe BarnPrologueThe House on Mayberry Hill Prologue It is late spring in the town of Ponyville. Birds are singing and flowers are blossoming, apples are growing and the days getting longer; all was normal. But in the streets, there exists a story of the abandoned house atop Mayberry Hill, so named for the delicious berries that grow at its base every May. No pony knows how or why the house sits abandoned and vacant. No pony knows exactly for how long it's sat in its decrepit state, but it's certainly been so since before the founding of Ponyville. There have been plans to tear down the old house to make room for the planting of more Mayberry bushes, but everytime somepony has tried to destroy it, they've found themselves in a state of unequaled sadness. So after many failed attempts, all projects were halted and the house has stood. The story of the house goes: "Many years ago, before Ponyville existed, there existed a home atop Mayberry Hill. It was so grand and full of life, no pony dreamed of sadness, But on Hearth's Warming Eve, tragedy struck upon that home. Some say she dropped dead of illness, Some say she dropped dead of poison, Some say she dropped dead of fright, Some say she dropped dead of a broken heart, But the exact reason why, No pony knows. But even to this day, On still cold nights, when you are walking by old Mayberry Hill, Look to the old house and look and see, You might just see her watching." Because of it's story, no pony dared to approach the top of the hill for years and at night, if ponies are passing by, then they would look down at the ground and hope that she did not see them. But as the old home was slowly overcome with vegetation and vines, the story and the old home were laid to the back of everypony's minds. And so as the years passed by, the pony-lore of the home was subject to be filed away into the library's shelves. No pony much feared the home anymore but parents would still tell the story to their mischievous colts and fillies to make them behave. ****** "'. . . You might just see her watching.' . . . Fluttershy, that's ridiculous," Twilight said as she closed the book and put it back on the shelf. "There's no way something like a ghost could exist." "But I swear," Fluttershy said, standing up from her pillow in the middle of Twilight's library. "It's true. My grandmother used to tell it to my mom and then my mom told it to me. It's a haunted house." "Fluttershy, just because somepony tells you something does not make what they say true," Twilight said as she picked up the pillows from the floor. It was night and the moon was high in the sky. Fluttershy had come by earlier that day to escape from the heat and the two friends had spent the rest of day reading pony-tales and pony-lore's from the library's ample selection. It was by Fluttershy's suggestion that Twilight Sparkle flipped through her large book to find the old story of the home. "That's what makes pony-tales so special; you can read them and then you can pass them on to your friends and your children." "But it's not just an old pony-tale," Fluttershy insisted. "Oh no, I have to walk past the hill on my way home." Fluttershy whimpered as she instantly realized it. She sank down to the floor into a state of obvious fright. "Oh Fluttershy," Twilight pleaded, pitying her friend's ability to be easily frightened. "There's nothing scary with an old pony-tale. If it makes you feel better, I'll go with you and show you that there's nothing to be afraid of." "Oh you mean it?" Fluttershy asked, rising up again and feeling better. "You'll come with me?" "Of course I will. It a pony-tale frightens you that much then I'll go." Twilight Sparkle and Fluttershy left the large oak tree library and wandered through the streets. Everypony was now asleep and everything was still. Even the air was still and stale as the two friends passed by Sugar Cube Corner. Their friend Pinkie Pie was most likely asleep and as they glanced to her window, the absence of light confirmed their assumptions. They continued on their way. Rarity's boutique was closed and locked up for the night as Twilight and Fluttershy passed. The light in Rarity's bedroom above the studio was turned off but in Sweetie Belle's room, the light was still on as bright as it always was. The two passed by without much thought of it; Sweetie Belle was probably up preparing some new adventure that she and the rest of the Cutie Mark Crusaders could go on to get their cutie marks. As the two friends approached the split in the river, the wind picked up as it coursed over the hill tops. They hurried along as the cool wind ruffled their manes and coats. As they passed by a long row of Mayberry bushes, Fluttershy instantly turned her head down to the ground and closed her eyes and she sped up her pace. "What's the matter?" Twilight asked as she caught up to her. "You just get the idea to close your eyes and speed off ahead . . . " "It was the house," Fluttershy admitted, her eyes still closed and head bowed down to the ground. Twilight looked over her shoulder at the lonely house that sat at the top of the hill. There was nothing wrong with it. "It's just sitting there. Why are you scared of it?" Fluttershy opened her eyes. "It's a creepy house," she said, still not raising her head. "It's been that way ever since Ponyville was founded and you read the story just now, something bad happened there." "That's still no reason to be scared of a house, nor does that make it haunted," Twilight said, taking another look at the house. Still nothing wrong with it. It was just a house after all. "But, but . . . " Fluttershy began insistently. "It's still no reason to be afraid of a little old house." "But, but . . . " "Absolutely no reason." Fluttershy succumbed to defeat. She'd never be able to beat Twilight's arguments. She quietly sighed and said, "If you say so, Twilight." When they reached Fluttershy's cottage by the edge of the forest, the two friends said words of parting and went their own ways. Fluttershy went inside and turned on the light in the living room and Twilight set off back down the road again. When she reached the long row of Mayberry bushes, she turned her eyes up and looked. There sat the house on Mayberry Hill. Bindweed OrchidThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 2: Bindweed Orchid Twilight Sparkle awoke the next morning with a raging headache pummeling the inside of her skull with painful throbs. She had not had a peaceful nights sleep. She had ended up tossing and turning well into the night as if by doing so, she would get some idea of who this Bindweed Orchid pony was. But the more she tossed and turned, the less and less she remembered of what Granny Smith had told her. She rose herself into a sitting position and rubbed her temples with her hooves. It offered no relief to her headache. Twilight dragged herself out of bed and nearly stumbled onto the floor as she tripped over the mess of her blankets. She flicked them messily onto the bed again with a frustrated sigh and crossed to the window. She hung herself out and the few wisps of the cool night offered her headache instant relief. She smiled at how good the wind felt and she slowly opened her eyes. The sun was already high into the morning and the fog from the river had already retreated back to whence it came. The day birds were already out and about singing their songs and Twilight smiled again at their sound. From her window, she could see the folk of Ponyville already up and out. With a sharp gasp, Twilight rushed across the loft to the bathroom and slammed the door closed behind her. She quickly jumped into the bath and bathed, wasting no spare time with it. She got out and quickly dried with a light of her horn. She crossed to the mirror, levitated up a brush and set to hurriedly combing her coat and mane. When she was finished, she rushed down the stairs as fast as she could. "Spike! Why didn't you wake me up?" she desperately asked as she ran up to the front counter. "You were having some sort of bad dream," Spike simply replied, placing a pile of books back onto the shelf. "You were grunting and making all this fuss about some stuff." Twilight shook her head. "No I wasn't." "Yes you were." "No I wasn't. I didn't have a single dream last night," Twilight said as she sat down in her usual spot behind the counter. She picked up a rather large book bound in old leather and levitated it to the counter-top in front of her. She flung open the pages until she reached the one with one of her markers in it. It wasn't the same one she had been reading but it would do. "Well then something was giving you a hard time," Spike said as he walked around the front. "I'm telling you, nothing was giving me a hard time last night. End of story." "Then who is Bindweed Orchid?" Spike asked this time as he went back and picked up another stack of books. "Who?" "Bindweed Orchid," Spike replied as he set to work on placing the books on their appropriate shelves. "Bindweed Orchid. You were talking in your sleep last night when I got up to do my usual 'Up-and-Go'. It was a bit weird. I never knew you ever talked in your sleep." Twilight placed her head in her hooves and sighed as she remembered the events from the evening before. "I don't talk in my sleep," she simply said as she raised her head again. "Yes you do. You were doing it last night. A little around three if I remember right." "Spike, no I wasn't. I would remember so." "You were asleep, how would you remember? Please answer my question. Who's this Bindweed Orchid pony?" Twilight sighed and placed her head into her hooves again. Her headache was returning. "He's no pony special." "He's no pony special?" "Yes. He's no pony special." Spike placed the last book on its shelf and turned around. "Twilight, don't lie to me. We've been together for years. I can tell when you're lying and you're doing it right now. If he's no pony special, then why were you talking in your sleep so much about him?" "Spike, that's ridiculous and you know it. I don't speak in my sleep." "Why are you so quick to deny it then?" Spike asked as he rushed to another pile of books. "I may still only be a baby dragon but I'm only a couple years younger than you are. I know you're not telling me something." Twilight sighed, gave up the book as a bad job, closed it and turned to look where Spike was now standing by the tall pile of books far taller then himself. She felt a little sorry for his endless job but he accepted it happily. "Fine. I'm going to tell you." "Tell me what?" "Who Bindweed Orchid is." "Really?" Spike asked, nearly stumbling over the books in surprise. "So you do admit to him being somepony special?" "Yes, really and yes, he's somepony special . . . or at least he is to what I want to know." "Sweet! I was right all along!" Spike happily announced as he picked himself off the floor. "So who is he then?" Twilight massaged her throbbing temples and brushed her mane out of her face. "Please be quiet; my head hurts." "Oh I'm sorry," he apologized. "So who he is then?" he asked again, this time a lot quieter. Twilight looked out the window to where she could faintly see the rolling hills off in the distance. "You know about Mayberry Hill?" "Of course I do. So does everypony else in this town. If you're talking about that old story . . . hold on . . . let me go find it," Spike said as he walked off to the adjacent room. He shortly returned, walked to the counter, placed the book down in front of Twilight and flipped open the pages to where the story was. Its letters were large and bold. Twilight gave them a read through. "Is this what you're talking about?" Spike asked when Twilight was finished reading. She nodded her head. "What about it. It's got nothing to do with you." "I know it's got nothing to do with me," Twilight admitted as she pushed the book away. "Then why does it concern you to the point that you can't sleep well at night? If it doesn't concern you, then why were you talking in your sleep about it?" "Spike, for the last time," Twilight said as she got and crossed to the far wall of the library, "I admit that I may have been talking in my sleep. Leave me alone about it please." "Alright alright . . . so what's up with it?" "Well, nothing's really 'up with it' but I'm just a little interested in it." "Just a little interested in it? Seems to me like you're really interested in it," Spike said, resuming his job of putting away old piled books. "Just a little." "More like a lot." Twilight raised the pile of books with her magic and moved them to another spot causing Spike to curse and walk to the other side of the room. "Do you want to hear about my day or not?" Twilight asked when Spike reached the pile. "Yes I want to hear it." "Then will you let me tell you about it without you bumping in and talking about how much I'm interested in it or about how I talked in my sleep?" Spike nodded his head with a heavy sigh of defeat. "Fine. I'll let you tell me and I'll only ask about stuff I'm not sure about," he said as he walked to the other side again, his arms laden with books. Twilight smiled as her assistant resumed his job. "Well yesterday, I decided that I had had enough of hearing that silly old story so I went over to Rarity's and - " "You went to go see Rarity?" Spike interjected and all work on putting away the books came to a halt. "Why didn't you take me along with you?" "Can I continue?" Twilight asked with a massage of her temples. "Oh yeah . . . sorry . . . continue on then." "So as I was saying before you cut across me, I had decided that I had had enough. I went over to Rarity's boutique and we got talking about this and that. She had me fit on this really tight dress that was really too tight for my liking, but that's beside the point of things. I asked her about that house on Mayberry Hill and we just got to talking about it - " "Does she know anything about it?" Spike asked when he had put away the last book. "That's what I getting to. So anyways, she and I were talking about it and she got on about how it was a lady's duty to seek romance and all this and that but she eventually just flat out told me that she doesn't know about it either." "Yeah. I can see how she'd think that it would be a lady's duty to do that. She is the perfect lady after all," Spike said, his cheeks rushing with blush as he dozed off into space. "Spike, did you hear anything else I said or did you just stop thinking when you got to Rarity?" "Oh yeah I heard you." "Then what did I say?" Twilight asked with a heavy tone of skepticism. "That she had you try on that dress for Hoity Toity's showing?" Spike asked. He had heard the part about the dress but he didn't hear anything else that Twilight had said. His mind was too full with Rarity going about seeking romance. "How did you know about that?" Twilight asked, a little surprised that Spike knew about the showing. "Oh Rarity was talking about it when you had me go over several days ago to deliver some fashion books," Spike simply explained, taking a seat on the cool wood floor of the library. "Ah . . . that's right," Twilight said, remembering what he was talking about. "So did I guess right? About what you said and all?" Spike asked hopefully at the prospect of being right. Twilight shook her head. "Nope. You're not right. You weren't listening much. I said that she doesn't know much about it either," she said, the hopeful look on Spike's face washing away to be replaced with one of disappointment. "Oh." "Yes. Now I'm going to continue on with my story. After she and I got finished talking, I left her to her work and went walking around Ponyville out to Sweet Apple Acres. I asked some ponies about the old house on my way there but none of them knew a thing about it so I just continued on. When I got to Sweet Apple Acres, it was already so hot that I was having to wipe away sweat every other minute or so . . . but that's beside the point. I walked up to that large barn Applejack has got standing there and she came up - " "What did Applejack have to say about it?" Spike asked, cutting Twilight across. She shot him a look. "Oh right . . . sorry. You can continue on." "Well I got there and there was this really huge wasps nest hanging from two of the boards. When Applejack came up carrying behind her a large cart of apples, she and I started talking." "What did you all talk about?" "Well I asked about that wasps nest and then I asked where Granny Smith was." "Why Granny Smith?" Spike asked across. "Because she's the oldest pony in Ponyville so she'd be bound to know something," Twilight explained. "Please let me finish." "Fine fine. I'll shut up long enough for you to finish." "Please do - so anyways, I got to Sweet Apple Acres and asked Applejack where Granny Smith was and as I suspected, Granny Smith was out selling apples somewhere if she hadn't gone and taken a nap. We talked for a little about some stuff and then when she and Big Macintosh left back to work, I left." "When did Big Mac show up in the picture?" Spike asked, unable to keep silent. "When Applejack and I were talking. He was delivering some apples that had been bucked." "Oh. Right then." "Yes," Twilight said as she brushed her mane away from her face. "So anyways, I left the farm and came back to Ponyville and I looked around the square a little but eventually gave up. It was too hot and there were too many ponies to see through so I just ended up plopping down in a chair in the shade and ordered a cool drink. After a while, I watched Lyra walk on by with a cart of apples and so you know, I went up and asked where she had gotten them. She said to me that Granny Smith was right down the street a little ways and so - " "Lyra? The same light green mare that's always with Bon-Bon?" Spike asked, sitting up a little higher in the chair he had sat himself in. "The very same." "What was she up to? She's always fun to be around." "Oh she was just getting some apples for Bon-Bon. Apparently, Bon-Bon enjoys making these little sweets from the apples." "Oh right. I get it. Yeah, Bon-Bon and little candies go together like bees and honey," Spike said, slouching back into the chair. "So anyway, after Lyra and I talked for a little bit, I walked down the street to where Granny Smith was and oh by Celestia, you would not believe how many ponies had crowded under that large awning. It was ridiculous. I actually had to push and struggle just to get to where I could talk with her and you know how she is, her hearing's going so I had so say what I had to say several times before she understood." "What did you tell her?" "That I had something I wanted to speak with her about," Twilight simply replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "And so what did she say to that?" "To wait until evening when everypony would leave and go on to their own homes." Spike rose himself from the floor and stretched. "So then why didn't you come here to wait? You could've helped me with all the things that happened late yesterday afternoon. You really should have been in here to see it. Some foal comes in drunk off his hooves and he stumbles right into the side of the shelf knocking it and everything on it to the floor. That mess took forever to clean up and it would've gotten finished quicker if you had been here." "Oh I'm sorry, Spike," Twilight said sympathetically. "But even so, continuing on, I waited back across the street and this and that until eventually, I walked back across and spoke with her." "Is this where this Bindweed Orchid comes into play?" Spike anxiously asked. "You've been talking about your entire day and I still haven't heard anything about him." "Yes this is where Bindweed comes into play. I'm sorry I've made you listen so long." "Oh whatever. Continue." "So as I was saying, I walked back across the street after most of everypony had left and I asked Granny Smith about the house and as it so turns out, she does know a little something." "And what is this something?" "Well apparently, she knows or rather knew somepony who has direct ties to the house." "And this pony is Bindweed Orchid?" "Yes." "Then why didn't you just say so from the very start?" Spike asked incredulously. "Why'd you make me have to listen about your entire day? Why not just skip along to the good part?" "Because I like telling stuff in it's entirety," Twilight simply replied. "If I don't tell something in it's entirety, you'd have no idea what happened before. If there's one thing I've learned from all the books and stories I've read is that you have to be presented with past before the present can be explained." "We are not reading a story, Twilight," Spike said, standing from the floor. "We're just talking. You really didn't have to go and tell me everything." "But I wanted to." "Fine. Fine. Whatever." Twilight tossed her mane and continued on. "So apparently Granny Smith and this Bindweed Orchid had a little fling decades ago but then when he suddenly up and left many years ago, no pony knows who he is or where he is." "So what is his connection with the house?" "Well Granny Smith told me that he's the grandson of the mare that supposedly died up there." Spike walked around to the other side of the room, walked through the door to the records room and returned several moments later carrying a brown folder. He placed it down in front of Twilight and opened it. He flipped through its pages before finally pulling out an old dusty record certificate. "It's not much but I think that this may be the same Bindweed Orchid Granny Smith was telling you about." He took the old certificate from the folder and held it up for Twilight to see. "Yes," she said with a nod. "I think that's the same one. But how did you know where to find it?" "I am your number one assistant, remember? I just connected the dots. You're obviously looking for this pony and if this pony really lived close around Ponyville then he would have paperwork and other little things that would have been stored away in the Records Room. I just took a mad guess with it but I was right. Again." "Oh thank you Spike. You've just helped me so much," Twilight said with a smile. She walked over to where her saddle bags were and flung them over her back. She fastened the ties with an effort from her horn and returned to where Spike was standing with the folder. "Thank you, Spike," she said again as she lifted the folder from Spike's arms and dropped them into the right bag. With a quick pause to rub the rest of the sleep out of her eyes, Twilight left the library leaving Spike once again with a look of disbelief on his face. He cursed and set back to another day of work. ****** It was nearing noon as Twilight walked. The sun was nearing its highest point in the sky and there were no more hints of the soothing night breeze. Twilight walked on with her headache beginning to pound again. She passed by the buildings of the small town of Ponyville and found herself in the middle of the usually busy square. She sat down in a chair, removed the bags, and massaged her temples. The heat of the day wasn't making it any easier. She closed her eyes as tight as she could and flagged down the same waiter from the day before. "Can I have a cold water?" she asked when he approached. "The heat gettin' to you ma'am?" he asked and he moved under the shade. "Extremely. Could I get a cold water?" "Right away ma'am," the sweating waiter said as he took his note. "I wonder when them weather ponies are gonna make it rain. We've been in this right long drought for long enough. I reckon they're just a compensatin' for the excess rain they made last year. What do you think?" "I'll be able to think once I've gotten my water," Twilight said with another forceful rub of her temples. "Oh right away ma'am." Twilight watched the waiter sift back through the crowd and with another rub, she extracted the old dusty folder. She flipped it open and went to the papers that Spike had marked before she left. She took them out, closed the folder, and began to read. "Here's your water, ma'am," the waiter said when he approached. Twilight raised her head and looked up at the cool glass that was neatly plated on a platter. "Oh thank you," she said as she levitated the drink down and she took a long drain of it. That felt so much better. "So what do I think of what?" she asked, turning away from the file. "The drought, ma'am. You reckon it's just them weather ponies making up for last year's excess rain?" "I think so. It makes since to do that," Twilight said and she took another long drain of her water. "Well then ma'am, I'm gonna leave you to your work then," the waiter said as he backed out into the sun. "You look like you're pretty busy with somethin' so I'm just gonna leave you to it then. If you need anythin' else, just wave me down again." "Thank you." "Right on then. Have a nice day then, ma'am. Don't let the heat get to you too bad." Twilight waved farewell to her waiter and resumed reading. She reread the same lines several times as if there was some coded meaning in their letters. After a while, she gave it up as a bad job and put the papers back in the folder. She dropped it down into her bag and finished the last of her water. She crunched on the last cube of ice, stood to leave, and refastened the straps to her bags. She placed some bits on the table and stepped back out from under the shade. ****** "Mayor Mare," Loan said as he struggled to keep up with the pacing mare. "Mayor Mare, you really can't let this thing pass. If the public found out about you and this council voting to screw around with the stock markets for our own gains, you would surely be petitioned against. Your impeachment would be certain. Mayor, think about your career." "Don't you think it hasn't crossed my mind?" Mayor Mare asked, turning around from her constant pacing around her office. "I regret voting for it but you know how this council works. If somepony proposes something, then we should at least vote on it whether or not we approve of it." "I know this, Mayor, but even so. What Terra proposed is ridiculous. She wants us to get engaged with the markets and manipulate the prices and taxes so that we fill our own pockets, and what makes it worse is that the majority of this council approves of it. If this ever got out into the news then we'd be up to our necks with angry business ponies and merchants. Mayor, we have to do something about this nonsense before it spreads like fire." Mayor Mare did one final pace around her hot stuffy office before fetching a bottle of whiskey from the large ornate cabinet. She took it to her desk and poured a bit of it into a glass. She took a slow drain of it. "Now that's good stuff," she said as she sat down in her chair. "Nothing better than a cool whiskey to make you forget about your mistakes." "Your mistakes?" "Yes my mistakes," Mayor Mare said after she took another long slow drain of the whiskey. Her cheeks began to redden. "Mayor, that thing yesterday, I don't think it was a mistake of yours. It's as you said, 'If somepony proposes something, then we should at least vote on it whether or not we approve of it.'. I really don't think it was any mistake of yours." "You're too sweet, Loan." "No I'm not, Mayor. I'm just telling the truth of it." "Loan, please don't lie to me," Mayor said, taking then another sip from her whiskey. "But I'm not lying." "Loan . . . You ever think that maybe I'm not fit out to be a mayor?" she suddenly asked after a moment of silence. "What do you mean by that?" Loan asked as he took a seat in front of the desk. "Well it's all you know . . . I'll do something for the town but then I'll get negative feedback and reviews in the papers and I'll get letters talking about how what I did only made something worse. Then I'll try to fix it back and whenever I try to that I end up messing up with it and then I'll get even more bad feedback. Sometimes I wonder whether or not I'm meant to be a mayor." "That's stupid," Loan said, "You're the best mayor I know of. So what if you've made a mistake every now and then? Everypony makes mistakes like that. You've done much more good than you have done bad." "Loan, please no. I think this time I've really pushed myself over the top. I think it's as you say this time. 'Your impeachment would be certain'." "Why do you say that?" Loan asked as Mayor poured herself some more whiskey. She took a long slow time with it before she finally raised her eyes from the glass on the table. "I've already gone and called the demolition crew from Fillydelphia. They'll be here in several days." "You did what?" Loan asked sitting up, almost removing himself entirely from the chair. "You did what? Have you any idea what you've done? That stuff's not cheap in any way. You could have at least posted a poll around town asking what they think about it." "You think that would have worked?" Mayor asked as she poured yet again another glass of whiskey. "I think it would've done better to do so. At least then every pony in town will have had their chance to say what they've got to say. After all, without the support of the ponies, we would not be here. I think that by have going and discussing it with everypony in a town meeting, we would have been able to clearly steer clear of any negativity that's now bound to arise. Ponies don't like it when their governors and lawmakers go behind their backs and decide things on their own. Especially about something that's been such a part of this town ever since before its inception." "Well it's too late to do that now isn't it?" "Not if we can get flyers printed before the crew arrives. You said they'd be here in several days, right? Well that leaves us with several days to get everything set and primed for the meeting." Mayor rubbed her head in her hooves. "It takes a long time to set up anything like that and you know it," she said as she closed the lid to the bottle. She picked it up, crossed back to the liquor cabinet, and placed the whiskey back in its spot. "It would have taken days to organize such a meeting. Terra's not a patient pony and you know this. She's not really right in the head." "Mayor . . . " "Even if she is one of my employees, I want no trouble from her. Honestly, I'm a bit afraid of her." "Mayor . . . " "Loan, what's done is done. That old house is coming down and if my career comes down with it, then so be it." ****** Although it was not as hot as it was the day before, sweat trickled down from Twilight's brow and mane-line as she walked. Her saddlebags were heavy as she walked but she pushed onwards down the street to where Granny Smith had been yesterday. It wasn't long until she reached the spot and she wiped the sweat away from her brow. She looked at the empty spot, sighed, and walked away back to the square. When she arrived, she took a turn down the street to her immediate right and trotted on. She wiped away the sweat and deciding that Granny Smith wasn't on this road, she turned back. When she got back to the square, she took another road and it wasn't too long until she was face to face with the familiar crowd from the evening before. With a disheveled grunt, Twilight pushed her way into the crowd and struggled to reach the cart. When she reached it, instead of finding Granny Smith standing there behind the counter, she found Applejack. "Hi ya Twilight," she said as she gave some change to a young colt. "What can I do you for? Want some apples?" "Oh no thank you," Twilight said as she received a push from behind. "Can I move behind the counter with you? This crowd is ridiculous." "Uh sure sugarcube," Applejack said as she took the order of a young mare. Applejack moved to one of the side carts and removed four small green apples. She took the bits and waved as the young mare went on her way. "Thanks," Twilight said as she slipped behind the counter where Applejack was. It was far less crowded here. She let herself breath a sigh of relief. "Where's Granny Smith?" "Sugarcube, you asked me this yesterday. Didn't you just speak with her then?" "Well I did but I've got something I want to show her." "And just what is this something? Is it got something to do with that old house?" "It does actually," Twilight said as she undid the fastener to the bag and she rummaged inside for the old folder. When she had it, she set it down on the counter where Applejack could see. "Yesterday when Granny Smith and I were talking, she said that if I was going to find out anything the house, then I should speak with this old stallion by the name of Bindweed Orchid. She told me yesterday that decades ago, she and this stallion had a little thing going on but now ever since he's up and left, no pony knows where he is." Applejack looked down at the folder, opened it, and flipped through the old records until she came across the set of papers for Bindweed Orchid. She took a long look at the photo and closed the folder shut. "Well I've certainly heard that name before," she said as she returned to work. "You have?" Twilight asked as Applejack hoofed over a large red apple to a young unicorn mare. "Oh yeah. Several times before." "From where?" "Granny Smith. I remember several times ago Big Mac and myself would be out working and she'd walk by talking about something and every now and then there would be 'Bindweed'." "Well then. Where's Granny Smith? I want to show this to her as soon as possible." "She's at home taking her nap," Applejack explained. "It is that time of day remember?" "Oh right," Twilight said as she levitated the old folder back into her bag. "Alright then. See you later, AJ." "Are you sure you don't want any apples?" Applejack asked when Twilight turned away to leave. Twilight stopped in her tracks and turned around to look at the selection of apples. "Can I have one of those bright green ones?" ****** The sun was hot as Twilight walked down the dirt road towards the farm. She was levitating the green apple she had bought in front of her as she walked and every so often she would stop and take a large bite out of it. She continued on her way. She got her hoof stuck in a hole several times as she went and would have to stop and struggle to free herself from its grip. When she reached the main area in front of the large barn, she never wanted to see another hole. She walked past the large doors and saw the large wasps next lying on the ground, the side of it caved in. "What happened with the wasps nest?" Twilight asked when Big Mac suddenly exited the barn carrying behind him an empty cart. "I beat it down," he simply replied as he gave the nest a swift kick. It flew in the air about twenty feet before landing with a soft rustle in a ditch. "You beat it down?" "Eeyup. Got stung several times too." "But I though that Applejack said that you and her had had your own share of stings and that they were no problem? You say it now as if they are." Big Macintosh kicked at the ground and coughed at the puff of dust met his muzzle. "Well they aren't," he said as he wiped dust away from his eyes. "But even so, they still hurt like breaking a bone whenever they happen." "You've broken a bone?" Twilight asked warily as she looked over at the broken nest. "Eeyup. That was the worst pain I ever felt." "What bone did you break?" "Oh I can't remember . . . I think it mighta been that real big one in your leg. Do you know what it's called? I reckon it may have been that one but you see, I was young colt when it happened. Only thing I can really much remember is me and a friend of mine were taking turns jumping over this bush in front of the porch and once when it was my turn, I landed wrong I think. Like I said, I can't remember much except it hurting like taking a couple of wasp stings to the knee." "Oh . . . I see." "Eeyup . . . so anyway Twilight, what's you doing here?" "I've got something to show to Granny Smith. Is she still inside?" "Just how did you know about Granny Smith being inside?" "Well Big Mac, I've been in Ponyville long enough to know how most of everypony goes on about their lives, and besides I just got done speaking with Applejack before I came here," Twilight explained and she lifted the green apple up higher for Big Mac to get a better look at. "That's one of them apples from that tree AJ keeps doting over like it's a baby or something. I know cause I was the one that bucked down them batch of apples yesterday. I remember every single apple I buck. Every bruise, every spot, every roll; everything about 'em." "So is Granny Smith still inside then?" Twilight asked, moving away from the subject of apples. "Oh yeah. You can just go on along right inside if you like," Big Mac said as he loosened the harness and tightened it again to create a snugger fit. "That front door ain't locked any so you can just go on in and talk with her if you want to." "Okay. Thanks Big Mac." "Eeyup," he replied simply with a wave of farewell and he set down the path to the orchard. Twilight waved in response and got on her way to the house. She passed by the broken wasp nest and looked at it. Its thin delicate shell had been shredded and broken in, its form dented and unrecognizable, the small cavities of it punctured and torn, its inhabitants gone. Twilight felt a little sorry for it but she went again on her way. She crossed over the small ditch and made her way up the slight hill to the front porch of the wooden house. The old steps creaked beneath her hooves as she stepped and the landing of the porch sagged a little under her weight. Twilight quickly moved to the side and walked up to the door. She gave it a knock and waited. After a while of waiting, she knocked again and waited. After yet another while of waiting for a response, she finally gave up and opened the door. The door made a funny sound as it swung on its hinges and it came to a stop as it made contact with the wall. Twilight stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She quietly marched to the living room area and sure enough, Granny Smith was propped up in her chair fast asleep. Twilight walked up to beside the chair and gave Granny Smith a short curt shake. When she didn't wake from her nap, Twilight shook her again. When she still didn't respond, Twilight shook her again, although more forcefully this time. "Wazz a goin' on?" Granny Smith asked when she quickly opened her eyes. "Is it time to make jam yet?" "Granny Smith . . . " "Oh hey Twilight. Sorry I didn't recognize you a first. What's you want from me today?" "I've got something to show you." "Something to know me? But you already know me." Twilight put her hoof across her head and sighed. "No, Granny Smith. I have something to SHOW you." "Oh you've got something to show me. What is this something?" Granny Smith asked as she sat up a little higher in her chair. "Yesterday when you were telling me about Bindweed Orchid, Spike found this old folder that's got some old documents and records in it. I was wondering if you could look through them and see if it's the same pony. Also, I was wondering if you could tell me some more about him? Maybe something you say will give me a clue or something." "Yeah I can look through those papers; I'm not too old that I can't read but I really don't know of anything else I can say that'll give you anything else to go from. If I was you Twilight, I would just give up on him and just accept the old story as simply being a story." "Well then at least tell me then whether or not these documents are about the same Bindweed Orchid as you told me yesterday," Twilight said. She magicked open the saddle bag and lifted out the folder. She set it down on the table beside the chair and flipped through to Bindweed's documents. "There you have it. Is this stallion the same Bindweed Orchid you were telling me about yesterday?" Granny Smith looked down at the photograph and smiled. "Oh yes. I haven't seen that face in so long but yes, this is definitely him." "It says that he was born in Westerby. Where's Westerby? I've never heard of a place like that before," Twilight said as she also peered through the papers. "Westerby used to be this old little town a little to the north of Ponyville," Granny Smith said with a smile, not taking her eyes off the old picture. "Then why haven't I heard about it before?" "Oh Twilight, that poor old town's been long gone for many decades now," Granny Smith explained quietly, lost in thought. "When that dam got built up on the river, Westerby was one of those little off-to-the-side towns that was evacuated when the water began to rise. If you go out to reservoir now, there's this little sign commemorating the little towns and hamlets that are now entirely submerged beneath the water. It was a nice little town before the water rose. There was this nice little church with gargoyles all around the bell tower and every time it would rain, the water would be funneled through and come out of their eyes and mouths. It really looked as though they could have been crying. There was the flower garden by this old creek and every spring, it would bud all these really beautiful bunches of Irises and Lilies. Oh it was always so beautiful." "And so it's all gone now . . . " "Yes, it's all gone now," Granny Smith sadly said, finally raising her eyes from the page. "Although during droughts like this one we're having now, you can still go by and see the tip of the old bell tower. Just a couple of days ago I went and took a look at it myself. Oh how the years have gone." Twilight shuffled her hooves and took back the folder. She closed it and set it back down into the bag that hung from her right side. "Well then," was all she said as Granny Smith turned to look out the window. "You know Twilight, all these years can simply pass us by and begin anew but even so, the events of those years never really pass. When that dam was built and the waters began to rise, a lot of ponies were upset by it. In the matter of weeks, many families and lives were misplaced and changed forever. I can't tell you how much negative feedback there was all those years ago but it was certainly too much to really say. Ponies fought against the dam and even held demonstrations outside the town hall in Manehattan, which of course is where the decision to build the dam was made. There was a lot of things that happened and even after all these years, they're still so fresh. Twilight, why are you making this old mare remember such things?" "You were telling me about Westerby," Twilight said a little uneasily. "Oh yes," Granny Smith said, remembering the subject of their talk. "Sorry for making you listen to my rambling." "Oh it's no problem," Twilight replied. "Well Twilight, I'm afraid that's really all I can tell you. If you ever want to go check out that sign you're free to do so whenever you feel like it. I'm sure you'll like it." "I'm sure I will too," Twilight said and she tied the bag closed. "I think I'll go take a look at it before the sun sets this evening. I'll let you get back to your nap. See you later, Granny Smith." "You too, Twilight." Twilight walked from the living room and out the front door. When she stepped out from the shade of the porch, the heat from the high sun hit her like bricks. She really wished it would hurry and rain soon. She made her way back down the hill, across the ditch, and gave the battered wasp nest a final glance. She walked back to the barn, waved farewell to Big Macintosh who had recently returned with more apples, and set down the dirt road again. This time, she avoided all the holes. ****** The sun was setting behind the hills as the day approached the night. After Twilight had left the Sweet Apple Acres, she returned to the cool confines of the library and placed the old folder back into its place in the Records Room. She had sat down at the counter and began to read again the book she had started two nights ago. She got close to the ending of it and was pleased with the way things were turning out. When she noticed the time on the clock, she closed the book, set it back on the shelf, made a mental note to finish it, and left Spike alone again to his work. The temperatures were beginning to make their fall as Twilight walked through the rapidly emptying streets and the faint cry of the cicadi could be heard over the dull roar of the town square. Wisps of cirrus clouds were beginning to form high above in the sky and in the dusk, they were painted a deep hue of red and pink. Twilight walked on. When she came to the fork in the main road, she took the right and trotted down to where Granny Smith had said. It had been a couple of hours since Twilight left the farm when Granny Smith entered the library. She bought up the subject of the reservoir and the memorial sign and told Twilight which way to go to find it. Twilight walked on. She came to an intersection with a lane that directly paralleled the reservoir for its entire circumference and turned right onto it. She walked for a mile just listening to how the waves lapped over onto the shore. It wasn't until too much longer that she finally reached the memorial. It jutted out a fair ways over the reservoir and was obviously well-done. Its floors were polished oak and its safety fences were intricately bent cast iron and at the very head of the deck was a large sign. The large sign was very intricate in its own right. It was pure white marble and carved into it was a very detailed map of the reservoir and Twilight was amazed that the map included pointers that showed to everypony where all the submerged towns lie beneath the waves. The sign also had a quote at the bottom that Twilight couldn't make out from where she stood. She moved closer to where an older stallion was also looking at it. When she approached the sign, the ancient stallion moved aside but never moved his gaze from the sign. "Um . . . hello," Twilight said to the old stallion. "Um, I'm Twilight Sparkle," she continued on with when the old stallion didn't reply. The stallion shook his head and leaned in closer to look at the map. "Hello," he finally said after a long silence. "I'm Twilight Sparkle," she said again, unsure if he had heard it that first time. "I heard you the first time, kid." Twilight shuffled her hooves uneasily and randomly looked around the deck and around the large reservoir. "Did you used to live in one of the old towns here?" "More or less." "Which one?" "Westerby." Twilight pricked her ears at the sound of the town and moved in closer to where the old stallion was standing, his gaze unbroken from the map carved into the marble. "What's your name?" she asked excitedly. "I'm no pony special," the stallion simply replied, taking a step away from Twilight. She took a step closer. "What's your name?" she asked again. "Like I said, kid, I'm no pony special," he curtly said as he moved yet further away. Twilight moved in closer to where he had moved and asked again, "What's your name?" The ancient stallion gave Twilight a harsh look before finally sighing and drooping his head close to the floor of the deck. He sighed again. "If I tell you will you leave me alone then?" he asked. "Of course," Twilight simply responded with a smile and the ancient stallion sighed again. "My name is Bindweed Orchid." ConversationsThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 3: Conversations "You're who?" Twilight asked, almost falling back to her haunches in surprise at the old stallions answer. "I said my name's Bindweed Orchid," he replied as he took a step further away. "Bindweed Orchid?" Twilight asked, stunned to a point of disbelief. She had thought that finding him would have been much harder. "That's my name," Bindweed said turning to look at his company. "You got some hearing problem, kid? Want me to say it again?" "Oh that's not necessary," Twilight said happily as she bounded upright. "That's not necessary," she said again. "I'm actually really really happy I found you." "Why would you be happy you found some old fart pony who ain't worth more than a load of beans?" Bindweed asked as he took another step back from her. "Seems like a waste of time if you ask me." "Because I have some questions I want you to answer." "And what would these questions be? I've lived far longer than you have and I've been asked far too many questions. I'm tired of hearing them and so now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back home." Twilight rushed in front of Bindweed blocking his path and nearly causing him to fall back on his rump. "What was that for kid?" he angrily asked as he maintained his standing posture. "You can't just go up to old ponies like me and cause them to stumble like that. Have you got no sense?" "Oh I'm really sorry," Twilight apologized as she backed away from him. "I just really have some things I want to discuss with you about." "What things?" Bindweed asked, pushing himself past and circling around. "Be quick with it." Twilight gulped as she looked at the impatient stallion and wiped away a nervous sweat. His old dark eyes pierced her all the way through like an x-ray would. She gulped again and fumbled with her sentence, "Oh well um . . . um . . . Well, do you know who Granny Smith is?" "What'd you say that name was?" "Granny Smith . . . " "She runs Sweet Apple Acres over by Ponyville?" Twilight nodded her head as Bindweed began to pace around the pier. He sighed and drooped his head to the floor again. He kicked around and walked back to the marble sign. He looked at it so intensely, Twilight could have sworn he was looking right through it. She shuffled her hooves, uncomfortable with his silence and she lazily tossed her mane while she waited. All evidence of her headache from that noon gone just like the wind that kicked up the waves on the surface of the large deep reservoir. Bindweed finally spoke, "So I'm reckoning that you wanna hear about that Mayberry House?" "How did you know?" Twilight asked, taken aback by his sudden question. "Why else would you be interested in me so much?" Bindweed asked. "I expect that old mare has gone and told you all about who I am." "She only told me that you're the grandson of the mare that died in the house and that you and her had a little fling of sorts when you were younger." "Well all that's true." Twilight took a step back from the old stallion as he turned away from the sign. "Why are you so bitter?" she asked as he kicked around the pier, shaking his head. "Life has made me bitter, kid. I've walked all around Equestria trying to get away from that damn house and no matter where I go, it follows me. It's like a dog or something that'll follow you until you either kill it or until you kill yourself. Not to mention where ever I go, somepony who's heard the story finds out who I am and then they won't stop pestering me about it. I'm tired of it and I just want it to leave me the hell alone. You see, kid? Life's made me bitter. Or rather specifically, that damn old house has made me bitter." "Oh I'm sorry but I really want to hear about it," Twilight said as she sympathized to his plight. "Why should I tell you anything? Are you set out to annoy me? I finally get back to where I was born and raised and then I find out that it's been submerged under some fucking lake. Have you any idea of how mad I am right now? That town was the most beautiful thing in Equestria but now it's gone and it ain't ever coming back. That damn old house is the last thing on my mind right now." "You were born in Westerby? But I was thinking that because you're the grandson that you were likely born in - " "Born in that old house?" Bindweed continued for her. "You thought wrong didn't you? My father moved away from that old house with my mom who was one of his servants. Together they moved to Westerby and had me there. I have never set hoof in that house nor do I ever want to." "Why did they move to Westerby? Why was Westerby so special? Also, how come you've never stepped inside? It's your ancestor's house. Surely you'd have some lingering love for it," Twilight said. "Why are you so full of questions, kid? I just told you I'm tired of it. And no, I have no love for that house. Now you stop asking me about it." "Why not? Your grandparents and your parents lived there for a time. How come you don't love it?" "Kid, my dad's told me things about that house that you would not believe. That house is nothing but trouble. It's always been nothing but trouble." "What kind of trouble?" "The kind of trouble that's got to do with love, lust, and murder. Ponies have died because of that damn house," Bindweed said bitterly. "How would you feel if you were connected with a kind of history like that? Hmm? It don't feel so good, now does it? Like I said, that house is nothing but trouble." "Murder? But . . . " Twilight began in shock of what she was hearing. "But what? You thinking that the story was all about happiness and butterflies and summer strolls? Wrong. That story's all kinds of sad tragic stuff and I'm ashamed as can be to be connected with it." "But even so," Twilight said as she nervously side-stepped in front of the stallion as he tried to walk by. "But even so, I want to hear it. I love stories. Let me hear yours and then I'll let you go on your way." "And if I don't tell you? What will you do then?" Bindweed asked as he tried to find some way around. "I'll follow you until you tell me," Twilight simply said as she stepped in front of him again. Bindweed fell to his haunches and cringed at the idea of being followed around. He shot Twilight a very dirty look before finally submitting and he let out a deep sigh. "If I tell you, will you let me go on my way?" "I will." "If I tell you everything will you keep it to yourself and forget that you ever saw me?" "I will." Bindweed deeply sighed again and stood to his hooves. He gave his long lank mane a run through with his hoof and stared deeply at the floor again before finally raising his head to look Twilight in her eyes. "Fine. But you'd better not follow me once I leave." "Really?" Twilight asked in disbelief. "Yes really." "Everything?" "Yes everything. .Just as my own father told me," Bindweed replied reluctantly. "Where will you tell me?" Twilight asked as she excitedly fidgeted around the area. "Oh it's got to be someplace just right since it's gonna be a long story. I would suggest the house but you don't wanna go there . . . oh where? Oh! Maybe I can get the library set up just right," she continued on about to herself in complete disregard of her companion. "I do not care," Bindweed said as he pushed himself past Twilight. "It's that large tree near the center of Ponyville?" "Yes sir. That's the one." "I'll be there around noon. Don't you dare keep me waiting. If you keep me waiting I'm just gonna get up and leave." "Oh no. I won't." "Good then," Bindweed scoffed as he walked to the road. He gave a short formal nod and with a light scowl, he departed. When he left, Twilight blinked in disbelief, clearly astonished by what had happened. She did a short little jump in accomplishment and smiled as she looked around the memorial pier. She finally registered the rising moon and shivered as she felt the cool of the night. She turned her head to the road and with a quick final look around, she left also. She walked back down the road to where she had come from while listening to the rippling of the waves. She turned back onto the main road and when she reached the familiar fork, she turned back to town. She had so much to prepare. ****** "Applejack," Twilight called as she knocked on the wooden door. She had woken early that morning in a rush. She had quickly set up things around the library so that when Bindweed showed up, things wouldn't get uncomfortable. She had then rushed from the library down the road to where she turned onto the road to the orchard. She gave the door another quick rap with her hoof and waited. "Applejack!" "What you hollarin' around for?" Applejack asked she rounded the corner of the house with buckets of water draped over her back. "Honestly Twilight. It's only ten thirty in the mornin' and you're already over here screamin' around for me. What can I do you for?" "Oh good, Applejack," Twilight happily said as she turned around from the door. "Come with me." "Go with you where?" "The library." "Why?" "'Why?'" Twilight repeated as she bounced down the stairs. "Because there's something you really must hear." "Hear what?" Applejack asked. "A story," Twilight replied excitedly. "What kinda story?" "The story about that old Mayberry -" "Nope," Applejack flatly said. "Nope. Nope. Nope. Don't wanna hear about it. It's just some stupid silly ghost story that I've heard too much of. I don't wanna hear it." "But Applejack -" Twilight tried to say. "No 'buts'. And even if I wanted to hear it again for the hundredth time, I just ain't got the time today. I got gardens to water and trees to buck. Not to mention Big Mac's wasp stings are acting up again. We both keep on forgettin' that he's a little allergic to them. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way." Twilight stared as her friend pushed herself by and down the short path to the gardens. She watched as Applejack, going one bucket at a time, poured water into the irrigation system. Twilight gave the ground an unsure stare before finally deciding to leave. She gave Applejack one last look and turned away back down the road. ****** Twilight walked down the road by the river to Fluttershy's cottage. She gave the Mayberry House a long stare as she passed. The day birds were out and about, here and there singing their songs and the quiet stream of the river kept her company as she impatiently walked. When she arrived at the cottage, she gave the door several sharp knocks. "H-hello?" squeaked a timid voice from the other side. "Fluttershy, it's me, Twilight. Open the door." Twilight quickly said. "Oh hello, Twilight," Fluttershy quietly said as she slowly pushed the door open to let her friend in. The door gave a hardly-audible creak as it opened as far as it would. "Do you need something from me?" "I do actually," Twilight replied as she took a step inside. "I want you to come with me." "Go with you where? It's not some dark and dangerous place is it? You know I don't like doing dangerous things." "Oh no, Fluttershy. It's nothing like that. I want you to come to the library." Fluttershy looked around the room as if looking for an answer before nodding. "Okay. I can do that. Do you want me to come now or -" "Oh no, just come around noon. There's something I want you to hear," Twilight responded as a bird flew past her ear. "What do you want me to hear? Why can't you tell me now?" "It's a long story, or at least I think it will be. So anyway, see you around noon then?" Fluttershy nodded in agreement of the time. She gave the room a final look around before nodding again. "Okay," she said as she looked at the time. "Well it's already eleven so I guess I'll finish cleaning and then -" she continued on until she realized that Twilight had already left. She gave the door a quick close before setting herself back to work. ****** "Rarity, it's imperative that you come with me at once," Twilight said as she sat down behind the table in front of her friend. After Fluttershy had agreed to show, she had teleported herself to the Carousel Boutique in hopes of finding her friend there. When she arrived, Rarity had already been busy at work with a new dress and had cursed up a storm when her papers were tossed about the room. Twilight had been quick to apologize and clean up the mess. "Why should I after you just up and suddenly teleport your way into my room and toss all my papers around?" Rarity asked after she took a sip of her tea. "My deary, that was not a very feminine thing to do." Twilight rolled her eyes at this. "I said I was sorry, didn't I?" "That's true," Rarity said as she refilled her cup. "But even so, you messed up a good two hours worth of work that I'm going to have to redo and find out where I was in it. I'm also going to have to go through all those papers again and that takes time." ' "I know it does but even so -" "Even so, being the lady that I am, I will hear what it is you want me to hear. Have away at it, darling." Twilight sat back in her chair and drummed her hoof atop the face of the table. "Well it's like this: I have something I really want you to hear. I've already spoken to Fluttershy about it and she'll be coming along to hear it. So I was wondering if you would come too." Rarity took a swig of her tea before saying, "And just where do you want me to go with you?" "The library." "Why the library?" "So that we won't get uncomfortable while the story's being told." Rarity quizzically gazed Twilight up and down, trying to find any hint of a ruse. "What story?" she finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. "Do you remember when you told me that it was a lady's duty to search for and to be moved by stories of romance or whatever it was?" Twilight asked as she fidgeted uncomfortably in Rarity's gaze. "I do. Yes. So again, what story?" "The entire story about how and why the Mayberry House came into being." "And what makes you think I'd like to hear that? I've already told you it's just a silly old story." "Because you said it was a lady's duty to seek romance," Twilight flatly replied. "This story is going to be that kind of story I think. At least that's what he said about the house anyway." "Who is 'he'?" Rarity asked as she sat up higher in her own chair. She set her cup down on a coaster with a light of her horn. "Who is this 'he'?" she asked again. "Bindweed Orchid. The grandson of the mare that supposedly died in the house." "Oh?" Twilight nodded her head as Rarity raised her eyebrows at the sound of the name. Twilight nodded again. Rarity took a final drain of her tea before standing. She gave her mane a quick comb-through before turning to walk to the door. "Well then. Don't you think that it's prudent that we leave? After all, you come bursting in here like none of your business demanding that I go with you. Well let's go then and get this over with." ****** Twilight and Rarity returned to the confines of the library and took a seat around the lounge area. Twilight had Spike go fetch some tea and cookies from the kitchen while they waited for Fluttershy to arrive. It wasn't too long of a wait before there was a light knock on the door. Spike rushed to open it and there stood the familiar yellow mare. She glided in, her hooves barely in contact with the cool floor, and sat down beside Twilight. The friends exchanged greetings and they waited. Just as when the clock tolled noon, there was a sharp heavy knock on the door. Spike went to open it and was met with a door to the face as Bindweed Orchid heavily strolled in. He took off his day hat and hung it from the post beside the door. He took a look around at the crowd before turning around and grabbing his hat down from the post. "Wait!" Twilight cried as Bindweed placed a hoof upon the doorknob. "Just where do you think you're going?" "I did not agree to tell the story to a bunch of mares. Only to you so that you'd leave me alone. Not to this. The deal is off. I am leaving." "Oh please don't leave," Twilight said as she teleported herself in front of him to stop his advance through the door. "They're my friends and they expressed an interest in the story -" She shot Fluttershy and Rarity a look. They quickly nodded. "- And so I bought them along to hear it. Please sir, it's just us three. Please tell us." "Excuse me, sir?" Rarity spoke up from her cushion. "Aren't you Bindweed Orchid? Twilight told me about you." "So you told 'em who I was now did you?" Bindweed asked hotly as he turned back to Twilight. "Just her. Please, just sit down and tell us your story." "What story?" Fluttershy asked suddenly. Bindweed shot her a look and she cowered in her spot. "Oh um . . . what story? If you don't mind." "Your friend here, Twilight, wants me to tell you the story about the Mayberry House," Bindweed explained. "But I ain't sure I'm going to anymore. I didn't agree to come and tell it to a bunch of ponies who probably have better things to do than listen to an old pony like me tell stories." "Oh no, sir. I don't have anything to do today," Fluttershy quietly said from her hole. "Oh Twilight, I already told you that the house is haunted. Why do you want us to hear it?" "What did you say. filly?" Bindweed asked as he turned around to look Fluttershy in her face. "What did you say that house was?" "Oh um . . . um . . . I-I s-said that it was h-haunted," Fluttershy stuttered as she crouched under his intense gaze. "'Haunted' you said?" Fluttershy nodded. "Haunted? Don't make me laugh, filly. That damn old house is about as haunted as a piece of parchment. As a matter of fact it might as well be just as worthless as a piece of parchment." "And how would you know?" Rarity asked, drawing his gaze away from Fluttershy. "And just how do you know that the house isn't haunted? Hmm?" "Filly, my father, Boldwood Orchid, invented that silly story to keep mosey little foals like you all from gettin' near the house and messin' up with it after he and my mother moved away to Westerby," Bindweed explained as he took a step forward. "That house up there is about as haunted as a piece of parchment," he said again. "So that house isn't haunted?" Fluttershy asked. "But my grandmother -" "Your grandmother was wrong all along then. That house has never been haunted. The closet thing to haunted that house has ever been was when a family of squirrels moved into the attic. I took a look around the house before I came over and there's a whole swarm of those nasty annoying creatures all over the place" "So are you going to tell us the story or not?" Twilight shot across as she sat back down in her cushion. "You're not leaving me with much of a choice now are you?" Bindweed asked as he removed his hat again. "You've all got me to talking and now I ain't just about to shut up and be on my way. Well that's not how I do things. Fine. I'll tell you. But only just you three." "Fine. Only us three," Twilight agreed. "Spike can go and hang out with Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash while you tell us." Bindweed heavily marched back to the door and set his hat back on the post. He returned with a heavy grunt and slammed his old rump down into his own cushion. "How much of it do you wanna hear?" he asked to his audience. "Everything," Twilight replied. "Everything. In all of it's entirety." "Fine. Be prepared for a long story cause I'm gonna tell you everything just as how my own father told me." A Description of Palmer OrchidThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 4: A Description of Palmer Orchid Palmer Orchid stood contently atop the windy hill as he watched over his farm below. The wind brushed through his mane and sent it all aflutter. He smiled. This was such a smile that his eyes were reduced to slits, his bony cheeks rose high on his face, and his mouth curled to an extreme point. It was a good day. Palmer Orchid was a sheep herder and shepherd. He went about his job with the utmost satisfaction and he never regretted a single day of it. Other than his job about the farm, for which he was generously paid, he was often enough a lazy stallion who always went about with his head in the sky, dreaming of what he would do once he got back to the farm. Often on Sundays during church, instead of listening to sermon, he would sit in the back row in a doze. He was in constant thought of perhaps what should he enjoy for lunch or perhaps why he didn't eat breakfast that morning. Or perhaps even why he was in a doze in the first place. He was always in thought and when he would catch himself in one of his dozes, he would constantly scold himself for not paying more attention. Even so, his days went on. He owned an old, tarnished, brass watch that he kept stuffed in the pocket of his attire. His attire, since he worked six days out of the seven, was simple and modest. He wore a little collar around his neck, a hastily-tied bow tie that hung loose, and a woolen shirt that he tried to keep clean. This was his attire and he would not have had it any other way. Now his watch was handed down to him from his own father who in turn had received it from his father and so on. The watch had a small dent on the front of its casing and it hardly ever had the right time anymore, but at least it was right two times a day. Palmer Orchid had the air of a stallion with very little want or need. Even though he had a reasonable sum of money, he spent all his time living in a little cottage by the edge of his field. In the town of Klimmington, Palmer was viewed as one who frayed close along the lines of what was socially acceptable and what wasn't. To his friends, when they were in a bad mood, he was seen as an annoyance; when they were in a good mood, he was the best to ever be around; when they were neither, he was simply neither as well. Palmer Orchid stood tall and firm above most of everypony else in Klimmington. His coat was light and mellow and his mane and tail were a slight hue of green. To most, he resembled a spring flower in full bloom. His eyes were bright hazel and he went about his business as he always did. His long unicorn horn was the same shade as the rest of him and he was mighty proud of it. He crossed over the crest of the hill and slowly walked along the rim of it, taking in a clear view of his pasture. His sheep were all bundled together in a tight pack near a pond as they contentedly grazed on the grass. Another breeze ruffled through over the hill causing the bountiful leaves in the tree branches above his head to rustle. He had always enjoyed the sound of rustling leaves in the wind. He marched on and descended to the fence. He spotted a broken beam and made a mental note to fix it as soon as he had the chance to. He went back about his business and walked to where his hut was built up. He stepped inside, sat down on his modest bed, and took down a sketch from the mantle piece. Palmer came from a farming family for which he was always proud. His family dated back to some of the earlier generations of Equestria. If he remembered correctly, the earliest known ancestor of his had been around when Nightmare Moon had made her debut. Palmer remembered about how his father would always tell him stories that had been passed down about that moment. He would always hear about how there was a distant explosion of magic from Canterlot and about how the land was cast in eternal darkness. Ever since he was told that story, he would always imagine to himself what eternal night would be like. Through all the years, his family has farmed and they have herded. They hailed from the northern regions of Equestria where the winters were always brutal. There, they didn't prosper and their harvests were often lost due to early unscheduled snowstorms. After deciding enough was enough, his ancestors picked up their belongings and set out in search of finer grounds. After centuries of travel, they finally descended from the hills down to the town of Klimmington. It was here in these rich fields that they found their land of milk and honey. Palmer looked down at the old sketching of his grandfather and his own father and smiled. He was proud of who he was and where he had come from. He set the sketching back on the mantle above the fire pit and opened up one of the side windows. After he checked himself in the mirror and flattened his ruffled mane with a passing of a brush, he took his stick from the hook beside the door and stepped outside. When he descended down the crooked steps of his hut, he whistled for his dogs. He waited for a moment and whistled again. He pricked his ears to the western fields and listened. Nothing. He whistled again for them and pricked his ears this time towards the eastern fields. Still nothing. Growing irritated, Palmer took his stick with a light of his horn and marched up towards the crest of the hill again as another breeze stole its way over. The trees rustled at its touch but Palmer ignored them. He crossed over the ridge of the hill and stared down into the grassy meadow below. There in the tall grasses, his dogs played mindlessly. Palmer had two dogs; one of which was nearing seven and the other was still just only two. The older dog, his favorite dog, went by the name of Tinker. Palmer had received Tinker as a present one Hearth's Warming Eve before his old father finally passed. Ever since then, Tinker had grown into an excellent herder who always got the mark just right. The younger dog however was simply a mess. He spent all his time listlessly strolling the fields barking at whatever he found and causing all a ruckus that Palmer would have to spend all day correcting. Palmer wasn't fond of this dog in the slightest. He gave a final whistle and their heads straightened up at the sound. They ran up the tall hill and down into the adjacent pasture; Palmer followed with a grunt. He whistled for them again and they set out to work. Palmer crossed the deep pasture to the watering pond and with a swing of his stick, the grazing sheep heeded way. They went about their way while the last few stragglers remained behind to finish eating. Palmer set his dogs out for those still behind while he went and followed the group of sheep as they rounded over the hill into the grassy meadow. There, he waited until Tinker brought over the stragglers. The other dog whom he had never bothered to name was probably off taking a swim in the pond. With a scowl, he looked over the meadow to the blight blue sky set against the flat horizon and he set himself to thinking about something his father had told him years ago. "Palmer, there's somethin' I gotta tell ya before we go out. I'm an old stallion but I know a somethin' or two 'bout life," the old stallion had said one day at the breakfast table. "Life's only what ya make of it. If ya think it hard, then it's always gonna be hard. If ya think it easy, then it'll always be easy. There' nothin' wrong with life, son. The only things wrong with it is the lack of hope. If ya hope for somethin' with all your might, then it might someday come true . . . Son, there's somethin' beautiful 'bout the sky set on the horizon. There's somethin' pretty 'bout it that I can't quite explain. Ya just have ta find it for yourself and pray that you'll find somethin' precious on it." Thinking back to what his father had said, Palmer set his gaze out to the horizon and stared. It was certainly pretty as far as he could tell but there was nothing really amazing about it. He stole his eyes away from it and set out about one last circle around the herd. He made sure the sheep were doing what they were meant to and with a glance back to the crest of the hill, he ascended. When he neared the ridge, he set his eyes down into the pasture and sure enough, that young dog was enjoying a lazy swim in the pond. Palmer cursed that lazy dog as much as he could and walked along the ridge, waving in and out between the trunks of the trees. He kept a watchful eye over his herd as he went and enjoyed a slight breeze that ruffled his slight green mane. He descended back to his hut but stopped as he heard the rattle of the wheels of a heavy wagon as it drove down the side road towards town. Curious as to who it could be, Palmer cautiously rounded the base of the hill and made his way over to the fence. He watched as the wagon, pulled by two large burly mulls, came to a sudden halt. Palmer etched closer to it as the driver descended onto the dirt road. "I think I may have heard something fall a while back," Palmer heard a soft sweet voice. Puzzled and wondering why a stallion wagon-driver would have such a voice, Palmer etched closer, still crouching behind the low fence. When he got closer to the wagon, he found that it had not been the driver that had spoken but instead had been a young unicorn mare. "Ay, ma'am," he heard the driver say in his low voice. "What do you reckon it may have been?" "It sounded to me like it may have been a loose board or something," she flatly replied as she looked out around at the hills and pastures. "Why don't you go see?" "Ay, ma'am," the driver said with a curt little nod of his head. With a final word to the mulls pulling the wagon, he departed in a quick trot back down the road again. Checking to see if he had gone, the young unicorn mare turned around in the seat of the wagon. She rummaged through the mess in the back and when she found what she was looking for, she turned back around in her seat and placed it onto the board before her. Palmer was amazed that she had managed to find anything at all in that mess of stuff. The back of the wagon was filled to its brim and higher with items loosely tossed in together. There was no sense of order in any of it. Palmer could see bits of ornate furniture and other bits and pieces of this and that. He guess this must be one of those new fancy rich ponies that were making it their habit to move out to the country. He continued watching. The unicorn mare undid the tie around the paper and opened up the package. With a gentle light of her horn, she levitated up a small mirror in front of her face and she took a long look at herself. Even from where Palmer crouched behind the fence, he could clearly see a flood of blush cross her yellow cheeks. He watched as she fidgeted in her seat and messed around with her blue mane. When she saw her reflection blush in the mirror, she blushed even harder. When the driver came trotting back up the road with a board caught in between his jaws, the mare quickly set the mirror back into its package and set it back into the mess of belongings. She quickly shook her head and freed herself of any trace of blush. "Ay, ma'am," the driver said after he placed the board back onto the wagon. "T'was so a board. So right you were ma'am." "So we're finally ready to go along then?" the mare asked as she scooted over in the seat so the driver could climb back up. "Ay, ma'am," he replied with a quick nod to the mulls. With a kick of dust, the wagon continued on its way down the road. Curious, Palmer followed behind as close as he dared to. He followed until the wagon came to yet another abrupt stop in front of the gates to town. Palmer got close enough within hearing range to hear the heated conversation. "What do you mean I have to pay to get in?" the mare angrily asked as her loose bun came unfurled. "Can't you see I've got a wagon-full of belongings? My stuff cannot wait just because you want me to pay." "I'm mighty sorry, ma'am," the gate keep said lightly with a tip of his hat. "But that's the way things stand here. According to what I was told by my manager, the town is looking to refurbish some things around these parts and that they need as many bits as they can get. So cause of that, ma'am, here I am on the side of the road. And I'm mighty sorry ma'am, but I can't let you pass until you cork over the three bits." "That is preposterous," the mare angrily said. "Isn't there anypony I can talk to about this? I forgot my wallet behind at my uncle's farm near Westerby. That's a ten hours ride back and it'll be well into night by the time I ever there. Isn't there some way you could let me pass?" "No ma'am. I wish there was cause I hate to make you go back on your way, but there's no way around it," the keep flatly replied with another respectful tip of his hat. The mare cursed loudly at his answer and set herself into a stupor. Palmer decided that he had seen enough and bounded from behind the fence. "Here ma'am,":he said as he rummaged with his bag. "Use my bits if it ain't too much trouble for you," Palmer continued as he lifted up three bits for the mare to see. She took them without even a look down to express any form of thanks and passed them down to the keep. While the keep counted the bits, she set about fixing her mane back into the loose bun. When the gate finished counting the bits and placed them into a little pail, he let the wagon pass through. "She's a very pretty mare, ain't she farmer?" the keep asked as he nudged Palmer in the side. "Ay, 'tis so," Palmer agreed with a nod of his head as he watched the wagon kick up dust in its wake. "Yup. I would love to be in with a mare like that," the keep said as he sat back down on his stool. "I would not." "Why's that, farmer?" "Mares like her have their faults," Palmer simply replied as he pushed his mane away from his eyes. "Ay, 'tis so. A bit too hard to handle if you ask me," the keep sadly said as he kicked at the road. "True; but no." "What then, farmer?" "Vanity." Incident on Corner LaneThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 5: Incident on Corner Lane It was nearing midnight, nearly four days since Palmer Orchid had watched the new curious mare stroll into town in her over-loaded wagon. Since that afternoon and initial meeting, Palmer had only seen the new mare twice in passing while on errands around town. On one such errand, he remembered how he had taken rest in one of the town's taverns. He had just ordered his weekly meal of apples and celery when she walked into the place. Palmer could remember how the entire tavern had gotten deathly quiet as she walked to the bar and ordered a large water. Now for a small town bent mostly on the life of farming and agriculture, seeing a mare of her status was an event to be beheld. On another errand, he had passed her by on one of the streets near the town square. He had exchanged a polite greeting and to his pleasant surprise, she had returned it. Later that day when he was lazing around with his few friends, he had learned that the mare's name was Rose Bloom. When he questioned how they knew, he was met with the response that she was the daughter of a successful farmer near Westerby. Such as it was, the moon was bright in the clear night sky. Palmer looked around his little hut and longed to be back in the fortitude of his home on the side of the windy hill. This new small hut was, given the present circumstances, the best that Palmer Orchid could take. These circumstances that held him hostage to an unfamiliar hill and little hut was simply this; it was nearing birthing season and the laden ewes were preparing to deliver new life. Two days ago, he had herded his flock out to a new pasture and a gentler hill so that the newborns would not have to fight such steepness during their first days of learning to walk. As for the small hut, it was situated on wheels that placed it a good three hooves above the ground and Palmer Orchid had rolled it out with a light of his horn. The small hut was built of weathered wood and it was painted over with a dirty white. There were small holes in the wood but they were relatively nothing and the heat from the fire stayed in nonetheless. The roof of it were crafted metal slabs that stayed in placed with a multitude of nails. The metal had rusted a bit during its years of use but it didn't deter the determined farmer from his chores. Palmer took a look around the interior of the hut before sitting down on a hard lump of bedding. His bed, which was made from tossed about and packed together corn husks, often enough gave the poor shepherd an aching back in the mornings. It was fairly uncomfortable but for a temporary lodging, Palmer dealt with it as he did every year. He laid down on it and took another long look around the interior of the hut. In the corner by the head of his bed was a table. It was laden down with cheese, apples, celery stalks, and slices of bread. Across the single room of the hut in the opposite corner was Palmer's stick hanging from a hook, the light from the fire reflecting from its polished surface. Further down from his stick hung several cast-iron skillets and pans that Palmer used for his daily cooking. The furniture that held the ware above the fire pit were strewn in disorder against the base of the wall. Palmer took a look at the crackling of the fire pit and closed his eyes to sleep. His slumber was soon broken by the distant cries of two newborn lambs. Palmer got up, gave his legs and back a tough stretch before taking down a pot from the wall and choosing its partnered stand. He placed the pot above the fire and fetched a pail of milk. He poured a healthy dose of it into the pot and set it to simmer and warm. Looking into a little cracked mirror that he had hung from the wall by the door, he smoothed out his mane and levitated over his stick. When he was completely ready, he took one final look around to see if he had forgotten anything and deciding that he hadn't, he stepped out into the cool early autumn air. A stiff wind was blowing its way over the face of the hill and the freshly fallen leaves rustled without care. The heavy limbs of the large trees groaned and cried as they were rocked to and fro by the wind. Their sounds sounded a bit like the cries of somepony that was mourning the death of their friend or a member of their family. It was a sad sound and it caused Palmer's heart to waver at them. The stars above Palmer's head shown bright against the clear dark sky. Being a farmer as he was all of his life, Palmer had the innate ability to read the positions of the stars to determine the time. He took a look at them and noted how the great square of Pegasus had swung around in the sky to the west. "Twelve-thirty," Palmer said as he tore his gaze from the sky. He descended down the hill to its base and wandered around to the sound of the cries. When he arrived, he found twin lambs lying in the cool grasses being tended to by their mother. He gave her a pet on the top of her head as he crouched and gave the lambs a look-over. When he found no birth defects, Palmer emitted a light of his horn and the two lambs were lifted into the air. Palmer gave the tired mother a final pet, told her 'Good work', and took the lambs away. Palmer stepped up into his little hut and set the two lambs onto a soft bedding of hay to keep them from the cold. He stoked the fire and removed the pot of simmering milk. He poured a little into a large dish and placed it in front of the two. It would be nowhere near as good or as beneficial as their mother's milk but for that first night, it was the best the two lambs were going to get. When they began to edge closer to the warm milk, Palmer sat back down on his lumpy mattress of corn husks, took an old worn flute from his bag, and began to play. The notes from the old flute rose unhindered into the night and carried down with the wind to the town. If anypony had been out for a midnight stroll, they would have believed the high pitches to be the songs of birds. Then if they had wandered further around, they would have seen the small hut on the hill. Then if they had bothered the time to climb up to it, they would have seen the form of Palmer Orchid sitting on his bed through the small window. But even so, the sharp notes rose and fell in pitch and even if a little muffled by the wind, played out loud across the quiet night. Palmer stopped playing and took a look at the two lambs; they had stopped lapping up the warm milk and were now deep in sleep. Palmer smiled at the first two lambs of the season, set his flute back in his bag, and left his hut. He climbed up to the ridge, whistled for his dogs, and walked along its crest. He whistled for his dogs again and heard the familiar sound of Tinker running as fast as he could. Palmer gave the dog a scratch behind its ears and having seen enough to get his bearings, he descended down to the road. He turned left when he reached it and walked until he came to a fork. He took the right that lead further from the town and went about his way. Off in the distance, he could see a faint light. From where he was, the light looked like some sort of lantern but as he neared, he found it to be a light from a window. He neared closer and curious, he took a look inside. He was met with the sight of a handsome home full of pretty furniture and little paintings. The walls were a light red and the floors were polished oak boards. Palmer looked in through the glass to where he saw a very peculiar scene of two mares. One of the mares to his surprise was Rose. The other mare was old and looked as though she would give out at any moment. From what he could see, Palmer determined that the two were deep in a heated conversation. Deciding against eavesdropping, Palmer removed his muzzle from the old glass of the window and backed away from it. He stood in the brilliant light that poured out from within for a moment before turning away. With thoughts of what he had just seen racing through his mind, he trekked back down the road to where he knew his flock to be. ****** Palmer quickly dispelled all thoughts of the scene when he returned to his flock to find a newborn lamb. He heard no cries from it and with a pang in his heart, he quickly trotted to where its mother was pointlessly nursing and cleaning it. And feeling another pang in his heart. Palmer slowly crouched down close to the sorry mother and ran his hoof along the white wool atop her head. He reached down to the lamb and removed the umbilical cord from around its neck; it was too late to do anything else. He lifted the little lamb into the air, gave the tired sorry ewe a pitying glance, and took her lamb away. Palmer carried the still-born lamb to a grove of underbrush and trees which was slowly thinning out in the onset of autumn. He gently placed the lamb onto the ground and turned away from it. With a single tear, Palmer walked back up the hill to his hut. A curt stiff wind suddenly twisted its way over and around and knocked Palmer off his guard and sent him stumbling forward up the crooked steps. Cursing heavily, Palmer limped up to the door, flung it open, and removed his old rusted spade. With his prize in tow with a light of his horn, Palmer marched back down the hill to the brush. Despite being a farmer and shepherd for all of his life and having seen more than his fair share of death, it still weighed heavy on Palmer's heart whenever one of his sheep died. It weighed even more so when one would die of an accident like this. He stifled a cry and set to work. With a sudden flash from his horn, the rusted spade made a dull hit with the soft ground. With another flash, Palmer brought the spade swinging up through the air over his shoulders and a large collection of earth landed with a soft thud behind him. With another flash, the spade struck the ground again. As the cool autumn night progressed, the glimmer from Palmer Orchid's horn emitted an eerie glow against the black of night. Its faint glow cast a light hue of blue upon the surrounding area and on the overhanging branches. The job of digging the small grave was a long ordeal marked with frequent cursing and near-constant breaks to wipe the sweat away from his brow. Dig after dig and fling after fling, the muscles in Palmer's back and shoulders flexed as he concentrated on his horn and his shovel. Each dig bought a new wave of sweat at which point Palmer would stop and wipe it all away with a quick flick of his hoof. He continued on with his laborious task well into the early morning. A lone bird landed on the branch above his head. When Palmer had finished with his chore, he gave his brow a quick wipe with hoof and whistled lightly as he tossed the spade to the ground. He looked sorrowfully at the poor lamb and placed it into the deep grave. With a gentle light of his horn, Palmer sifted the earth back into the hole; the little lamb peacefully unaware as if he could have been sleeping. When all the earth had been restored, Palmer found a large smooth stone and placed it atop the mound. He cautiously etched in a few last words of grief before turning. Palmer turned a sad eye to the lightening sky and found his stars. "Six-thirty," he said. Palmer picked his shovel from the ground again and with another dim light of his horn, he began his slow trek back up the hill. A warm morning breeze was rolling through as he went, coating the bed of browning grass in a blanket of thin dew. Palmer's hooves brushed the dew away from the blades as he drug himself tiredly up the hill. When Palmer reached his modest hut, he marched up the steps and placed his spade in its place. He roused the two sleeping lambs from their warm cot and set them out with their mother. He blew out the remaining embers of the pit and sat down on his hard lumpy mattress of corn husks. As he lied his head down on the equally hard pillow he remembered; he had forgotten his shepherd's stick on the warming face of the hill. He smiled before instantaneously succumbing to the call of sleep. ****** Palmer Orchid awoke later that morning to the soft cries of another newborn lamb and just as he had done just hours previously, he set a pot of milk to warm. He stifled a hefty yawn as he stepped down from the hut. He gave the morning air a deep breath in as he stretched his aching muscles from his chore hours before. They popped and shifted back into their original positions as he did and he let out a momentary moan of pleasure. He gave his muscles a final flex before starting on his way, Palmer crossed back to his flock and gave a nod to the two that were born the night before. He smiled as they nursed from their mother as he walked by. He walked further on and spotted a brown pole lying in the grass. He quickly trotted over to his stick and picked it up from the ground. Inspecting it, Palmer gave it a thorough cleaning with a quick little light of his horn and with that chore complete, he lifted it into the air and walked round to the soft cries of the newborn. When he arrived to the happy mother, Palmer crouched down close to her and gave her words of praise. He ran a quick inspection along the length of the new lamb before lifting it away into the air and towards the direction of the hut. A gentle wind had begun to blow across the tops of the hills and down to their bases through the earlier morning. The slight rustling of the strewn-about leaves met Palmer's ears as he carried the healthy lamb to the warm cot of hay and grains. He set her down onto it and crossed the single room of his hut to the fire pit and removed the milk. Just as he had done with the two earlier, he poured a bit of it into a bowl and after making sure they would do no harm, he left. Palmer stalked round the ridge of the hill and hearing no cries from any newborns, he whistled for his dogs. Old Tinker came lobbing up from his spot at the bottom and nudged his muzzle into Palmer's elbow, as if in anticipation of some prize. Palmer reached and gave the old pup a quick hard pet atop his head and he whistled again for the other dog. Hearing and seeing no sign of it, Palmer cursed loudly and ran back down the hill to where he jumped over a deep ditch. He looked up and down the road and still saw nothing to indicate the presence of a dog. Turning onto it and with Tinker close at his heels, Palmer set off down the street. After checking near Hilter Mill, Noming Shire, and the streets of Klimmington, Palmer retreated to a back road that cut through a long bough of trees. Palmer set himself down onto it and walked; Tinker following behind at a close position but yet far enough behind that he could do as he wished. The slightest breeze broke the dried leaves from their branches as Palmer made his way. He pricked his ears towards the far end of the road as he heard the unmistakeable sound of the clip-clop of hooves against gravel. He looked and regarded a wagon pulled by a team of mulls and to his ultimate surprise, the mare behind the reins was Rose Bloom. Palmer stopped in his tracks and hesitated; part of him wanted to stay put and try to make conversation with her but another bit of him wanted him to run and hide behind a bush. He stayed. He silently watched as the wagon pulled up and he flagged her down. The wagon crawled to a stop beside him and Rose removed her hat. She gave her loosely-tied mane a brush out of her face and dropped the reins. "What's it you need from me, farmer?" was all she asked. Palmer shifted uncomfortably, blushed, and raised his eyes to look at hers. "Just wanted to say 'hello' is all, ma'am," he replied. "I have seen you around town before, farmer." "Ay ma'am. I've seen you too. You always seem caught up with something." "What I am caught up with or not caught up with is none of your concern, farmer," Rose bluntly said to him. "Ay ma'am, 'tis true. But I was just only saying it because I think it true," Palmer replied, suddenly feeling a little guilty with himself. "Then why say it to me?" "Because honestly ma'am, I couldn't think of anythin' else to say to you." "Farmer . . ." "Yes, ma'am?" "What is your name?" Palmer stumbled about at the unexpected answer and he struggled to find breath. He looked around the road as if in desperate search for an answer. As if the gravel was going to spell out his name for him. He finally looked back up to Rose and opened his mouth to speak. "Palmer. Palmer Orchid is my name," was all he said. "Palmer . . . Orchid . . . " "Ay ma'am. 'Twas the name I got on my day of birth by my pop." Rose looked down from her wagon and leaned forward to bring her face closer to Palmer's. In surprise, Palmer backed away and bumped his rump into the ragged bark of a tree causing him to fall back and curse heavily. Rose laughed cheerfully. "What's it that you do?" she asked as she gave her horn a little light and bought the sulking stallion back to his hooves. "What's it that you do, Mister Palmer Orchid?" she asked again. "Judging your attire, you seem to be very homely stallion." "Well ma'am," Palmer began as he magicked off bits and pieces of brush from his coat. "It's as you say, I am a farmer and I am a very homely stallion. But to be precise to you, I am a simple shepherd. As a matter of fact, my entire family's been shepherds." Rose considered Palmer for a tense moment and his deepening blush before rising back to her bench and taking the reins again. "Very well then, Orchid. It has been nice meeting you but now I must get back home." "Ay ma'am." "I am sorry for not making your acquaintance sooner. I do believe that I owe you three bits. I am not so prideful as to forget a due." "Oh no, ma'am. Don't think much of such a little thing; I'm generously paid enough. You haven't the need to." Rose skeptically looked Palmer up and down with a critical stare before lightening her expression. She smiled. "Alright then, Orchid." "Ay, ma'am." "Oh!" Rose exclaimed from her bench as she was setting to leave. "Could you tell me which road this is? I have only been here but a couple of days and I cannot remember the names of these country roads to save my life." "Ay, ma'am. 'Tis Corner Lane," Palmer replied with a scratch of his mane line. "Corner Lane . . . Thank you, Orchid." "It's not a problem, ma'am." Rose took a final considerable stare at Palmer Orchid before giving the reins a quick snap. The large mulls at the front pulled on the harness and the wagon was back on its way, kicking up a bounty of dust and fallen leaves as it went. Tinker jumped out of the way of it and went back to snapping at the leaves. Palmer watched her leave with a heavy blush on his tanned cheeks. Feeling suddenly awkward, he whistled for his old dog and went back to searching for the younger. A Day in SpringThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 6: A Day in Spring The heart of a stallion is a very fickle matter. One moment, the poor stallion may be in a state of reckless abandon; then the next, he may be in a state of concern and will tend to act thoughtfully. Such was also true for the heart of a stallion who was feeling the tugging of love. The poor stallion in question, whose fickle heart was gripped by newfound affection, is none other than Palmer Orchid. After his meeting with Rose Bloom in the length of Corner Lane, his heart had swung full round to its current standing. When he had first met her on the road into town, he wasn’t much fussed about her; but now, she was all he could think of. In these days now, he would wait every afternoon for her to ride by in her wagon. On most days around that time, Palmer would retreat from his position as shepherd and retire up the hill to his cottage. There, he would change out of his shepherd’s attire and make himself over in more formal wear. With his hooves, he would fumble about with the small buttons of his collar and after several coarse moments of cursing, he would resort to cheating by using his horn. After that chore was finished, he would move over to his mirror by the door and neaten his mane. When all chores were finished and he was sure of himself, Palmer would then step back out and descend down the stairs. Going as fast as he pleased, he would proceed then to walk round up to the crest of the hill. Once there, he would briskly walk to a bough of trees and blooming shrubs and take his residence there. The trees had overgrown and their large branches buried in blankets of leafs cast the area in bright shade. Veils of vines etched and carved their ways up the wide trunks of the trees and coursed their ways over the roots. Even at the slightest touch of wind, the day birds would wake from their nests and sing a song in response. The shrubs consisted of Hydrangeas and Lilacs. There was even a lone Crabapple tree that was beginning to bloom. In the middle of this shaded, green, serenaded bough was a stump whose façade was scarred with the signs of ax-work. Once at the bough, Palmer would take his usual seat atop the bald stump and patiently wait. After days of trial and error; after days of waiting for too long and after days of having arrived too late, Palmer had determined the right time to show. Two-thirty he would constantly think to himself. It would not be too much longer yet until he would hear the familiar clop of hooves against packed gravel and the creaking of olden wagon wheels. At those unforgettable sounds, Palmer Orchid would then stand from his place on the stump and descended down the hill to where the tamed path cut its way through. As Rose would approach, the pair would then share a pleasant welcoming and a short conversation about the recent news. Still being increasingly shy, Palmer would mostly blush and nod his head. Then after several moments of this daily meeting, Rose would depart towards town and Palmer would retreat to his cottage. Once settled there, he would remove his formal wear and shrink back into the old worn cotton apparel of his position as sheep herder. In a sudden state of sadness, he would sit down on his mattress and stare longingly at the wood boards under his hooves. The heart of a stallion in love was a very fickle thing indeed. ****** It was spring. It had been months since the birthing season had ended in which Palmer had welcomed a dozen new lambs into his flock. The greenery had, since the frequent rains and warmer temperatures of spring, sprung back into life. The large trees that lined the crest of Palmer’s windy hill had also leapt back into being and their large heavy branches were overloaded now with life. All through the meadows, the vast fields of wild-flowers had blossomed in places that were once bare through out the winter. And so now every morning while waking, Palmer would turn in his bed and await the bird songs and as it just so happens, it was morning now. Palmer roughly turned in his cot and struck his head against the backboard. Cursing, he quickly sat up and worked on massaging his temples until the pain ebbed away. He pricked his ears to his window in search for the birds he so loved to listen to. Instead of bird songs fleeting in through the window, Palmer could only hear the steady platter and the ever-condescending drone of rain against his roof. Palmer didn’t much enjoy the rain at all but he endured it since it gave water to his flock. Grumbling, Palmer stood from his cot and gave his back an all too well appreciated stretch. He then gave all of his legs a quick shake and stretch before ridding himself of any left over traces of sleep. He crossed over to the window and watched as the rain water fell in loud sheets from his roof down to the earth below. A small ditch in the ground was being carved and formed by the constant pummeling of water and Palmer watched as blades of grass and random twigs were carried off by the side of his home by means of a little stream. Determining that there would be no bird songs this morning, Palmer turned from his window and made a line for his bath. He stepped in and turned on the hot water. At this point, all signs of sleep had washed away and Palmer stood completely erect and alert. When his washing had finished, he slowly turned the knob and stepped out of the deep tub. Without wasting any time at all, Palmer dried himself with a light of his horn and feeling the instant rush of warmth, he departed and made his way to his empty kitchen. He fumbled around looking for anything to eat and deciding that he would find nothing there, he crossed back to his main foyer. He walked up to the peg by the door, tied a casual collar around his neck, and grabbed his stick down from its place. When he was finished, he left. The rain struck Palmer’s shoulders as he went down the front steps and as he made his way round to his back barn. It was a small little structure, hardly any larger than his portable hut that he had put away many weeks ago after all the newborn lambs had been delivered. He opened the front door and stepped inside in a bid to escape from the assault of rain. He ran a hoof across his forehead and wiped away the rain. When he was dry enough (not quite dry enough for his liking but it was good enough), he puckered his lips and whistled for his dogs. He turned a ear to a pile of rubble by the far corner and watched as two dogs emerged, their tongues lolled out and tails wagging. “Here you go, Tinker,” Palmer said as he fixed down a bowl of dog food for his prized dog. He laughed lightly at his inability to keep his own kitchen stocked while he was perfectly capable of maintaining the levels of dog food he kept in his barn. He found it ironic. “Here you go . . . Joe – yeah, that’s gonna be your name today,” he continued on as he set down another bowl for the other. Turning to leave, Palmer caught sight of an ornament hanging from one of the banisters overhead. As he loomed in closer to it, he heard the familiar faint hum of hornets. Damn, he thought to himself with a scowl as he looked the large nest up and down, giving a look of deep distaste. I forgot it was that time of year for y’all to start popping up all over the place again. As soon as I can find my flock and get them where they need to be, I’m gonna come back and knock you down and get you outta here. Oh yes. You just wait on for a while yet. With that mental note made, Palmer inched back away from the nest and went back to his dogs. Tinker and Joe were finished eating and were sitting on their hind-legs patiently for the door to be opened. Thunder crackled high above Palmer’s head as he crossed the floor to the doors and gave them a quick short open. He was met in the face with a flash of bright white as a sharp bolt of lightning cut through the sky directly above his head. The roll of thunder that soon followed shook Palmer to his core and he grasped a hold of the doors to prevent himself from falling over. He felt his two dogs rush past his legs into the safety of the barn. Shaking his head free of shock, Palmer stepped back out into the torrential rain and whistled for his dogs again. Tinker came running back out as if for the first time ever, while as always during a thunderstorm, the other would not budge forward. Not even an inch from where he was. After whistling again and calling for him, Palmer gave “Joe” up as a bad job and took Tinker by the collar; together the two marched up the hill to its crest. Palmer took a look around and seeing no sign of his sheep, he ran down the hill to the road. He sloshed his way through a deep trough of standing water as he neared the bottom but didn’t stop to think twice of it. Palmer quickly turned his head to the left, and then to the right, but still not a sign of any of his sheep. He shook rain away from his eyes and cowered slightly as another bolt of lightning cut through overhead. Thunder shook him again as Palmer ran down the street away from town; Tinker was following close behind. If Palmer was going to find his sheep, then the only place that came to mind was that ruined old barn that his father and then his father before him had used to use. Palmer was going to use this barn instead of the small one he’s currently got but right before his father had passed along the family business, a freak storm, unscheduled by the weather teams, had rolled in from the mountains a far ways off and blew a portion of the roof clean off. He and his father had rushed out of their home after the storm had passed to find the barn in ruin. A large hole had appeared in the roof and masses of boards and shingles had landed in heaps on the ground. It was all a mess and without using magic (Palmer was the first unicorn in his bloodline since his great-great grandfather), the debris and rubble had taken near to a week to clean. Since then, nopony’s bothered to rebuild the damaged barn in the thought that another storm like that might roll in and blow it all to pieces again. And so, the barn was never built back nor was it ever torn down; it was simply let to sit and fall on its own whenever it wanted. Palmer turned down a muddy path and his forelegs immediately sank into a deep pool of water. Cursing again, he removed himself and stood in the rain a while so that the mud would be washed clean. When he was certain that he was clean enough, he continued on his way until he came across the familiar picket fence and turned down the short path to the barn. As he neared, sure enough, he could see the faint tracks of sheep in the few areas of ground around the barn that had not yet been touched by the rain. He wiped the sweat away again and entered in through the large doors that stood ajar. He inched in and closed the doors behind him with a kick of his hind legs. Wiping the rain away, he looked to his immediate left to the area that still had roof above it and just as he had expected, his flock of nearly a hundred was cuddled and sheltered from the rain. He felt a nudge on his leg and looked down to see Old Tinker sitting on his rump, his tongue lolling out and his tail wagging. Palmer smiled. Content with knowing where his sheep were and knowing they were safe and that their pelts were clean and dry, Palmer went back out into the rain. ****** The rain ended later that morning to the arrival of bird song. After finding his flock of sheep, Palmer left the old barn and returned to his cottage on the hill. By the time he had returned, he was soaked to the bone and he was in a constant shiver. He had closed the door and took off his collar and hung his stick back up in its place. Tossing, the wet and dirty collar into the dirty laundry bin, he gave it up as a bad job and crossed to his bath, leaving puddles of rain water in his wake. He once again stepped into his shower and washed away any traces of mud and grass that might have still been matted to his coat. When his washing was over, he stepped out again for the second time that day and dried himself with a light of his horn until he was left standing warm, dry, content, and homely. He waited on his bed by his window scratching the area behind Tinker’s ears that he knew his dog loved the most. When the rain ended and there were no more crackles of thunder, Palmer rose from his bed and crossed back to his front door. He took his stick down and went outside to be met with that smell that always lingered after a good rain. He wasn’t quite sure of how to describe it but he knew that this smell was the only thing he ever really enjoyed that came with rain. He descended the stairs. His hooves met the soft mudded earth and he rounded back down the hill to the road. He turned left in the direction of the old barn and set his attention to it. Tinker followed close behind as the pair turned down the path to it. Palmer pursed his lips and whistled, signaling for Tinker to rush into the barn and start work. Palmer soon followed and after several long minutes of whistling, stick swinging, barking, and guidance, he and his dog had accomplished their goal of getting the sheep back out into the sun. Without the presence of the rain and wind, the sun felt uncomfortably hot on Palmer’s shoulders. With another whistle from Palmer, Tinker ran back around to the back of the flock and waited for another whistle. When Palmer delivered, Tinker ran up to the group of sheep and barked, sending the flock into a nice pace. Palmer got out of the way to the left and with a swing of his stick, he stopped a few stragglers in their spot and returned them to the herd. With this system, it took nearly an hour to return the flock to the hill. Once he got them back to their watering hole and set them to the pasture, Palmer climbed the tall hill to the ridge and cleared an area beside one of the large trees and sat down. He turned his gaze back down to the far horizon just as his father had always done but found nothing new with it. Finally determining that his olden father had been just one screw loose before his death, Palmer returned his gaze to his flock. Palmer Orchid’s life and chore as shepherd was a very simple thing free from much trial. On most days, he could simply wake in the mornings and after making sure that all was as all should be, he could sit atop his hill just as he was doing now. He heavily sighed in boredom and blankly stared down into the valley towards town and he dreamed of Rose. Her mane, her coat, that smile of hers, her voice, her blushing, her laugh, and her; he dreamed of all of her and he smiled. After a while of sitting, watching his flock, and dreaming of Rose, Palmer slowly stood and stretched out his aching legs. Feeling instant relief, he turned his head to the deep blue of the sky and determining the position of the sun, he assumed that the time was nearing one. With that assumption in mind, Palmer descended the hill and slowly walked round to his cottage. He gave his flock one final look-over before climbing the stairs and closing the door lightly behind him. It was nearing time to meet up for his daily encounter with Rose; the beautiful Rose Bloom who had ensnared his fickle heart in love for all the spring months. ****** “Rose,” Palmer said to himself as the familiar wagon made its way down the path. He picked himself from the worn old stump and crossed down to the gravel surface of the road. The soft ground from the earlier rains buckled under his hooves as he went. “Rose,” Palmer said again as he reached the road. He leaned himself out farther into the road and watched patiently as the wagon neared. He silently judged the distance of it and determined that it was close to a hundred yards off. As the wagon neared closer, Palmer could see the known form of Rose but beside her was somepony that he did not know. As the wagon neared closer, he remembered the other pony as the old mare that he had seen in through the window all those months ago. In a sudden panic of what to do, Palmer darted behind a present bush and hid. As the wagon was near upon him, Palmer clinched his mouth and eyes shut as if by not seeing the wagon, he would not be seen as well. “I guess he isn’t coming today,” Palmer heard Rose say from her bench far above from he where was crouching. “Who isn’t coming, dear,” Palmer heard another voice say. This new voice was raspy, dull, and low. He assumed that this was the olden mare. “Who isn’t coming?” he heard her ask again. “Oh just somepony I wanted you to meet,” Rose explained as Palmer heard the sound of creaking wood board. He guessed that she was shifting in her seat. He looked out from under the bush and was met in the face by a spray of dirt that had been kicked from the hoof of one of the large mulls pulling. “Oh? Your very own special somepony, perhaps?” Palmer heard the old mare ask. His heart flipped in anticipation of the answer. “Oh no, Auntie,” Rose quickly said and Palmer heard the wood board creak again. “Oh no, Auntie, he’s not my special somepony.” “Then who is he?” “Auntie, you’ve been in this little town of Klimmington all your life; do you know of a Palmer Orchid?” “I do.” “Well he’s that pony I wanted you to meet today.” “Rose,” the old mare said suddenly after a while. Her voice this time sounded grave and severe as if delivering terrible news. “Rose, you mustn’t get involved with that Orchid. Them Orchid’s have been nothing but trouble and they’ve always lived so . . . homely. I don’t like them. You really mustn’t get too involved with that Orchid.” “Why not, Auntie? Besides, he and I aren’t like that. We just meet once a day along this road and talk for a while. That is all.” “Rose, you are the daughter of a successful business owner and the niece of a renowned plantation owner. That Orchid is simply a shepherd. He has nothing.” Palmer Orchid slumped down into the deepest shades of the bush and listened on. He gripped at his chest with his hooves in pain at what he had heard. He slumped further and listened on. “Have you actually ever met him, Auntie?” Rose asked in a certain demanding tone of voice. “I have not.” “Then how can you say something like being homely as being a bad thing?” “I’ve met that boy’s grandfather and his wife and they’re not the best people. They’ve been shepherds and farmers all throughout their lineage. They’ll never rise above that.” “I don’t know how they may have been, but I know that Palmer is a delightful pony to be around.” “Then you’re just making a mistake. Those Orchid’s are nothing but a hindrance.” “I do not see Palmer Orchid in that way, Auntie.” “Do you wish to marry him?” From where he was slumped down into the shadows, Palmer consequently heard every word of this. He hopefully raised his head in belief that the answer would be a good one. “Auntie, have you heard a word of what you just said? You’ve just asked me if I want to marry the poor stallion,” Rose protested with another adjustment of her sitting, as told by the creaking of the board. “Well, do you?” “Auntie, I cannot answer that question.” “It is a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. How can you not answer it?” “First of all Auntie, asking me if I want to marry somepony is not a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. Secondly, I do not know.” “Now how is it that you do not know?” “Auntie, this conversation is getting out-of-bounds.” “It is not.” “It is so.” “Then just answer my question and then we can be on our way to town. I do have things to pick up or have you forgotten?” “I haven’t forgotten, Auntie.” “Then hurry and answer my question.” There was another creak of the wagon’s bench as Rose shifted uncomfortably and from even where he was in his hole, Palmer could only imagine the blush that had crossed Rose’s cheeks. He pricked his ears closer to where the two mares were and he listened on. He heard Rose sigh. “Auntie, I truly cannot answer that question. I do not know its answer. Please stop pressuring me into answering something that I can’t,” Palmer heard Rose say, a tint of anxiousness and desperation on her tongue. “Fine; if that is the way things really are, then fine. I shall ask you no more.” “Thank you, Auntie.” “But; but, if you were ever to make up an answer, you be sure to tell me and depending on what you say and choose, we’ll just have to see what I do.” “Okay, Auntie.” “Now then. Now that that has ended, can we move on now? The smell of all these flowers is messing with my old nose.” “Okay, Auntie. Hold on a minute.” Palmer heard the crack of the reins and the sound of the wheels beginning to spin. Through the breaks in the branches, Palmer watched for a while as the wagon pulled away towards town. When the wagon had gone out of sight, he raised himself from his place and cleaned off all the mud and leaves that had gotten stuck to his coat and mane. Palmer twitched at the idea of the third shower that day. Grimacing, he decided that he would just take it in the morning. Slowly, Palmer set back on his trek towards his cottage. In his state of sadness, he ignored all the sounds of the birds that he would normally have enjoyed and appreciated. Even as a cool spring breeze wrung through and caused all the leaves in the large trees to flutter, he found no joy in it. He slowly and deliberately crossed up the hill to his flock of sheep. Ignoring even his formal Sunday wear, he whistled for his dogs and set to work on guiding his herd to another pasture on the other side of the hill. When this chore had finished, Palmer set his two dogs to watch over the flock and he rounded back over the ridge of the hill again. He went down and then around to his cottage and quietly ascended the front steps. Palmer shook his head as he went inside and removed his formal collar and his front. He observed a streak of mud and leaves that he had missed and with a grumble, he tossed it into the dirty laundry bin. He crossed back to his bedroom and sat down on the side of his mattress. With a deep sigh, he closed the window with a flash of his horn and he dropped his head into his hooves. The heart of a stallion in love is a very fickle thing indeed. MistakeThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 7: Mistake There comes a certain time in the life of a stallion when he must question the wills and the while's of love. During this period of questioning and deliberating in which important decisions are made in which one may change details and aspects of his life, a stallion spends many hours over the course of many days over the time of many weeks considering all of who he is and all of what he wants the most. Over the course of this time of deliberation, a stallion is simply this: an emotional wreck. During these times, a stallion loses all control of who he is and of his emotions. He spends many hours in constant swing of them and frequently alternates between periods of "highs" where he may be overly-confident and free of any sadness and periods of "lows" where he is then in a state of constant sadness and inexpressible grief. One hour he may feel as though he is atop of the world and then the very next he may be in such a pit of despair that he feels an utmost obligation and desire to end his life. This is the life a poor stallion who constantly questions the point of being in love. This is the life of Palmer Orchid. Now seemingly without reason or purpose, at the first unbound crack of dawn one mid-summer day, Palmer Orchid rose from bed. It was still dark out and all the stars were shining just as bright against the dark blanket of night just as they always had and always will. Palmer Orchid removed himself from the cocoon of blankets and quilts that he had gotten himself into and turned slowly out of bed onto the wooden floor below. He crossed out over to his front door, opened it, and stepped out onto his front steps. He turned his head drowsily to the west and regarded the setting moon. In the west, the crescent moon which so acted as his own watch and compass during his frequent midnight strolls amongst his flock of sheep was now beginning to sink slowly beneath the horizon. The night stars, that like the moon acted as his watch and compass were starting to slowly dim with the influx of morning light. Seeing the end of the night, Palmer turned his head over this time toward the east. in the east, the sun for which Palmer Orchid so dearly loved was beginning to slowly rise. He loved the sun. The sun gave his fields and hills of grasses and flowers life, which in turn provided his flock of sheep with life and nourishment. This was all very fine with him because the more his sheep were out and about in the sun and the more grasses they ate, the more lustrous and vibrant their wool was and this was all very well for business. Another reason why he loved the sun so much was because several Hearths Warming Eve's ago, he had gone up to Canterlot to receive orders from some his higher-classed clients. While he was away on business, he had somehow gotten into some formal gathering and then from there, he had been graced by the presence of Princess Celestia herself. During that moment of grace, he had determined then that for everyday, he would love the sun so much more than he had before. Even so the sun, or rather Celestia's sun, was rising low in the early morning dawn. Palmer climbed back up the stairs and went back inside. After Palmer Orchid had finished washing and after he had gotten ready, he crossed from his bath to his door and with a content gesture of everything, he reached up to a hook by the door and took down a formal tie and collar. It was a Sunday after all, according to the calender that restfully hung from the wall in the small kitchen. With both his collar and his tie, which were both coincidentally blue in color, snug and tight around his neck, Palmer left his cottage and headed back around to his barn. With a shrill screech and the dull thud of wood against wood, the doors were swung open and he instantly whistled for his dogs. After feeding them, Palmer took them out to the fields in which he had earlier left his sheep out to graze and he set them to work. After making sure all was as all should be, Palmer headed out to town. The sound of packed gravel met Palmer's ears as he walked along the road. In the summer morning, the humidity of the evaporating dew caused an uncomfortable band of sweat to form on his brow as he went; he quickly swiped them away with an uncaring wave of his hoof. After several long moments of silent walking, Palmer finally marched up the steep stairs of the church and chapel. Now being as how Klimmington was a small town of mostly other farmers and merchants, the facade and the homely nature of the place was very much in the way of appropriate. It was nothing too excitable nor was it very memorable but it is what it is nonetheless. And what it was then was a simple white-stone structure that had been built centuries ago. The main building of the chapel stood at an even twenty hooves tall and had a width of nearly double that. The spire of it rose to nearly sixty hooves above anything else. The spire, which in turn was also the bell tower, was also built out of white-stone, but unlike the smoothness of the chapel's stones, these were worn down and weathered from centuries of enduring the climate. Inside the chapel stood nearly twenty rows of benches, all brown and lacquered; quite comfortable once one had gotten used to them. Up at the front beneath a large stained-glass window depicting Princess Celestia in the process of raising the sun and lowering the moon stood a single pedestal and a small table. Palmer Orchid took his usual spot in the far left corner furthest away from the front. He sat his haunches down on the cool wood and flinched at the sudden surprising coolness of it. As other ponies began to filter in and take their own places, Palmer rested his head against the smooth white-stone. He suddenly cursed. Earlier that morning during the sunrise and while walking here to the chapel, he was as content as he could have ever been, but now, he was in the deepest rut that he had been in since about two weeks ago. He cursed again. Was he truly not good enough? Was he not big enough? Was he not strong enough? Was he not rich enough? Had his grandfather really been as bad as Rose's Auntie had said? He wanted to believe that he was good enough for Rose and that his grandfather had been as good as he remembered him, but ever since listening to what the Auntie had had to say, he wasn't sure anymore. He used to believe that he had been good enough for her, but now as he was sitting with his head resting against the stone, he was no more than a speck of dust on the table. But even through all these feelings and troubles of heart, he still loved that fancy mare as dearly as he always had. He cursed again. At the sudden hushing of the crowd of ponies, Palmer lifted his head from the stone and turned then to look at the large open wooden doors. What he saw then perked his head and ears higher in sudden excitement and interest; he watched as Rose walked in. As she entered, all the air seemed to stand still and all his thoughts of doubts vanished and were naught. She entered with an air of subtle superior beauty that took the air clean from the lungs of many ponies. Her long dress of lace, ribbons, and bows flowed delicately behind her as she walked and Palmer sat up higher in his chair to watch longer as she walked closer up to the front. When she sat and turned her attention to the large window, the poor herder instantly thought to himself, I will make her my wife. ****** It wasn't quite that hot that afternoon, but it was hot enough so that beads of sweat formed close to Palmer Orchid's brow as he walked down the road towards the hut he knew to be Rose's lodging. As he slowly walked with a new-found sense of pride, confidence, and determination, he crossed over a stone bridge that was growing moss and vines of flowers all along the sides and railing of it. The small fair stream lolled peacefully underneath. He made haste then towards the clump of trees that he knew concealed the familiar hut. He wasted no time in turning onto the path. Before Palmer had set out on his way to seek Rose's hoof in marriage, he had subsequently sat through three hours of lecturing and sermons After the sermons had ended and everypony was free to go home of their own accord, he had stayed back so that he could watch Rose pass as she left. After she had gone, Palmer had risen from his own bench and had then returned to his cottage on the side of his steep, windy hill. There, he had made sure his dogs were doing their jobs of watching and guarding and that his flock was tended to. Then upon redoing his Sunday best, he struck down the hill again toward the road and turned left onto it. This was what bought him to the narrow path that without a doubt was the very one that he had taken many months ago. The sound of clopping hooves against the dry, hard, summer earth caused Palmer to prick his ears towards the source of the sound. He listened on for a moment before deciding then that he had simply heard the sound of his own hooves as he walked; he resumed his steady pace down the path. He then heard the sound again and quickly spun around in his spot to see what or who it was. He heard the sudden rustling of leaves and watched as the low hedge off to his immediate right rustled and shook. Curious, he slowly trotted forward and stopped. Palmer removed his tie and collar from around his neck so that he would not get them dirty and immediately shoved his head into the depths of the bush. Thorns and the sharp ends of branches bit and stung at his neck until he was looking out on the other side. He cleared his throat. "Hello, Rose," said Palmer Orchid as he pushed his way out through the hedge. He stopped for a moment to clean the thorns and leaves that had stuck to his outfit. "Hello, Orchid," Rose responded, not taking a single glance in the farmer's direction. "I've come to see you, Rose," he said quickly. "Oh?" Rose then inquired. "What's the occasion? You just up and suddenly stop talking to me in the afternoons and then you start avoiding me as if I've got some deadly contagious disease? And now you just decide that you want to speak with me? What's your deal?" "Well that's just cause I've been doing some long, hard thinking about some things." "And your thinking has prevented you from speaking with me?" "Yes ma'am." "I'm not buying it. You can't just stop talking to somepony just because you're doing some thinking. It's ridiculous." Palmer kicked slowly at the dirt, obviously at a loss for words; all senses of doubt washing back over him in a single instant. He gulped heavily before raising his head to meet her gaze. "Well you see . . . I've been doing some heavy thinking and so I'm here now to seek your hoof in marriage." Now it was Rose's turn to be at a loss for words. "Orchid -" "Now I know I'm not the best stallion," Palmer was quick to say, cutting her off. "I haven't gotten much of anything to put onto my good name except for my fields and my sheep but I can promise you that I'll be a good husband and a good stallion to you that would try to get you anything you ever wanted." "Well now that sounds all fine -" "And then after a while after we're married and all and I've gotten the money, we could find a larger cottage someplace where you wouldn't have to smell the sheep all the time." "And that's all very well -" "And then I could buy you all the dresses you could ever want. You would love that, wouldn't you, Rose?" "I surely would but -" "And then after a while and we've moved to the larger cottage, we could have our own -" "PALMER ORCHID!" Rose suddenly cried, cutting the rambling shepherd off mid-sentence. "Yes, Rose?" he silently asked, returning to kick at the ground in an unsure manner. "Palmer Orchid, while I am flattered that you would ever seek my hoof in marriage . . . I cannot marry you." "Why not? Surely I'm good enough?" "Yes Orchid, you are good in your own right of it, but I will not marry you." "Why not?" "Because I am not looking for a husband." "But then what was all that early when you were spouting out stuff about it being fine and everything then that you had said?" "I was trying to speak out but you kept cutting me across . . . " Palmer kicked the ground and hung his head, his mane falling in sheets in front of his eyes. He brushed it away. "So you won't marry me?" "Not now; not ever." "Why?" "Because I am not looking to marry." "Why not?" "Because I want to be tamed and put in my place as a mare and you certainly aren't the one to do it." Palmer hung his head lower at this last statement which was obviously an insult to him and deeply sighed. All those doubts were seemingly true. "Why?" he sadly asked, fearing the response. "Palmer Orchid! You ask me why but I do not know the answer to it! I cannot know why a lady's heart is as the way it is nor can I ever know why you are not the one to marry me! Now please, your constant asking me why is heavy on me! Please! Stop asking me why it is and just accept that I will not marry you!" "It's because you're vain, isn't it?" Palmer asked before he could stop himself. "Vain? Is that what you think of me?" "I didn't mean it that -" "That way? How other way could you have meant it by calling me 'vain'?" "Rose -" "Palmer Orchid, if there was any slight chance at all of me marrying you, it is gone now." "So you will never marry me?" "Never." "Then I will never ask it of you again," Palmer sadly said then after an uncomfortable moment of silence. His voice shook and whether it be by the heat of the day or the fact that he had struck out, he felt faint. He steadied himself on the side of a tree and sighed, his heart pumping a mile a minute. "Good then. Good bye, Orchid." With that said and nothing else added onto it, Rose departed back through the hedge and out back onto the main path. Palmer heard the sudden clopping of hooves against earth and he knew then that she was gone. With a sorrowful angry sigh, Palmer cursed loudly and swung a rude kick towards a tree. When his hoof made contact with the hard, roughened bark, he stumbled back off his footing and rolled a far ways down the slight embankment. He cursed heavily before leaving and returning to his lonesome flock. Departure and TragediesThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 8: Departure and Tragedies By the time that the following morning had broken out above the horizon, Rose Bloom had already left out of town. Palmer Orchid had risen from bed that morning and had instantly headed down the hill to the road. He followed it in a hurried pace until he finally reached the small cottage. When he arrived, he noted the missing wagon and traced the stressed wheel tracks left in the dirt with his hoof. Knowing that she had gone and without knowing where she could have gone to, Palmer turned back onto the road and hopelessly returned to his poor small cottage. When he returned to the cottage, Palmer ascended the stairs whilst completely ignoring the rising sun and grabbed his shepherd's crook down from its own peg by the door. He gazed sadly at it for a while before turning back down the stairs and rounding back to the barn. He impatiently kicked open the doors and instantly, like he did every morning, whistled out for his dogs. Once they were fed, Palmer took them out from the confines of the barn and led them around to the flock. A stiff hot summer wind winded its way up and over the hill and then down the face of it to where Palmer was slowly walking. It caught him in his side and made him buckle and nearly stumble. He dug his hooves into the ground and took on the full brunt of the it. When the breeze had passed, Palmer fixed his messed up mane and continued on his way. When he neared his flock, he whistled his dogs off to the far side of the flock and with another whistle, they began their work. Together in tandem with his dogs, Tinker of course being the best he could be, Palmer moved the flock from the familiar watering hole and led them straight up to the crest of the hill. When he reached the top, he regarded a few stranglers that had, at some point, gotten separated from the main flock. Seeing this, Palmer whistled for Tinker and the old loyal dog rounded back around to them and quickly got them back to where they needed to be. When they had returned and seeing that there were no more chances of any sheep getting lose, Palmer then directed his flock and dogs to another hill a little less than a mile off in the distance. The sound of a moving mass of nearly a hundred sheep rose into the still air of summer as the herd moved across the land. After nearly half an hour of herding across hills and down into their valleys, the large group came to their final destination. With the job finished, Palmer set his sheep to pasture and let his dogs out to guard and hold. Knowing that all was well then, Palmer climbed up the slight roll of the hill to the ridge and sat down. Turning his gaze out to the horizon, a feeling of immense sadness rushed over him. He then turned his gaze down to the road and followed it with his eyes as it snaked its way towards the town of Klimmington. He deeply sighed at his failure and after a short while, returned down the hill to his flock. ****** There's an old abandoned rock quarry that's sat unused and empty ever since the supply ran out. It's been there, near the outskirts of Klimmington, for about three hundred years and is characterized the most by a steep sudden slope that led straight down to the bottom. There's a weak chain-link fence that runs along the edge of the drop-off that converges to a single point that suddenly juts out above the open quarry. It had been the site of several accidents over the years where foolish ponies had gone and lost attention of where they were going and had ended up somehow falling over the edge to their deaths. These accidents weren't very common but they were known to happen. Palmer Orchid awoke from his doze atop the hill to the rushing sound of stampeding hooves. He jolted up from his spot with a sudden bound and rushed to the sound of it. When he arrived to where he had left his sheep to graze, he found the ground trampled and matted and torn by the hundreds of hooves. Sick to his stomach, Palmer raced down in the direction of the tracks. In the back of his head while he was racing, he was silently thinking to himself, Where are my dogs? Off in distance, he could see a billowing cloud of dust that could only mean the hundreds of hooves of his large group of sheep. He could hear their faint crying so far away and he sped up his pace. He crossed many hills and through many fields whose crops were now all but ruined. He crossed up over the crest of another hill before coming to a sudden stop. Before him now was the chain-link fence that divided the fields from the sudden drop-off of the old abandoned rock quarry. It was trampled and flattened beyond all measure and standing silently before the crushed and ruined fence was Joe. He stood there with a contented look on his face and as Palmer slowly approached, Joe walked up happily and nuzzled his muzzle into the bend of his master's leg. Palmer cautiously looked down into the deep abyss below and instantly revolted back. Down below in the depths of the old quarry were the mangled, trampled, and twisted bodies of his sheep. Blood ran down in thick rivers across the coarse and roughen wall of the slope that had endured hundreds of years of neglect, wear, and tear. The hundreds of limbs were twisted and broken in many directions and the bones had broken out through the skin. The fresh coats of wool which had before been so white and clean were now shredded and dyed red in the pools and rivers of blood. Down below in the depths of the old quarry were the mangled and twisted bodies of Palmer Orchid's life and being. Stepping back further from the ledge, Palmer's entire world came crashing down in a single moment. All of his fortunes and all of his business were now surely gone. There would be no coming back from something like this. He stumbled back onto his haunches and began to weep in retching sobs. As he sobbed, he looked up to the happy satisfied look on Joe's face and instant felt hate for the creature. This dog had destroyed all of what he was. He hated the damned creature. He took it in the grip of his magic with a light of his horn and carried it back away to the back yard of his cottage. There out of sight, the dog which had cursed Palmer for all the years would curse him no longer. LeavingThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 9: Leaving Palmer walked down the lonesome cobblestone alley as a lone sparrow landed high up on the high sill of a window. Palmer stopped his steady pace and stood then on his hind legs, placed his fore hooves on the groove of the sill, and looked inside. The inside was as dark as the moonless night that so now shrouded Palmer’s form in shadow. A faint glint of something shiny caught his eye for a moment. He peered closer to the glass and determined that he was staring into the eyes of some small animal, probably a rabbit, and that it was staring back at him. He turned away from the window and went back around his way. The black swirl of clouds above his head blocked out all the light from the moon and from the stars; Palmer’s old hand-e-down watch hung lazily from his neck. He gazed up into the depths of the clouds and pondered the time that he no longer knew. The sound of his hooves against the cobblestone of the street flooded high into the still air of the late-summer night, alerting the sleeping crows along the roofs of the houses to passerby. Woken by this sound, the large black birds began to madly caw. Palmer sped up his pace. When he came to a gate that barred his present road from a newer one that led out into the country, Palmer stopped in his tracks. He undid the lock with the faint blue glow of his horn and absentmindedly gave it a quick open. It squeaked on its ancient rusted hinges before coming to a slow stop. He made his way past the newly opened gate and closed it back behind him, stopping for a moment to redo the lock with another glow of his horn. At the sound of the click of locking tumblers, Palmer turned in his spot and whistled. In the still night, he could clearly hear the irregular plitter platter of paws coming over the crest of the hill to his immediate right. He smiled. After Palmer had silenced the sufferable Joe, he had walked back to the hills in search of clues as to why the tragedy had happened in the first place. Had the sheep been spooked by something? But instead of finding any clues, he had found his old dog beaten and bruised slumping through the grasses. Since then, he had wondered how old Tinker had managed to survive the stampede with only bruises. Palmer reached down and scratched behind the ears of his old loyal companion and friend. He gave the sky a gaze before continuing with his way. He slowly walked down the narrow lane that was only as wide as two large tree trunks and counted the fence posts as he went. One. Two. Three. Four. Five and so on. Palmer took out his old broken watch and looked at its time: quarter-to-two. He continued on down the lane. Palmer walked past a large long bough of trees and shrubs that lined the road. The rickety fence had ended several paces ago when he crossed a stone bridge that traversed over the rapids of White Mane River. Even in the dark of night, Palmer could clearly see the bark of each of the trees. Some were smooth and round while others were roughened and angular. He reached out and touched one of the more weathered trunks and remembered, this was close to where he and Rose would speak during their afternoon meetings. He acknowledged the past and the one he lost before turning away. A sudden gust of wind shook through the groves of trees that lined the road, sending pre-mature coloring leaves rustling off from their branches down onto the road. Palmer turned his head from the wind, turned his back to it, and took the force of it for all of what it was worth. Suddenly, just as soon as it had arrived, the winding gust had retreated back to a mere whisper. Palmer shook his head and continued on past the steady, immovable line of trees; old Tinker following close behind. As he neared the base of a hill that was foreign to him, even after all his years as a shepherd, Palmer stopped walking and peered into the swirling mass of clouds overhead. They seemed to act like a suction system, like a vacuum, that pulled him into their depths. They were black, swirling, quick, gravitating, and oddly comforting as if they removed all worries and woes; they seemed to be like a thick heavy blanket that protected and sheltered. The poor farmer let out a curious laugh that ranged on the threshold of lunacy and sanity and began his ascent up the hill. He marched forward with a reckless abandon and as he neared the top, he sat down amongst the rows and planes of flowers that were scattered here and there as if somepony had simply thrown them around. There were patches of daisies, patches of tulips, ranges of buttercups, and vast planes of purple poppies. In the dark of night, even the brilliant vibrant hues of whites, purples, reds, and yellows shown out like the beam from a lighthouse to nearing ships. A passing breeze rolled over the crest and took their scent high into the night and then down into the meadow valley below. It was nearing the latter half of summer. Rose had long since disappeared and Palmer had lost everything. After the accident at the abandoned quarry, his clients had shut down and had moved on to other shepherds to meet their needs, leaving him with no source of job or income. In company with losing his clients, Palmer Orchid’s name and reputation had crumbled to a mere shadow of what they once were. Now, the poor farmer was nothing and had nothing. At least he still had his old friend as company. ****** Palmer woke the next morning with a cold breeze on his cheek. He rubbed the last tendrils of sleep from his eyes with the back of his hoof and raised his head from the bed of grass he had used as a pillow. Using his horn’s magic, he lifted out stray blades of grass from his coat and stood up. He cracked his back and began his walk down into the valley. Fog swept in all around as thickly as a woolen blanket. As he neared the bottom, the disenchanted farmer stopped his descent and stood in place. He extended his hoof out before his muzzle and stared. Even though it was only a short length from him, he could barely see it; the fog swirled in so thickly that it was like gelatin. It seemed to cling to everything it touched. He put his hoof back to the ground and resumed his way through the ocean of fog. After a while of walking at a steady pace, Palmer Orchid felt the unforgettable change of slope that could only mean that he was ascending another hill. He placed a hoof forward, then another, and then another and he began on his way up its side. As he walked on, the fog began to thin. What once was as thick as blood was now as thin as spider’s webbing. The fog left behind thin strands of dew on the blades of grass as it retreated back to whence it came. As Palmer crested over the roll of the hill, he was met with a complete view of Klimmington. He could see billowing clouds of smoke rise into the morning air from their chimneys and from where he stood, the decrepit farmer could only imagine their fires. He could only imagine how luminous and how hot they must be. He could only imagine relaxing in front of the fire in the mornings and then again in the dead of night. He could only imagine. He whistled for his dog before he finally acknowledged the persistent prodding in his side. He looked down at his old dog and smiled for a while before succumbing to a feeling of utter worthlessness. He descended down into town and walked along the rough cobblestone lanes. He turned right past the old postal office and quickly hurried down towards the town center. Several minutes later, he sat down on his haunches in front of a pouring water fountain. The fountain wasn’t much, just a simple statue of a mare with long flowing mane carved from the same white stone from the quarry, but it often served as a meeting point for ponies looking for workers and for ponies who were looking for any kind of work. Palmer readjusted his sitting posture, took out his old broken watch, and stared aimlessly at the time: quarter-to-two. Of course he knew this to be the wrong time, but even so, the heat of late summer morning caused a streak of sweat to band around his brow. He casually wiped it away before returning to his wait. It didn’t take too much longer for other farmers and other vendors to start filling into the square. Palmer silently watched as they walked around and talked; their exact conversations he failed to hear. After a while of waiting, he looked down at his attire and realized that he looked as much as a shepherd as a metal nail resembled a stone: the resemblance was non-existent. He looked down his front and then around at all the other ponies. He was certainly the one that was the oddest of the lot; he looked more like a homeless goon than a shepherd or farmer. He frowned and took what little change he had out his pocket. Five bits. That was it. That was all. He frowned and narrowed his brow. He stood up to leave. A quarter of an hour later, Palmer Orchid found himself walking down a crowded street and he felt a single bead of sweat fall off his brow, land on his cheek, and roll down into the corner of his mouth. He tasted the sudden presence of salt on his tongue. He looked back for his dog, determined to never take his sight for a moment, and found him tailing close behind. He continued on his way and took a left into the open door of a wood worker. “May ‘ah help ya?” the worker asked, raising his gaze from the tobacco pipe that he had been forming on a lathe. “How much would it be for you to make me a Shepherd’s Crook?” Palmer hurriedly asked, as if his life depended on there being a sudden answer. “It’d be two bits, sir.” “Two . . . Could you have it finished noon?” “Well let’s see here,” the worker said as he swiveled to look at the clock behind him. “It’s right now a little after nine-thirty. I can carve out a crook and have it finished by noon . . . Yes.” Palmer reached in the front pocket of his collar and removed two of the five bits he had left. He lifted them out of his hooves with the magic of his horn and hoofed them over to the crafter. “That’s two for the crook,” he said, this time patiently. The stallion behind the counter held out the bits in his hooves before his eyes and gave them a quick inspection. He finally spoke, “Alright there. Come back in an hour or two. I should be finished with it by then,” Palmer looked at the clock behind the stallion’s head and acknowledged the time. He nodded and started on his way back out through the door. “Oh feller? Before ya go?” he heard the raspy voice of the olden stallion say. “Yes sir?” “What’s ya wantin’ a crook for in the first place? Ya some kind of shepherd or are ya out lookin’ for hirin’?” Palmer turned his head back to the old stallion and half-way nodded and half-way shook his head. “Something like that, old timer,” he said as he turned full circle and stood entirely in the shop again. “I used to be a shepherd. I’m just simply looking to get back on my feet.” “Oh . . . right then. So as I was sayin’ just then, just come back in an hour or so. It’ll be ready for ya.” “Thank you kindly.” Palmer Orchid left the shop and turned out again onto the cobblestone lane. In the late summer, the heat rose quickly in the mid-morning before cooling off in the early afternoon. He reached up to his brow and felt the heat on it. He walked on his way. Palmer turned out of town onto a dirt path that led out into the southern woods away from the rolling hills and pastures that had served him well. He strolled leisurely on, not paying a bit of attention as to where he was going. He finally came to a stop at an old wooden bridge mottled with moss and adorned with termite holes. He bit his lower lip before placing a hoof cautiously on the old decaying wood. If one of the boards snapped, he would fall into the swiftly flowing river below. The wood didn’t give. He placed one hoof, and then another, and yet again until he had completely crossed. The song of a bird caught his ear as he continued walking through the thickening woods. The leaves of the trees were beginning their annual change from green to mixes of reds, oranges, and browns. Palmer took a quick look over his shoulder and watched as old Tinker took playful snips and swipes at falling leaves. Smiling again, he quickly whistled and the pair walked on. As they drove deeper into the woods, the road became more and more worn; decrepit from lack of use and care. Vegetation had grown thick along the edges and was slowly creeping forward like worms to the center of the road. Premature falling leaves rustled in the breeze. ****** Palmer Orchid returned to town a little after eleven. Light sweat was rolling from his brow and across the roll of his cheeks. He hastily wiped it away as he walked down the cobblestone. Even above the clattering of the other busy ponies going about their way, the shepherd could discern his own hoofsteps apart from the others. He turned left onto the narrow lane and continued until he came to the wood shop. He stepped inside. “Ah shepherd, was just a wonderin’ when ya’d show around,” the wood worker happily said from across the counter. “The crook is ready for ya.” Palmer stepped forward to the crafting table and took his crook with a light of his horn. It was a simple thing, about a meter long, maple, and lacquered so that the grain of the wood shown through as if somepony had painted them on. “The actual carving of it took only a good twenty minutes or so. It don’t take long to carve a stick out of a slightly larger stick,” the stallion said proudly as Palmer examined his new crook. “The only thing that took any amount of time was havin’ the lacquer dry and whatnot. But anyhow as it is, it’s all ready.” “Thank you for the time,” Palmer said as he held the crook off to his side. He left the wood shop and walked further down the street to the intersection. He turned right onto a wider street and made his way into the foyer of a clothing store. There, he quickly bought a simple collar and some other pieces with the three remaining bits he had. Before he left, he took a look in the mirror and decided that he looked familiar again. He returned to the town center a short ten minutes later with his new crook in tow at his side; old Tinker following leisurely without a care. The earlier crowd of ponies had thinned considerably in the span of time that Palmer had been gone; only a few more vendors were haggling around for anypony that they found suitable. Palmer approached one vendor whose overhanging banner was dyed a red that was a brilliant and vibrant as the horizon at the very moment the sun shows its face to the world. His brows were furrowed in anxiousness and he ignored the band of sweat forming around the ring of his collar. It was hot. “May I help you?” the vendor asked. His voice was abnormally high in Palmer’s ears. “Ay, sir,” he said hurriedly, nearly biting down on his tongue. “I was just wondering if you’d be looking for a shepherd.” “A shepherd . . . no . . . we aren’t. We haven’t gotten any sheep to be herded in the first place so what good would a shepherd be to us?” Palmer looked at the vendor for a while, his pride a little insulted, before nervously kicking the cobblestone beneath his hooves. “But . . . “ the vendor continued, “We are looking for somepony to tend after the mice that keep invading our barn. If you’re open to killing mice for a living, then you’re free to it.” The shepherd cast his gaze to the ground and considered it. For one, he’d be paid for something, but for another, he’d be throwing away all of what he was – a shepherd. Not only would he be throwing away who he is, he’d be throwing away his family tradition of shepherding. From his grandfather many centuries ago to his old father who was resting six feet under atop some hill to the far north of town. Then also to his mother who had run away to the growing town of Fillydephia shortly after the death of his father – Palmer tended not to think too much about how his own mother had left him to himself. He resented the mare. He angrily brushed that thought aside. He finally said, “No thank you. I can’t see myself going from a sheep herder to a rat killer.” “Mice killer. Rats and mice are two different things,” the vendor pointed out hotly as if offended. “Whatever. They’re close enough that I don’t give a damn.” It was the vendor’s turn to look at the shepherd for a while. “So you don’t want the offer.” “Not at all.” “Then it’s your loss. If you were looking for a job, then you’ve just blown up one of your few options, farmer. I would advise being a little more open to other options.” Palmer watched as the vendor tore down the banner that was as red as the morning horizon and fold it into a woven satchel that hug from his back. When he had finished this, he whistled for one of his helpers and they tore down the poorly-constructed, makeshift table. After roughly ten minutes of finding an odd bit of amusement out of watching them fumble around with the thing, Palmer turned away from the vendor and walked across the way to one of the others. By three in the afternoon, or quarter-to-two by his old broken watch, nearly all the vendors had gone home for the day. All that was left were a thinning crowd of stragglers. “Excuse me,” he said as he pushed in amongst their ranks after overhearing tid-bits of something. “What is this fair you’re talking about?” “Eh farmer? What’s abouts it ya wanna know?” one of the rougher looking stragglers asked as he turned around. He stood far taller and bulkier than any other stallion Palmer knew. It was intimidating. “Now Pull, be nice. I swear, you scare off anypony that tries to be friendly,” quickly said another. This one was about the same height and build as Palmer. This one wasn’t so much intimidating. “What were you asking, farmer?” “I overheard you talking about a fair tomorrow,” Palmer quickly replied. “Oh that,” the smaller said, “I might want to hurry up and start walking if I were you. The fair’s off in the town of Neighing which is about twenty miles to the west of Westerby.” Palmer perked his ears at the name of the familiar town. Where had he heard it before? “Did you say Westerby?” “I did. Why?” “Where is it? How far away is it?” “About a twelve hour walk out to the north of here. Honestly, if you’ve been here in Klimmington your entire life you should have some kind of idea.” “Can I get there by morning? “Like I said earlier, I’d probably start out on my way if I were you.” “May thanks, sir,” Palmer said with a final wave before bounding back down the road. He streaked back by the stone water fountain and tore down the cobble to the dirt paths that marked the edge of the town and the fields. He cast a hurried gaze up towards the sun and traced its path with his eyes across the sky. Once he got his bearings, he turned right and sped off down the path. When he came to the road that led due north out of town, he turned onto it and quickly made his way. He slowed to a walk when something nipped at his hoof. He looked down and saw Tinker lolling along with his tongue rolled out of the side of his mouth, panting and shaking from exerting energy towards running. Palmer lit his horn and lifted his dog onto his back. He continued past the broken fence posts and reddening trees. After a while of walking, Palmer turned his head back down to where he had come and could faintly see the thin billows of smoke rising from the chimneys that he knew to be home. He lowered his head for a moment before continuing his walk. With his crook lowered by his side and his dog resting across his back, the shepherd was leaving The MistressThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 11: The Mistress Manson awoke at the very crack of dawn and removed himself from Rose’s loose embrace. He slid off the side of the bed and walked around the large maple wood foot and slipped out the door. He broke into a slow quiet trod down the silent dark hallway, its candles still unlit until he came to the handsome staircase. When he reached the ground floor, he slowly sneaked across the carpeted foyer and walked to the front door. He placed his hoof on the knob, turned it, opened the door, and stepped out into the morning. The air was cold on his face and on him as he stepped on across the porch. Each board beneath him gave way and creaked as he went and he cursed at them. They were loud and he would prefer to sneak out without waking up everything within any good sense of range. The boards of the steps creaked even louder and he cursed at them worse as consequence. He hated them. When he finally reached the packed gravel at the bottom after what felt like an hour of sneaking, Manson finally breathed a sigh of relief. He turned left onto the long driveway that stretched a mile out to the main road. The sounds of morning bird song drowned out the sound of the gravel compressing and shifting under his hooves with each step he took. The gravel was nowhere near as loud as the creaking boards of the porch, but he cursed and hated it all the same. When he finally reached the main road, he turned right and headed off towards town. The gravel changed over to dirt about another mile out from the intersection with the driveway. Manson rounded over the crest of a low hill and caught sight of the barn. Its windows were still dark and he stopped walking to listen. Not a thing could be heard over the soft sound of the singing birds. No conversation, no sound of walking, no sound of working; no sound of anything, just the birds singing. With a contented smile, he walked on down the road. ****** Palmer Orchid awoke from his sleep to the sound of wooden boards being moved around. He opened his eyes, shielded them from the sunlight pouring in from the window, raised his head, and drowsily gazed around the room. In the low dim light of the morning, he could easily see parts of the barn that had been shrouded in impenetrable shadows just a few hours before. The old stallion who had called himself Lock was sleeping flat on his back, his back hooves buried in the ashes of the fire and Flannel was curled up on his side and was covered in a thin linen sheet. As he raised he own head further from the pillow, Palmer heard the sound of moving wooden boards again. He turned his gaze to the corner furthest from the doors of the barn where a thing of tall wooden beams was propped against the wall. And standing by them with his back turned away yet again was Incognito. He had his head drooped low to the ground and he slowly moved round to behind the beams. He moved one out of the way to make more room before finally disappearing behind them. There was the sound of shuffling and things being moved before he finally backed out again. He turned his back to the board, locked eyes with the awoken farmer, and finally turned away again and walked slowly to the door. He pried it open and walked outside. “That’s Incognito,” a frail old voice said from behind. Palmer spun around in his spot and saw Lock still lying on his back, except for now, his eyes were open and he was watching. “What’d you say?” Palmer asked. “Ah said that that’s Incognito,” Lock replied. “What about him? Is he always that secretive?” “Like Ah said last night, he suffered somethin horrible when he was younger. He’s always been sort of secretive like this. We just pay it no mind. We think that it’s his way of healin and forgettin. Ah wouldn’t put too much thought on it.” Palmer turned his head round to the closed door again and stared at it where Incognito had passed through just moments earlier. “What about those boards over there?” he asked as he turned back around and pointed to the boards propped up against the wall. “What about them?” “Don’t they make you curious? Do you know what’s behind them?” “No. We ain’t curious any nor do we know what’s behind ‘em. Like Ah said, Incognito’s secretive and we just let him be as he is. He ain’t doin no harm any.” “Aren’t you curious just even a little?” “Ah admit that Ah have been several times over the while, but it’s best to just let things pass on their own.” Palmer turned back round the door and stood. He hurriedly brushed off a thin coat of dust that had settled on him during the night and watched as Lock did the same. “What do ya feel like for breakfast?” Lock asked as he gave his olden back a well deserved crack. “Oh no, I really have to be going,” Palmer denied, furiously shaking his head side to side, eventually eliciting a shard crack. “I heard that there’s a farmer’s fair off in some town a little ways down from Westerby and I was hoping on reaching it this morning.” “Well if ya’re planning on makin it over there then ya ain’t that far ways off,” the old stallion simply said with yet another tug of his white long beard. “The fair’s just about a few hours walk from here. Hmm . . . if you can leave here in just a few minutes then you should be able to make it there by about noon.” “What’s the name of the town?” Palmer asked. “I was told it yesterday afternoon before I started on my travels but I can’t remember it.” “Neighing? I believe that’s right.” “Neighing? Alright. Many thanks, old timer.” “Ya just go on and find a job. We got one open here on this plantation but if ya’re all set and ready to go on, then have an easy travel.” “Thank you.” “It is the job of older stallions and mares to provide knowledge and care for those that are younger than them. It has always been this way.” The determined farmer whistled his dog and gave the older stallion a hug. When he had everything set to go, he turned round and walked to the door. He turned the knob and stepped outside into the slowly warming morning air. He took a step and then another before closing the door behind him with a sharp click. The wood rattled as it closed. Tinker ran up ahead to the main road, jumping in and out of patches of grass that stood in his way. Palmer smiled as he made his own way, slow and steady, the air rustling his fur and the faint breeze messing his mane. When he reached the road, he turned back onto it and whistled for his dog to get back on track. When he received a snip on his leg, he began his march to Neighing. ****** “What else to you need, my lady?” asked Silver as she ran a comb through her mistress’ mane. “We’ve already gotten your carriage ready and waiting and your dress and things are ready and waiting on the bed . . . are you sure that we’re not missing anything?” “I’m sure, Silver,” Rose said as she smiled into the mirror in front of her. She blushed. Her yellow cheeks flooded with color and her eyes glistened in the light that was invading through the window. “I’m sure that we’ve gotten everything ready for today. It’s just a fair after all. I really don’t see why we should be so formal about this. It’s not as though we’re going someplace special with influential and very powerful ponies. It’s just a small town fair that we’re going to in hopes of picking up a worker to tend to our flock of sheep that are out running wild. Celestia only knows what they’re up to now.” “Well,” Silver said as she gave a tug on Rose’s stubborn mane, “If it’s like last time then they’re probably out by the western gate doing whatever it is that sheep do.” “And all they really do is get in the way,” Rose said, wincing slightly at a particularly hearty tug. “Honestly, we’re making enough money on just our milk and our harvests. Why do we have any sheep to begin with?” “Because your uncle loved sheep. He loved the way the sunlight reflected off of their clean white coats.” “They’re not really clean and white at the moment.” “True. If your uncle were still with us then he’d be doing something about it.” “I don’t care about the sheep.” “Why? They’re pretty when they’re cleaned up.” “They are kind of pretty I will admit but I still don’t care for them.” “Is there any particular reason? Because from what your uncle told me many times is that one usually has a reason for everything they do or think. He told me that one always has a reason and a cause and that something cannot just come out of nothing. That deep down there’s always some underlying reason and cause.” “I really don’t care what my uncle thinks. What I care about is the present now and what I think. I’m in charge here. My reasons and causes for things like what I think and why I think the way I think is irrelevant. My uncle was a sensible stallion and he eventually paid for it with his life. He went on without many friends. That is not how I wish to be. I wish to be that mare who everypony knows and who everypony loves. I want to be known. My uncle just sat back in his chair by the fire with his pipe and he would just think and it was that thinking of his that made him not well liked nor known. While everypony’s out working and getting known and getting on with their lives, my uncle would just be sitting inside going over some papers or whatever and thinking of reasons why everypony should slow down and admire and adore the things that surround us. I am not that kind of pony. I need to be out and about. I need to be liked and I need to be known. I cannot imagine a life just cooped up in front of a fire. It would be too boring.” “Well your uncle was never one for crowds of people to begin with. He enjoyed being inside with his small group of friends. He enjoyed their company and he was the happiest just sitting and smoking and talking and laughing. Your uncle was a very charming stallion and I miss him.” “Oh yeah, you were here when he was still here. And you were by his bed when he finally passed, weren’t you?” “I was, ma’am.” “Do you miss him?” “Everyday. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. I was his favorite and every morning I would come in and wake him up with a hug and a kiss. He always liked it when I would do that.” “You were his favorite?” “Well there were three servants here who took care of the house. There was Polish, Sterling, and myself. I don’t know where Polish and Sterling have gone. They just up and left after your uncle and my master died.” “Ah yes, I’ve heard things about those two.” “Have you?” “Oh yes. When I first came into town I heard that there were some new prostitutes working around who went by the names of Polish and Sterling. From what I overheard from some drunken ass at the tavern is that they’re actually pretty popular with that crowd.” “Hmm . . . I really thought they were alright mares. I never thought that they’d get into something like prostitution. That doesn’t suit their personalities in the slightest.” “Be as it may, I think that you’ve brushed my mane enough.” “Oh I’m sorry!” “It’s fine Silver. I think that I can take care of my bun. I’ve done it so many times in the past that it’s really just sort of second nature to me.” With that said Rose lit the tip of horn and lifted up a pin from the table. She bundled the end of her mane in another glow of light and brought it high above her head. She took one strand and tucked it behind and beneath another and then tied one around then into another bundle before inserting the pin to hold it all in place. The new bun fell loosely atop her head and bounced softly for a while before settling. Rose peered into the mirror and smiled, and then blushed, and then blushed harder when she saw that her reflection was blushing just as vividly as she was. “I think that will just about do it,” she said with a satisfied smile as she turned around in her seat. “You look very pretty, ma’am,” Silver said with a smile that mirrored Rose’s. “Thank you, Silver. Now then it’s time for the dress.” “Oh yes, ma’am,” Silver said as she rushed to the bed. She lifted the dress high above her head with a flicker of her own horn and brought it over to Rose’s side. She undid the front buttons and slipped it on over her master’s head, paying attention that the horn didn’t get caught and tear at the fabric. When the dress was fully in place, she buttoned up the front and admired her work. “Is it to your liking, ma’am?” she asked as she stepped away from the chair. Rose stood from her place and gave a short curt turn and spin before quizzically analyzing herself in the mirror before turning round with a smile. “Yes, Silver, I think that this will work perfectly for today. It’s not really so formal nor is it so loose and immodest; I do believe that it’s right there in that sweet spot that every designer and every mare tries to meet at least once in their lives.” “I’m glad to hear that I was able to find something that would fit.” “You did a good job.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “Now it’s time to get on our ways out and down to the carriage. How long do you think that it’ll take to get to Neighing?” Rose asked as she seemed to float across the floor to the door. “With the carriage, I would expect that we’d get there in an hour. Maybe two if we get caught in traffic. Which isn’t very likely because just as you said just a short while earlier, it’s just a small town fair for farmers. I don’t think that it’ll be too crowded. It never was when your uncle and I would go looking.” “Speaking of Uncle, who took of the sheep while he was alive?” “He always took care of them himself. He always thought that if he let anyone tend to them then they wouldn’t be the same, that they’d be dirtied.” “Dirtied? Is that what he really thought?” Rose asked with a hint of aversion in her voice as she stepped out into the hallway. “Was he really so obsessed with sheep that he’d go as far as to call them dirtied if anypony else tended to them?” “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was obsessed with them,” Silver quickly said, closing the door behind her and making sure that everything was taken care of. “He just found them really beautiful.” “Whatever. What time is it now?” “It’s a little bit after eight, ma’am.” “So if you said that we should get there to the fair in about an hour then we should get to Neighing around nine?” “Yes ma’am. If we can leave here in within the next ten minutes or so then we should get there before the crowds really start filtering in from all across the county.” “Silver, I’m actually kind of nervous.” “Why’s that ma’am?” “Because this is my very first fair and even though I want to become this well-known, respected, social mare, I can’t help but feel nervous at this time. Are you sure I look alright enough to go out?” “You look perfect ma’am and you’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. And besides, you’ve already got a bit of name going on for yourself around these parts just due to your relation with your uncle. Even though your uncle wasn’t well-liked or very social, everyone respected him because he did control the largest farm in these parts. And as such, because of your connection with him, you’ve already got a bit of reasonable reputation. You’ll be fine.” “Thank you Silver.” “There’s really no need to thank me for anything.” “But there is.” “What for?” “For being the best maid I think that I could ever hope to have.” “There’s really no need to thank me. It’s just my duty.” “Thank you Silver.” The two mares walked down the long length of the hallway now lit with a row of candles. Rose went on ahead, occasionally taking a short stop to look at something in another room before pressing on. Silver came up close behind her extinguishing the candles as she passed them by, casting the long hall into dimness only lit by the natural light invading in from the lonesome window at the very end of the hall. When the two reached the grand staircase, they quickly descended and crossed the carpeted foyer to the door. Silver lit the tip of her horn and swung the door open at the sound of rolling and clicking tumblers. Light flooded onto their faces as the two stepped outside onto the squeaky porch and as they descended down the rickety steps. They turned right and stepped into the shade of a magnificent red covered carriage. “Are you the driver?” Rose asked to a lanky tall stallion that stood lazily by the front right wheel. “Ay ma’am indeed I am, at your service.” “How much will I have to pay you to get to Neighing and back?” “Just four bits, ma’am.” “Just four?” “Ay ma’am.” Rose opened the pocket of her dress with a light of her own horn and extracted exactly four bits. She dropped them into her waiting hoof and hoofed them over to the driver of the carriage. With the transaction finished and the time ticking, Rose lifted herself up into the middle seat of the bench. Following her were Silver and the carriage’s driver. “Are you ready, ma’am?” “Yes. Quickly, let’s go before too much longer.” The driver gave the reins a sharp crack and the large mulls pulling the carriage started up. Their muscles stretched and flexed as they struggled to get going but almost as soon as they got started, they were off. The sound of turning wheels and crunching gravel met their ears as they started off down the driveway that stretched a mile out to the main road. The HouseThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 1: The House It sits empty and decrepit. It sits alone and absent of joy. It is overcome with vegetation and it is slowly falling to pieces. So it was, the house on Mayberry Hill was destined to fall into the mysterious void of history. The house on Mayberry Hill. There is a story of it that has been passed down through the decades and it tells of a tragedy. The story of tragedy that like so many other things, has been changed and warped so now, no pony knows the exact truth of it. It is a sad fate. This old house, once so full of life and of love, is now resigned to its final years of loneliness and fear. This old home, this old house on the hill, is legend to have a ghost. It is this ghost, this legend, that draws most of the ponies fear. The story of the old home says that on cool nights, when the wind is still, if you look up to the old house you might just see her watching. So now, on those cool nights when everything is sound and still, the house is stayed away from unless passage is absolutely necessary. It is truly a sad fate for the house that used to sit full of life and love. ****** The morning was drawing near and in her loft above the town's library, Twilight Sparkle slept, her mane ruffled from the pillow. A swallow landed on the window sill and began to sing its morning song. Twilight drowsily swiped it away with her hoof and rolled over away from it. She returned to sleep and began to snore. The swallow picked itself off the floor, gave a snort to his unappreciative audience, and flew back out into the morning. A thick fog had rolled in off the river during the night and had settled over the entirety of Ponyville and in the glow of the morning sun, it was dyed a sensuous hue of pink and orange. Not a single thing stirred except for the morning birds that were beginning to sing their songs. The slow river trickled by and sighed as it went on its long journey to the sea. A slight breeze was blowing through the valley and the wind chimes hanging from the back porches of homes were slowly chiming, waking the deep sleepers from their slumber. It was a peaceful morning in which everypony was content to merely lie about and enjoy it. But the day continued. Twilight Sparkle groaned as she rose herself from her bed. Her blankets fell in a disheveled heap onto the floor and muffled her steps as she made her way to the window. She looked out to the beautiful scene of all of Ponyville as it slowly stirred from its blanket of fog. She scratched her mane, rubbed her eyes, and tossed the blankets back onto the bed with a quick flick of her horn. She turned away from the window and walked to the bathroom. In the mirror, she fixed her messy bed-mane and splashed water onto her face. She dried with a wash-cloth and took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her lavender coat was matted with sweat and her purple eyes were lined with bags. She had stayed up late into the night and she was regretting it. She had been too caught up in a book to register the time and it wasn't until Spike got up for his nightly restroom break that she finally closed the pages. With a quick wipe of her coat with a brush, Twilight left the bathroom and descended down the stairs to where she had left the book on the front counter. She picked it up, flipped through the pages till she found where she was, placed a marker, and placed it back on the shelf. She would certainly finish it later that night. She walked to the front door, unlocked it, and flipped the 'open' sign. With a shake of her head to rid herself of left over sleep, she sat down at the register. The day was soon to begin. ****** "Rarity, I don't think that this is working," Twilight struggled to say as her friend was fighting to fit her into a dress. "Nonsense!" Rarity cried, her purple mane bouncing as she fought to tie the strings. "You'll look absolutely marvelous when I'm done with you!" "Rarity, no . . . " Twilight strained, the strings and ribbons around her breast and neck now getting too tight for comfort. "No Rarity. It's just not going to work. It's too tight." "Nonsense! Nothing is too tight when it comes to fashion!" "Rarity . . . please . . . " "There! Finished! You look amazing! There's the mirror; now go have a look at yourself!" Although she was in obvious discomfort with it, Twilight did not want to disappoint her beaming friend. She painfully crossed over to the mirror and gazed in astonishment at her reflection. Her mane was brushed and styled up into a tall bun, her coat was brushed neat and waxed, her eyes were lined with a green liner, her hooves were sprinkled with some sort of glitter, and the ornate dress hung in dramatic folds. She never thought she'd look good in something so dramatic, but even so, Twilight couldn't help but feel beautiful. She blushed a little. "Well?" Rarity asked, clearly expecting a positive review. "What do you think? Is it ready for the showing?" Twilight turned to her friend with a smile. "Yes. I think it's absolutely wonderful." "I knew you'd like it. But now, is it ready for the showing? You know I've been worried about getting it ready for Hoity Toity's showing. Is it ready?" "I'm sure it will be fine." "Oh good," Rarity said with a relieved sigh. "I was afraid I'd never finish it in time," she added as she picked up the left over ribbons and fabric strands and placed them into a bin. "Can you please take it off now?" "Oh but why when you look so marvelous in it?" "Rarity, it's too tight for me. I can't breathe right," Twilight explained, beginning to fidget with the knots. "Oh fine. Fine," Rarity finally consented and with a flick of her horn, the tight ribbons and strings were untied and the ornate dress was removed to hang from the rack. "Better now? Oh yes, I can see where the strings were definitely too tight. I'll replace them with some longer ones." "Please do," Twilight said as she rubbed the areas where the tight strings had cut in. "Why did you come over?" Rarity asked after a while of fitting longer strings onto the dress. "I know it wasn't just to try on something. I can tell when you're thinking about something." Twilight continued to rub at the marks left behind by the dress. She sighed. "You know that story about the house on Mayberry Hill? That story that's suddenly becoming popular all of a sudden?" "The one that goes: "Many years ago, before Ponyville existed, there existed a home atop Mayberry Hill. It was so grand and full of life, no pony dreamed of sadness, But on Hearth's Warming Eve, tragedy struck upon that home. Some say she dropped dead of illness, Some say she dropped dead of poison, Some say she dropped dead of fright, Some say she dropped dead of a broken heart, But the exact reason why, No pony knows. But even to this day, On still cold nights, when you are walking by old Mayberry Hill, Look to the old house and look and see, You might just see her watching." That one?" "Precisely." "What about it? It's just a silly old tale about that abandoned house on Mayberry Hill that's been empty since even before Ponyville sprung to life. Why bother me with it?" "Well," Twilight embarrassingly said, unsure of what to say after that. "Well . . . Fluttershy seems to think that it's a true story . . . about the ghost and all . . . " "So then why not speak to her about it?" Rarity asked as she trotted back to the main floor of the boutique. "Well, I've already tried to but whatever I say, I don't think she's coming around. Plus, I just thought that you'd be the more interested in that sappy love-tragedy stuff," Twilight responded, sitting down at the head of a table. "And you thought right. It is a lady's job to seek love and to be moved by it. I love those kinds of stories, but in the end, they're all just stories and nothing more. Tea?" "Thanks," Twilight said as she took the mug of steaming tea that had been offered to her. "But still though, Fluttershy thinks that it's a real story about something that really happened." Rarity sighed and took a long sip from her own tea. "Twilight, I can't help you with this and you know this. I know nothing about it except for the old story. If you want to know the truth about it, go speak with Granny Smith. She's the oldest pony in Ponyville; maybe she knows something about it." Twilight took a swig from her mug. "Yeah. I'll go see if she knows anything." "If you don't mind me asking, why are you so worried about whether or not the silly old story is true?" Twilight shuffled her hooves on the floor. She wasn't quite sure why. "Honestly, I don't know." "So you have no idea why." "No idea . . . although I think that may be curiosity." Rarity raised her eyebrows. "You better be careful, Twilight. You know what everypony says, 'Curiosity killed the cat'." Twilight finished the last of her tea and stood up. "Now Rarity, that's just silly. I'm not a cat." With that and no more, she said farewell to her friend and exited through the door out into the day. ****** The afternoon was hot as it beat down on the ponies of Ponyville. Twilight Sparkle was heading down the road, breaking every now and then to wipe the sweat that slid from her mane-line. It was three in the afternoon and business was going as it always should. Twilight found herself in the midst of the town's square and she observed the stark difference there was from earlier that day. The thick fog from that calm morning had lifted with the rising of the sun and was now replaced by the crying of the cicada. The wind had picked up its pace as the day progressed and the slow river continued on its slow trek to the sea. The town square was alight with ponies, many of whom were passing their time in the shade trying to evade the heat of the morning sun. Some ponies were sitting around at the cafes enjoying a cold drink, some were in the various shops looking at the merchandise and wondering about what to get themselves as a present. Some ponies were enjoying a nice chat with a friend while the rest were content with lounging about and watching the hours pass. This was their day and they were going to make the best of it. Twilight Sparkle trotted past all of them as she made her way down the road. Further down along the road from the square was the park. The ponies that were not in the town square were here enjoying their day with their pets and their friends. The only differences between the square and the park is that there were less buildings and no shops to draw in window-shoppers that took up most of the space. Instead, trees, bushes, and the rolling hill were the norm and to all the ponies that frequented, this place was above all else the best. Even Twilight and Spike had come out this way some afternoons to escape from the confines of the library. She continued on. Further down the road was the school house for the young colts and fillies. It was painted red and only had one room, but despite this, it was the best school in Ponyville. Even in the hot day, the bell in the bell tower shown bright as light from the sun reflected from its polished surface. Twilight had always been fascinated by the ornate bell ever since she arrived in Ponyville. She was amazed by the intricate detail the metalworkers had inlaid on the bell. Every single line and edge had been delicately punched and hammered all by hoof. She had no idea how long it must have taken to finish it, but Twilight smiled at it as she passed by. Inside, she could hear Miss. Cheerilee teaching. She smiled again. Twilight remembered when she had been a filly and how she had spent many hours reading from large heavy books. Further down the road and finally, was Sweet Apple Acres and it was here that Twilight stopped walking. A bead of sweat rolled from her mane as she stole a glance at the large sign. She wiped the sweat away with a swipe of her hoof and she set down the dirt road to where she was confronted with the large barn. She gazed up to the tall doors of it and noticed a wasps nest that had been built in the corner of two intersecting beams. "Hi ya Twilight!" a familiar voice called from her side. "What can I do you for?" "Hi Applejack, you've got a wasps nest up there." Twilight said as she turned to greet her friend. Applejack was carrying behind her a large cart stocked full of apples. "Did you buck all those?" she asked as she staggered at the large amount of apples. "Not all by myself, and yeah, I know it's there. Big Mac took a nasty sting from one of 'em the other day when he was trying to bat it down." Applejack explained as she drew up to the doors of the barn. "Big Mac's out there helpin' right now. He should just about have another cart or two ready by the time I get back." "I see," Twilight said as she understood. "How bad was the sting?" "That sting was nothin'. We've lived up here on this farm ever since we were born. We've all had our share of stings and bites. It's nothin' to go and get in a fuss about." "I see." "Eeyup," Applejack said with a smile, copying her brother's famous quote. "So anyways, what can I do you for?" "Oh yeah," Twilight said, remembering why she had come here in the first place. "Do you know where Granny Smith is? I've got something I wanna talk with her about." "Sure I know where she is," Applejack said as she unloaded her cart of apples. "She should be up in the square by Sugarcube Corner selling the Apple family apples and jam. If she ain't there, then she's probably inside taking a nap. If she ain't there then I don't know where she is." "Thanks," Twilight said as she turned to leave. She was stopped by a question. “What’s this you wanna speak with Granny Smith about?” Twilight spun around and saw that her friend had adorned a quizzical look on her face. “Well . . . you know that house on Mayberry Hill?” “Yeah I’ve heard about it. So what?” “I just wanna know what really happened there in that old house and Rarity thinks that I should speak with Granny Smith about it since she is the oldest pony in Ponyville.” “Uh sugarcube . . . I’m not too sure even Granny Smith knows much about that house but you’re free to go and ask away if you really want to.” “What makes you think that she won’t know anything about it?” Twilight asked as her spirits began to sink. “Well that house is even older than she is and besides, whenever she’s told Big Mac and myself the story she would just say that it’s an old pony-tale. So that said, I don’t think she knows more about that we do," Applejack explained, retying the straps to the cart. "Ain't that right, Big Mac?" she added as her brother walked up to them, carrying behind him a train of apple-laden carts to unload. "Eeyup," he blankly said as he unloaded his own carts. "Well if that's all you want," Applejack said, turning to head back to the sprawling orchards. "Then I'm gonna go and I'm just gonna let you go and speak with Granny Smith if you still want to." "Thanks." "No problem." With that, Applejack and Big Macintosh headed back down the long rows of apple trees, leaving Twilight Sparkle alone. She looked at the large pile of apples that the two had deposited, took a glance up to the hanging wasps nest, and left the farm. She walked back down the rough dirt road, kicking up a little cloud of dust as she went. She hopped back onto the main road and headed back to the town. ****** The disheveled office room was hot and stuffy as the hot sun shown in through the windows and as the government ponies crowded around the desk in the middle. The walls were a pasty red wallpaper and the brown carpet on the floor smelled of stale air freshener. Along the walls were file cabinets that had been tightly packed together and some stacked one atop the other. There were other cabinets of other kinds. The two that stood out the most were two tall cabinets that stood along the right wall. The first of the cabinets was the taller of the two and it had been detailed with fine ornate decorations, all meticulously carved by hoof. It was stocked full with bottles of Applejack Daniels and other whiskeys from all over Equestria. The other cabinet, while not as tall as the first, was decorated with a carved dragon that winded itself around the door frame. Inside this cabinet was nothing too special: papers for filing, changes of clothes, and several pairs of glasses. There were glasses for reading, for looking far away, and for looking close up; glasses for every occasion. "Mayor!" cried one of the government ponies who had her mane tied in a tall bun. "Use your head please!" "Terra, calm down. I've heard your concerns . . . " "I don't think you have, Mayor! That house needs to go! It's proving to be a nuisance for the environment around it!" "So what?" Mayor Mare asked, raising her eyebrows at her adviser. "That house has been there for decades upon decades and has done nothing to harm anything or anypony. It's just sitting up there waiting for its own time to fall down. I see no point in spending money to demolish it when it's already so close to doing so on its own." "Mayor Mare . . . " Terra said, rising to her full height. But even at her full height, she wasn't very imposing. "I agree with Mayor Mare," the heavily built Tourism Adviser stallion said, twisting in his seat to look at the two. "Not you too, Tour!" "Yes me too. I see no reason why that old house should be torn down. It's up there all on its own and as a matter of fact, that old house has garnered a little following of ponies who travel from all over just to see it. I bet you that during the next strong thunderstorm them weather pegasi put together, that old house is gonna fall right over. There's no reason to tear it down." "No reason! Is that what you council members think?" The council sitting around the stuffy office nodded in unison with the exception of two. "There's absolutely no reason to," said the small Business Adviser stallion. "Business has been steady in Ponyville for years now. And even recently with the publishing of the most recent Earnings Report, there's been an increase in business around Ponyville. I'm pleased with the way things are going and from where I sit, there's no point in tearing down that old house." "I'm actually going to agree with Terra on this one," spoke up one of the mares that had not nodded. She was the Parks and Recreation Adviser. Spring was unnaturally tall. She towered above all the other mares and even rivaled the height of even the tallest stallions. "That old house is an eyesore and it has really got to go! Instead of that dirty old hole taking up the hill, we could finance the building of a new park or a new series of recreation areas." "There's a lot of money involved with that," Mayor Mare said, rubbing her temples with her front hooves, her forelegs propped up on the surface of her desk. "A lot of money?" Spring asked. "How much money is 'a lot of money'?" "Tens of thousands of bits," Mayor Mare explained. "That's how much. First we'd have to hire a crew to tear it down, then hire another crew to clear the ground and get the hillside refurbished, and only then would we be able to begin work on the park. Too much time. Too much money." "And you have a better idea?" "Yes: Leave the old house alone." "Mayor! That's ridiculous!" Terra cried, sitting back down in her seat. "It is not." Terra held her head in her front hooves and sighed as if giving up. "Does anypony have anything else to add to this weeks meeting?" Mayor Mare asked her advisers that had crowded around her office. "If anypony has anything else to add, then say it now, if not, then I announce this meeting as fini . . . " "Wait," Terra said, removing her head from her hooves, revealing an odd sort of smile. "I have something to add." "And what would that be?" "A reason to tear down that old house. Since you obviously won't listen to my concerns about the state of the ecosystem around the house, then will you listen to this?" "And just what is this 'this'?" Terra looked around the room at her fellow advisers before turning back to look at the mayor. "Here's just a little way we can demolish that old house and still end up putting thousands of bits in our own pockets." "Are you suggesting we do something corrupted that's not going to profit this town in any way?" Mayor Mare asked, her voice rising a little. "No, no," Terra said with the same odd smile. "It'll profit . . . I'm sure of it." "Then what are you suggesting?" the small Business Adviser asked, his interest piqued. "What are you suggesting?" "I'm suggesting that we tear down the old house so we can plant more mayberry bushes." "I don't get it." "How can you not get it?" Terra asked, her voice excited. "Ponyville is renowned not only for its apples but also for the jellies and jams that are made from its mayberries. Don't you see? If there are more mayberries then there will be more business." "I still don't see how that will profit us," Loan said, shifting slightly in his seat in discomfort with his sitting posture. "I'm not following it either," Mayor Mare said, also shifting in her own seat. "What we do is we tear down the old house, clear the area, plant more bushes and then when business is up, we use the money to pay for the hill." "And what about profits? At best, that just sounds like it's only going to make us break even with it," Loan said uneasily. "We rise the price of the berries." "We have no control over their prices," Mayor Mare said, wiping her eyes. "The prices of things are controlled by the stock market. Terra, this is ridiculous. That idea is just nonsense. The best way to make any kind of profit is to just let things go as they will and then when the house has fallen on its own, then we plant bushes. That's the only way we're ever gonna make a profit on that." "Well suppose we just mess around with the stock market. Then we could control things as we choose to." "That's all very tempting, Terra, but we've got an oath to uphold," Loan said, sternly now. "We were elected to provide laws and propositions built around common-sense and selflessness. What you're proposing with messing around with the markets is preposterous." "It is not. Even you said it yourself just now. It's tempting." "It is tempting but no further than that. Mayor, I believe it's time we end this council meeting before our desires become even more twisted." "You're right . . . but even so, we must take Terra's proposal into consideration and vote on it," Mayor Mare said with a sad sigh at the selfish ambitions of her adviser. "All those in favor of Terra's proposal?" To her astonishment, most of the council members raised their hooves to signal their approval of it. Had they really snooped so low as tweaking with the markets for their own gains. Mayor Mare sighed. "Motion passed." ****** Twilight Sparkle trotted back to the town square where she had passed through just an hour ago. Not much had changed during her absence. Some new ponies had taken residence there while some of the others had already left to do whatever it is that they do. Other than that, nothing had changed. Twilight slowly made her way through the crowds, sweat pouring from her coat from the heat of the day. She stretched her neck, peering through the various ponies in an effort to find old Granny Smith. She had no luck and she resigned herself to several minutes of fruitless searching. She eventually broke down into a chair that was hidden in the shade of one of the cafes. "Excuse me," she said to a passing waiter. "Yes," he said as he turned around. "How may I help you?" "I'd like to order a cold water," Twilight replied as she wiped away the sweat from her brow. With the heat on her shoulders, a cold water was the least she could do. "Right away." Twilight patiently waited for a minute, watching the other ponies go about their own lives. Now that she was doing it, it didn't seem so weird to her. The waiter swiftly returned with a large glass filled with water and large chunks of ice. "Thank you." "Enjoy your water, ma'am." She quickly took a very long swig of it and instantly felt a wave of relief from the heat wash over her. She took another long drain and hurriedly flagged down the waiter again. "May I help you?" he blankly asked as a bead of sweat trickled from his own brow. He quickly wiped it away. "I'd like another cold water please," Twilight requested as she finished the last of the water she already had. "Right away, ma'am." Twilight Sparkle watched her waiter go before turning her eyes back to the large crowd. If she was going to find Granny Smith, she was going to do it from the shade to spare herself time out in the heat. She shifted in her seat and tried to look through whatever openings in the crowd she could find. But it was to no avail. "Thank you," she said again when her waiter returned with another water. She took a long drain from it before placing it on the table. She continued her search. When the large bronze bell from the school's bell tower rung out across the square, Twilight stood up and placed some bits on the table. She sighed deeply and stretched. She had certainly been sitting still for far too long and her body protested at the sudden movements. As she was preparing to leave, her eyes fell onto a light green unicorn mare pulling behind her a wagon of apples. Twilight shook her mane, wiped away the sweat, and walked over to the light green mare with the wagon. "Hello Lyra," Twilight said as she approached. "Oh hi ya Twilight," Lyra said, stopping in her tracks and wiping away the sweat from her brow. "It's a hot day isn't it?" "A little too hot," Twilight agreed readily. "Yep. That's what I was trying to tell Bon-Bon earlier today," Lyra said as she nodded. "Why do you have so many apples?" Twilight suddenly asked, changing the subject from the weather. "Oh. Bon-Bon likes making little candies and such from the Apple Family apples," Lyra joyfully explained. "I ran into Granny Smith just now and so I decided to buy some and surprise Bon-Bon tonight." Twilight looked to the wagon-full of apples and smiled. "I see." "So . . . um . . . Twilight. You look like you've got something on your mind," Lyra said as she examined Twilight's face and loosened the harness. "Do I?" "Oh yeah. It's actually pretty obvious. What's up?" "Oh it's nothing," Twilight said, a little more shyly than what she would have cared for. "Twilight, you're no stranger here in this town," Lyra reassured her. "You have done a lot for this town and everypony's grateful for everything you've done. If you're troubled by anything, you can just ask around." "Thanks Lyra." "So what's up? But please be quick with it. I have to get home soon." "Alright. Do you know where Granny Smith is?" Twilight asked, feeling incredibly stupid. Of course Lyra knows where Granny Smith is; she had just come from there. "Uh . . . yeah . . . " Lyra said, looking a little dumbfounded. "Uh . . . is that all you were worried about?" "Well no," Twilight hurriedly said. "I've actually got something to speak with her about and so . . . " "What kind of thing is this 'thing' you got to talk about?" Lyra asked, beginning to refasten the straps to the harness. "That is if you don't me asking." "Well you know that old house on Mayberry Hill?" "Oh by Celestia!" Lyra suddenly cried as she covered her ears with her hooves. "Please spare me it. I am so tired of hearing about that silly old story. It's all Bon-Bon talks about now-a-days. It used to be that she'd talk about me and compliment me and call me 'pretty' and 'beautiful' but now it's all about that silly old house!" "Oh well I'm not really much interested in it," Twilight was quick to say, feeling a little sorry for Lyra. "I just wanna find out the truth about what really happened there and the history about it and so I was thinking I should go and talk with Granny Smith about it." Lyra looked sceptically at Twilight before sighing deeply and pointing down the street with her hoof. "She's just a little ways down that way." "Okay. Thanks, Lyra," Twilight said before trotting off in the direction that Lyra had pointed and she heard Lyra sigh again. Twilight looked back over her shoulder to see Lyra walking again in the opposite direction, her cart kicking up dust as it went. Twilight continued on her trek down the road, occasionally stopping to wipe the sweat that poured from her mane-line and brow. She quickly stepped into the shade of a house to cool down. She sat down and wiped more sweat away. She turned her head and looked a little further down the road and could make out the familiar apple stand. It was the same as it had ever been. It was an ordinary stand situated on wheels but it was heavily decorated with painted-on apples. It had two stands off to the side of it, both were laden with apples of various kinds, and as a new feature for these hot days was a large awning that cast a large area of shade. Under the awning was a large crowd of ponies. Twilight was a little apprehensive about heading over but she puckered it up and slowly crossed the street to where the apple cart was. "Granny Smith," Twilight strained to say as she fought her way up to the front. "Hmm? Who's 'zat?" Granny Smith absently asked as she turned around to see who had spoken. "Oh hi Twilight. How are you today? Want some apples?" "Oh no thanks," Twilight said as she waved away Granny Smith's offer. "I've actually got something to talk with you about." "What now?" Granny Smith asked, raising her hoof to her ear. "You want twenty apples?" "No," Twilight insisted. "I have something I want to talk with you about." "You have a thing with a hat?" "No! I have something to talk with you about!" "You have something you want to talk about? Then why didn't you just say so?" Twilight pressed her hooves into her eyes and loudly sighed. "That's what I've been trying to tell you all along," Twilight said as Granny Smith finished giving change to a brown pegasus stallion. "And what do you want to talk about?" Granny Smith asked. "It's actually something I want to speak with you in private about." "Well I'm actually pretty busy as it is. How about you come back at dusk when the crowd starts to thin and go home." Twilight watched as Granny Smith addressed a small grey filly with a long white mane that lazily drooped over one of her eyes. Twilight watched the small grey filly as she ordered a large red apple, pay the bit for it, and run off with a large grin plastered on her face. Twilight smiled and retired back to the shadows across the street. The minutes seemed to pass like hours as Twilight impatiently and anxiously sat in the shade waiting. As she sat and as the sun began to set in the far-off horizon, the temperatures began to cool off. Although she had spent most of the time bored out of her mind, Twilight had been somewhat entertained. For one thing, about an hour after she resigned herself to the shadows, a young mare with her young colt had been constantly trying to prevent him from magicking whatever he could point his horn at. Later, she sat and laughed as Snips and Snails kept tripping over each others hooves as they tried to walk down the street. Later, she had watched as two pegasus colts got into a heated argument about whose wings were bigger. After watching this and that and everything in between, Twilight did have to admit to herself that it hadn't had been that bad of a wait. Just as Granny Smith had predicted, as dusk blanketed the town, the ponies underneath the large awning began to disperse and head on with their own lives. Twilight waited until the very last had left before crossing the street again. "Granny Smith," she said as she neared the old mare who was busy counting the revenue for that day. "Granny Smith," Twilight said again when the old mare did not respond. "Granny Smith!" "Oh what's going . . . oh Twilight. How nice to see you. Do you want some apples?" "Um no . . . I actually have something I want to talk with you about." "And what would that be, dear?" "That old house on Mayberry Hill." Granny Smith stopped counting the bits and sighed. She turned away from Twilight and picked up her saddle bags. For being as old as she was, that didn't stop Granny Smith in the slightest. When she had finished, she turned back around to Twilight and gave her a sad look and sighed again. "That's an old story," she said before flipping over the 'closed' sign on the cart and closing the panels to the apple stands. She locked them with a turn of her key and sighed again. "That's an old story," she said again. "So you do know about the old house?" Twilight asked as she got nearer to the closed stand. The sun had set now and everything was cast into shadow. "Can you tell me about it, please?" "Of course this old mare knows about it," Granny Smith said sadly. "I was here and around when that old story got going around. I was a young filly then but I can still remember the day I first heard that story. It was a hot summer day, much like this one here was today, and my family and I were out picking apples. This young filly, much like myself when I was younger, was walking down the street with one of her friends and they were talking about it. I went over and asked them about it and they told me. Yup. They sure did." "So you heard it when you were a filly . . . so other than the story," Twilight said as she sat down on her haunches to hear more. "Do you know anything specific about the house?" Granny Smith looked sadly to the ground and began to walk down the street as fast as her old legs would carry her. Twilight stood up and followed her as she went. "Yeah I know a little about it," Granny Smith sadly said as she kicked up some dust. "But you gotta remember, that house was around long before my family and I started up our farm. I think you heard that old story. My family and myself were wandering around Equestria looking for steady work. One day, we went up to Canterlot and the princess had a taste of what we were selling and you know how things went from there. She really liked it and she gave us some land down here in this valley and it was there that we started up everything. By the time we arrived, that old house had already been there for some time and was already abandoned . . . so you see, I can't really tell you much about it personally, but . . . " "But what?" Twilight Sparkle asked suddenly, cutting off what Granny Smith was saying. "Are you saying that there's somepony who knows about the house?" "If he's still alive, then yes," Granny Smith, even more sadly than before. "If he's still alive then he's the person you should speak with." "What do you mean 'if he's still alive'?" "Well I haven't seen that old fart in decades. He and I met when I was younger mare," Granny Smith explained with a smile. "Oh he was a nice young stallion when we met. Oh yes. He was as tall as the tallest stallions and he was stronger than all the rest. He was the most handsome stallion my eyes have ever laid on." "What was his name?" "Bindweed Orchid." "Bindweed Orchid?" "Yes. Bindweed Orchid," Granny Smith responded with another smile. "Yes. He was a handsome stallion." "How do you know him?" Twilight asked, her interest piqued. "Well once again, it was a hot summer day, much like this one here, and I was in town selling some apples. It was about time I was beginning to load up and go back home when there was a knock on the stand. I turned around and standing there was this really handsome stallion. He asked for some apples before I closed up the stand entirely and so I obliged. After that evening, he came back to the stand everyday for the next couple weeks and you know how things go, you're a mare. You should know." "I'm sorry but I don't know," Twilight said with a little blush. "Huh? You don't know?" Granny Smith asked as if she couldn't believe a word she was hearing. "No," Twilight shyly asked, her blush deepening. "Well anyways," Granny Smith continued on. "He came by everyday and things just sort of ticked. He and I began meeting up some days during my breaks and we'd go and walk around Ponyville. We'd just talk and we'd just have fun. Those were good days although things never really turned physical except for a kiss every now and then. And then several months after we started up, he left one day and I haven't seen or heard from that old fart since," Granny Smith said with a bitter tone in her voice. "Where do you think he went?" Twilight asked as she felt a little sorry for the old mare. "Heavens should I know! He didn't leave me a note or anything. He just up and left like a fart in the wind." Twilight laughed at that. "So you have no idea where he could be . . . " "Nope. I haven't a single clue as to where that stallion's gone off to." Twilight kicked at the ground. "Well that doesn't help me at all. Did he tell you anything about the old house?" "Nope," Granny Smith was quick to respond. "One of the few things he told me about that old house was that he was the grand-colt of the mare that supposedly died up there in that house. Other than that little piece of information and some more of this and that, he didn't tell me anything." "That really doesn't help my situation at all." "Well I'm sorry Twilight," Granny Smith said lightly. "But I can't help you as much as I would like to. I'll see you tomorrow if you stop by the cart. I should be closer to the square tomorrow if you want to stop by. But for now, I'm gonna head down the road and fall asleep in my rocking chair." Twilight looked around and found herself in front of the large Sweet Apple Acres sign. Had they really been walking for that long? "Oh okay," she said as she turned around back towards town. "I'm really sorry I can't help you more than that," Granny Smith said before she started her way down the dirt road to the farm. Twilight looked to the dark sky and sighed. She was no closer to finding out the truth about that old house than she was when she spoke with Rarity earlier that day. She walked on and as she walked, the lingering promises of the day vanished beyond the horizon. The moon was rising and the stars were shining. A thin veil of fog was beginning to roll in off the cool river as it, just as it always had and always will, slowly drained out to the sea. Some businesses were still open as Twilight re-entered the town but most had already closed up for the day. She marched up the steps of the library and unlocked the door with a quick flick of her horn. She slowly went up the stairs to her loft, completely ignoring the book she told herself that she would finish, and flopped down into the bed. "Twilight, where have you been today?" Spike asked as he came out of the bathroom. "Out." "What do you mean by 'Out'? You just up and left. Do you know how many ponies stopped by the library while you were gone?" "No." "A lot. That's how many," Spike said as he curled into his own bed. "I'm sorry, Spike. I had a lot to figure out." "Figure out what? If you had something to figure out, then why didn't you just stay here at the library with all these books around?" "It's not something I can figure out with a book," Twilight said. "Well then what is you were trying to figure out?" "Nothing really important." "Then why worry about figuring it out?" "Because I want to." Spike shook his head and laid down completely in his bed. "Well whatever then. Good night, Twilight." "Good night, Spike," Twilight said as she opened the window beside her bed. She got out of bed and crossed over to the window. She propped her head up onto the sill and gazed out at Ponyville. She really was no closer to finding out the truth about the old house. She had no idea who this Bindweed Orchid pony was, she had no idea where she would find him, she had no idea where he could be, she had no idea if he was even still alive, and even if he was, he might be addled and have no memories about the house. Twilight deeply sighed and let the first cool night breeze kiss her face. She let it wash over her coat and through her mane, she let it enter the room and lightly rustle the papers on her desk, and she closed her eyes. Twilight removed herself from the window and crossed back to the bed. She plopped down into it again and let all thoughts about the house fall away. She fell to sleep. The BarnThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 10: The Barn The moon was rising slowly over the low horizon as the dusk faded to night. The circular orb that hung as if by a string cast a pale opalescent glow across the lands and the thin white tint of it reflected off of window into the shadows below. A slow steady wind, chilled by the onset of autumn, was blowing through the narrow lanes and caused the wind chimes hanging in the windows to chime. The bell in the church tower sounded at the arrival of the hour. At midnight when the moon was at its highest as if determined by a timer, the darkened form of a stallion darted out from the alleyway squeezed in between two homes built of wooden boards. He quickly ran across the cobblestone before taking refuge in the alley across the way. He paused only for a moment to catch his breath before darting out again into the road. He ran as quickly as he could towards the center of town. Without missing a step, he quickly turned past the darkened silent library before continuing onwards to an alley that was shadowed by the blank backside of the postal house. He turned into it and crossed it to the street on the other side. Once on the other side, he slowed his pace to a mere walk and leisurely strolled onwards to the only home that was still lit up. A thin layer of moss had lazily formed across the wooden side of the home and light was pouring out into the night through the open window. The stallion crept closer to the home and propped himself up in the window sill. “Holly,” he said quietly to the red mare that was sitting back in a cushion by the far corner. Her head was drooping into a pillow as she vainly fought the will to stay awake. “Holly,” he said again. She jerked her head upwards from the pillow at the sound of his voice and quickly turned to the window. Her expression instantly changed from one of drowsiness to one of alarm at the sight of him and she quickly crossed the floor to open the door. “Boldwood,” she hushed as she held the door open for him to enter. “You can’t be here! I’ve told you that my father doesn’t like you being here! Quickly! Go before he wakes up!” “Not until I tell you what I have to tell you,” Boldwood protested. “What do you have to tell me?” “Did you not get my letter?” “What letter?” “I sent it a week ago. You should have gotten it by Monday.” “I have received no letter. After the last letter I got from you my father’s been going through every bit of mail that comes to and leaves this house. Perhaps he found it and burned it. I don’t know. I just know that I have received no letter of any kind.” Boldwood stormed across the room to the wooden door that led the way to the hallway and angrily placed his hoof on the doorknob. “Boldwood stop!” Holly cried as she rushed to his side and forcibly removed his hoof from the knob. She silently reclosed the door. “Stop! I beg you! Father’s sleeping and if he were to ever find out that you’re here or were here I don’t know what he’ll do.” “Holly, that stallion is controlling. He’s keeping you here as if you’re some dog. Holly –“ “Boldwood, he’s my father; he’s free to do that if he wants to.” “Holly, no he isn’t free to do that. This isn’t love he’s doing, this is meanness and cruelty.” “Please don’t say that –“ “How can I not? It’s the truth.” “Boldwood please. I love my father. I know he means well with the things he does.” “Holly, see reason.” “My father is a loving father. He’s always loved me. Boldwood please.” He looked down at the face of the pleading mare before finally consenting with a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he said quietly, retreating back to a position of submission. Holly extended her hoof and placed it lightly on his cheek and brushed his mane away from in front of his eyes. “It will all be alright. Don’t worry. Father will come around. Just promise that you won’t worry too much about it, my dear.” “But Holly, he’s –“ “No more. Just be patient. Everything will work out.” Boldwood pressed his cheek against her hoof and marveled at the warmth of it. He said, “I still haven’t told you what it is I have to tell you.” “True,” Holly agreed, smiling as her lover nuzzled his cheek against her hoof. Boldwood took a deep sigh before beginning. “I’ve been working on getting a house,” he finally said after a moment of silence. “The finalization of it will take a while and it probably won’t be until I get back.” “Get back from where?” “Aren’t you worried about the house?” “No. I have a home here currently. I’m more worried about where you are going and what you’re doing. Boldwood, I love you. No house will ever be more important to me than you are. “But the house –“ “Oh hang the house. I’m more worried about where you’re going. So I’ll ask again, getting back from where?” Boldwood hesitated with answer before finally answering, “Someplace far away from here.” Holly removed her hoof from his cheek with a blank expression on her face that ranged on being unsurprised, as if she had known all along. “So where are you going?” “They’re sending me away to Los Pegasus where ever that’s at. They say its some sort of town blooming out west towards the deserts but that’s all they’ve told me.” “When will you be coming home?” “I don’t know how long they want me to be there. It could be a couple of months for all I know.” Holly pressed the fore of her head to his and held it there. “Please tell me you’ll wait for me,” Boldwood said he pressed his muzzle into the side of her neck. They sat in silence for moment in which only the swinging pendulum of the grandfather clock made any sound. “Of course I will.” “Even if I’m gone for a year?” “Without any doubt.” “What if I were gone for two?” “I would think of you and worry over you everyday.” “Really?” “With all my heart.” “Holly –“ “Yes?” “I love you. I want you to be my wife when I return.” “I love you too, Boldwood. I would be grateful and proud to call you my husband and to call myself your wife. It’s all I wish.” Boldwood broke the connection with the side of her neck and stole her lips with his. Their passions were hot. Drool leaked from the corners of their mouths as their tongues sought each other. They pushed and pushed, trying to find where each began. It was Holly who broke the kiss. “Now hurry,” she said as she wiped a trail of drool from her chin. “Hurry, before father wakes.” Boldwood kissed her again. “Not until you say you love me again.” “I love you.” “Wait for me?” “Always.” He stole her lips once more before turning away and dashing back out into the night. Holly quietly closed the door after him and went back to her cushions. Blushing and suddenly in heat, she buried her head into her pillow. She slid her hooves down the length of her belly to her nether-regions. With a touch, she moaned and bit down on the corner of her pillow. “Dammit Boldwood.” ****** The air was cold as Palmer Orchid slowly walked down the dirt road; olden Tinker was following close behind after having recovered from his earlier over-exertion. Palmer’s crook hung lazily to his side, held up by the faint blue light of his magic. As he neared a stone bridge, he turned his gaze up to the high moon and tracked its position in the sky. “One in the morning,” he said to himself. “I should be close by now.” He continued his walk before seeing the faint glow of fire burning off in the distance. He sped up his speed to a quick jog and then to a hurried run as he tore down the road and eventually down the field. As he neared the light, he nearly ran headlong into the side of a barn. Pausing shortly to correct himself, he looked up to the window high above his head and recognized it as the light that he had seen off in the distance. He walked around to the front of the barn before looking back up to the road he had ran down from. He knocked on the door. “Hello,” he said, “I’m looking for a place to stay for the night. I’ll have been left by the morning. Please, if you’d be so kind as to let me stay here for the night.” He knocked again. And then again. On his fourth knock, the door flung open to reveal a band of stallions huddled around a dying fire. One was nursing a bloody nose, one was sitting on a fraying cushion and another was resting with his head on a dirty pillow. Palmer looked down and saw the old stallion that had opened the door. His mane was as white as the wool of sheep and his face was lined and shrunken with wrinkles. “May ah help ya?” he asked in a voice that shook with his age. “I’m just looking for a place to stay the night,” Palmer replied as he felt his dog press up against the back of his legs. “Well come on in then,” the old stallion continued as he shakily moved out of the way. “Ah think we got a spare blanket or two someplace for ya to use.” “Thank you kindly, sir.” “Think nothin’ of it. Sometimes ‘tis only best to simply show an act of kindness to one another.” With a nod, Palmer stepped in past the old stallion and heard the swing and the click of a closing door. He walked unsurely to the fire in the middle of the floor and sat down next to the stallion that was nursing his blooded nose. From afar, it looked almost comical but from where he was now, he could clearly see how severe the wound actually was. The side of his muzzle was ripped and blood was slowly oozing out from the wounds. He was busy as wrapping bandages onto it. “What happened to him?” Palmer found himself suddenly asking and he clasped his hoof over his mouth as if he had just said a very dirty swear word. “He got himself kicked and trampled by some of our cows,” said the stallion that had his head rested on the dirty pillow. “He got too drunk down at the tavern in town and ended up messing around with the cows. They didn’t find that too funny so they got him real good.” “Shut up Manson,” the one with the bloody nose retorted as he finished tightening the bandage in its place. “You knew I was off it. Why didn’t you stop me when you had the chance to?” “Because it was funny watching you stumble around like a foal,” Manson replied, sitting up a little higher to get a better look. “You’re mean, Manson.” “I know. What else is new?” “I’m not going to start this with you today, Manson.” “Start what?” “You know exactly what it is you’re starting.” “Do not.” “Oh you’re doing it now!” “Now, now you young’un’s,” the elder said as he walked to the pair and sat down between them. His old whitened mane fell like a thin linen sheet down the side of his face. “No arguin’. Can’t ya see we got a guest?” “I can,” the blooded one said as he refitted the bandage. “Ain’t y’all’s gonna introduce y’allselves?” “Why? He’s only staying the night so I’ve heard,” the one named Manson said as he shuffled back into a lying posture on his pillow. “Even so ‘tis common courtesy methinks.” Palmer looked around at the crowd. There was the olden one that was obviously the kinder out of the bunch, there was the one that had been drunk and trampled by cows, Manson, and then the other that was still lying on his cushions without saying a single word or even having moved. Something seemed off about that one. “Who’s that fellow?” Palmer asked across to the oldest as he pointed over to the younger stallion. “Not quite sure of his name,” he replied. “Oh by the way, they call me Lock and they call these two idiots Manson and Flannel.” “Nice to meet you,” Palmer said as he nodded his head to each in turn. “But getting back to my original question, who is that fellow lying on the cushions in the corner?” “No pony knows his name,” Lock said as he looked sadly over to the other. “We just all call him Incognito. He’s really anti-social-like and he hardly every musters more than two words to anypony and when he does it’s usually ‘Morning’ or ‘Good night’. He’s a strange one. When he first came to working here on this here plantation, Ah had been here a good thirty some odd years. He came in as the tiniest foal Ah’d ever seen. Some rumors around town floatin’ round is that his mum and dad had been gotten into this here accident. Some say accident and some say murder but the truth is, no pony knows and no pony’s lookin’ to push to subject more than it’s worth. Ah think that the deaths may have messed him up in the head a little. That’s really all we know of him.” “You said this is a plantation?” Palmer asked as he gazed sadly to the young stallion in the corner. He thought he saw him move. “Yes, sir Ah did,” Lock replied. “This here plantation is owned by some stallion that come down from Fillydelphia Ah believe it is although he tragically passed several months ago. Now his daughter or his niece has taken over the business and all whatnot ya know.” “What is her name?” Palmer asked as he sat up straighter and turned his ears closer to hear. “Rose? I believe that’s it.” “You’re kidding?” “Ah don’ know. Hardly ever see her much and when we do it’s just in short passing. She keeps herself up by the plantation house most of the time. It’s a fine house. Ah don’ blame her for keeping herself up there instead of comin on down here to the fields and pastures. ‘Tis dirty work as a farmer; although Ah’ve been in this profession mah entire life so Ah’m a little bit more used to it.” “What is it that you do?” “Well mah father and his father before him were wheat farmers and then Ah took up the trade when Ah came of age. Now, Ah feed all the livestock here on this farm.” “What about the others?” “We have names you know,” Flannel suddenly cut in from his spot by the fire. The blood from his wound was already soaking the bandages in red. It seemed to glisten in the light of the fire. “I know you have names,” Palmer replied apologetically, hanging his head and looking nervously at Lock who proceeded to laugh. “Oh come now, Flannel. This here stallion’s only gonna be here the night; no need to go and get feisty at him. And besides, he and I was speakin’.” “You old stallion, it’s a matter of respect. It’s not respectful to others to just simply call them ‘others’ when they’re around.” “Alright then. Alright. Anyhows, Flannel over here takes care of the pigs and Manson there oversees the goats. Now let’s see here, Incognito helps me out with the feedin’.” “Ah.” “Yup . . . so what is that ya do?” Palmer gazed absentmindedly for a while into the red depths of the fire for a moment before answering the olden stallion. “I used to be a sheep herder back in the town of Klimmington,” he said. “My own father was one and so was my grandfather. As a matter of fact, the entire line of my family has been sheep herders.” “Ah. So you’re a shepherd? Why’d ya come here then?” Palmer looked around the room at each of the ponies who were all looking back at him expectantly, all except for Incognito who was still lying in the corner with his back to every thing. He shuffled his hooves uneasily under the weight of everypony’s gazes. He raised his head before answering. “I don’t really wanna talk about it and that’s final.” “Well alright then. If ya don’t feel comfortable talkin’ about it then no pony’s gonna pressure ya into it,” Lock said with a knowing smile. He reached his hoof up to his chin and thoughtfully tugged at the length of his beard that he had allowed to grow out throughout the years. “So that’s that?” Manson asked from his pillow. “We just let somepony just waltz all up in here and we’re not gonna find out anything about him? Sounds fishy to me.” “We’re all entitled to our own share of secrets,” Lock replied with another tug of his beard. “I think I remember that when ya first came round and stared workin’, ya didn’t tell nopony anything about ya.” “That was years ago.” “Even so. It was the same.” “If you say so, old stallion,” Manson said before standing up. He gave his legs and back a sound crack before walking to the door and going outside. Palmer heard the sound of heavy hoof steps going away from the barn. “Is he always like this?” “Hmm,” Lock pondered for a while with a tug of his beard. “Not frequently but he can be. A couple years after he arrived he went and got diagnosed with some sort of disorder that can’t remember which it was. But anyhow, he has good days and he has bad days and then he has days where he’ll just constantly switch his mood. Best way Ah could describe him would probably be to say that’s he’s like Winter and Summer. One day he’ll be cool and calm like a winter afternoon, and then the next he’ll be hot, fumin’, and pissed about somethin’. Ya see what Ah mean? He changes. Ah dunno his story cause he’s kept it mostly a secret but ya know how it is.” “Fair enough.” “I’m too messed up to even care right now,” Flannel said as he held his muzzle in his hooves. “My nose is a mess and my head is pounding. I’m going to bed.” “Good night, Flannel,” Lock said. “Night.” Palmer silently watched as he laid down on his cushion and turned his back to the fire. “Well if Flannel’s goin’ to bed then Ah reckon it’s about time we do the same,” Lock said as he reached over to a pail of water. He poured it onto the fire that consequently sparked and sizzled. Before Palmer had the chance to find a pillow of his own, the barn was cast into darkness. “Good night, stranger. Ah hope ya find whatever it is you’re lookin’ for.” “I do too.” ****** Rose looked out of her window at the dark of night and pressed her forehead against the glass. She reached up to the top of her head and undid the loose bun. Her mane feel like playful ribbons on either side of her face and she brushed the stray strands of it out from in front of her eyes. She turned in her chair at the sound of clicking locks as her door opened. “Manson, you’re late,” she said with a coy smile. “I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten which day it was.”
PrologueThe House on Mayberry Hill Prologue It is late spring in the town of Ponyville. Birds are singing and flowers are blossoming, apples are growing and the days getting longer; all was normal. But in the streets, there exists a story of the abandoned house atop Mayberry Hill, so named for the delicious berries that grow at its base every May. No pony knows how or why the house sits abandoned and vacant. No pony knows exactly for how long it's sat in its decrepit state, but it's certainly been so since before the founding of Ponyville. There have been plans to tear down the old house to make room for the planting of more Mayberry bushes, but everytime somepony has tried to destroy it, they've found themselves in a state of unequaled sadness. So after many failed attempts, all projects were halted and the house has stood. The story of the house goes: "Many years ago, before Ponyville existed, there existed a home atop Mayberry Hill. It was so grand and full of life, no pony dreamed of sadness, But on Hearth's Warming Eve, tragedy struck upon that home. Some say she dropped dead of illness, Some say she dropped dead of poison, Some say she dropped dead of fright, Some say she dropped dead of a broken heart, But the exact reason why, No pony knows. But even to this day, On still cold nights, when you are walking by old Mayberry Hill, Look to the old house and look and see, You might just see her watching." Because of it's story, no pony dared to approach the top of the hill for years and at night, if ponies are passing by, then they would look down at the ground and hope that she did not see them. But as the old home was slowly overcome with vegetation and vines, the story and the old home were laid to the back of everypony's minds. And so as the years passed by, the pony-lore of the home was subject to be filed away into the library's shelves. No pony much feared the home anymore but parents would still tell the story to their mischievous colts and fillies to make them behave. ****** "'. . . You might just see her watching.' . . . Fluttershy, that's ridiculous," Twilight said as she closed the book and put it back on the shelf. "There's no way something like a ghost could exist." "But I swear," Fluttershy said, standing up from her pillow in the middle of Twilight's library. "It's true. My grandmother used to tell it to my mom and then my mom told it to me. It's a haunted house." "Fluttershy, just because somepony tells you something does not make what they say true," Twilight said as she picked up the pillows from the floor. It was night and the moon was high in the sky. Fluttershy had come by earlier that day to escape from the heat and the two friends had spent the rest of day reading pony-tales and pony-lore's from the library's ample selection. It was by Fluttershy's suggestion that Twilight Sparkle flipped through her large book to find the old story of the home. "That's what makes pony-tales so special; you can read them and then you can pass them on to your friends and your children." "But it's not just an old pony-tale," Fluttershy insisted. "Oh no, I have to walk past the hill on my way home." Fluttershy whimpered as she instantly realized it. She sank down to the floor into a state of obvious fright. "Oh Fluttershy," Twilight pleaded, pitying her friend's ability to be easily frightened. "There's nothing scary with an old pony-tale. If it makes you feel better, I'll go with you and show you that there's nothing to be afraid of." "Oh you mean it?" Fluttershy asked, rising up again and feeling better. "You'll come with me?" "Of course I will. It a pony-tale frightens you that much then I'll go." Twilight Sparkle and Fluttershy left the large oak tree library and wandered through the streets. Everypony was now asleep and everything was still. Even the air was still and stale as the two friends passed by Sugar Cube Corner. Their friend Pinkie Pie was most likely asleep and as they glanced to her window, the absence of light confirmed their assumptions. They continued on their way. Rarity's boutique was closed and locked up for the night as Twilight and Fluttershy passed. The light in Rarity's bedroom above the studio was turned off but in Sweetie Belle's room, the light was still on as bright as it always was. The two passed by without much thought of it; Sweetie Belle was probably up preparing some new adventure that she and the rest of the Cutie Mark Crusaders could go on to get their cutie marks. As the two friends approached the split in the river, the wind picked up as it coursed over the hill tops. They hurried along as the cool wind ruffled their manes and coats. As they passed by a long row of Mayberry bushes, Fluttershy instantly turned her head down to the ground and closed her eyes and she sped up her pace. "What's the matter?" Twilight asked as she caught up to her. "You just get the idea to close your eyes and speed off ahead . . . " "It was the house," Fluttershy admitted, her eyes still closed and head bowed down to the ground. Twilight looked over her shoulder at the lonely house that sat at the top of the hill. There was nothing wrong with it. "It's just sitting there. Why are you scared of it?" Fluttershy opened her eyes. "It's a creepy house," she said, still not raising her head. "It's been that way ever since Ponyville was founded and you read the story just now, something bad happened there." "That's still no reason to be scared of a house, nor does that make it haunted," Twilight said, taking another look at the house. Still nothing wrong with it. It was just a house after all. "But, but . . . " Fluttershy began insistently. "It's still no reason to be afraid of a little old house." "But, but . . . " "Absolutely no reason." Fluttershy succumbed to defeat. She'd never be able to beat Twilight's arguments. She quietly sighed and said, "If you say so, Twilight." When they reached Fluttershy's cottage by the edge of the forest, the two friends said words of parting and went their own ways. Fluttershy went inside and turned on the light in the living room and Twilight set off back down the road again. When she reached the long row of Mayberry bushes, she turned her eyes up and looked. There sat the house on Mayberry Hill.
Bindweed OrchidThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 2: Bindweed Orchid Twilight Sparkle awoke the next morning with a raging headache pummeling the inside of her skull with painful throbs. She had not had a peaceful nights sleep. She had ended up tossing and turning well into the night as if by doing so, she would get some idea of who this Bindweed Orchid pony was. But the more she tossed and turned, the less and less she remembered of what Granny Smith had told her. She rose herself into a sitting position and rubbed her temples with her hooves. It offered no relief to her headache. Twilight dragged herself out of bed and nearly stumbled onto the floor as she tripped over the mess of her blankets. She flicked them messily onto the bed again with a frustrated sigh and crossed to the window. She hung herself out and the few wisps of the cool night offered her headache instant relief. She smiled at how good the wind felt and she slowly opened her eyes. The sun was already high into the morning and the fog from the river had already retreated back to whence it came. The day birds were already out and about singing their songs and Twilight smiled again at their sound. From her window, she could see the folk of Ponyville already up and out. With a sharp gasp, Twilight rushed across the loft to the bathroom and slammed the door closed behind her. She quickly jumped into the bath and bathed, wasting no spare time with it. She got out and quickly dried with a light of her horn. She crossed to the mirror, levitated up a brush and set to hurriedly combing her coat and mane. When she was finished, she rushed down the stairs as fast as she could. "Spike! Why didn't you wake me up?" she desperately asked as she ran up to the front counter. "You were having some sort of bad dream," Spike simply replied, placing a pile of books back onto the shelf. "You were grunting and making all this fuss about some stuff." Twilight shook her head. "No I wasn't." "Yes you were." "No I wasn't. I didn't have a single dream last night," Twilight said as she sat down in her usual spot behind the counter. She picked up a rather large book bound in old leather and levitated it to the counter-top in front of her. She flung open the pages until she reached the one with one of her markers in it. It wasn't the same one she had been reading but it would do. "Well then something was giving you a hard time," Spike said as he walked around the front. "I'm telling you, nothing was giving me a hard time last night. End of story." "Then who is Bindweed Orchid?" Spike asked this time as he went back and picked up another stack of books. "Who?" "Bindweed Orchid," Spike replied as he set to work on placing the books on their appropriate shelves. "Bindweed Orchid. You were talking in your sleep last night when I got up to do my usual 'Up-and-Go'. It was a bit weird. I never knew you ever talked in your sleep." Twilight placed her head in her hooves and sighed as she remembered the events from the evening before. "I don't talk in my sleep," she simply said as she raised her head again. "Yes you do. You were doing it last night. A little around three if I remember right." "Spike, no I wasn't. I would remember so." "You were asleep, how would you remember? Please answer my question. Who's this Bindweed Orchid pony?" Twilight sighed and placed her head into her hooves again. Her headache was returning. "He's no pony special." "He's no pony special?" "Yes. He's no pony special." Spike placed the last book on its shelf and turned around. "Twilight, don't lie to me. We've been together for years. I can tell when you're lying and you're doing it right now. If he's no pony special, then why were you talking in your sleep so much about him?" "Spike, that's ridiculous and you know it. I don't speak in my sleep." "Why are you so quick to deny it then?" Spike asked as he rushed to another pile of books. "I may still only be a baby dragon but I'm only a couple years younger than you are. I know you're not telling me something." Twilight sighed, gave up the book as a bad job, closed it and turned to look where Spike was now standing by the tall pile of books far taller then himself. She felt a little sorry for his endless job but he accepted it happily. "Fine. I'm going to tell you." "Tell me what?" "Who Bindweed Orchid is." "Really?" Spike asked, nearly stumbling over the books in surprise. "So you do admit to him being somepony special?" "Yes, really and yes, he's somepony special . . . or at least he is to what I want to know." "Sweet! I was right all along!" Spike happily announced as he picked himself off the floor. "So who is he then?" Twilight massaged her throbbing temples and brushed her mane out of her face. "Please be quiet; my head hurts." "Oh I'm sorry," he apologized. "So who he is then?" he asked again, this time a lot quieter. Twilight looked out the window to where she could faintly see the rolling hills off in the distance. "You know about Mayberry Hill?" "Of course I do. So does everypony else in this town. If you're talking about that old story . . . hold on . . . let me go find it," Spike said as he walked off to the adjacent room. He shortly returned, walked to the counter, placed the book down in front of Twilight and flipped open the pages to where the story was. Its letters were large and bold. Twilight gave them a read through. "Is this what you're talking about?" Spike asked when Twilight was finished reading. She nodded her head. "What about it. It's got nothing to do with you." "I know it's got nothing to do with me," Twilight admitted as she pushed the book away. "Then why does it concern you to the point that you can't sleep well at night? If it doesn't concern you, then why were you talking in your sleep about it?" "Spike, for the last time," Twilight said as she got and crossed to the far wall of the library, "I admit that I may have been talking in my sleep. Leave me alone about it please." "Alright alright . . . so what's up with it?" "Well, nothing's really 'up with it' but I'm just a little interested in it." "Just a little interested in it? Seems to me like you're really interested in it," Spike said, resuming his job of putting away old piled books. "Just a little." "More like a lot." Twilight raised the pile of books with her magic and moved them to another spot causing Spike to curse and walk to the other side of the room. "Do you want to hear about my day or not?" Twilight asked when Spike reached the pile. "Yes I want to hear it." "Then will you let me tell you about it without you bumping in and talking about how much I'm interested in it or about how I talked in my sleep?" Spike nodded his head with a heavy sigh of defeat. "Fine. I'll let you tell me and I'll only ask about stuff I'm not sure about," he said as he walked to the other side again, his arms laden with books. Twilight smiled as her assistant resumed his job. "Well yesterday, I decided that I had had enough of hearing that silly old story so I went over to Rarity's and - " "You went to go see Rarity?" Spike interjected and all work on putting away the books came to a halt. "Why didn't you take me along with you?" "Can I continue?" Twilight asked with a massage of her temples. "Oh yeah . . . sorry . . . continue on then." "So as I was saying before you cut across me, I had decided that I had had enough. I went over to Rarity's boutique and we got talking about this and that. She had me fit on this really tight dress that was really too tight for my liking, but that's beside the point of things. I asked her about that house on Mayberry Hill and we just got to talking about it - " "Does she know anything about it?" Spike asked when he had put away the last book. "That's what I getting to. So anyways, she and I were talking about it and she got on about how it was a lady's duty to seek romance and all this and that but she eventually just flat out told me that she doesn't know about it either." "Yeah. I can see how she'd think that it would be a lady's duty to do that. She is the perfect lady after all," Spike said, his cheeks rushing with blush as he dozed off into space. "Spike, did you hear anything else I said or did you just stop thinking when you got to Rarity?" "Oh yeah I heard you." "Then what did I say?" Twilight asked with a heavy tone of skepticism. "That she had you try on that dress for Hoity Toity's showing?" Spike asked. He had heard the part about the dress but he didn't hear anything else that Twilight had said. His mind was too full with Rarity going about seeking romance. "How did you know about that?" Twilight asked, a little surprised that Spike knew about the showing. "Oh Rarity was talking about it when you had me go over several days ago to deliver some fashion books," Spike simply explained, taking a seat on the cool wood floor of the library. "Ah . . . that's right," Twilight said, remembering what he was talking about. "So did I guess right? About what you said and all?" Spike asked hopefully at the prospect of being right. Twilight shook her head. "Nope. You're not right. You weren't listening much. I said that she doesn't know much about it either," she said, the hopeful look on Spike's face washing away to be replaced with one of disappointment. "Oh." "Yes. Now I'm going to continue on with my story. After she and I got finished talking, I left her to her work and went walking around Ponyville out to Sweet Apple Acres. I asked some ponies about the old house on my way there but none of them knew a thing about it so I just continued on. When I got to Sweet Apple Acres, it was already so hot that I was having to wipe away sweat every other minute or so . . . but that's beside the point. I walked up to that large barn Applejack has got standing there and she came up - " "What did Applejack have to say about it?" Spike asked, cutting Twilight across. She shot him a look. "Oh right . . . sorry. You can continue on." "Well I got there and there was this really huge wasps nest hanging from two of the boards. When Applejack came up carrying behind her a large cart of apples, she and I started talking." "What did you all talk about?" "Well I asked about that wasps nest and then I asked where Granny Smith was." "Why Granny Smith?" Spike asked across. "Because she's the oldest pony in Ponyville so she'd be bound to know something," Twilight explained. "Please let me finish." "Fine fine. I'll shut up long enough for you to finish." "Please do - so anyways, I got to Sweet Apple Acres and asked Applejack where Granny Smith was and as I suspected, Granny Smith was out selling apples somewhere if she hadn't gone and taken a nap. We talked for a little about some stuff and then when she and Big Macintosh left back to work, I left." "When did Big Mac show up in the picture?" Spike asked, unable to keep silent. "When Applejack and I were talking. He was delivering some apples that had been bucked." "Oh. Right then." "Yes," Twilight said as she brushed her mane away from her face. "So anyways, I left the farm and came back to Ponyville and I looked around the square a little but eventually gave up. It was too hot and there were too many ponies to see through so I just ended up plopping down in a chair in the shade and ordered a cool drink. After a while, I watched Lyra walk on by with a cart of apples and so you know, I went up and asked where she had gotten them. She said to me that Granny Smith was right down the street a little ways and so - " "Lyra? The same light green mare that's always with Bon-Bon?" Spike asked, sitting up a little higher in the chair he had sat himself in. "The very same." "What was she up to? She's always fun to be around." "Oh she was just getting some apples for Bon-Bon. Apparently, Bon-Bon enjoys making these little sweets from the apples." "Oh right. I get it. Yeah, Bon-Bon and little candies go together like bees and honey," Spike said, slouching back into the chair. "So anyway, after Lyra and I talked for a little bit, I walked down the street to where Granny Smith was and oh by Celestia, you would not believe how many ponies had crowded under that large awning. It was ridiculous. I actually had to push and struggle just to get to where I could talk with her and you know how she is, her hearing's going so I had so say what I had to say several times before she understood." "What did you tell her?" "That I had something I wanted to speak with her about," Twilight simply replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "And so what did she say to that?" "To wait until evening when everypony would leave and go on to their own homes." Spike rose himself from the floor and stretched. "So then why didn't you come here to wait? You could've helped me with all the things that happened late yesterday afternoon. You really should have been in here to see it. Some foal comes in drunk off his hooves and he stumbles right into the side of the shelf knocking it and everything on it to the floor. That mess took forever to clean up and it would've gotten finished quicker if you had been here." "Oh I'm sorry, Spike," Twilight said sympathetically. "But even so, continuing on, I waited back across the street and this and that until eventually, I walked back across and spoke with her." "Is this where this Bindweed Orchid comes into play?" Spike anxiously asked. "You've been talking about your entire day and I still haven't heard anything about him." "Yes this is where Bindweed comes into play. I'm sorry I've made you listen so long." "Oh whatever. Continue." "So as I was saying, I walked back across the street after most of everypony had left and I asked Granny Smith about the house and as it so turns out, she does know a little something." "And what is this something?" "Well apparently, she knows or rather knew somepony who has direct ties to the house." "And this pony is Bindweed Orchid?" "Yes." "Then why didn't you just say so from the very start?" Spike asked incredulously. "Why'd you make me have to listen about your entire day? Why not just skip along to the good part?" "Because I like telling stuff in it's entirety," Twilight simply replied. "If I don't tell something in it's entirety, you'd have no idea what happened before. If there's one thing I've learned from all the books and stories I've read is that you have to be presented with past before the present can be explained." "We are not reading a story, Twilight," Spike said, standing from the floor. "We're just talking. You really didn't have to go and tell me everything." "But I wanted to." "Fine. Fine. Whatever." Twilight tossed her mane and continued on. "So apparently Granny Smith and this Bindweed Orchid had a little fling decades ago but then when he suddenly up and left many years ago, no pony knows who he is or where he is." "So what is his connection with the house?" "Well Granny Smith told me that he's the grandson of the mare that supposedly died up there." Spike walked around to the other side of the room, walked through the door to the records room and returned several moments later carrying a brown folder. He placed it down in front of Twilight and opened it. He flipped through its pages before finally pulling out an old dusty record certificate. "It's not much but I think that this may be the same Bindweed Orchid Granny Smith was telling you about." He took the old certificate from the folder and held it up for Twilight to see. "Yes," she said with a nod. "I think that's the same one. But how did you know where to find it?" "I am your number one assistant, remember? I just connected the dots. You're obviously looking for this pony and if this pony really lived close around Ponyville then he would have paperwork and other little things that would have been stored away in the Records Room. I just took a mad guess with it but I was right. Again." "Oh thank you Spike. You've just helped me so much," Twilight said with a smile. She walked over to where her saddle bags were and flung them over her back. She fastened the ties with an effort from her horn and returned to where Spike was standing with the folder. "Thank you, Spike," she said again as she lifted the folder from Spike's arms and dropped them into the right bag. With a quick pause to rub the rest of the sleep out of her eyes, Twilight left the library leaving Spike once again with a look of disbelief on his face. He cursed and set back to another day of work. ****** It was nearing noon as Twilight walked. The sun was nearing its highest point in the sky and there were no more hints of the soothing night breeze. Twilight walked on with her headache beginning to pound again. She passed by the buildings of the small town of Ponyville and found herself in the middle of the usually busy square. She sat down in a chair, removed the bags, and massaged her temples. The heat of the day wasn't making it any easier. She closed her eyes as tight as she could and flagged down the same waiter from the day before. "Can I have a cold water?" she asked when he approached. "The heat gettin' to you ma'am?" he asked and he moved under the shade. "Extremely. Could I get a cold water?" "Right away ma'am," the sweating waiter said as he took his note. "I wonder when them weather ponies are gonna make it rain. We've been in this right long drought for long enough. I reckon they're just a compensatin' for the excess rain they made last year. What do you think?" "I'll be able to think once I've gotten my water," Twilight said with another forceful rub of her temples. "Oh right away ma'am." Twilight watched the waiter sift back through the crowd and with another rub, she extracted the old dusty folder. She flipped it open and went to the papers that Spike had marked before she left. She took them out, closed the folder, and began to read. "Here's your water, ma'am," the waiter said when he approached. Twilight raised her head and looked up at the cool glass that was neatly plated on a platter. "Oh thank you," she said as she levitated the drink down and she took a long drain of it. That felt so much better. "So what do I think of what?" she asked, turning away from the file. "The drought, ma'am. You reckon it's just them weather ponies making up for last year's excess rain?" "I think so. It makes since to do that," Twilight said and she took another long drain of her water. "Well then ma'am, I'm gonna leave you to your work then," the waiter said as he backed out into the sun. "You look like you're pretty busy with somethin' so I'm just gonna leave you to it then. If you need anythin' else, just wave me down again." "Thank you." "Right on then. Have a nice day then, ma'am. Don't let the heat get to you too bad." Twilight waved farewell to her waiter and resumed reading. She reread the same lines several times as if there was some coded meaning in their letters. After a while, she gave it up as a bad job and put the papers back in the folder. She dropped it down into her bag and finished the last of her water. She crunched on the last cube of ice, stood to leave, and refastened the straps to her bags. She placed some bits on the table and stepped back out from under the shade. ****** "Mayor Mare," Loan said as he struggled to keep up with the pacing mare. "Mayor Mare, you really can't let this thing pass. If the public found out about you and this council voting to screw around with the stock markets for our own gains, you would surely be petitioned against. Your impeachment would be certain. Mayor, think about your career." "Don't you think it hasn't crossed my mind?" Mayor Mare asked, turning around from her constant pacing around her office. "I regret voting for it but you know how this council works. If somepony proposes something, then we should at least vote on it whether or not we approve of it." "I know this, Mayor, but even so. What Terra proposed is ridiculous. She wants us to get engaged with the markets and manipulate the prices and taxes so that we fill our own pockets, and what makes it worse is that the majority of this council approves of it. If this ever got out into the news then we'd be up to our necks with angry business ponies and merchants. Mayor, we have to do something about this nonsense before it spreads like fire." Mayor Mare did one final pace around her hot stuffy office before fetching a bottle of whiskey from the large ornate cabinet. She took it to her desk and poured a bit of it into a glass. She took a slow drain of it. "Now that's good stuff," she said as she sat down in her chair. "Nothing better than a cool whiskey to make you forget about your mistakes." "Your mistakes?" "Yes my mistakes," Mayor Mare said after she took another long slow drain of the whiskey. Her cheeks began to redden. "Mayor, that thing yesterday, I don't think it was a mistake of yours. It's as you said, 'If somepony proposes something, then we should at least vote on it whether or not we approve of it.'. I really don't think it was any mistake of yours." "You're too sweet, Loan." "No I'm not, Mayor. I'm just telling the truth of it." "Loan, please don't lie to me," Mayor said, taking then another sip from her whiskey. "But I'm not lying." "Loan . . . You ever think that maybe I'm not fit out to be a mayor?" she suddenly asked after a moment of silence. "What do you mean by that?" Loan asked as he took a seat in front of the desk. "Well it's all you know . . . I'll do something for the town but then I'll get negative feedback and reviews in the papers and I'll get letters talking about how what I did only made something worse. Then I'll try to fix it back and whenever I try to that I end up messing up with it and then I'll get even more bad feedback. Sometimes I wonder whether or not I'm meant to be a mayor." "That's stupid," Loan said, "You're the best mayor I know of. So what if you've made a mistake every now and then? Everypony makes mistakes like that. You've done much more good than you have done bad." "Loan, please no. I think this time I've really pushed myself over the top. I think it's as you say this time. 'Your impeachment would be certain'." "Why do you say that?" Loan asked as Mayor poured herself some more whiskey. She took a long slow time with it before she finally raised her eyes from the glass on the table. "I've already gone and called the demolition crew from Fillydelphia. They'll be here in several days." "You did what?" Loan asked sitting up, almost removing himself entirely from the chair. "You did what? Have you any idea what you've done? That stuff's not cheap in any way. You could have at least posted a poll around town asking what they think about it." "You think that would have worked?" Mayor asked as she poured yet again another glass of whiskey. "I think it would've done better to do so. At least then every pony in town will have had their chance to say what they've got to say. After all, without the support of the ponies, we would not be here. I think that by have going and discussing it with everypony in a town meeting, we would have been able to clearly steer clear of any negativity that's now bound to arise. Ponies don't like it when their governors and lawmakers go behind their backs and decide things on their own. Especially about something that's been such a part of this town ever since before its inception." "Well it's too late to do that now isn't it?" "Not if we can get flyers printed before the crew arrives. You said they'd be here in several days, right? Well that leaves us with several days to get everything set and primed for the meeting." Mayor rubbed her head in her hooves. "It takes a long time to set up anything like that and you know it," she said as she closed the lid to the bottle. She picked it up, crossed back to the liquor cabinet, and placed the whiskey back in its spot. "It would have taken days to organize such a meeting. Terra's not a patient pony and you know this. She's not really right in the head." "Mayor . . . " "Even if she is one of my employees, I want no trouble from her. Honestly, I'm a bit afraid of her." "Mayor . . . " "Loan, what's done is done. That old house is coming down and if my career comes down with it, then so be it." ****** Although it was not as hot as it was the day before, sweat trickled down from Twilight's brow and mane-line as she walked. Her saddlebags were heavy as she walked but she pushed onwards down the street to where Granny Smith had been yesterday. It wasn't long until she reached the spot and she wiped the sweat away from her brow. She looked at the empty spot, sighed, and walked away back to the square. When she arrived, she took a turn down the street to her immediate right and trotted on. She wiped away the sweat and deciding that Granny Smith wasn't on this road, she turned back. When she got back to the square, she took another road and it wasn't too long until she was face to face with the familiar crowd from the evening before. With a disheveled grunt, Twilight pushed her way into the crowd and struggled to reach the cart. When she reached it, instead of finding Granny Smith standing there behind the counter, she found Applejack. "Hi ya Twilight," she said as she gave some change to a young colt. "What can I do you for? Want some apples?" "Oh no thank you," Twilight said as she received a push from behind. "Can I move behind the counter with you? This crowd is ridiculous." "Uh sure sugarcube," Applejack said as she took the order of a young mare. Applejack moved to one of the side carts and removed four small green apples. She took the bits and waved as the young mare went on her way. "Thanks," Twilight said as she slipped behind the counter where Applejack was. It was far less crowded here. She let herself breath a sigh of relief. "Where's Granny Smith?" "Sugarcube, you asked me this yesterday. Didn't you just speak with her then?" "Well I did but I've got something I want to show her." "And just what is this something? Is it got something to do with that old house?" "It does actually," Twilight said as she undid the fastener to the bag and she rummaged inside for the old folder. When she had it, she set it down on the counter where Applejack could see. "Yesterday when Granny Smith and I were talking, she said that if I was going to find out anything the house, then I should speak with this old stallion by the name of Bindweed Orchid. She told me yesterday that decades ago, she and this stallion had a little thing going on but now ever since he's up and left, no pony knows where he is." Applejack looked down at the folder, opened it, and flipped through the old records until she came across the set of papers for Bindweed Orchid. She took a long look at the photo and closed the folder shut. "Well I've certainly heard that name before," she said as she returned to work. "You have?" Twilight asked as Applejack hoofed over a large red apple to a young unicorn mare. "Oh yeah. Several times before." "From where?" "Granny Smith. I remember several times ago Big Mac and myself would be out working and she'd walk by talking about something and every now and then there would be 'Bindweed'." "Well then. Where's Granny Smith? I want to show this to her as soon as possible." "She's at home taking her nap," Applejack explained. "It is that time of day remember?" "Oh right," Twilight said as she levitated the old folder back into her bag. "Alright then. See you later, AJ." "Are you sure you don't want any apples?" Applejack asked when Twilight turned away to leave. Twilight stopped in her tracks and turned around to look at the selection of apples. "Can I have one of those bright green ones?" ****** The sun was hot as Twilight walked down the dirt road towards the farm. She was levitating the green apple she had bought in front of her as she walked and every so often she would stop and take a large bite out of it. She continued on her way. She got her hoof stuck in a hole several times as she went and would have to stop and struggle to free herself from its grip. When she reached the main area in front of the large barn, she never wanted to see another hole. She walked past the large doors and saw the large wasps next lying on the ground, the side of it caved in. "What happened with the wasps nest?" Twilight asked when Big Mac suddenly exited the barn carrying behind him an empty cart. "I beat it down," he simply replied as he gave the nest a swift kick. It flew in the air about twenty feet before landing with a soft rustle in a ditch. "You beat it down?" "Eeyup. Got stung several times too." "But I though that Applejack said that you and her had had your own share of stings and that they were no problem? You say it now as if they are." Big Macintosh kicked at the ground and coughed at the puff of dust met his muzzle. "Well they aren't," he said as he wiped dust away from his eyes. "But even so, they still hurt like breaking a bone whenever they happen." "You've broken a bone?" Twilight asked warily as she looked over at the broken nest. "Eeyup. That was the worst pain I ever felt." "What bone did you break?" "Oh I can't remember . . . I think it mighta been that real big one in your leg. Do you know what it's called? I reckon it may have been that one but you see, I was young colt when it happened. Only thing I can really much remember is me and a friend of mine were taking turns jumping over this bush in front of the porch and once when it was my turn, I landed wrong I think. Like I said, I can't remember much except it hurting like taking a couple of wasp stings to the knee." "Oh . . . I see." "Eeyup . . . so anyway Twilight, what's you doing here?" "I've got something to show to Granny Smith. Is she still inside?" "Just how did you know about Granny Smith being inside?" "Well Big Mac, I've been in Ponyville long enough to know how most of everypony goes on about their lives, and besides I just got done speaking with Applejack before I came here," Twilight explained and she lifted the green apple up higher for Big Mac to get a better look at. "That's one of them apples from that tree AJ keeps doting over like it's a baby or something. I know cause I was the one that bucked down them batch of apples yesterday. I remember every single apple I buck. Every bruise, every spot, every roll; everything about 'em." "So is Granny Smith still inside then?" Twilight asked, moving away from the subject of apples. "Oh yeah. You can just go on along right inside if you like," Big Mac said as he loosened the harness and tightened it again to create a snugger fit. "That front door ain't locked any so you can just go on in and talk with her if you want to." "Okay. Thanks Big Mac." "Eeyup," he replied simply with a wave of farewell and he set down the path to the orchard. Twilight waved in response and got on her way to the house. She passed by the broken wasp nest and looked at it. Its thin delicate shell had been shredded and broken in, its form dented and unrecognizable, the small cavities of it punctured and torn, its inhabitants gone. Twilight felt a little sorry for it but she went again on her way. She crossed over the small ditch and made her way up the slight hill to the front porch of the wooden house. The old steps creaked beneath her hooves as she stepped and the landing of the porch sagged a little under her weight. Twilight quickly moved to the side and walked up to the door. She gave it a knock and waited. After a while of waiting, she knocked again and waited. After yet another while of waiting for a response, she finally gave up and opened the door. The door made a funny sound as it swung on its hinges and it came to a stop as it made contact with the wall. Twilight stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She quietly marched to the living room area and sure enough, Granny Smith was propped up in her chair fast asleep. Twilight walked up to beside the chair and gave Granny Smith a short curt shake. When she didn't wake from her nap, Twilight shook her again. When she still didn't respond, Twilight shook her again, although more forcefully this time. "Wazz a goin' on?" Granny Smith asked when she quickly opened her eyes. "Is it time to make jam yet?" "Granny Smith . . . " "Oh hey Twilight. Sorry I didn't recognize you a first. What's you want from me today?" "I've got something to show you." "Something to know me? But you already know me." Twilight put her hoof across her head and sighed. "No, Granny Smith. I have something to SHOW you." "Oh you've got something to show me. What is this something?" Granny Smith asked as she sat up a little higher in her chair. "Yesterday when you were telling me about Bindweed Orchid, Spike found this old folder that's got some old documents and records in it. I was wondering if you could look through them and see if it's the same pony. Also, I was wondering if you could tell me some more about him? Maybe something you say will give me a clue or something." "Yeah I can look through those papers; I'm not too old that I can't read but I really don't know of anything else I can say that'll give you anything else to go from. If I was you Twilight, I would just give up on him and just accept the old story as simply being a story." "Well then at least tell me then whether or not these documents are about the same Bindweed Orchid as you told me yesterday," Twilight said. She magicked open the saddle bag and lifted out the folder. She set it down on the table beside the chair and flipped through to Bindweed's documents. "There you have it. Is this stallion the same Bindweed Orchid you were telling me about yesterday?" Granny Smith looked down at the photograph and smiled. "Oh yes. I haven't seen that face in so long but yes, this is definitely him." "It says that he was born in Westerby. Where's Westerby? I've never heard of a place like that before," Twilight said as she also peered through the papers. "Westerby used to be this old little town a little to the north of Ponyville," Granny Smith said with a smile, not taking her eyes off the old picture. "Then why haven't I heard about it before?" "Oh Twilight, that poor old town's been long gone for many decades now," Granny Smith explained quietly, lost in thought. "When that dam got built up on the river, Westerby was one of those little off-to-the-side towns that was evacuated when the water began to rise. If you go out to reservoir now, there's this little sign commemorating the little towns and hamlets that are now entirely submerged beneath the water. It was a nice little town before the water rose. There was this nice little church with gargoyles all around the bell tower and every time it would rain, the water would be funneled through and come out of their eyes and mouths. It really looked as though they could have been crying. There was the flower garden by this old creek and every spring, it would bud all these really beautiful bunches of Irises and Lilies. Oh it was always so beautiful." "And so it's all gone now . . . " "Yes, it's all gone now," Granny Smith sadly said, finally raising her eyes from the page. "Although during droughts like this one we're having now, you can still go by and see the tip of the old bell tower. Just a couple of days ago I went and took a look at it myself. Oh how the years have gone." Twilight shuffled her hooves and took back the folder. She closed it and set it back down into the bag that hung from her right side. "Well then," was all she said as Granny Smith turned to look out the window. "You know Twilight, all these years can simply pass us by and begin anew but even so, the events of those years never really pass. When that dam was built and the waters began to rise, a lot of ponies were upset by it. In the matter of weeks, many families and lives were misplaced and changed forever. I can't tell you how much negative feedback there was all those years ago but it was certainly too much to really say. Ponies fought against the dam and even held demonstrations outside the town hall in Manehattan, which of course is where the decision to build the dam was made. There was a lot of things that happened and even after all these years, they're still so fresh. Twilight, why are you making this old mare remember such things?" "You were telling me about Westerby," Twilight said a little uneasily. "Oh yes," Granny Smith said, remembering the subject of their talk. "Sorry for making you listen to my rambling." "Oh it's no problem," Twilight replied. "Well Twilight, I'm afraid that's really all I can tell you. If you ever want to go check out that sign you're free to do so whenever you feel like it. I'm sure you'll like it." "I'm sure I will too," Twilight said and she tied the bag closed. "I think I'll go take a look at it before the sun sets this evening. I'll let you get back to your nap. See you later, Granny Smith." "You too, Twilight." Twilight walked from the living room and out the front door. When she stepped out from the shade of the porch, the heat from the high sun hit her like bricks. She really wished it would hurry and rain soon. She made her way back down the hill, across the ditch, and gave the battered wasp nest a final glance. She walked back to the barn, waved farewell to Big Macintosh who had recently returned with more apples, and set down the dirt road again. This time, she avoided all the holes. ****** The sun was setting behind the hills as the day approached the night. After Twilight had left the Sweet Apple Acres, she returned to the cool confines of the library and placed the old folder back into its place in the Records Room. She had sat down at the counter and began to read again the book she had started two nights ago. She got close to the ending of it and was pleased with the way things were turning out. When she noticed the time on the clock, she closed the book, set it back on the shelf, made a mental note to finish it, and left Spike alone again to his work. The temperatures were beginning to make their fall as Twilight walked through the rapidly emptying streets and the faint cry of the cicadi could be heard over the dull roar of the town square. Wisps of cirrus clouds were beginning to form high above in the sky and in the dusk, they were painted a deep hue of red and pink. Twilight walked on. When she came to the fork in the main road, she took the right and trotted down to where Granny Smith had said. It had been a couple of hours since Twilight left the farm when Granny Smith entered the library. She bought up the subject of the reservoir and the memorial sign and told Twilight which way to go to find it. Twilight walked on. She came to an intersection with a lane that directly paralleled the reservoir for its entire circumference and turned right onto it. She walked for a mile just listening to how the waves lapped over onto the shore. It wasn't until too much longer that she finally reached the memorial. It jutted out a fair ways over the reservoir and was obviously well-done. Its floors were polished oak and its safety fences were intricately bent cast iron and at the very head of the deck was a large sign. The large sign was very intricate in its own right. It was pure white marble and carved into it was a very detailed map of the reservoir and Twilight was amazed that the map included pointers that showed to everypony where all the submerged towns lie beneath the waves. The sign also had a quote at the bottom that Twilight couldn't make out from where she stood. She moved closer to where an older stallion was also looking at it. When she approached the sign, the ancient stallion moved aside but never moved his gaze from the sign. "Um . . . hello," Twilight said to the old stallion. "Um, I'm Twilight Sparkle," she continued on with when the old stallion didn't reply. The stallion shook his head and leaned in closer to look at the map. "Hello," he finally said after a long silence. "I'm Twilight Sparkle," she said again, unsure if he had heard it that first time. "I heard you the first time, kid." Twilight shuffled her hooves uneasily and randomly looked around the deck and around the large reservoir. "Did you used to live in one of the old towns here?" "More or less." "Which one?" "Westerby." Twilight pricked her ears at the sound of the town and moved in closer to where the old stallion was standing, his gaze unbroken from the map carved into the marble. "What's your name?" she asked excitedly. "I'm no pony special," the stallion simply replied, taking a step away from Twilight. She took a step closer. "What's your name?" she asked again. "Like I said, kid, I'm no pony special," he curtly said as he moved yet further away. Twilight moved in closer to where he had moved and asked again, "What's your name?" The ancient stallion gave Twilight a harsh look before finally sighing and drooping his head close to the floor of the deck. He sighed again. "If I tell you will you leave me alone then?" he asked. "Of course," Twilight simply responded with a smile and the ancient stallion sighed again. "My name is Bindweed Orchid."
ConversationsThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 3: Conversations "You're who?" Twilight asked, almost falling back to her haunches in surprise at the old stallions answer. "I said my name's Bindweed Orchid," he replied as he took a step further away. "Bindweed Orchid?" Twilight asked, stunned to a point of disbelief. She had thought that finding him would have been much harder. "That's my name," Bindweed said turning to look at his company. "You got some hearing problem, kid? Want me to say it again?" "Oh that's not necessary," Twilight said happily as she bounded upright. "That's not necessary," she said again. "I'm actually really really happy I found you." "Why would you be happy you found some old fart pony who ain't worth more than a load of beans?" Bindweed asked as he took another step back from her. "Seems like a waste of time if you ask me." "Because I have some questions I want you to answer." "And what would these questions be? I've lived far longer than you have and I've been asked far too many questions. I'm tired of hearing them and so now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back home." Twilight rushed in front of Bindweed blocking his path and nearly causing him to fall back on his rump. "What was that for kid?" he angrily asked as he maintained his standing posture. "You can't just go up to old ponies like me and cause them to stumble like that. Have you got no sense?" "Oh I'm really sorry," Twilight apologized as she backed away from him. "I just really have some things I want to discuss with you about." "What things?" Bindweed asked, pushing himself past and circling around. "Be quick with it." Twilight gulped as she looked at the impatient stallion and wiped away a nervous sweat. His old dark eyes pierced her all the way through like an x-ray would. She gulped again and fumbled with her sentence, "Oh well um . . . um . . . Well, do you know who Granny Smith is?" "What'd you say that name was?" "Granny Smith . . . " "She runs Sweet Apple Acres over by Ponyville?" Twilight nodded her head as Bindweed began to pace around the pier. He sighed and drooped his head to the floor again. He kicked around and walked back to the marble sign. He looked at it so intensely, Twilight could have sworn he was looking right through it. She shuffled her hooves, uncomfortable with his silence and she lazily tossed her mane while she waited. All evidence of her headache from that noon gone just like the wind that kicked up the waves on the surface of the large deep reservoir. Bindweed finally spoke, "So I'm reckoning that you wanna hear about that Mayberry House?" "How did you know?" Twilight asked, taken aback by his sudden question. "Why else would you be interested in me so much?" Bindweed asked. "I expect that old mare has gone and told you all about who I am." "She only told me that you're the grandson of the mare that died in the house and that you and her had a little fling of sorts when you were younger." "Well all that's true." Twilight took a step back from the old stallion as he turned away from the sign. "Why are you so bitter?" she asked as he kicked around the pier, shaking his head. "Life has made me bitter, kid. I've walked all around Equestria trying to get away from that damn house and no matter where I go, it follows me. It's like a dog or something that'll follow you until you either kill it or until you kill yourself. Not to mention where ever I go, somepony who's heard the story finds out who I am and then they won't stop pestering me about it. I'm tired of it and I just want it to leave me the hell alone. You see, kid? Life's made me bitter. Or rather specifically, that damn old house has made me bitter." "Oh I'm sorry but I really want to hear about it," Twilight said as she sympathized to his plight. "Why should I tell you anything? Are you set out to annoy me? I finally get back to where I was born and raised and then I find out that it's been submerged under some fucking lake. Have you any idea of how mad I am right now? That town was the most beautiful thing in Equestria but now it's gone and it ain't ever coming back. That damn old house is the last thing on my mind right now." "You were born in Westerby? But I was thinking that because you're the grandson that you were likely born in - " "Born in that old house?" Bindweed continued for her. "You thought wrong didn't you? My father moved away from that old house with my mom who was one of his servants. Together they moved to Westerby and had me there. I have never set hoof in that house nor do I ever want to." "Why did they move to Westerby? Why was Westerby so special? Also, how come you've never stepped inside? It's your ancestor's house. Surely you'd have some lingering love for it," Twilight said. "Why are you so full of questions, kid? I just told you I'm tired of it. And no, I have no love for that house. Now you stop asking me about it." "Why not? Your grandparents and your parents lived there for a time. How come you don't love it?" "Kid, my dad's told me things about that house that you would not believe. That house is nothing but trouble. It's always been nothing but trouble." "What kind of trouble?" "The kind of trouble that's got to do with love, lust, and murder. Ponies have died because of that damn house," Bindweed said bitterly. "How would you feel if you were connected with a kind of history like that? Hmm? It don't feel so good, now does it? Like I said, that house is nothing but trouble." "Murder? But . . . " Twilight began in shock of what she was hearing. "But what? You thinking that the story was all about happiness and butterflies and summer strolls? Wrong. That story's all kinds of sad tragic stuff and I'm ashamed as can be to be connected with it." "But even so," Twilight said as she nervously side-stepped in front of the stallion as he tried to walk by. "But even so, I want to hear it. I love stories. Let me hear yours and then I'll let you go on your way." "And if I don't tell you? What will you do then?" Bindweed asked as he tried to find some way around. "I'll follow you until you tell me," Twilight simply said as she stepped in front of him again. Bindweed fell to his haunches and cringed at the idea of being followed around. He shot Twilight a very dirty look before finally submitting and he let out a deep sigh. "If I tell you, will you let me go on my way?" "I will." "If I tell you everything will you keep it to yourself and forget that you ever saw me?" "I will." Bindweed deeply sighed again and stood to his hooves. He gave his long lank mane a run through with his hoof and stared deeply at the floor again before finally raising his head to look Twilight in her eyes. "Fine. But you'd better not follow me once I leave." "Really?" Twilight asked in disbelief. "Yes really." "Everything?" "Yes everything. .Just as my own father told me," Bindweed replied reluctantly. "Where will you tell me?" Twilight asked as she excitedly fidgeted around the area. "Oh it's got to be someplace just right since it's gonna be a long story. I would suggest the house but you don't wanna go there . . . oh where? Oh! Maybe I can get the library set up just right," she continued on about to herself in complete disregard of her companion. "I do not care," Bindweed said as he pushed himself past Twilight. "It's that large tree near the center of Ponyville?" "Yes sir. That's the one." "I'll be there around noon. Don't you dare keep me waiting. If you keep me waiting I'm just gonna get up and leave." "Oh no. I won't." "Good then," Bindweed scoffed as he walked to the road. He gave a short formal nod and with a light scowl, he departed. When he left, Twilight blinked in disbelief, clearly astonished by what had happened. She did a short little jump in accomplishment and smiled as she looked around the memorial pier. She finally registered the rising moon and shivered as she felt the cool of the night. She turned her head to the road and with a quick final look around, she left also. She walked back down the road to where she had come from while listening to the rippling of the waves. She turned back onto the main road and when she reached the familiar fork, she turned back to town. She had so much to prepare. ****** "Applejack," Twilight called as she knocked on the wooden door. She had woken early that morning in a rush. She had quickly set up things around the library so that when Bindweed showed up, things wouldn't get uncomfortable. She had then rushed from the library down the road to where she turned onto the road to the orchard. She gave the door another quick rap with her hoof and waited. "Applejack!" "What you hollarin' around for?" Applejack asked she rounded the corner of the house with buckets of water draped over her back. "Honestly Twilight. It's only ten thirty in the mornin' and you're already over here screamin' around for me. What can I do you for?" "Oh good, Applejack," Twilight happily said as she turned around from the door. "Come with me." "Go with you where?" "The library." "Why?" "'Why?'" Twilight repeated as she bounced down the stairs. "Because there's something you really must hear." "Hear what?" Applejack asked. "A story," Twilight replied excitedly. "What kinda story?" "The story about that old Mayberry -" "Nope," Applejack flatly said. "Nope. Nope. Nope. Don't wanna hear about it. It's just some stupid silly ghost story that I've heard too much of. I don't wanna hear it." "But Applejack -" Twilight tried to say. "No 'buts'. And even if I wanted to hear it again for the hundredth time, I just ain't got the time today. I got gardens to water and trees to buck. Not to mention Big Mac's wasp stings are acting up again. We both keep on forgettin' that he's a little allergic to them. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way." Twilight stared as her friend pushed herself by and down the short path to the gardens. She watched as Applejack, going one bucket at a time, poured water into the irrigation system. Twilight gave the ground an unsure stare before finally deciding to leave. She gave Applejack one last look and turned away back down the road. ****** Twilight walked down the road by the river to Fluttershy's cottage. She gave the Mayberry House a long stare as she passed. The day birds were out and about, here and there singing their songs and the quiet stream of the river kept her company as she impatiently walked. When she arrived at the cottage, she gave the door several sharp knocks. "H-hello?" squeaked a timid voice from the other side. "Fluttershy, it's me, Twilight. Open the door." Twilight quickly said. "Oh hello, Twilight," Fluttershy quietly said as she slowly pushed the door open to let her friend in. The door gave a hardly-audible creak as it opened as far as it would. "Do you need something from me?" "I do actually," Twilight replied as she took a step inside. "I want you to come with me." "Go with you where? It's not some dark and dangerous place is it? You know I don't like doing dangerous things." "Oh no, Fluttershy. It's nothing like that. I want you to come to the library." Fluttershy looked around the room as if looking for an answer before nodding. "Okay. I can do that. Do you want me to come now or -" "Oh no, just come around noon. There's something I want you to hear," Twilight responded as a bird flew past her ear. "What do you want me to hear? Why can't you tell me now?" "It's a long story, or at least I think it will be. So anyway, see you around noon then?" Fluttershy nodded in agreement of the time. She gave the room a final look around before nodding again. "Okay," she said as she looked at the time. "Well it's already eleven so I guess I'll finish cleaning and then -" she continued on until she realized that Twilight had already left. She gave the door a quick close before setting herself back to work. ****** "Rarity, it's imperative that you come with me at once," Twilight said as she sat down behind the table in front of her friend. After Fluttershy had agreed to show, she had teleported herself to the Carousel Boutique in hopes of finding her friend there. When she arrived, Rarity had already been busy at work with a new dress and had cursed up a storm when her papers were tossed about the room. Twilight had been quick to apologize and clean up the mess. "Why should I after you just up and suddenly teleport your way into my room and toss all my papers around?" Rarity asked after she took a sip of her tea. "My deary, that was not a very feminine thing to do." Twilight rolled her eyes at this. "I said I was sorry, didn't I?" "That's true," Rarity said as she refilled her cup. "But even so, you messed up a good two hours worth of work that I'm going to have to redo and find out where I was in it. I'm also going to have to go through all those papers again and that takes time." ' "I know it does but even so -" "Even so, being the lady that I am, I will hear what it is you want me to hear. Have away at it, darling." Twilight sat back in her chair and drummed her hoof atop the face of the table. "Well it's like this: I have something I really want you to hear. I've already spoken to Fluttershy about it and she'll be coming along to hear it. So I was wondering if you would come too." Rarity took a swig of her tea before saying, "And just where do you want me to go with you?" "The library." "Why the library?" "So that we won't get uncomfortable while the story's being told." Rarity quizzically gazed Twilight up and down, trying to find any hint of a ruse. "What story?" she finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. "Do you remember when you told me that it was a lady's duty to search for and to be moved by stories of romance or whatever it was?" Twilight asked as she fidgeted uncomfortably in Rarity's gaze. "I do. Yes. So again, what story?" "The entire story about how and why the Mayberry House came into being." "And what makes you think I'd like to hear that? I've already told you it's just a silly old story." "Because you said it was a lady's duty to seek romance," Twilight flatly replied. "This story is going to be that kind of story I think. At least that's what he said about the house anyway." "Who is 'he'?" Rarity asked as she sat up higher in her own chair. She set her cup down on a coaster with a light of her horn. "Who is this 'he'?" she asked again. "Bindweed Orchid. The grandson of the mare that supposedly died in the house." "Oh?" Twilight nodded her head as Rarity raised her eyebrows at the sound of the name. Twilight nodded again. Rarity took a final drain of her tea before standing. She gave her mane a quick comb-through before turning to walk to the door. "Well then. Don't you think that it's prudent that we leave? After all, you come bursting in here like none of your business demanding that I go with you. Well let's go then and get this over with." ****** Twilight and Rarity returned to the confines of the library and took a seat around the lounge area. Twilight had Spike go fetch some tea and cookies from the kitchen while they waited for Fluttershy to arrive. It wasn't too long of a wait before there was a light knock on the door. Spike rushed to open it and there stood the familiar yellow mare. She glided in, her hooves barely in contact with the cool floor, and sat down beside Twilight. The friends exchanged greetings and they waited. Just as when the clock tolled noon, there was a sharp heavy knock on the door. Spike went to open it and was met with a door to the face as Bindweed Orchid heavily strolled in. He took off his day hat and hung it from the post beside the door. He took a look around at the crowd before turning around and grabbing his hat down from the post. "Wait!" Twilight cried as Bindweed placed a hoof upon the doorknob. "Just where do you think you're going?" "I did not agree to tell the story to a bunch of mares. Only to you so that you'd leave me alone. Not to this. The deal is off. I am leaving." "Oh please don't leave," Twilight said as she teleported herself in front of him to stop his advance through the door. "They're my friends and they expressed an interest in the story -" She shot Fluttershy and Rarity a look. They quickly nodded. "- And so I bought them along to hear it. Please sir, it's just us three. Please tell us." "Excuse me, sir?" Rarity spoke up from her cushion. "Aren't you Bindweed Orchid? Twilight told me about you." "So you told 'em who I was now did you?" Bindweed asked hotly as he turned back to Twilight. "Just her. Please, just sit down and tell us your story." "What story?" Fluttershy asked suddenly. Bindweed shot her a look and she cowered in her spot. "Oh um . . . what story? If you don't mind." "Your friend here, Twilight, wants me to tell you the story about the Mayberry House," Bindweed explained. "But I ain't sure I'm going to anymore. I didn't agree to come and tell it to a bunch of ponies who probably have better things to do than listen to an old pony like me tell stories." "Oh no, sir. I don't have anything to do today," Fluttershy quietly said from her hole. "Oh Twilight, I already told you that the house is haunted. Why do you want us to hear it?" "What did you say. filly?" Bindweed asked as he turned around to look Fluttershy in her face. "What did you say that house was?" "Oh um . . . um . . . I-I s-said that it was h-haunted," Fluttershy stuttered as she crouched under his intense gaze. "'Haunted' you said?" Fluttershy nodded. "Haunted? Don't make me laugh, filly. That damn old house is about as haunted as a piece of parchment. As a matter of fact it might as well be just as worthless as a piece of parchment." "And how would you know?" Rarity asked, drawing his gaze away from Fluttershy. "And just how do you know that the house isn't haunted? Hmm?" "Filly, my father, Boldwood Orchid, invented that silly story to keep mosey little foals like you all from gettin' near the house and messin' up with it after he and my mother moved away to Westerby," Bindweed explained as he took a step forward. "That house up there is about as haunted as a piece of parchment," he said again. "So that house isn't haunted?" Fluttershy asked. "But my grandmother -" "Your grandmother was wrong all along then. That house has never been haunted. The closet thing to haunted that house has ever been was when a family of squirrels moved into the attic. I took a look around the house before I came over and there's a whole swarm of those nasty annoying creatures all over the place" "So are you going to tell us the story or not?" Twilight shot across as she sat back down in her cushion. "You're not leaving me with much of a choice now are you?" Bindweed asked as he removed his hat again. "You've all got me to talking and now I ain't just about to shut up and be on my way. Well that's not how I do things. Fine. I'll tell you. But only just you three." "Fine. Only us three," Twilight agreed. "Spike can go and hang out with Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash while you tell us." Bindweed heavily marched back to the door and set his hat back on the post. He returned with a heavy grunt and slammed his old rump down into his own cushion. "How much of it do you wanna hear?" he asked to his audience. "Everything," Twilight replied. "Everything. In all of it's entirety." "Fine. Be prepared for a long story cause I'm gonna tell you everything just as how my own father told me."
A Description of Palmer OrchidThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 4: A Description of Palmer Orchid Palmer Orchid stood contently atop the windy hill as he watched over his farm below. The wind brushed through his mane and sent it all aflutter. He smiled. This was such a smile that his eyes were reduced to slits, his bony cheeks rose high on his face, and his mouth curled to an extreme point. It was a good day. Palmer Orchid was a sheep herder and shepherd. He went about his job with the utmost satisfaction and he never regretted a single day of it. Other than his job about the farm, for which he was generously paid, he was often enough a lazy stallion who always went about with his head in the sky, dreaming of what he would do once he got back to the farm. Often on Sundays during church, instead of listening to sermon, he would sit in the back row in a doze. He was in constant thought of perhaps what should he enjoy for lunch or perhaps why he didn't eat breakfast that morning. Or perhaps even why he was in a doze in the first place. He was always in thought and when he would catch himself in one of his dozes, he would constantly scold himself for not paying more attention. Even so, his days went on. He owned an old, tarnished, brass watch that he kept stuffed in the pocket of his attire. His attire, since he worked six days out of the seven, was simple and modest. He wore a little collar around his neck, a hastily-tied bow tie that hung loose, and a woolen shirt that he tried to keep clean. This was his attire and he would not have had it any other way. Now his watch was handed down to him from his own father who in turn had received it from his father and so on. The watch had a small dent on the front of its casing and it hardly ever had the right time anymore, but at least it was right two times a day. Palmer Orchid had the air of a stallion with very little want or need. Even though he had a reasonable sum of money, he spent all his time living in a little cottage by the edge of his field. In the town of Klimmington, Palmer was viewed as one who frayed close along the lines of what was socially acceptable and what wasn't. To his friends, when they were in a bad mood, he was seen as an annoyance; when they were in a good mood, he was the best to ever be around; when they were neither, he was simply neither as well. Palmer Orchid stood tall and firm above most of everypony else in Klimmington. His coat was light and mellow and his mane and tail were a slight hue of green. To most, he resembled a spring flower in full bloom. His eyes were bright hazel and he went about his business as he always did. His long unicorn horn was the same shade as the rest of him and he was mighty proud of it. He crossed over the crest of the hill and slowly walked along the rim of it, taking in a clear view of his pasture. His sheep were all bundled together in a tight pack near a pond as they contentedly grazed on the grass. Another breeze ruffled through over the hill causing the bountiful leaves in the tree branches above his head to rustle. He had always enjoyed the sound of rustling leaves in the wind. He marched on and descended to the fence. He spotted a broken beam and made a mental note to fix it as soon as he had the chance to. He went back about his business and walked to where his hut was built up. He stepped inside, sat down on his modest bed, and took down a sketch from the mantle piece. Palmer came from a farming family for which he was always proud. His family dated back to some of the earlier generations of Equestria. If he remembered correctly, the earliest known ancestor of his had been around when Nightmare Moon had made her debut. Palmer remembered about how his father would always tell him stories that had been passed down about that moment. He would always hear about how there was a distant explosion of magic from Canterlot and about how the land was cast in eternal darkness. Ever since he was told that story, he would always imagine to himself what eternal night would be like. Through all the years, his family has farmed and they have herded. They hailed from the northern regions of Equestria where the winters were always brutal. There, they didn't prosper and their harvests were often lost due to early unscheduled snowstorms. After deciding enough was enough, his ancestors picked up their belongings and set out in search of finer grounds. After centuries of travel, they finally descended from the hills down to the town of Klimmington. It was here in these rich fields that they found their land of milk and honey. Palmer looked down at the old sketching of his grandfather and his own father and smiled. He was proud of who he was and where he had come from. He set the sketching back on the mantle above the fire pit and opened up one of the side windows. After he checked himself in the mirror and flattened his ruffled mane with a passing of a brush, he took his stick from the hook beside the door and stepped outside. When he descended down the crooked steps of his hut, he whistled for his dogs. He waited for a moment and whistled again. He pricked his ears to the western fields and listened. Nothing. He whistled again for them and pricked his ears this time towards the eastern fields. Still nothing. Growing irritated, Palmer took his stick with a light of his horn and marched up towards the crest of the hill again as another breeze stole its way over. The trees rustled at its touch but Palmer ignored them. He crossed over the ridge of the hill and stared down into the grassy meadow below. There in the tall grasses, his dogs played mindlessly. Palmer had two dogs; one of which was nearing seven and the other was still just only two. The older dog, his favorite dog, went by the name of Tinker. Palmer had received Tinker as a present one Hearth's Warming Eve before his old father finally passed. Ever since then, Tinker had grown into an excellent herder who always got the mark just right. The younger dog however was simply a mess. He spent all his time listlessly strolling the fields barking at whatever he found and causing all a ruckus that Palmer would have to spend all day correcting. Palmer wasn't fond of this dog in the slightest. He gave a final whistle and their heads straightened up at the sound. They ran up the tall hill and down into the adjacent pasture; Palmer followed with a grunt. He whistled for them again and they set out to work. Palmer crossed the deep pasture to the watering pond and with a swing of his stick, the grazing sheep heeded way. They went about their way while the last few stragglers remained behind to finish eating. Palmer set his dogs out for those still behind while he went and followed the group of sheep as they rounded over the hill into the grassy meadow. There, he waited until Tinker brought over the stragglers. The other dog whom he had never bothered to name was probably off taking a swim in the pond. With a scowl, he looked over the meadow to the blight blue sky set against the flat horizon and he set himself to thinking about something his father had told him years ago. "Palmer, there's somethin' I gotta tell ya before we go out. I'm an old stallion but I know a somethin' or two 'bout life," the old stallion had said one day at the breakfast table. "Life's only what ya make of it. If ya think it hard, then it's always gonna be hard. If ya think it easy, then it'll always be easy. There' nothin' wrong with life, son. The only things wrong with it is the lack of hope. If ya hope for somethin' with all your might, then it might someday come true . . . Son, there's somethin' beautiful 'bout the sky set on the horizon. There's somethin' pretty 'bout it that I can't quite explain. Ya just have ta find it for yourself and pray that you'll find somethin' precious on it." Thinking back to what his father had said, Palmer set his gaze out to the horizon and stared. It was certainly pretty as far as he could tell but there was nothing really amazing about it. He stole his eyes away from it and set out about one last circle around the herd. He made sure the sheep were doing what they were meant to and with a glance back to the crest of the hill, he ascended. When he neared the ridge, he set his eyes down into the pasture and sure enough, that young dog was enjoying a lazy swim in the pond. Palmer cursed that lazy dog as much as he could and walked along the ridge, waving in and out between the trunks of the trees. He kept a watchful eye over his herd as he went and enjoyed a slight breeze that ruffled his slight green mane. He descended back to his hut but stopped as he heard the rattle of the wheels of a heavy wagon as it drove down the side road towards town. Curious as to who it could be, Palmer cautiously rounded the base of the hill and made his way over to the fence. He watched as the wagon, pulled by two large burly mulls, came to a sudden halt. Palmer etched closer to it as the driver descended onto the dirt road. "I think I may have heard something fall a while back," Palmer heard a soft sweet voice. Puzzled and wondering why a stallion wagon-driver would have such a voice, Palmer etched closer, still crouching behind the low fence. When he got closer to the wagon, he found that it had not been the driver that had spoken but instead had been a young unicorn mare. "Ay, ma'am," he heard the driver say in his low voice. "What do you reckon it may have been?" "It sounded to me like it may have been a loose board or something," she flatly replied as she looked out around at the hills and pastures. "Why don't you go see?" "Ay, ma'am," the driver said with a curt little nod of his head. With a final word to the mulls pulling the wagon, he departed in a quick trot back down the road again. Checking to see if he had gone, the young unicorn mare turned around in the seat of the wagon. She rummaged through the mess in the back and when she found what she was looking for, she turned back around in her seat and placed it onto the board before her. Palmer was amazed that she had managed to find anything at all in that mess of stuff. The back of the wagon was filled to its brim and higher with items loosely tossed in together. There was no sense of order in any of it. Palmer could see bits of ornate furniture and other bits and pieces of this and that. He guess this must be one of those new fancy rich ponies that were making it their habit to move out to the country. He continued watching. The unicorn mare undid the tie around the paper and opened up the package. With a gentle light of her horn, she levitated up a small mirror in front of her face and she took a long look at herself. Even from where Palmer crouched behind the fence, he could clearly see a flood of blush cross her yellow cheeks. He watched as she fidgeted in her seat and messed around with her blue mane. When she saw her reflection blush in the mirror, she blushed even harder. When the driver came trotting back up the road with a board caught in between his jaws, the mare quickly set the mirror back into its package and set it back into the mess of belongings. She quickly shook her head and freed herself of any trace of blush. "Ay, ma'am," the driver said after he placed the board back onto the wagon. "T'was so a board. So right you were ma'am." "So we're finally ready to go along then?" the mare asked as she scooted over in the seat so the driver could climb back up. "Ay, ma'am," he replied with a quick nod to the mulls. With a kick of dust, the wagon continued on its way down the road. Curious, Palmer followed behind as close as he dared to. He followed until the wagon came to yet another abrupt stop in front of the gates to town. Palmer got close enough within hearing range to hear the heated conversation. "What do you mean I have to pay to get in?" the mare angrily asked as her loose bun came unfurled. "Can't you see I've got a wagon-full of belongings? My stuff cannot wait just because you want me to pay." "I'm mighty sorry, ma'am," the gate keep said lightly with a tip of his hat. "But that's the way things stand here. According to what I was told by my manager, the town is looking to refurbish some things around these parts and that they need as many bits as they can get. So cause of that, ma'am, here I am on the side of the road. And I'm mighty sorry ma'am, but I can't let you pass until you cork over the three bits." "That is preposterous," the mare angrily said. "Isn't there anypony I can talk to about this? I forgot my wallet behind at my uncle's farm near Westerby. That's a ten hours ride back and it'll be well into night by the time I ever there. Isn't there some way you could let me pass?" "No ma'am. I wish there was cause I hate to make you go back on your way, but there's no way around it," the keep flatly replied with another respectful tip of his hat. The mare cursed loudly at his answer and set herself into a stupor. Palmer decided that he had seen enough and bounded from behind the fence. "Here ma'am,":he said as he rummaged with his bag. "Use my bits if it ain't too much trouble for you," Palmer continued as he lifted up three bits for the mare to see. She took them without even a look down to express any form of thanks and passed them down to the keep. While the keep counted the bits, she set about fixing her mane back into the loose bun. When the gate finished counting the bits and placed them into a little pail, he let the wagon pass through. "She's a very pretty mare, ain't she farmer?" the keep asked as he nudged Palmer in the side. "Ay, 'tis so," Palmer agreed with a nod of his head as he watched the wagon kick up dust in its wake. "Yup. I would love to be in with a mare like that," the keep said as he sat back down on his stool. "I would not." "Why's that, farmer?" "Mares like her have their faults," Palmer simply replied as he pushed his mane away from his eyes. "Ay, 'tis so. A bit too hard to handle if you ask me," the keep sadly said as he kicked at the road. "True; but no." "What then, farmer?" "Vanity."
Incident on Corner LaneThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 5: Incident on Corner Lane It was nearing midnight, nearly four days since Palmer Orchid had watched the new curious mare stroll into town in her over-loaded wagon. Since that afternoon and initial meeting, Palmer had only seen the new mare twice in passing while on errands around town. On one such errand, he remembered how he had taken rest in one of the town's taverns. He had just ordered his weekly meal of apples and celery when she walked into the place. Palmer could remember how the entire tavern had gotten deathly quiet as she walked to the bar and ordered a large water. Now for a small town bent mostly on the life of farming and agriculture, seeing a mare of her status was an event to be beheld. On another errand, he had passed her by on one of the streets near the town square. He had exchanged a polite greeting and to his pleasant surprise, she had returned it. Later that day when he was lazing around with his few friends, he had learned that the mare's name was Rose Bloom. When he questioned how they knew, he was met with the response that she was the daughter of a successful farmer near Westerby. Such as it was, the moon was bright in the clear night sky. Palmer looked around his little hut and longed to be back in the fortitude of his home on the side of the windy hill. This new small hut was, given the present circumstances, the best that Palmer Orchid could take. These circumstances that held him hostage to an unfamiliar hill and little hut was simply this; it was nearing birthing season and the laden ewes were preparing to deliver new life. Two days ago, he had herded his flock out to a new pasture and a gentler hill so that the newborns would not have to fight such steepness during their first days of learning to walk. As for the small hut, it was situated on wheels that placed it a good three hooves above the ground and Palmer Orchid had rolled it out with a light of his horn. The small hut was built of weathered wood and it was painted over with a dirty white. There were small holes in the wood but they were relatively nothing and the heat from the fire stayed in nonetheless. The roof of it were crafted metal slabs that stayed in placed with a multitude of nails. The metal had rusted a bit during its years of use but it didn't deter the determined farmer from his chores. Palmer took a look around the interior of the hut before sitting down on a hard lump of bedding. His bed, which was made from tossed about and packed together corn husks, often enough gave the poor shepherd an aching back in the mornings. It was fairly uncomfortable but for a temporary lodging, Palmer dealt with it as he did every year. He laid down on it and took another long look around the interior of the hut. In the corner by the head of his bed was a table. It was laden down with cheese, apples, celery stalks, and slices of bread. Across the single room of the hut in the opposite corner was Palmer's stick hanging from a hook, the light from the fire reflecting from its polished surface. Further down from his stick hung several cast-iron skillets and pans that Palmer used for his daily cooking. The furniture that held the ware above the fire pit were strewn in disorder against the base of the wall. Palmer took a look at the crackling of the fire pit and closed his eyes to sleep. His slumber was soon broken by the distant cries of two newborn lambs. Palmer got up, gave his legs and back a tough stretch before taking down a pot from the wall and choosing its partnered stand. He placed the pot above the fire and fetched a pail of milk. He poured a healthy dose of it into the pot and set it to simmer and warm. Looking into a little cracked mirror that he had hung from the wall by the door, he smoothed out his mane and levitated over his stick. When he was completely ready, he took one final look around to see if he had forgotten anything and deciding that he hadn't, he stepped out into the cool early autumn air. A stiff wind was blowing its way over the face of the hill and the freshly fallen leaves rustled without care. The heavy limbs of the large trees groaned and cried as they were rocked to and fro by the wind. Their sounds sounded a bit like the cries of somepony that was mourning the death of their friend or a member of their family. It was a sad sound and it caused Palmer's heart to waver at them. The stars above Palmer's head shown bright against the clear dark sky. Being a farmer as he was all of his life, Palmer had the innate ability to read the positions of the stars to determine the time. He took a look at them and noted how the great square of Pegasus had swung around in the sky to the west. "Twelve-thirty," Palmer said as he tore his gaze from the sky. He descended down the hill to its base and wandered around to the sound of the cries. When he arrived, he found twin lambs lying in the cool grasses being tended to by their mother. He gave her a pet on the top of her head as he crouched and gave the lambs a look-over. When he found no birth defects, Palmer emitted a light of his horn and the two lambs were lifted into the air. Palmer gave the tired mother a final pet, told her 'Good work', and took the lambs away. Palmer stepped up into his little hut and set the two lambs onto a soft bedding of hay to keep them from the cold. He stoked the fire and removed the pot of simmering milk. He poured a little into a large dish and placed it in front of the two. It would be nowhere near as good or as beneficial as their mother's milk but for that first night, it was the best the two lambs were going to get. When they began to edge closer to the warm milk, Palmer sat back down on his lumpy mattress of corn husks, took an old worn flute from his bag, and began to play. The notes from the old flute rose unhindered into the night and carried down with the wind to the town. If anypony had been out for a midnight stroll, they would have believed the high pitches to be the songs of birds. Then if they had wandered further around, they would have seen the small hut on the hill. Then if they had bothered the time to climb up to it, they would have seen the form of Palmer Orchid sitting on his bed through the small window. But even so, the sharp notes rose and fell in pitch and even if a little muffled by the wind, played out loud across the quiet night. Palmer stopped playing and took a look at the two lambs; they had stopped lapping up the warm milk and were now deep in sleep. Palmer smiled at the first two lambs of the season, set his flute back in his bag, and left his hut. He climbed up to the ridge, whistled for his dogs, and walked along its crest. He whistled for his dogs again and heard the familiar sound of Tinker running as fast as he could. Palmer gave the dog a scratch behind its ears and having seen enough to get his bearings, he descended down to the road. He turned left when he reached it and walked until he came to a fork. He took the right that lead further from the town and went about his way. Off in the distance, he could see a faint light. From where he was, the light looked like some sort of lantern but as he neared, he found it to be a light from a window. He neared closer and curious, he took a look inside. He was met with the sight of a handsome home full of pretty furniture and little paintings. The walls were a light red and the floors were polished oak boards. Palmer looked in through the glass to where he saw a very peculiar scene of two mares. One of the mares to his surprise was Rose. The other mare was old and looked as though she would give out at any moment. From what he could see, Palmer determined that the two were deep in a heated conversation. Deciding against eavesdropping, Palmer removed his muzzle from the old glass of the window and backed away from it. He stood in the brilliant light that poured out from within for a moment before turning away. With thoughts of what he had just seen racing through his mind, he trekked back down the road to where he knew his flock to be. ****** Palmer quickly dispelled all thoughts of the scene when he returned to his flock to find a newborn lamb. He heard no cries from it and with a pang in his heart, he quickly trotted to where its mother was pointlessly nursing and cleaning it. And feeling another pang in his heart. Palmer slowly crouched down close to the sorry mother and ran his hoof along the white wool atop her head. He reached down to the lamb and removed the umbilical cord from around its neck; it was too late to do anything else. He lifted the little lamb into the air, gave the tired sorry ewe a pitying glance, and took her lamb away. Palmer carried the still-born lamb to a grove of underbrush and trees which was slowly thinning out in the onset of autumn. He gently placed the lamb onto the ground and turned away from it. With a single tear, Palmer walked back up the hill to his hut. A curt stiff wind suddenly twisted its way over and around and knocked Palmer off his guard and sent him stumbling forward up the crooked steps. Cursing heavily, Palmer limped up to the door, flung it open, and removed his old rusted spade. With his prize in tow with a light of his horn, Palmer marched back down the hill to the brush. Despite being a farmer and shepherd for all of his life and having seen more than his fair share of death, it still weighed heavy on Palmer's heart whenever one of his sheep died. It weighed even more so when one would die of an accident like this. He stifled a cry and set to work. With a sudden flash from his horn, the rusted spade made a dull hit with the soft ground. With another flash, Palmer brought the spade swinging up through the air over his shoulders and a large collection of earth landed with a soft thud behind him. With another flash, the spade struck the ground again. As the cool autumn night progressed, the glimmer from Palmer Orchid's horn emitted an eerie glow against the black of night. Its faint glow cast a light hue of blue upon the surrounding area and on the overhanging branches. The job of digging the small grave was a long ordeal marked with frequent cursing and near-constant breaks to wipe the sweat away from his brow. Dig after dig and fling after fling, the muscles in Palmer's back and shoulders flexed as he concentrated on his horn and his shovel. Each dig bought a new wave of sweat at which point Palmer would stop and wipe it all away with a quick flick of his hoof. He continued on with his laborious task well into the early morning. A lone bird landed on the branch above his head. When Palmer had finished with his chore, he gave his brow a quick wipe with hoof and whistled lightly as he tossed the spade to the ground. He looked sorrowfully at the poor lamb and placed it into the deep grave. With a gentle light of his horn, Palmer sifted the earth back into the hole; the little lamb peacefully unaware as if he could have been sleeping. When all the earth had been restored, Palmer found a large smooth stone and placed it atop the mound. He cautiously etched in a few last words of grief before turning. Palmer turned a sad eye to the lightening sky and found his stars. "Six-thirty," he said. Palmer picked his shovel from the ground again and with another dim light of his horn, he began his slow trek back up the hill. A warm morning breeze was rolling through as he went, coating the bed of browning grass in a blanket of thin dew. Palmer's hooves brushed the dew away from the blades as he drug himself tiredly up the hill. When Palmer reached his modest hut, he marched up the steps and placed his spade in its place. He roused the two sleeping lambs from their warm cot and set them out with their mother. He blew out the remaining embers of the pit and sat down on his hard lumpy mattress of corn husks. As he lied his head down on the equally hard pillow he remembered; he had forgotten his shepherd's stick on the warming face of the hill. He smiled before instantaneously succumbing to the call of sleep. ****** Palmer Orchid awoke later that morning to the soft cries of another newborn lamb and just as he had done just hours previously, he set a pot of milk to warm. He stifled a hefty yawn as he stepped down from the hut. He gave the morning air a deep breath in as he stretched his aching muscles from his chore hours before. They popped and shifted back into their original positions as he did and he let out a momentary moan of pleasure. He gave his muscles a final flex before starting on his way, Palmer crossed back to his flock and gave a nod to the two that were born the night before. He smiled as they nursed from their mother as he walked by. He walked further on and spotted a brown pole lying in the grass. He quickly trotted over to his stick and picked it up from the ground. Inspecting it, Palmer gave it a thorough cleaning with a quick little light of his horn and with that chore complete, he lifted it into the air and walked round to the soft cries of the newborn. When he arrived to the happy mother, Palmer crouched down close to her and gave her words of praise. He ran a quick inspection along the length of the new lamb before lifting it away into the air and towards the direction of the hut. A gentle wind had begun to blow across the tops of the hills and down to their bases through the earlier morning. The slight rustling of the strewn-about leaves met Palmer's ears as he carried the healthy lamb to the warm cot of hay and grains. He set her down onto it and crossed the single room of his hut to the fire pit and removed the milk. Just as he had done with the two earlier, he poured a bit of it into a bowl and after making sure they would do no harm, he left. Palmer stalked round the ridge of the hill and hearing no cries from any newborns, he whistled for his dogs. Old Tinker came lobbing up from his spot at the bottom and nudged his muzzle into Palmer's elbow, as if in anticipation of some prize. Palmer reached and gave the old pup a quick hard pet atop his head and he whistled again for the other dog. Hearing and seeing no sign of it, Palmer cursed loudly and ran back down the hill to where he jumped over a deep ditch. He looked up and down the road and still saw nothing to indicate the presence of a dog. Turning onto it and with Tinker close at his heels, Palmer set off down the street. After checking near Hilter Mill, Noming Shire, and the streets of Klimmington, Palmer retreated to a back road that cut through a long bough of trees. Palmer set himself down onto it and walked; Tinker following behind at a close position but yet far enough behind that he could do as he wished. The slightest breeze broke the dried leaves from their branches as Palmer made his way. He pricked his ears towards the far end of the road as he heard the unmistakeable sound of the clip-clop of hooves against gravel. He looked and regarded a wagon pulled by a team of mulls and to his ultimate surprise, the mare behind the reins was Rose Bloom. Palmer stopped in his tracks and hesitated; part of him wanted to stay put and try to make conversation with her but another bit of him wanted him to run and hide behind a bush. He stayed. He silently watched as the wagon pulled up and he flagged her down. The wagon crawled to a stop beside him and Rose removed her hat. She gave her loosely-tied mane a brush out of her face and dropped the reins. "What's it you need from me, farmer?" was all she asked. Palmer shifted uncomfortably, blushed, and raised his eyes to look at hers. "Just wanted to say 'hello' is all, ma'am," he replied. "I have seen you around town before, farmer." "Ay ma'am. I've seen you too. You always seem caught up with something." "What I am caught up with or not caught up with is none of your concern, farmer," Rose bluntly said to him. "Ay ma'am, 'tis true. But I was just only saying it because I think it true," Palmer replied, suddenly feeling a little guilty with himself. "Then why say it to me?" "Because honestly ma'am, I couldn't think of anythin' else to say to you." "Farmer . . ." "Yes, ma'am?" "What is your name?" Palmer stumbled about at the unexpected answer and he struggled to find breath. He looked around the road as if in desperate search for an answer. As if the gravel was going to spell out his name for him. He finally looked back up to Rose and opened his mouth to speak. "Palmer. Palmer Orchid is my name," was all he said. "Palmer . . . Orchid . . . " "Ay ma'am. 'Twas the name I got on my day of birth by my pop." Rose looked down from her wagon and leaned forward to bring her face closer to Palmer's. In surprise, Palmer backed away and bumped his rump into the ragged bark of a tree causing him to fall back and curse heavily. Rose laughed cheerfully. "What's it that you do?" she asked as she gave her horn a little light and bought the sulking stallion back to his hooves. "What's it that you do, Mister Palmer Orchid?" she asked again. "Judging your attire, you seem to be very homely stallion." "Well ma'am," Palmer began as he magicked off bits and pieces of brush from his coat. "It's as you say, I am a farmer and I am a very homely stallion. But to be precise to you, I am a simple shepherd. As a matter of fact, my entire family's been shepherds." Rose considered Palmer for a tense moment and his deepening blush before rising back to her bench and taking the reins again. "Very well then, Orchid. It has been nice meeting you but now I must get back home." "Ay ma'am." "I am sorry for not making your acquaintance sooner. I do believe that I owe you three bits. I am not so prideful as to forget a due." "Oh no, ma'am. Don't think much of such a little thing; I'm generously paid enough. You haven't the need to." Rose skeptically looked Palmer up and down with a critical stare before lightening her expression. She smiled. "Alright then, Orchid." "Ay, ma'am." "Oh!" Rose exclaimed from her bench as she was setting to leave. "Could you tell me which road this is? I have only been here but a couple of days and I cannot remember the names of these country roads to save my life." "Ay, ma'am. 'Tis Corner Lane," Palmer replied with a scratch of his mane line. "Corner Lane . . . Thank you, Orchid." "It's not a problem, ma'am." Rose took a final considerable stare at Palmer Orchid before giving the reins a quick snap. The large mulls at the front pulled on the harness and the wagon was back on its way, kicking up a bounty of dust and fallen leaves as it went. Tinker jumped out of the way of it and went back to snapping at the leaves. Palmer watched her leave with a heavy blush on his tanned cheeks. Feeling suddenly awkward, he whistled for his old dog and went back to searching for the younger.
A Day in SpringThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 6: A Day in Spring The heart of a stallion is a very fickle matter. One moment, the poor stallion may be in a state of reckless abandon; then the next, he may be in a state of concern and will tend to act thoughtfully. Such was also true for the heart of a stallion who was feeling the tugging of love. The poor stallion in question, whose fickle heart was gripped by newfound affection, is none other than Palmer Orchid. After his meeting with Rose Bloom in the length of Corner Lane, his heart had swung full round to its current standing. When he had first met her on the road into town, he wasn’t much fussed about her; but now, she was all he could think of. In these days now, he would wait every afternoon for her to ride by in her wagon. On most days around that time, Palmer would retreat from his position as shepherd and retire up the hill to his cottage. There, he would change out of his shepherd’s attire and make himself over in more formal wear. With his hooves, he would fumble about with the small buttons of his collar and after several coarse moments of cursing, he would resort to cheating by using his horn. After that chore was finished, he would move over to his mirror by the door and neaten his mane. When all chores were finished and he was sure of himself, Palmer would then step back out and descend down the stairs. Going as fast as he pleased, he would proceed then to walk round up to the crest of the hill. Once there, he would briskly walk to a bough of trees and blooming shrubs and take his residence there. The trees had overgrown and their large branches buried in blankets of leafs cast the area in bright shade. Veils of vines etched and carved their ways up the wide trunks of the trees and coursed their ways over the roots. Even at the slightest touch of wind, the day birds would wake from their nests and sing a song in response. The shrubs consisted of Hydrangeas and Lilacs. There was even a lone Crabapple tree that was beginning to bloom. In the middle of this shaded, green, serenaded bough was a stump whose façade was scarred with the signs of ax-work. Once at the bough, Palmer would take his usual seat atop the bald stump and patiently wait. After days of trial and error; after days of waiting for too long and after days of having arrived too late, Palmer had determined the right time to show. Two-thirty he would constantly think to himself. It would not be too much longer yet until he would hear the familiar clop of hooves against packed gravel and the creaking of olden wagon wheels. At those unforgettable sounds, Palmer Orchid would then stand from his place on the stump and descended down the hill to where the tamed path cut its way through. As Rose would approach, the pair would then share a pleasant welcoming and a short conversation about the recent news. Still being increasingly shy, Palmer would mostly blush and nod his head. Then after several moments of this daily meeting, Rose would depart towards town and Palmer would retreat to his cottage. Once settled there, he would remove his formal wear and shrink back into the old worn cotton apparel of his position as sheep herder. In a sudden state of sadness, he would sit down on his mattress and stare longingly at the wood boards under his hooves. The heart of a stallion in love was a very fickle thing indeed. ****** It was spring. It had been months since the birthing season had ended in which Palmer had welcomed a dozen new lambs into his flock. The greenery had, since the frequent rains and warmer temperatures of spring, sprung back into life. The large trees that lined the crest of Palmer’s windy hill had also leapt back into being and their large heavy branches were overloaded now with life. All through the meadows, the vast fields of wild-flowers had blossomed in places that were once bare through out the winter. And so now every morning while waking, Palmer would turn in his bed and await the bird songs and as it just so happens, it was morning now. Palmer roughly turned in his cot and struck his head against the backboard. Cursing, he quickly sat up and worked on massaging his temples until the pain ebbed away. He pricked his ears to his window in search for the birds he so loved to listen to. Instead of bird songs fleeting in through the window, Palmer could only hear the steady platter and the ever-condescending drone of rain against his roof. Palmer didn’t much enjoy the rain at all but he endured it since it gave water to his flock. Grumbling, Palmer stood from his cot and gave his back an all too well appreciated stretch. He then gave all of his legs a quick shake and stretch before ridding himself of any left over traces of sleep. He crossed over to the window and watched as the rain water fell in loud sheets from his roof down to the earth below. A small ditch in the ground was being carved and formed by the constant pummeling of water and Palmer watched as blades of grass and random twigs were carried off by the side of his home by means of a little stream. Determining that there would be no bird songs this morning, Palmer turned from his window and made a line for his bath. He stepped in and turned on the hot water. At this point, all signs of sleep had washed away and Palmer stood completely erect and alert. When his washing had finished, he slowly turned the knob and stepped out of the deep tub. Without wasting any time at all, Palmer dried himself with a light of his horn and feeling the instant rush of warmth, he departed and made his way to his empty kitchen. He fumbled around looking for anything to eat and deciding that he would find nothing there, he crossed back to his main foyer. He walked up to the peg by the door, tied a casual collar around his neck, and grabbed his stick down from its place. When he was finished, he left. The rain struck Palmer’s shoulders as he went down the front steps and as he made his way round to his back barn. It was a small little structure, hardly any larger than his portable hut that he had put away many weeks ago after all the newborn lambs had been delivered. He opened the front door and stepped inside in a bid to escape from the assault of rain. He ran a hoof across his forehead and wiped away the rain. When he was dry enough (not quite dry enough for his liking but it was good enough), he puckered his lips and whistled for his dogs. He turned a ear to a pile of rubble by the far corner and watched as two dogs emerged, their tongues lolled out and tails wagging. “Here you go, Tinker,” Palmer said as he fixed down a bowl of dog food for his prized dog. He laughed lightly at his inability to keep his own kitchen stocked while he was perfectly capable of maintaining the levels of dog food he kept in his barn. He found it ironic. “Here you go . . . Joe – yeah, that’s gonna be your name today,” he continued on as he set down another bowl for the other. Turning to leave, Palmer caught sight of an ornament hanging from one of the banisters overhead. As he loomed in closer to it, he heard the familiar faint hum of hornets. Damn, he thought to himself with a scowl as he looked the large nest up and down, giving a look of deep distaste. I forgot it was that time of year for y’all to start popping up all over the place again. As soon as I can find my flock and get them where they need to be, I’m gonna come back and knock you down and get you outta here. Oh yes. You just wait on for a while yet. With that mental note made, Palmer inched back away from the nest and went back to his dogs. Tinker and Joe were finished eating and were sitting on their hind-legs patiently for the door to be opened. Thunder crackled high above Palmer’s head as he crossed the floor to the doors and gave them a quick short open. He was met in the face with a flash of bright white as a sharp bolt of lightning cut through the sky directly above his head. The roll of thunder that soon followed shook Palmer to his core and he grasped a hold of the doors to prevent himself from falling over. He felt his two dogs rush past his legs into the safety of the barn. Shaking his head free of shock, Palmer stepped back out into the torrential rain and whistled for his dogs again. Tinker came running back out as if for the first time ever, while as always during a thunderstorm, the other would not budge forward. Not even an inch from where he was. After whistling again and calling for him, Palmer gave “Joe” up as a bad job and took Tinker by the collar; together the two marched up the hill to its crest. Palmer took a look around and seeing no sign of his sheep, he ran down the hill to the road. He sloshed his way through a deep trough of standing water as he neared the bottom but didn’t stop to think twice of it. Palmer quickly turned his head to the left, and then to the right, but still not a sign of any of his sheep. He shook rain away from his eyes and cowered slightly as another bolt of lightning cut through overhead. Thunder shook him again as Palmer ran down the street away from town; Tinker was following close behind. If Palmer was going to find his sheep, then the only place that came to mind was that ruined old barn that his father and then his father before him had used to use. Palmer was going to use this barn instead of the small one he’s currently got but right before his father had passed along the family business, a freak storm, unscheduled by the weather teams, had rolled in from the mountains a far ways off and blew a portion of the roof clean off. He and his father had rushed out of their home after the storm had passed to find the barn in ruin. A large hole had appeared in the roof and masses of boards and shingles had landed in heaps on the ground. It was all a mess and without using magic (Palmer was the first unicorn in his bloodline since his great-great grandfather), the debris and rubble had taken near to a week to clean. Since then, nopony’s bothered to rebuild the damaged barn in the thought that another storm like that might roll in and blow it all to pieces again. And so, the barn was never built back nor was it ever torn down; it was simply let to sit and fall on its own whenever it wanted. Palmer turned down a muddy path and his forelegs immediately sank into a deep pool of water. Cursing again, he removed himself and stood in the rain a while so that the mud would be washed clean. When he was certain that he was clean enough, he continued on his way until he came across the familiar picket fence and turned down the short path to the barn. As he neared, sure enough, he could see the faint tracks of sheep in the few areas of ground around the barn that had not yet been touched by the rain. He wiped the sweat away again and entered in through the large doors that stood ajar. He inched in and closed the doors behind him with a kick of his hind legs. Wiping the rain away, he looked to his immediate left to the area that still had roof above it and just as he had expected, his flock of nearly a hundred was cuddled and sheltered from the rain. He felt a nudge on his leg and looked down to see Old Tinker sitting on his rump, his tongue lolling out and his tail wagging. Palmer smiled. Content with knowing where his sheep were and knowing they were safe and that their pelts were clean and dry, Palmer went back out into the rain. ****** The rain ended later that morning to the arrival of bird song. After finding his flock of sheep, Palmer left the old barn and returned to his cottage on the hill. By the time he had returned, he was soaked to the bone and he was in a constant shiver. He had closed the door and took off his collar and hung his stick back up in its place. Tossing, the wet and dirty collar into the dirty laundry bin, he gave it up as a bad job and crossed to his bath, leaving puddles of rain water in his wake. He once again stepped into his shower and washed away any traces of mud and grass that might have still been matted to his coat. When his washing was over, he stepped out again for the second time that day and dried himself with a light of his horn until he was left standing warm, dry, content, and homely. He waited on his bed by his window scratching the area behind Tinker’s ears that he knew his dog loved the most. When the rain ended and there were no more crackles of thunder, Palmer rose from his bed and crossed back to his front door. He took his stick down and went outside to be met with that smell that always lingered after a good rain. He wasn’t quite sure of how to describe it but he knew that this smell was the only thing he ever really enjoyed that came with rain. He descended the stairs. His hooves met the soft mudded earth and he rounded back down the hill to the road. He turned left in the direction of the old barn and set his attention to it. Tinker followed close behind as the pair turned down the path to it. Palmer pursed his lips and whistled, signaling for Tinker to rush into the barn and start work. Palmer soon followed and after several long minutes of whistling, stick swinging, barking, and guidance, he and his dog had accomplished their goal of getting the sheep back out into the sun. Without the presence of the rain and wind, the sun felt uncomfortably hot on Palmer’s shoulders. With another whistle from Palmer, Tinker ran back around to the back of the flock and waited for another whistle. When Palmer delivered, Tinker ran up to the group of sheep and barked, sending the flock into a nice pace. Palmer got out of the way to the left and with a swing of his stick, he stopped a few stragglers in their spot and returned them to the herd. With this system, it took nearly an hour to return the flock to the hill. Once he got them back to their watering hole and set them to the pasture, Palmer climbed the tall hill to the ridge and cleared an area beside one of the large trees and sat down. He turned his gaze back down to the far horizon just as his father had always done but found nothing new with it. Finally determining that his olden father had been just one screw loose before his death, Palmer returned his gaze to his flock. Palmer Orchid’s life and chore as shepherd was a very simple thing free from much trial. On most days, he could simply wake in the mornings and after making sure that all was as all should be, he could sit atop his hill just as he was doing now. He heavily sighed in boredom and blankly stared down into the valley towards town and he dreamed of Rose. Her mane, her coat, that smile of hers, her voice, her blushing, her laugh, and her; he dreamed of all of her and he smiled. After a while of sitting, watching his flock, and dreaming of Rose, Palmer slowly stood and stretched out his aching legs. Feeling instant relief, he turned his head to the deep blue of the sky and determining the position of the sun, he assumed that the time was nearing one. With that assumption in mind, Palmer descended the hill and slowly walked round to his cottage. He gave his flock one final look-over before climbing the stairs and closing the door lightly behind him. It was nearing time to meet up for his daily encounter with Rose; the beautiful Rose Bloom who had ensnared his fickle heart in love for all the spring months. ****** “Rose,” Palmer said to himself as the familiar wagon made its way down the path. He picked himself from the worn old stump and crossed down to the gravel surface of the road. The soft ground from the earlier rains buckled under his hooves as he went. “Rose,” Palmer said again as he reached the road. He leaned himself out farther into the road and watched patiently as the wagon neared. He silently judged the distance of it and determined that it was close to a hundred yards off. As the wagon neared closer, Palmer could see the known form of Rose but beside her was somepony that he did not know. As the wagon neared closer, he remembered the other pony as the old mare that he had seen in through the window all those months ago. In a sudden panic of what to do, Palmer darted behind a present bush and hid. As the wagon was near upon him, Palmer clinched his mouth and eyes shut as if by not seeing the wagon, he would not be seen as well. “I guess he isn’t coming today,” Palmer heard Rose say from her bench far above from he where was crouching. “Who isn’t coming, dear,” Palmer heard another voice say. This new voice was raspy, dull, and low. He assumed that this was the olden mare. “Who isn’t coming?” he heard her ask again. “Oh just somepony I wanted you to meet,” Rose explained as Palmer heard the sound of creaking wood board. He guessed that she was shifting in her seat. He looked out from under the bush and was met in the face by a spray of dirt that had been kicked from the hoof of one of the large mulls pulling. “Oh? Your very own special somepony, perhaps?” Palmer heard the old mare ask. His heart flipped in anticipation of the answer. “Oh no, Auntie,” Rose quickly said and Palmer heard the wood board creak again. “Oh no, Auntie, he’s not my special somepony.” “Then who is he?” “Auntie, you’ve been in this little town of Klimmington all your life; do you know of a Palmer Orchid?” “I do.” “Well he’s that pony I wanted you to meet today.” “Rose,” the old mare said suddenly after a while. Her voice this time sounded grave and severe as if delivering terrible news. “Rose, you mustn’t get involved with that Orchid. Them Orchid’s have been nothing but trouble and they’ve always lived so . . . homely. I don’t like them. You really mustn’t get too involved with that Orchid.” “Why not, Auntie? Besides, he and I aren’t like that. We just meet once a day along this road and talk for a while. That is all.” “Rose, you are the daughter of a successful business owner and the niece of a renowned plantation owner. That Orchid is simply a shepherd. He has nothing.” Palmer Orchid slumped down into the deepest shades of the bush and listened on. He gripped at his chest with his hooves in pain at what he had heard. He slumped further and listened on. “Have you actually ever met him, Auntie?” Rose asked in a certain demanding tone of voice. “I have not.” “Then how can you say something like being homely as being a bad thing?” “I’ve met that boy’s grandfather and his wife and they’re not the best people. They’ve been shepherds and farmers all throughout their lineage. They’ll never rise above that.” “I don’t know how they may have been, but I know that Palmer is a delightful pony to be around.” “Then you’re just making a mistake. Those Orchid’s are nothing but a hindrance.” “I do not see Palmer Orchid in that way, Auntie.” “Do you wish to marry him?” From where he was slumped down into the shadows, Palmer consequently heard every word of this. He hopefully raised his head in belief that the answer would be a good one. “Auntie, have you heard a word of what you just said? You’ve just asked me if I want to marry the poor stallion,” Rose protested with another adjustment of her sitting, as told by the creaking of the board. “Well, do you?” “Auntie, I cannot answer that question.” “It is a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. How can you not answer it?” “First of all Auntie, asking me if I want to marry somepony is not a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question. Secondly, I do not know.” “Now how is it that you do not know?” “Auntie, this conversation is getting out-of-bounds.” “It is not.” “It is so.” “Then just answer my question and then we can be on our way to town. I do have things to pick up or have you forgotten?” “I haven’t forgotten, Auntie.” “Then hurry and answer my question.” There was another creak of the wagon’s bench as Rose shifted uncomfortably and from even where he was in his hole, Palmer could only imagine the blush that had crossed Rose’s cheeks. He pricked his ears closer to where the two mares were and he listened on. He heard Rose sigh. “Auntie, I truly cannot answer that question. I do not know its answer. Please stop pressuring me into answering something that I can’t,” Palmer heard Rose say, a tint of anxiousness and desperation on her tongue. “Fine; if that is the way things really are, then fine. I shall ask you no more.” “Thank you, Auntie.” “But; but, if you were ever to make up an answer, you be sure to tell me and depending on what you say and choose, we’ll just have to see what I do.” “Okay, Auntie.” “Now then. Now that that has ended, can we move on now? The smell of all these flowers is messing with my old nose.” “Okay, Auntie. Hold on a minute.” Palmer heard the crack of the reins and the sound of the wheels beginning to spin. Through the breaks in the branches, Palmer watched for a while as the wagon pulled away towards town. When the wagon had gone out of sight, he raised himself from his place and cleaned off all the mud and leaves that had gotten stuck to his coat and mane. Palmer twitched at the idea of the third shower that day. Grimacing, he decided that he would just take it in the morning. Slowly, Palmer set back on his trek towards his cottage. In his state of sadness, he ignored all the sounds of the birds that he would normally have enjoyed and appreciated. Even as a cool spring breeze wrung through and caused all the leaves in the large trees to flutter, he found no joy in it. He slowly and deliberately crossed up the hill to his flock of sheep. Ignoring even his formal Sunday wear, he whistled for his dogs and set to work on guiding his herd to another pasture on the other side of the hill. When this chore had finished, Palmer set his two dogs to watch over the flock and he rounded back over the ridge of the hill again. He went down and then around to his cottage and quietly ascended the front steps. Palmer shook his head as he went inside and removed his formal collar and his front. He observed a streak of mud and leaves that he had missed and with a grumble, he tossed it into the dirty laundry bin. He crossed back to his bedroom and sat down on the side of his mattress. With a deep sigh, he closed the window with a flash of his horn and he dropped his head into his hooves. The heart of a stallion in love is a very fickle thing indeed.
MistakeThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 7: Mistake There comes a certain time in the life of a stallion when he must question the wills and the while's of love. During this period of questioning and deliberating in which important decisions are made in which one may change details and aspects of his life, a stallion spends many hours over the course of many days over the time of many weeks considering all of who he is and all of what he wants the most. Over the course of this time of deliberation, a stallion is simply this: an emotional wreck. During these times, a stallion loses all control of who he is and of his emotions. He spends many hours in constant swing of them and frequently alternates between periods of "highs" where he may be overly-confident and free of any sadness and periods of "lows" where he is then in a state of constant sadness and inexpressible grief. One hour he may feel as though he is atop of the world and then the very next he may be in such a pit of despair that he feels an utmost obligation and desire to end his life. This is the life a poor stallion who constantly questions the point of being in love. This is the life of Palmer Orchid. Now seemingly without reason or purpose, at the first unbound crack of dawn one mid-summer day, Palmer Orchid rose from bed. It was still dark out and all the stars were shining just as bright against the dark blanket of night just as they always had and always will. Palmer Orchid removed himself from the cocoon of blankets and quilts that he had gotten himself into and turned slowly out of bed onto the wooden floor below. He crossed out over to his front door, opened it, and stepped out onto his front steps. He turned his head drowsily to the west and regarded the setting moon. In the west, the crescent moon which so acted as his own watch and compass during his frequent midnight strolls amongst his flock of sheep was now beginning to sink slowly beneath the horizon. The night stars, that like the moon acted as his watch and compass were starting to slowly dim with the influx of morning light. Seeing the end of the night, Palmer turned his head over this time toward the east. in the east, the sun for which Palmer Orchid so dearly loved was beginning to slowly rise. He loved the sun. The sun gave his fields and hills of grasses and flowers life, which in turn provided his flock of sheep with life and nourishment. This was all very fine with him because the more his sheep were out and about in the sun and the more grasses they ate, the more lustrous and vibrant their wool was and this was all very well for business. Another reason why he loved the sun so much was because several Hearths Warming Eve's ago, he had gone up to Canterlot to receive orders from some his higher-classed clients. While he was away on business, he had somehow gotten into some formal gathering and then from there, he had been graced by the presence of Princess Celestia herself. During that moment of grace, he had determined then that for everyday, he would love the sun so much more than he had before. Even so the sun, or rather Celestia's sun, was rising low in the early morning dawn. Palmer climbed back up the stairs and went back inside. After Palmer Orchid had finished washing and after he had gotten ready, he crossed from his bath to his door and with a content gesture of everything, he reached up to a hook by the door and took down a formal tie and collar. It was a Sunday after all, according to the calender that restfully hung from the wall in the small kitchen. With both his collar and his tie, which were both coincidentally blue in color, snug and tight around his neck, Palmer left his cottage and headed back around to his barn. With a shrill screech and the dull thud of wood against wood, the doors were swung open and he instantly whistled for his dogs. After feeding them, Palmer took them out to the fields in which he had earlier left his sheep out to graze and he set them to work. After making sure all was as all should be, Palmer headed out to town. The sound of packed gravel met Palmer's ears as he walked along the road. In the summer morning, the humidity of the evaporating dew caused an uncomfortable band of sweat to form on his brow as he went; he quickly swiped them away with an uncaring wave of his hoof. After several long moments of silent walking, Palmer finally marched up the steep stairs of the church and chapel. Now being as how Klimmington was a small town of mostly other farmers and merchants, the facade and the homely nature of the place was very much in the way of appropriate. It was nothing too excitable nor was it very memorable but it is what it is nonetheless. And what it was then was a simple white-stone structure that had been built centuries ago. The main building of the chapel stood at an even twenty hooves tall and had a width of nearly double that. The spire of it rose to nearly sixty hooves above anything else. The spire, which in turn was also the bell tower, was also built out of white-stone, but unlike the smoothness of the chapel's stones, these were worn down and weathered from centuries of enduring the climate. Inside the chapel stood nearly twenty rows of benches, all brown and lacquered; quite comfortable once one had gotten used to them. Up at the front beneath a large stained-glass window depicting Princess Celestia in the process of raising the sun and lowering the moon stood a single pedestal and a small table. Palmer Orchid took his usual spot in the far left corner furthest away from the front. He sat his haunches down on the cool wood and flinched at the sudden surprising coolness of it. As other ponies began to filter in and take their own places, Palmer rested his head against the smooth white-stone. He suddenly cursed. Earlier that morning during the sunrise and while walking here to the chapel, he was as content as he could have ever been, but now, he was in the deepest rut that he had been in since about two weeks ago. He cursed again. Was he truly not good enough? Was he not big enough? Was he not strong enough? Was he not rich enough? Had his grandfather really been as bad as Rose's Auntie had said? He wanted to believe that he was good enough for Rose and that his grandfather had been as good as he remembered him, but ever since listening to what the Auntie had had to say, he wasn't sure anymore. He used to believe that he had been good enough for her, but now as he was sitting with his head resting against the stone, he was no more than a speck of dust on the table. But even through all these feelings and troubles of heart, he still loved that fancy mare as dearly as he always had. He cursed again. At the sudden hushing of the crowd of ponies, Palmer lifted his head from the stone and turned then to look at the large open wooden doors. What he saw then perked his head and ears higher in sudden excitement and interest; he watched as Rose walked in. As she entered, all the air seemed to stand still and all his thoughts of doubts vanished and were naught. She entered with an air of subtle superior beauty that took the air clean from the lungs of many ponies. Her long dress of lace, ribbons, and bows flowed delicately behind her as she walked and Palmer sat up higher in his chair to watch longer as she walked closer up to the front. When she sat and turned her attention to the large window, the poor herder instantly thought to himself, I will make her my wife. ****** It wasn't quite that hot that afternoon, but it was hot enough so that beads of sweat formed close to Palmer Orchid's brow as he walked down the road towards the hut he knew to be Rose's lodging. As he slowly walked with a new-found sense of pride, confidence, and determination, he crossed over a stone bridge that was growing moss and vines of flowers all along the sides and railing of it. The small fair stream lolled peacefully underneath. He made haste then towards the clump of trees that he knew concealed the familiar hut. He wasted no time in turning onto the path. Before Palmer had set out on his way to seek Rose's hoof in marriage, he had subsequently sat through three hours of lecturing and sermons After the sermons had ended and everypony was free to go home of their own accord, he had stayed back so that he could watch Rose pass as she left. After she had gone, Palmer had risen from his own bench and had then returned to his cottage on the side of his steep, windy hill. There, he had made sure his dogs were doing their jobs of watching and guarding and that his flock was tended to. Then upon redoing his Sunday best, he struck down the hill again toward the road and turned left onto it. This was what bought him to the narrow path that without a doubt was the very one that he had taken many months ago. The sound of clopping hooves against the dry, hard, summer earth caused Palmer to prick his ears towards the source of the sound. He listened on for a moment before deciding then that he had simply heard the sound of his own hooves as he walked; he resumed his steady pace down the path. He then heard the sound again and quickly spun around in his spot to see what or who it was. He heard the sudden rustling of leaves and watched as the low hedge off to his immediate right rustled and shook. Curious, he slowly trotted forward and stopped. Palmer removed his tie and collar from around his neck so that he would not get them dirty and immediately shoved his head into the depths of the bush. Thorns and the sharp ends of branches bit and stung at his neck until he was looking out on the other side. He cleared his throat. "Hello, Rose," said Palmer Orchid as he pushed his way out through the hedge. He stopped for a moment to clean the thorns and leaves that had stuck to his outfit. "Hello, Orchid," Rose responded, not taking a single glance in the farmer's direction. "I've come to see you, Rose," he said quickly. "Oh?" Rose then inquired. "What's the occasion? You just up and suddenly stop talking to me in the afternoons and then you start avoiding me as if I've got some deadly contagious disease? And now you just decide that you want to speak with me? What's your deal?" "Well that's just cause I've been doing some long, hard thinking about some things." "And your thinking has prevented you from speaking with me?" "Yes ma'am." "I'm not buying it. You can't just stop talking to somepony just because you're doing some thinking. It's ridiculous." Palmer kicked slowly at the dirt, obviously at a loss for words; all senses of doubt washing back over him in a single instant. He gulped heavily before raising his head to meet her gaze. "Well you see . . . I've been doing some heavy thinking and so I'm here now to seek your hoof in marriage." Now it was Rose's turn to be at a loss for words. "Orchid -" "Now I know I'm not the best stallion," Palmer was quick to say, cutting her off. "I haven't gotten much of anything to put onto my good name except for my fields and my sheep but I can promise you that I'll be a good husband and a good stallion to you that would try to get you anything you ever wanted." "Well now that sounds all fine -" "And then after a while after we're married and all and I've gotten the money, we could find a larger cottage someplace where you wouldn't have to smell the sheep all the time." "And that's all very well -" "And then I could buy you all the dresses you could ever want. You would love that, wouldn't you, Rose?" "I surely would but -" "And then after a while and we've moved to the larger cottage, we could have our own -" "PALMER ORCHID!" Rose suddenly cried, cutting the rambling shepherd off mid-sentence. "Yes, Rose?" he silently asked, returning to kick at the ground in an unsure manner. "Palmer Orchid, while I am flattered that you would ever seek my hoof in marriage . . . I cannot marry you." "Why not? Surely I'm good enough?" "Yes Orchid, you are good in your own right of it, but I will not marry you." "Why not?" "Because I am not looking for a husband." "But then what was all that early when you were spouting out stuff about it being fine and everything then that you had said?" "I was trying to speak out but you kept cutting me across . . . " Palmer kicked the ground and hung his head, his mane falling in sheets in front of his eyes. He brushed it away. "So you won't marry me?" "Not now; not ever." "Why?" "Because I am not looking to marry." "Why not?" "Because I want to be tamed and put in my place as a mare and you certainly aren't the one to do it." Palmer hung his head lower at this last statement which was obviously an insult to him and deeply sighed. All those doubts were seemingly true. "Why?" he sadly asked, fearing the response. "Palmer Orchid! You ask me why but I do not know the answer to it! I cannot know why a lady's heart is as the way it is nor can I ever know why you are not the one to marry me! Now please, your constant asking me why is heavy on me! Please! Stop asking me why it is and just accept that I will not marry you!" "It's because you're vain, isn't it?" Palmer asked before he could stop himself. "Vain? Is that what you think of me?" "I didn't mean it that -" "That way? How other way could you have meant it by calling me 'vain'?" "Rose -" "Palmer Orchid, if there was any slight chance at all of me marrying you, it is gone now." "So you will never marry me?" "Never." "Then I will never ask it of you again," Palmer sadly said then after an uncomfortable moment of silence. His voice shook and whether it be by the heat of the day or the fact that he had struck out, he felt faint. He steadied himself on the side of a tree and sighed, his heart pumping a mile a minute. "Good then. Good bye, Orchid." With that said and nothing else added onto it, Rose departed back through the hedge and out back onto the main path. Palmer heard the sudden clopping of hooves against earth and he knew then that she was gone. With a sorrowful angry sigh, Palmer cursed loudly and swung a rude kick towards a tree. When his hoof made contact with the hard, roughened bark, he stumbled back off his footing and rolled a far ways down the slight embankment. He cursed heavily before leaving and returning to his lonesome flock.
Departure and TragediesThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 8: Departure and Tragedies By the time that the following morning had broken out above the horizon, Rose Bloom had already left out of town. Palmer Orchid had risen from bed that morning and had instantly headed down the hill to the road. He followed it in a hurried pace until he finally reached the small cottage. When he arrived, he noted the missing wagon and traced the stressed wheel tracks left in the dirt with his hoof. Knowing that she had gone and without knowing where she could have gone to, Palmer turned back onto the road and hopelessly returned to his poor small cottage. When he returned to the cottage, Palmer ascended the stairs whilst completely ignoring the rising sun and grabbed his shepherd's crook down from its own peg by the door. He gazed sadly at it for a while before turning back down the stairs and rounding back to the barn. He impatiently kicked open the doors and instantly, like he did every morning, whistled out for his dogs. Once they were fed, Palmer took them out from the confines of the barn and led them around to the flock. A stiff hot summer wind winded its way up and over the hill and then down the face of it to where Palmer was slowly walking. It caught him in his side and made him buckle and nearly stumble. He dug his hooves into the ground and took on the full brunt of the it. When the breeze had passed, Palmer fixed his messed up mane and continued on his way. When he neared his flock, he whistled his dogs off to the far side of the flock and with another whistle, they began their work. Together in tandem with his dogs, Tinker of course being the best he could be, Palmer moved the flock from the familiar watering hole and led them straight up to the crest of the hill. When he reached the top, he regarded a few stranglers that had, at some point, gotten separated from the main flock. Seeing this, Palmer whistled for Tinker and the old loyal dog rounded back around to them and quickly got them back to where they needed to be. When they had returned and seeing that there were no more chances of any sheep getting lose, Palmer then directed his flock and dogs to another hill a little less than a mile off in the distance. The sound of a moving mass of nearly a hundred sheep rose into the still air of summer as the herd moved across the land. After nearly half an hour of herding across hills and down into their valleys, the large group came to their final destination. With the job finished, Palmer set his sheep to pasture and let his dogs out to guard and hold. Knowing that all was well then, Palmer climbed up the slight roll of the hill to the ridge and sat down. Turning his gaze out to the horizon, a feeling of immense sadness rushed over him. He then turned his gaze down to the road and followed it with his eyes as it snaked its way towards the town of Klimmington. He deeply sighed at his failure and after a short while, returned down the hill to his flock. ****** There's an old abandoned rock quarry that's sat unused and empty ever since the supply ran out. It's been there, near the outskirts of Klimmington, for about three hundred years and is characterized the most by a steep sudden slope that led straight down to the bottom. There's a weak chain-link fence that runs along the edge of the drop-off that converges to a single point that suddenly juts out above the open quarry. It had been the site of several accidents over the years where foolish ponies had gone and lost attention of where they were going and had ended up somehow falling over the edge to their deaths. These accidents weren't very common but they were known to happen. Palmer Orchid awoke from his doze atop the hill to the rushing sound of stampeding hooves. He jolted up from his spot with a sudden bound and rushed to the sound of it. When he arrived to where he had left his sheep to graze, he found the ground trampled and matted and torn by the hundreds of hooves. Sick to his stomach, Palmer raced down in the direction of the tracks. In the back of his head while he was racing, he was silently thinking to himself, Where are my dogs? Off in distance, he could see a billowing cloud of dust that could only mean the hundreds of hooves of his large group of sheep. He could hear their faint crying so far away and he sped up his pace. He crossed many hills and through many fields whose crops were now all but ruined. He crossed up over the crest of another hill before coming to a sudden stop. Before him now was the chain-link fence that divided the fields from the sudden drop-off of the old abandoned rock quarry. It was trampled and flattened beyond all measure and standing silently before the crushed and ruined fence was Joe. He stood there with a contented look on his face and as Palmer slowly approached, Joe walked up happily and nuzzled his muzzle into the bend of his master's leg. Palmer cautiously looked down into the deep abyss below and instantly revolted back. Down below in the depths of the old quarry were the mangled, trampled, and twisted bodies of his sheep. Blood ran down in thick rivers across the coarse and roughen wall of the slope that had endured hundreds of years of neglect, wear, and tear. The hundreds of limbs were twisted and broken in many directions and the bones had broken out through the skin. The fresh coats of wool which had before been so white and clean were now shredded and dyed red in the pools and rivers of blood. Down below in the depths of the old quarry were the mangled and twisted bodies of Palmer Orchid's life and being. Stepping back further from the ledge, Palmer's entire world came crashing down in a single moment. All of his fortunes and all of his business were now surely gone. There would be no coming back from something like this. He stumbled back onto his haunches and began to weep in retching sobs. As he sobbed, he looked up to the happy satisfied look on Joe's face and instant felt hate for the creature. This dog had destroyed all of what he was. He hated the damned creature. He took it in the grip of his magic with a light of his horn and carried it back away to the back yard of his cottage. There out of sight, the dog which had cursed Palmer for all the years would curse him no longer.
LeavingThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 9: Leaving Palmer walked down the lonesome cobblestone alley as a lone sparrow landed high up on the high sill of a window. Palmer stopped his steady pace and stood then on his hind legs, placed his fore hooves on the groove of the sill, and looked inside. The inside was as dark as the moonless night that so now shrouded Palmer’s form in shadow. A faint glint of something shiny caught his eye for a moment. He peered closer to the glass and determined that he was staring into the eyes of some small animal, probably a rabbit, and that it was staring back at him. He turned away from the window and went back around his way. The black swirl of clouds above his head blocked out all the light from the moon and from the stars; Palmer’s old hand-e-down watch hung lazily from his neck. He gazed up into the depths of the clouds and pondered the time that he no longer knew. The sound of his hooves against the cobblestone of the street flooded high into the still air of the late-summer night, alerting the sleeping crows along the roofs of the houses to passerby. Woken by this sound, the large black birds began to madly caw. Palmer sped up his pace. When he came to a gate that barred his present road from a newer one that led out into the country, Palmer stopped in his tracks. He undid the lock with the faint blue glow of his horn and absentmindedly gave it a quick open. It squeaked on its ancient rusted hinges before coming to a slow stop. He made his way past the newly opened gate and closed it back behind him, stopping for a moment to redo the lock with another glow of his horn. At the sound of the click of locking tumblers, Palmer turned in his spot and whistled. In the still night, he could clearly hear the irregular plitter platter of paws coming over the crest of the hill to his immediate right. He smiled. After Palmer had silenced the sufferable Joe, he had walked back to the hills in search of clues as to why the tragedy had happened in the first place. Had the sheep been spooked by something? But instead of finding any clues, he had found his old dog beaten and bruised slumping through the grasses. Since then, he had wondered how old Tinker had managed to survive the stampede with only bruises. Palmer reached down and scratched behind the ears of his old loyal companion and friend. He gave the sky a gaze before continuing with his way. He slowly walked down the narrow lane that was only as wide as two large tree trunks and counted the fence posts as he went. One. Two. Three. Four. Five and so on. Palmer took out his old broken watch and looked at its time: quarter-to-two. He continued on down the lane. Palmer walked past a large long bough of trees and shrubs that lined the road. The rickety fence had ended several paces ago when he crossed a stone bridge that traversed over the rapids of White Mane River. Even in the dark of night, Palmer could clearly see the bark of each of the trees. Some were smooth and round while others were roughened and angular. He reached out and touched one of the more weathered trunks and remembered, this was close to where he and Rose would speak during their afternoon meetings. He acknowledged the past and the one he lost before turning away. A sudden gust of wind shook through the groves of trees that lined the road, sending pre-mature coloring leaves rustling off from their branches down onto the road. Palmer turned his head from the wind, turned his back to it, and took the force of it for all of what it was worth. Suddenly, just as soon as it had arrived, the winding gust had retreated back to a mere whisper. Palmer shook his head and continued on past the steady, immovable line of trees; old Tinker following close behind. As he neared the base of a hill that was foreign to him, even after all his years as a shepherd, Palmer stopped walking and peered into the swirling mass of clouds overhead. They seemed to act like a suction system, like a vacuum, that pulled him into their depths. They were black, swirling, quick, gravitating, and oddly comforting as if they removed all worries and woes; they seemed to be like a thick heavy blanket that protected and sheltered. The poor farmer let out a curious laugh that ranged on the threshold of lunacy and sanity and began his ascent up the hill. He marched forward with a reckless abandon and as he neared the top, he sat down amongst the rows and planes of flowers that were scattered here and there as if somepony had simply thrown them around. There were patches of daisies, patches of tulips, ranges of buttercups, and vast planes of purple poppies. In the dark of night, even the brilliant vibrant hues of whites, purples, reds, and yellows shown out like the beam from a lighthouse to nearing ships. A passing breeze rolled over the crest and took their scent high into the night and then down into the meadow valley below. It was nearing the latter half of summer. Rose had long since disappeared and Palmer had lost everything. After the accident at the abandoned quarry, his clients had shut down and had moved on to other shepherds to meet their needs, leaving him with no source of job or income. In company with losing his clients, Palmer Orchid’s name and reputation had crumbled to a mere shadow of what they once were. Now, the poor farmer was nothing and had nothing. At least he still had his old friend as company. ****** Palmer woke the next morning with a cold breeze on his cheek. He rubbed the last tendrils of sleep from his eyes with the back of his hoof and raised his head from the bed of grass he had used as a pillow. Using his horn’s magic, he lifted out stray blades of grass from his coat and stood up. He cracked his back and began his walk down into the valley. Fog swept in all around as thickly as a woolen blanket. As he neared the bottom, the disenchanted farmer stopped his descent and stood in place. He extended his hoof out before his muzzle and stared. Even though it was only a short length from him, he could barely see it; the fog swirled in so thickly that it was like gelatin. It seemed to cling to everything it touched. He put his hoof back to the ground and resumed his way through the ocean of fog. After a while of walking at a steady pace, Palmer Orchid felt the unforgettable change of slope that could only mean that he was ascending another hill. He placed a hoof forward, then another, and then another and he began on his way up its side. As he walked on, the fog began to thin. What once was as thick as blood was now as thin as spider’s webbing. The fog left behind thin strands of dew on the blades of grass as it retreated back to whence it came. As Palmer crested over the roll of the hill, he was met with a complete view of Klimmington. He could see billowing clouds of smoke rise into the morning air from their chimneys and from where he stood, the decrepit farmer could only imagine their fires. He could only imagine how luminous and how hot they must be. He could only imagine relaxing in front of the fire in the mornings and then again in the dead of night. He could only imagine. He whistled for his dog before he finally acknowledged the persistent prodding in his side. He looked down at his old dog and smiled for a while before succumbing to a feeling of utter worthlessness. He descended down into town and walked along the rough cobblestone lanes. He turned right past the old postal office and quickly hurried down towards the town center. Several minutes later, he sat down on his haunches in front of a pouring water fountain. The fountain wasn’t much, just a simple statue of a mare with long flowing mane carved from the same white stone from the quarry, but it often served as a meeting point for ponies looking for workers and for ponies who were looking for any kind of work. Palmer readjusted his sitting posture, took out his old broken watch, and stared aimlessly at the time: quarter-to-two. Of course he knew this to be the wrong time, but even so, the heat of late summer morning caused a streak of sweat to band around his brow. He casually wiped it away before returning to his wait. It didn’t take too much longer for other farmers and other vendors to start filling into the square. Palmer silently watched as they walked around and talked; their exact conversations he failed to hear. After a while of waiting, he looked down at his attire and realized that he looked as much as a shepherd as a metal nail resembled a stone: the resemblance was non-existent. He looked down his front and then around at all the other ponies. He was certainly the one that was the oddest of the lot; he looked more like a homeless goon than a shepherd or farmer. He frowned and took what little change he had out his pocket. Five bits. That was it. That was all. He frowned and narrowed his brow. He stood up to leave. A quarter of an hour later, Palmer Orchid found himself walking down a crowded street and he felt a single bead of sweat fall off his brow, land on his cheek, and roll down into the corner of his mouth. He tasted the sudden presence of salt on his tongue. He looked back for his dog, determined to never take his sight for a moment, and found him tailing close behind. He continued on his way and took a left into the open door of a wood worker. “May ‘ah help ya?” the worker asked, raising his gaze from the tobacco pipe that he had been forming on a lathe. “How much would it be for you to make me a Shepherd’s Crook?” Palmer hurriedly asked, as if his life depended on there being a sudden answer. “It’d be two bits, sir.” “Two . . . Could you have it finished noon?” “Well let’s see here,” the worker said as he swiveled to look at the clock behind him. “It’s right now a little after nine-thirty. I can carve out a crook and have it finished by noon . . . Yes.” Palmer reached in the front pocket of his collar and removed two of the five bits he had left. He lifted them out of his hooves with the magic of his horn and hoofed them over to the crafter. “That’s two for the crook,” he said, this time patiently. The stallion behind the counter held out the bits in his hooves before his eyes and gave them a quick inspection. He finally spoke, “Alright there. Come back in an hour or two. I should be finished with it by then,” Palmer looked at the clock behind the stallion’s head and acknowledged the time. He nodded and started on his way back out through the door. “Oh feller? Before ya go?” he heard the raspy voice of the olden stallion say. “Yes sir?” “What’s ya wantin’ a crook for in the first place? Ya some kind of shepherd or are ya out lookin’ for hirin’?” Palmer turned his head back to the old stallion and half-way nodded and half-way shook his head. “Something like that, old timer,” he said as he turned full circle and stood entirely in the shop again. “I used to be a shepherd. I’m just simply looking to get back on my feet.” “Oh . . . right then. So as I was sayin’ just then, just come back in an hour or so. It’ll be ready for ya.” “Thank you kindly.” Palmer Orchid left the shop and turned out again onto the cobblestone lane. In the late summer, the heat rose quickly in the mid-morning before cooling off in the early afternoon. He reached up to his brow and felt the heat on it. He walked on his way. Palmer turned out of town onto a dirt path that led out into the southern woods away from the rolling hills and pastures that had served him well. He strolled leisurely on, not paying a bit of attention as to where he was going. He finally came to a stop at an old wooden bridge mottled with moss and adorned with termite holes. He bit his lower lip before placing a hoof cautiously on the old decaying wood. If one of the boards snapped, he would fall into the swiftly flowing river below. The wood didn’t give. He placed one hoof, and then another, and yet again until he had completely crossed. The song of a bird caught his ear as he continued walking through the thickening woods. The leaves of the trees were beginning their annual change from green to mixes of reds, oranges, and browns. Palmer took a quick look over his shoulder and watched as old Tinker took playful snips and swipes at falling leaves. Smiling again, he quickly whistled and the pair walked on. As they drove deeper into the woods, the road became more and more worn; decrepit from lack of use and care. Vegetation had grown thick along the edges and was slowly creeping forward like worms to the center of the road. Premature falling leaves rustled in the breeze. ****** Palmer Orchid returned to town a little after eleven. Light sweat was rolling from his brow and across the roll of his cheeks. He hastily wiped it away as he walked down the cobblestone. Even above the clattering of the other busy ponies going about their way, the shepherd could discern his own hoofsteps apart from the others. He turned left onto the narrow lane and continued until he came to the wood shop. He stepped inside. “Ah shepherd, was just a wonderin’ when ya’d show around,” the wood worker happily said from across the counter. “The crook is ready for ya.” Palmer stepped forward to the crafting table and took his crook with a light of his horn. It was a simple thing, about a meter long, maple, and lacquered so that the grain of the wood shown through as if somepony had painted them on. “The actual carving of it took only a good twenty minutes or so. It don’t take long to carve a stick out of a slightly larger stick,” the stallion said proudly as Palmer examined his new crook. “The only thing that took any amount of time was havin’ the lacquer dry and whatnot. But anyhow as it is, it’s all ready.” “Thank you for the time,” Palmer said as he held the crook off to his side. He left the wood shop and walked further down the street to the intersection. He turned right onto a wider street and made his way into the foyer of a clothing store. There, he quickly bought a simple collar and some other pieces with the three remaining bits he had. Before he left, he took a look in the mirror and decided that he looked familiar again. He returned to the town center a short ten minutes later with his new crook in tow at his side; old Tinker following leisurely without a care. The earlier crowd of ponies had thinned considerably in the span of time that Palmer had been gone; only a few more vendors were haggling around for anypony that they found suitable. Palmer approached one vendor whose overhanging banner was dyed a red that was a brilliant and vibrant as the horizon at the very moment the sun shows its face to the world. His brows were furrowed in anxiousness and he ignored the band of sweat forming around the ring of his collar. It was hot. “May I help you?” the vendor asked. His voice was abnormally high in Palmer’s ears. “Ay, sir,” he said hurriedly, nearly biting down on his tongue. “I was just wondering if you’d be looking for a shepherd.” “A shepherd . . . no . . . we aren’t. We haven’t gotten any sheep to be herded in the first place so what good would a shepherd be to us?” Palmer looked at the vendor for a while, his pride a little insulted, before nervously kicking the cobblestone beneath his hooves. “But . . . “ the vendor continued, “We are looking for somepony to tend after the mice that keep invading our barn. If you’re open to killing mice for a living, then you’re free to it.” The shepherd cast his gaze to the ground and considered it. For one, he’d be paid for something, but for another, he’d be throwing away all of what he was – a shepherd. Not only would he be throwing away who he is, he’d be throwing away his family tradition of shepherding. From his grandfather many centuries ago to his old father who was resting six feet under atop some hill to the far north of town. Then also to his mother who had run away to the growing town of Fillydephia shortly after the death of his father – Palmer tended not to think too much about how his own mother had left him to himself. He resented the mare. He angrily brushed that thought aside. He finally said, “No thank you. I can’t see myself going from a sheep herder to a rat killer.” “Mice killer. Rats and mice are two different things,” the vendor pointed out hotly as if offended. “Whatever. They’re close enough that I don’t give a damn.” It was the vendor’s turn to look at the shepherd for a while. “So you don’t want the offer.” “Not at all.” “Then it’s your loss. If you were looking for a job, then you’ve just blown up one of your few options, farmer. I would advise being a little more open to other options.” Palmer watched as the vendor tore down the banner that was as red as the morning horizon and fold it into a woven satchel that hug from his back. When he had finished this, he whistled for one of his helpers and they tore down the poorly-constructed, makeshift table. After roughly ten minutes of finding an odd bit of amusement out of watching them fumble around with the thing, Palmer turned away from the vendor and walked across the way to one of the others. By three in the afternoon, or quarter-to-two by his old broken watch, nearly all the vendors had gone home for the day. All that was left were a thinning crowd of stragglers. “Excuse me,” he said as he pushed in amongst their ranks after overhearing tid-bits of something. “What is this fair you’re talking about?” “Eh farmer? What’s abouts it ya wanna know?” one of the rougher looking stragglers asked as he turned around. He stood far taller and bulkier than any other stallion Palmer knew. It was intimidating. “Now Pull, be nice. I swear, you scare off anypony that tries to be friendly,” quickly said another. This one was about the same height and build as Palmer. This one wasn’t so much intimidating. “What were you asking, farmer?” “I overheard you talking about a fair tomorrow,” Palmer quickly replied. “Oh that,” the smaller said, “I might want to hurry up and start walking if I were you. The fair’s off in the town of Neighing which is about twenty miles to the west of Westerby.” Palmer perked his ears at the name of the familiar town. Where had he heard it before? “Did you say Westerby?” “I did. Why?” “Where is it? How far away is it?” “About a twelve hour walk out to the north of here. Honestly, if you’ve been here in Klimmington your entire life you should have some kind of idea.” “Can I get there by morning? “Like I said earlier, I’d probably start out on my way if I were you.” “May thanks, sir,” Palmer said with a final wave before bounding back down the road. He streaked back by the stone water fountain and tore down the cobble to the dirt paths that marked the edge of the town and the fields. He cast a hurried gaze up towards the sun and traced its path with his eyes across the sky. Once he got his bearings, he turned right and sped off down the path. When he came to the road that led due north out of town, he turned onto it and quickly made his way. He slowed to a walk when something nipped at his hoof. He looked down and saw Tinker lolling along with his tongue rolled out of the side of his mouth, panting and shaking from exerting energy towards running. Palmer lit his horn and lifted his dog onto his back. He continued past the broken fence posts and reddening trees. After a while of walking, Palmer turned his head back down to where he had come and could faintly see the thin billows of smoke rising from the chimneys that he knew to be home. He lowered his head for a moment before continuing his walk. With his crook lowered by his side and his dog resting across his back, the shepherd was leaving
The MistressThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 11: The Mistress Manson awoke at the very crack of dawn and removed himself from Rose’s loose embrace. He slid off the side of the bed and walked around the large maple wood foot and slipped out the door. He broke into a slow quiet trod down the silent dark hallway, its candles still unlit until he came to the handsome staircase. When he reached the ground floor, he slowly sneaked across the carpeted foyer and walked to the front door. He placed his hoof on the knob, turned it, opened the door, and stepped out into the morning. The air was cold on his face and on him as he stepped on across the porch. Each board beneath him gave way and creaked as he went and he cursed at them. They were loud and he would prefer to sneak out without waking up everything within any good sense of range. The boards of the steps creaked even louder and he cursed at them worse as consequence. He hated them. When he finally reached the packed gravel at the bottom after what felt like an hour of sneaking, Manson finally breathed a sigh of relief. He turned left onto the long driveway that stretched a mile out to the main road. The sounds of morning bird song drowned out the sound of the gravel compressing and shifting under his hooves with each step he took. The gravel was nowhere near as loud as the creaking boards of the porch, but he cursed and hated it all the same. When he finally reached the main road, he turned right and headed off towards town. The gravel changed over to dirt about another mile out from the intersection with the driveway. Manson rounded over the crest of a low hill and caught sight of the barn. Its windows were still dark and he stopped walking to listen. Not a thing could be heard over the soft sound of the singing birds. No conversation, no sound of walking, no sound of working; no sound of anything, just the birds singing. With a contented smile, he walked on down the road. ****** Palmer Orchid awoke from his sleep to the sound of wooden boards being moved around. He opened his eyes, shielded them from the sunlight pouring in from the window, raised his head, and drowsily gazed around the room. In the low dim light of the morning, he could easily see parts of the barn that had been shrouded in impenetrable shadows just a few hours before. The old stallion who had called himself Lock was sleeping flat on his back, his back hooves buried in the ashes of the fire and Flannel was curled up on his side and was covered in a thin linen sheet. As he raised he own head further from the pillow, Palmer heard the sound of moving wooden boards again. He turned his gaze to the corner furthest from the doors of the barn where a thing of tall wooden beams was propped against the wall. And standing by them with his back turned away yet again was Incognito. He had his head drooped low to the ground and he slowly moved round to behind the beams. He moved one out of the way to make more room before finally disappearing behind them. There was the sound of shuffling and things being moved before he finally backed out again. He turned his back to the board, locked eyes with the awoken farmer, and finally turned away again and walked slowly to the door. He pried it open and walked outside. “That’s Incognito,” a frail old voice said from behind. Palmer spun around in his spot and saw Lock still lying on his back, except for now, his eyes were open and he was watching. “What’d you say?” Palmer asked. “Ah said that that’s Incognito,” Lock replied. “What about him? Is he always that secretive?” “Like Ah said last night, he suffered somethin horrible when he was younger. He’s always been sort of secretive like this. We just pay it no mind. We think that it’s his way of healin and forgettin. Ah wouldn’t put too much thought on it.” Palmer turned his head round to the closed door again and stared at it where Incognito had passed through just moments earlier. “What about those boards over there?” he asked as he turned back around and pointed to the boards propped up against the wall. “What about them?” “Don’t they make you curious? Do you know what’s behind them?” “No. We ain’t curious any nor do we know what’s behind ‘em. Like Ah said, Incognito’s secretive and we just let him be as he is. He ain’t doin no harm any.” “Aren’t you curious just even a little?” “Ah admit that Ah have been several times over the while, but it’s best to just let things pass on their own.” Palmer turned back round the door and stood. He hurriedly brushed off a thin coat of dust that had settled on him during the night and watched as Lock did the same. “What do ya feel like for breakfast?” Lock asked as he gave his olden back a well deserved crack. “Oh no, I really have to be going,” Palmer denied, furiously shaking his head side to side, eventually eliciting a shard crack. “I heard that there’s a farmer’s fair off in some town a little ways down from Westerby and I was hoping on reaching it this morning.” “Well if ya’re planning on makin it over there then ya ain’t that far ways off,” the old stallion simply said with yet another tug of his white long beard. “The fair’s just about a few hours walk from here. Hmm . . . if you can leave here in just a few minutes then you should be able to make it there by about noon.” “What’s the name of the town?” Palmer asked. “I was told it yesterday afternoon before I started on my travels but I can’t remember it.” “Neighing? I believe that’s right.” “Neighing? Alright. Many thanks, old timer.” “Ya just go on and find a job. We got one open here on this plantation but if ya’re all set and ready to go on, then have an easy travel.” “Thank you.” “It is the job of older stallions and mares to provide knowledge and care for those that are younger than them. It has always been this way.” The determined farmer whistled his dog and gave the older stallion a hug. When he had everything set to go, he turned round and walked to the door. He turned the knob and stepped outside into the slowly warming morning air. He took a step and then another before closing the door behind him with a sharp click. The wood rattled as it closed. Tinker ran up ahead to the main road, jumping in and out of patches of grass that stood in his way. Palmer smiled as he made his own way, slow and steady, the air rustling his fur and the faint breeze messing his mane. When he reached the road, he turned back onto it and whistled for his dog to get back on track. When he received a snip on his leg, he began his march to Neighing. ****** “What else to you need, my lady?” asked Silver as she ran a comb through her mistress’ mane. “We’ve already gotten your carriage ready and waiting and your dress and things are ready and waiting on the bed . . . are you sure that we’re not missing anything?” “I’m sure, Silver,” Rose said as she smiled into the mirror in front of her. She blushed. Her yellow cheeks flooded with color and her eyes glistened in the light that was invading through the window. “I’m sure that we’ve gotten everything ready for today. It’s just a fair after all. I really don’t see why we should be so formal about this. It’s not as though we’re going someplace special with influential and very powerful ponies. It’s just a small town fair that we’re going to in hopes of picking up a worker to tend to our flock of sheep that are out running wild. Celestia only knows what they’re up to now.” “Well,” Silver said as she gave a tug on Rose’s stubborn mane, “If it’s like last time then they’re probably out by the western gate doing whatever it is that sheep do.” “And all they really do is get in the way,” Rose said, wincing slightly at a particularly hearty tug. “Honestly, we’re making enough money on just our milk and our harvests. Why do we have any sheep to begin with?” “Because your uncle loved sheep. He loved the way the sunlight reflected off of their clean white coats.” “They’re not really clean and white at the moment.” “True. If your uncle were still with us then he’d be doing something about it.” “I don’t care about the sheep.” “Why? They’re pretty when they’re cleaned up.” “They are kind of pretty I will admit but I still don’t care for them.” “Is there any particular reason? Because from what your uncle told me many times is that one usually has a reason for everything they do or think. He told me that one always has a reason and a cause and that something cannot just come out of nothing. That deep down there’s always some underlying reason and cause.” “I really don’t care what my uncle thinks. What I care about is the present now and what I think. I’m in charge here. My reasons and causes for things like what I think and why I think the way I think is irrelevant. My uncle was a sensible stallion and he eventually paid for it with his life. He went on without many friends. That is not how I wish to be. I wish to be that mare who everypony knows and who everypony loves. I want to be known. My uncle just sat back in his chair by the fire with his pipe and he would just think and it was that thinking of his that made him not well liked nor known. While everypony’s out working and getting known and getting on with their lives, my uncle would just be sitting inside going over some papers or whatever and thinking of reasons why everypony should slow down and admire and adore the things that surround us. I am not that kind of pony. I need to be out and about. I need to be liked and I need to be known. I cannot imagine a life just cooped up in front of a fire. It would be too boring.” “Well your uncle was never one for crowds of people to begin with. He enjoyed being inside with his small group of friends. He enjoyed their company and he was the happiest just sitting and smoking and talking and laughing. Your uncle was a very charming stallion and I miss him.” “Oh yeah, you were here when he was still here. And you were by his bed when he finally passed, weren’t you?” “I was, ma’am.” “Do you miss him?” “Everyday. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. I was his favorite and every morning I would come in and wake him up with a hug and a kiss. He always liked it when I would do that.” “You were his favorite?” “Well there were three servants here who took care of the house. There was Polish, Sterling, and myself. I don’t know where Polish and Sterling have gone. They just up and left after your uncle and my master died.” “Ah yes, I’ve heard things about those two.” “Have you?” “Oh yes. When I first came into town I heard that there were some new prostitutes working around who went by the names of Polish and Sterling. From what I overheard from some drunken ass at the tavern is that they’re actually pretty popular with that crowd.” “Hmm . . . I really thought they were alright mares. I never thought that they’d get into something like prostitution. That doesn’t suit their personalities in the slightest.” “Be as it may, I think that you’ve brushed my mane enough.” “Oh I’m sorry!” “It’s fine Silver. I think that I can take care of my bun. I’ve done it so many times in the past that it’s really just sort of second nature to me.” With that said Rose lit the tip of horn and lifted up a pin from the table. She bundled the end of her mane in another glow of light and brought it high above her head. She took one strand and tucked it behind and beneath another and then tied one around then into another bundle before inserting the pin to hold it all in place. The new bun fell loosely atop her head and bounced softly for a while before settling. Rose peered into the mirror and smiled, and then blushed, and then blushed harder when she saw that her reflection was blushing just as vividly as she was. “I think that will just about do it,” she said with a satisfied smile as she turned around in her seat. “You look very pretty, ma’am,” Silver said with a smile that mirrored Rose’s. “Thank you, Silver. Now then it’s time for the dress.” “Oh yes, ma’am,” Silver said as she rushed to the bed. She lifted the dress high above her head with a flicker of her own horn and brought it over to Rose’s side. She undid the front buttons and slipped it on over her master’s head, paying attention that the horn didn’t get caught and tear at the fabric. When the dress was fully in place, she buttoned up the front and admired her work. “Is it to your liking, ma’am?” she asked as she stepped away from the chair. Rose stood from her place and gave a short curt turn and spin before quizzically analyzing herself in the mirror before turning round with a smile. “Yes, Silver, I think that this will work perfectly for today. It’s not really so formal nor is it so loose and immodest; I do believe that it’s right there in that sweet spot that every designer and every mare tries to meet at least once in their lives.” “I’m glad to hear that I was able to find something that would fit.” “You did a good job.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “Now it’s time to get on our ways out and down to the carriage. How long do you think that it’ll take to get to Neighing?” Rose asked as she seemed to float across the floor to the door. “With the carriage, I would expect that we’d get there in an hour. Maybe two if we get caught in traffic. Which isn’t very likely because just as you said just a short while earlier, it’s just a small town fair for farmers. I don’t think that it’ll be too crowded. It never was when your uncle and I would go looking.” “Speaking of Uncle, who took of the sheep while he was alive?” “He always took care of them himself. He always thought that if he let anyone tend to them then they wouldn’t be the same, that they’d be dirtied.” “Dirtied? Is that what he really thought?” Rose asked with a hint of aversion in her voice as she stepped out into the hallway. “Was he really so obsessed with sheep that he’d go as far as to call them dirtied if anypony else tended to them?” “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was obsessed with them,” Silver quickly said, closing the door behind her and making sure that everything was taken care of. “He just found them really beautiful.” “Whatever. What time is it now?” “It’s a little bit after eight, ma’am.” “So if you said that we should get there to the fair in about an hour then we should get to Neighing around nine?” “Yes ma’am. If we can leave here in within the next ten minutes or so then we should get there before the crowds really start filtering in from all across the county.” “Silver, I’m actually kind of nervous.” “Why’s that ma’am?” “Because this is my very first fair and even though I want to become this well-known, respected, social mare, I can’t help but feel nervous at this time. Are you sure I look alright enough to go out?” “You look perfect ma’am and you’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. And besides, you’ve already got a bit of name going on for yourself around these parts just due to your relation with your uncle. Even though your uncle wasn’t well-liked or very social, everyone respected him because he did control the largest farm in these parts. And as such, because of your connection with him, you’ve already got a bit of reasonable reputation. You’ll be fine.” “Thank you Silver.” “There’s really no need to thank me for anything.” “But there is.” “What for?” “For being the best maid I think that I could ever hope to have.” “There’s really no need to thank me. It’s just my duty.” “Thank you Silver.” The two mares walked down the long length of the hallway now lit with a row of candles. Rose went on ahead, occasionally taking a short stop to look at something in another room before pressing on. Silver came up close behind her extinguishing the candles as she passed them by, casting the long hall into dimness only lit by the natural light invading in from the lonesome window at the very end of the hall. When the two reached the grand staircase, they quickly descended and crossed the carpeted foyer to the door. Silver lit the tip of her horn and swung the door open at the sound of rolling and clicking tumblers. Light flooded onto their faces as the two stepped outside onto the squeaky porch and as they descended down the rickety steps. They turned right and stepped into the shade of a magnificent red covered carriage. “Are you the driver?” Rose asked to a lanky tall stallion that stood lazily by the front right wheel. “Ay ma’am indeed I am, at your service.” “How much will I have to pay you to get to Neighing and back?” “Just four bits, ma’am.” “Just four?” “Ay ma’am.” Rose opened the pocket of her dress with a light of her own horn and extracted exactly four bits. She dropped them into her waiting hoof and hoofed them over to the driver of the carriage. With the transaction finished and the time ticking, Rose lifted herself up into the middle seat of the bench. Following her were Silver and the carriage’s driver. “Are you ready, ma’am?” “Yes. Quickly, let’s go before too much longer.” The driver gave the reins a sharp crack and the large mulls pulling the carriage started up. Their muscles stretched and flexed as they struggled to get going but almost as soon as they got started, they were off. The sound of turning wheels and crunching gravel met their ears as they started off down the driveway that stretched a mile out to the main road.
The HouseThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 1: The House It sits empty and decrepit. It sits alone and absent of joy. It is overcome with vegetation and it is slowly falling to pieces. So it was, the house on Mayberry Hill was destined to fall into the mysterious void of history. The house on Mayberry Hill. There is a story of it that has been passed down through the decades and it tells of a tragedy. The story of tragedy that like so many other things, has been changed and warped so now, no pony knows the exact truth of it. It is a sad fate. This old house, once so full of life and of love, is now resigned to its final years of loneliness and fear. This old home, this old house on the hill, is legend to have a ghost. It is this ghost, this legend, that draws most of the ponies fear. The story of the old home says that on cool nights, when the wind is still, if you look up to the old house you might just see her watching. So now, on those cool nights when everything is sound and still, the house is stayed away from unless passage is absolutely necessary. It is truly a sad fate for the house that used to sit full of life and love. ****** The morning was drawing near and in her loft above the town's library, Twilight Sparkle slept, her mane ruffled from the pillow. A swallow landed on the window sill and began to sing its morning song. Twilight drowsily swiped it away with her hoof and rolled over away from it. She returned to sleep and began to snore. The swallow picked itself off the floor, gave a snort to his unappreciative audience, and flew back out into the morning. A thick fog had rolled in off the river during the night and had settled over the entirety of Ponyville and in the glow of the morning sun, it was dyed a sensuous hue of pink and orange. Not a single thing stirred except for the morning birds that were beginning to sing their songs. The slow river trickled by and sighed as it went on its long journey to the sea. A slight breeze was blowing through the valley and the wind chimes hanging from the back porches of homes were slowly chiming, waking the deep sleepers from their slumber. It was a peaceful morning in which everypony was content to merely lie about and enjoy it. But the day continued. Twilight Sparkle groaned as she rose herself from her bed. Her blankets fell in a disheveled heap onto the floor and muffled her steps as she made her way to the window. She looked out to the beautiful scene of all of Ponyville as it slowly stirred from its blanket of fog. She scratched her mane, rubbed her eyes, and tossed the blankets back onto the bed with a quick flick of her horn. She turned away from the window and walked to the bathroom. In the mirror, she fixed her messy bed-mane and splashed water onto her face. She dried with a wash-cloth and took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her lavender coat was matted with sweat and her purple eyes were lined with bags. She had stayed up late into the night and she was regretting it. She had been too caught up in a book to register the time and it wasn't until Spike got up for his nightly restroom break that she finally closed the pages. With a quick wipe of her coat with a brush, Twilight left the bathroom and descended down the stairs to where she had left the book on the front counter. She picked it up, flipped through the pages till she found where she was, placed a marker, and placed it back on the shelf. She would certainly finish it later that night. She walked to the front door, unlocked it, and flipped the 'open' sign. With a shake of her head to rid herself of left over sleep, she sat down at the register. The day was soon to begin. ****** "Rarity, I don't think that this is working," Twilight struggled to say as her friend was fighting to fit her into a dress. "Nonsense!" Rarity cried, her purple mane bouncing as she fought to tie the strings. "You'll look absolutely marvelous when I'm done with you!" "Rarity, no . . . " Twilight strained, the strings and ribbons around her breast and neck now getting too tight for comfort. "No Rarity. It's just not going to work. It's too tight." "Nonsense! Nothing is too tight when it comes to fashion!" "Rarity . . . please . . . " "There! Finished! You look amazing! There's the mirror; now go have a look at yourself!" Although she was in obvious discomfort with it, Twilight did not want to disappoint her beaming friend. She painfully crossed over to the mirror and gazed in astonishment at her reflection. Her mane was brushed and styled up into a tall bun, her coat was brushed neat and waxed, her eyes were lined with a green liner, her hooves were sprinkled with some sort of glitter, and the ornate dress hung in dramatic folds. She never thought she'd look good in something so dramatic, but even so, Twilight couldn't help but feel beautiful. She blushed a little. "Well?" Rarity asked, clearly expecting a positive review. "What do you think? Is it ready for the showing?" Twilight turned to her friend with a smile. "Yes. I think it's absolutely wonderful." "I knew you'd like it. But now, is it ready for the showing? You know I've been worried about getting it ready for Hoity Toity's showing. Is it ready?" "I'm sure it will be fine." "Oh good," Rarity said with a relieved sigh. "I was afraid I'd never finish it in time," she added as she picked up the left over ribbons and fabric strands and placed them into a bin. "Can you please take it off now?" "Oh but why when you look so marvelous in it?" "Rarity, it's too tight for me. I can't breathe right," Twilight explained, beginning to fidget with the knots. "Oh fine. Fine," Rarity finally consented and with a flick of her horn, the tight ribbons and strings were untied and the ornate dress was removed to hang from the rack. "Better now? Oh yes, I can see where the strings were definitely too tight. I'll replace them with some longer ones." "Please do," Twilight said as she rubbed the areas where the tight strings had cut in. "Why did you come over?" Rarity asked after a while of fitting longer strings onto the dress. "I know it wasn't just to try on something. I can tell when you're thinking about something." Twilight continued to rub at the marks left behind by the dress. She sighed. "You know that story about the house on Mayberry Hill? That story that's suddenly becoming popular all of a sudden?" "The one that goes: "Many years ago, before Ponyville existed, there existed a home atop Mayberry Hill. It was so grand and full of life, no pony dreamed of sadness, But on Hearth's Warming Eve, tragedy struck upon that home. Some say she dropped dead of illness, Some say she dropped dead of poison, Some say she dropped dead of fright, Some say she dropped dead of a broken heart, But the exact reason why, No pony knows. But even to this day, On still cold nights, when you are walking by old Mayberry Hill, Look to the old house and look and see, You might just see her watching." That one?" "Precisely." "What about it? It's just a silly old tale about that abandoned house on Mayberry Hill that's been empty since even before Ponyville sprung to life. Why bother me with it?" "Well," Twilight embarrassingly said, unsure of what to say after that. "Well . . . Fluttershy seems to think that it's a true story . . . about the ghost and all . . . " "So then why not speak to her about it?" Rarity asked as she trotted back to the main floor of the boutique. "Well, I've already tried to but whatever I say, I don't think she's coming around. Plus, I just thought that you'd be the more interested in that sappy love-tragedy stuff," Twilight responded, sitting down at the head of a table. "And you thought right. It is a lady's job to seek love and to be moved by it. I love those kinds of stories, but in the end, they're all just stories and nothing more. Tea?" "Thanks," Twilight said as she took the mug of steaming tea that had been offered to her. "But still though, Fluttershy thinks that it's a real story about something that really happened." Rarity sighed and took a long sip from her own tea. "Twilight, I can't help you with this and you know this. I know nothing about it except for the old story. If you want to know the truth about it, go speak with Granny Smith. She's the oldest pony in Ponyville; maybe she knows something about it." Twilight took a swig from her mug. "Yeah. I'll go see if she knows anything." "If you don't mind me asking, why are you so worried about whether or not the silly old story is true?" Twilight shuffled her hooves on the floor. She wasn't quite sure why. "Honestly, I don't know." "So you have no idea why." "No idea . . . although I think that may be curiosity." Rarity raised her eyebrows. "You better be careful, Twilight. You know what everypony says, 'Curiosity killed the cat'." Twilight finished the last of her tea and stood up. "Now Rarity, that's just silly. I'm not a cat." With that and no more, she said farewell to her friend and exited through the door out into the day. ****** The afternoon was hot as it beat down on the ponies of Ponyville. Twilight Sparkle was heading down the road, breaking every now and then to wipe the sweat that slid from her mane-line. It was three in the afternoon and business was going as it always should. Twilight found herself in the midst of the town's square and she observed the stark difference there was from earlier that day. The thick fog from that calm morning had lifted with the rising of the sun and was now replaced by the crying of the cicada. The wind had picked up its pace as the day progressed and the slow river continued on its slow trek to the sea. The town square was alight with ponies, many of whom were passing their time in the shade trying to evade the heat of the morning sun. Some ponies were sitting around at the cafes enjoying a cold drink, some were in the various shops looking at the merchandise and wondering about what to get themselves as a present. Some ponies were enjoying a nice chat with a friend while the rest were content with lounging about and watching the hours pass. This was their day and they were going to make the best of it. Twilight Sparkle trotted past all of them as she made her way down the road. Further down along the road from the square was the park. The ponies that were not in the town square were here enjoying their day with their pets and their friends. The only differences between the square and the park is that there were less buildings and no shops to draw in window-shoppers that took up most of the space. Instead, trees, bushes, and the rolling hill were the norm and to all the ponies that frequented, this place was above all else the best. Even Twilight and Spike had come out this way some afternoons to escape from the confines of the library. She continued on. Further down the road was the school house for the young colts and fillies. It was painted red and only had one room, but despite this, it was the best school in Ponyville. Even in the hot day, the bell in the bell tower shown bright as light from the sun reflected from its polished surface. Twilight had always been fascinated by the ornate bell ever since she arrived in Ponyville. She was amazed by the intricate detail the metalworkers had inlaid on the bell. Every single line and edge had been delicately punched and hammered all by hoof. She had no idea how long it must have taken to finish it, but Twilight smiled at it as she passed by. Inside, she could hear Miss. Cheerilee teaching. She smiled again. Twilight remembered when she had been a filly and how she had spent many hours reading from large heavy books. Further down the road and finally, was Sweet Apple Acres and it was here that Twilight stopped walking. A bead of sweat rolled from her mane as she stole a glance at the large sign. She wiped the sweat away with a swipe of her hoof and she set down the dirt road to where she was confronted with the large barn. She gazed up to the tall doors of it and noticed a wasps nest that had been built in the corner of two intersecting beams. "Hi ya Twilight!" a familiar voice called from her side. "What can I do you for?" "Hi Applejack, you've got a wasps nest up there." Twilight said as she turned to greet her friend. Applejack was carrying behind her a large cart stocked full of apples. "Did you buck all those?" she asked as she staggered at the large amount of apples. "Not all by myself, and yeah, I know it's there. Big Mac took a nasty sting from one of 'em the other day when he was trying to bat it down." Applejack explained as she drew up to the doors of the barn. "Big Mac's out there helpin' right now. He should just about have another cart or two ready by the time I get back." "I see," Twilight said as she understood. "How bad was the sting?" "That sting was nothin'. We've lived up here on this farm ever since we were born. We've all had our share of stings and bites. It's nothin' to go and get in a fuss about." "I see." "Eeyup," Applejack said with a smile, copying her brother's famous quote. "So anyways, what can I do you for?" "Oh yeah," Twilight said, remembering why she had come here in the first place. "Do you know where Granny Smith is? I've got something I wanna talk with her about." "Sure I know where she is," Applejack said as she unloaded her cart of apples. "She should be up in the square by Sugarcube Corner selling the Apple family apples and jam. If she ain't there, then she's probably inside taking a nap. If she ain't there then I don't know where she is." "Thanks," Twilight said as she turned to leave. She was stopped by a question. “What’s this you wanna speak with Granny Smith about?” Twilight spun around and saw that her friend had adorned a quizzical look on her face. “Well . . . you know that house on Mayberry Hill?” “Yeah I’ve heard about it. So what?” “I just wanna know what really happened there in that old house and Rarity thinks that I should speak with Granny Smith about it since she is the oldest pony in Ponyville.” “Uh sugarcube . . . I’m not too sure even Granny Smith knows much about that house but you’re free to go and ask away if you really want to.” “What makes you think that she won’t know anything about it?” Twilight asked as her spirits began to sink. “Well that house is even older than she is and besides, whenever she’s told Big Mac and myself the story she would just say that it’s an old pony-tale. So that said, I don’t think she knows more about that we do," Applejack explained, retying the straps to the cart. "Ain't that right, Big Mac?" she added as her brother walked up to them, carrying behind him a train of apple-laden carts to unload. "Eeyup," he blankly said as he unloaded his own carts. "Well if that's all you want," Applejack said, turning to head back to the sprawling orchards. "Then I'm gonna go and I'm just gonna let you go and speak with Granny Smith if you still want to." "Thanks." "No problem." With that, Applejack and Big Macintosh headed back down the long rows of apple trees, leaving Twilight Sparkle alone. She looked at the large pile of apples that the two had deposited, took a glance up to the hanging wasps nest, and left the farm. She walked back down the rough dirt road, kicking up a little cloud of dust as she went. She hopped back onto the main road and headed back to the town. ****** The disheveled office room was hot and stuffy as the hot sun shown in through the windows and as the government ponies crowded around the desk in the middle. The walls were a pasty red wallpaper and the brown carpet on the floor smelled of stale air freshener. Along the walls were file cabinets that had been tightly packed together and some stacked one atop the other. There were other cabinets of other kinds. The two that stood out the most were two tall cabinets that stood along the right wall. The first of the cabinets was the taller of the two and it had been detailed with fine ornate decorations, all meticulously carved by hoof. It was stocked full with bottles of Applejack Daniels and other whiskeys from all over Equestria. The other cabinet, while not as tall as the first, was decorated with a carved dragon that winded itself around the door frame. Inside this cabinet was nothing too special: papers for filing, changes of clothes, and several pairs of glasses. There were glasses for reading, for looking far away, and for looking close up; glasses for every occasion. "Mayor!" cried one of the government ponies who had her mane tied in a tall bun. "Use your head please!" "Terra, calm down. I've heard your concerns . . . " "I don't think you have, Mayor! That house needs to go! It's proving to be a nuisance for the environment around it!" "So what?" Mayor Mare asked, raising her eyebrows at her adviser. "That house has been there for decades upon decades and has done nothing to harm anything or anypony. It's just sitting up there waiting for its own time to fall down. I see no point in spending money to demolish it when it's already so close to doing so on its own." "Mayor Mare . . . " Terra said, rising to her full height. But even at her full height, she wasn't very imposing. "I agree with Mayor Mare," the heavily built Tourism Adviser stallion said, twisting in his seat to look at the two. "Not you too, Tour!" "Yes me too. I see no reason why that old house should be torn down. It's up there all on its own and as a matter of fact, that old house has garnered a little following of ponies who travel from all over just to see it. I bet you that during the next strong thunderstorm them weather pegasi put together, that old house is gonna fall right over. There's no reason to tear it down." "No reason! Is that what you council members think?" The council sitting around the stuffy office nodded in unison with the exception of two. "There's absolutely no reason to," said the small Business Adviser stallion. "Business has been steady in Ponyville for years now. And even recently with the publishing of the most recent Earnings Report, there's been an increase in business around Ponyville. I'm pleased with the way things are going and from where I sit, there's no point in tearing down that old house." "I'm actually going to agree with Terra on this one," spoke up one of the mares that had not nodded. She was the Parks and Recreation Adviser. Spring was unnaturally tall. She towered above all the other mares and even rivaled the height of even the tallest stallions. "That old house is an eyesore and it has really got to go! Instead of that dirty old hole taking up the hill, we could finance the building of a new park or a new series of recreation areas." "There's a lot of money involved with that," Mayor Mare said, rubbing her temples with her front hooves, her forelegs propped up on the surface of her desk. "A lot of money?" Spring asked. "How much money is 'a lot of money'?" "Tens of thousands of bits," Mayor Mare explained. "That's how much. First we'd have to hire a crew to tear it down, then hire another crew to clear the ground and get the hillside refurbished, and only then would we be able to begin work on the park. Too much time. Too much money." "And you have a better idea?" "Yes: Leave the old house alone." "Mayor! That's ridiculous!" Terra cried, sitting back down in her seat. "It is not." Terra held her head in her front hooves and sighed as if giving up. "Does anypony have anything else to add to this weeks meeting?" Mayor Mare asked her advisers that had crowded around her office. "If anypony has anything else to add, then say it now, if not, then I announce this meeting as fini . . . " "Wait," Terra said, removing her head from her hooves, revealing an odd sort of smile. "I have something to add." "And what would that be?" "A reason to tear down that old house. Since you obviously won't listen to my concerns about the state of the ecosystem around the house, then will you listen to this?" "And just what is this 'this'?" Terra looked around the room at her fellow advisers before turning back to look at the mayor. "Here's just a little way we can demolish that old house and still end up putting thousands of bits in our own pockets." "Are you suggesting we do something corrupted that's not going to profit this town in any way?" Mayor Mare asked, her voice rising a little. "No, no," Terra said with the same odd smile. "It'll profit . . . I'm sure of it." "Then what are you suggesting?" the small Business Adviser asked, his interest piqued. "What are you suggesting?" "I'm suggesting that we tear down the old house so we can plant more mayberry bushes." "I don't get it." "How can you not get it?" Terra asked, her voice excited. "Ponyville is renowned not only for its apples but also for the jellies and jams that are made from its mayberries. Don't you see? If there are more mayberries then there will be more business." "I still don't see how that will profit us," Loan said, shifting slightly in his seat in discomfort with his sitting posture. "I'm not following it either," Mayor Mare said, also shifting in her own seat. "What we do is we tear down the old house, clear the area, plant more bushes and then when business is up, we use the money to pay for the hill." "And what about profits? At best, that just sounds like it's only going to make us break even with it," Loan said uneasily. "We rise the price of the berries." "We have no control over their prices," Mayor Mare said, wiping her eyes. "The prices of things are controlled by the stock market. Terra, this is ridiculous. That idea is just nonsense. The best way to make any kind of profit is to just let things go as they will and then when the house has fallen on its own, then we plant bushes. That's the only way we're ever gonna make a profit on that." "Well suppose we just mess around with the stock market. Then we could control things as we choose to." "That's all very tempting, Terra, but we've got an oath to uphold," Loan said, sternly now. "We were elected to provide laws and propositions built around common-sense and selflessness. What you're proposing with messing around with the markets is preposterous." "It is not. Even you said it yourself just now. It's tempting." "It is tempting but no further than that. Mayor, I believe it's time we end this council meeting before our desires become even more twisted." "You're right . . . but even so, we must take Terra's proposal into consideration and vote on it," Mayor Mare said with a sad sigh at the selfish ambitions of her adviser. "All those in favor of Terra's proposal?" To her astonishment, most of the council members raised their hooves to signal their approval of it. Had they really snooped so low as tweaking with the markets for their own gains. Mayor Mare sighed. "Motion passed." ****** Twilight Sparkle trotted back to the town square where she had passed through just an hour ago. Not much had changed during her absence. Some new ponies had taken residence there while some of the others had already left to do whatever it is that they do. Other than that, nothing had changed. Twilight slowly made her way through the crowds, sweat pouring from her coat from the heat of the day. She stretched her neck, peering through the various ponies in an effort to find old Granny Smith. She had no luck and she resigned herself to several minutes of fruitless searching. She eventually broke down into a chair that was hidden in the shade of one of the cafes. "Excuse me," she said to a passing waiter. "Yes," he said as he turned around. "How may I help you?" "I'd like to order a cold water," Twilight replied as she wiped away the sweat from her brow. With the heat on her shoulders, a cold water was the least she could do. "Right away." Twilight patiently waited for a minute, watching the other ponies go about their own lives. Now that she was doing it, it didn't seem so weird to her. The waiter swiftly returned with a large glass filled with water and large chunks of ice. "Thank you." "Enjoy your water, ma'am." She quickly took a very long swig of it and instantly felt a wave of relief from the heat wash over her. She took another long drain and hurriedly flagged down the waiter again. "May I help you?" he blankly asked as a bead of sweat trickled from his own brow. He quickly wiped it away. "I'd like another cold water please," Twilight requested as she finished the last of the water she already had. "Right away, ma'am." Twilight Sparkle watched her waiter go before turning her eyes back to the large crowd. If she was going to find Granny Smith, she was going to do it from the shade to spare herself time out in the heat. She shifted in her seat and tried to look through whatever openings in the crowd she could find. But it was to no avail. "Thank you," she said again when her waiter returned with another water. She took a long drain from it before placing it on the table. She continued her search. When the large bronze bell from the school's bell tower rung out across the square, Twilight stood up and placed some bits on the table. She sighed deeply and stretched. She had certainly been sitting still for far too long and her body protested at the sudden movements. As she was preparing to leave, her eyes fell onto a light green unicorn mare pulling behind her a wagon of apples. Twilight shook her mane, wiped away the sweat, and walked over to the light green mare with the wagon. "Hello Lyra," Twilight said as she approached. "Oh hi ya Twilight," Lyra said, stopping in her tracks and wiping away the sweat from her brow. "It's a hot day isn't it?" "A little too hot," Twilight agreed readily. "Yep. That's what I was trying to tell Bon-Bon earlier today," Lyra said as she nodded. "Why do you have so many apples?" Twilight suddenly asked, changing the subject from the weather. "Oh. Bon-Bon likes making little candies and such from the Apple Family apples," Lyra joyfully explained. "I ran into Granny Smith just now and so I decided to buy some and surprise Bon-Bon tonight." Twilight looked to the wagon-full of apples and smiled. "I see." "So . . . um . . . Twilight. You look like you've got something on your mind," Lyra said as she examined Twilight's face and loosened the harness. "Do I?" "Oh yeah. It's actually pretty obvious. What's up?" "Oh it's nothing," Twilight said, a little more shyly than what she would have cared for. "Twilight, you're no stranger here in this town," Lyra reassured her. "You have done a lot for this town and everypony's grateful for everything you've done. If you're troubled by anything, you can just ask around." "Thanks Lyra." "So what's up? But please be quick with it. I have to get home soon." "Alright. Do you know where Granny Smith is?" Twilight asked, feeling incredibly stupid. Of course Lyra knows where Granny Smith is; she had just come from there. "Uh . . . yeah . . . " Lyra said, looking a little dumbfounded. "Uh . . . is that all you were worried about?" "Well no," Twilight hurriedly said. "I've actually got something to speak with her about and so . . . " "What kind of thing is this 'thing' you got to talk about?" Lyra asked, beginning to refasten the straps to the harness. "That is if you don't me asking." "Well you know that old house on Mayberry Hill?" "Oh by Celestia!" Lyra suddenly cried as she covered her ears with her hooves. "Please spare me it. I am so tired of hearing about that silly old story. It's all Bon-Bon talks about now-a-days. It used to be that she'd talk about me and compliment me and call me 'pretty' and 'beautiful' but now it's all about that silly old house!" "Oh well I'm not really much interested in it," Twilight was quick to say, feeling a little sorry for Lyra. "I just wanna find out the truth about what really happened there and the history about it and so I was thinking I should go and talk with Granny Smith about it." Lyra looked sceptically at Twilight before sighing deeply and pointing down the street with her hoof. "She's just a little ways down that way." "Okay. Thanks, Lyra," Twilight said before trotting off in the direction that Lyra had pointed and she heard Lyra sigh again. Twilight looked back over her shoulder to see Lyra walking again in the opposite direction, her cart kicking up dust as it went. Twilight continued on her trek down the road, occasionally stopping to wipe the sweat that poured from her mane-line and brow. She quickly stepped into the shade of a house to cool down. She sat down and wiped more sweat away. She turned her head and looked a little further down the road and could make out the familiar apple stand. It was the same as it had ever been. It was an ordinary stand situated on wheels but it was heavily decorated with painted-on apples. It had two stands off to the side of it, both were laden with apples of various kinds, and as a new feature for these hot days was a large awning that cast a large area of shade. Under the awning was a large crowd of ponies. Twilight was a little apprehensive about heading over but she puckered it up and slowly crossed the street to where the apple cart was. "Granny Smith," Twilight strained to say as she fought her way up to the front. "Hmm? Who's 'zat?" Granny Smith absently asked as she turned around to see who had spoken. "Oh hi Twilight. How are you today? Want some apples?" "Oh no thanks," Twilight said as she waved away Granny Smith's offer. "I've actually got something to talk with you about." "What now?" Granny Smith asked, raising her hoof to her ear. "You want twenty apples?" "No," Twilight insisted. "I have something I want to talk with you about." "You have a thing with a hat?" "No! I have something to talk with you about!" "You have something you want to talk about? Then why didn't you just say so?" Twilight pressed her hooves into her eyes and loudly sighed. "That's what I've been trying to tell you all along," Twilight said as Granny Smith finished giving change to a brown pegasus stallion. "And what do you want to talk about?" Granny Smith asked. "It's actually something I want to speak with you in private about." "Well I'm actually pretty busy as it is. How about you come back at dusk when the crowd starts to thin and go home." Twilight watched as Granny Smith addressed a small grey filly with a long white mane that lazily drooped over one of her eyes. Twilight watched the small grey filly as she ordered a large red apple, pay the bit for it, and run off with a large grin plastered on her face. Twilight smiled and retired back to the shadows across the street. The minutes seemed to pass like hours as Twilight impatiently and anxiously sat in the shade waiting. As she sat and as the sun began to set in the far-off horizon, the temperatures began to cool off. Although she had spent most of the time bored out of her mind, Twilight had been somewhat entertained. For one thing, about an hour after she resigned herself to the shadows, a young mare with her young colt had been constantly trying to prevent him from magicking whatever he could point his horn at. Later, she sat and laughed as Snips and Snails kept tripping over each others hooves as they tried to walk down the street. Later, she had watched as two pegasus colts got into a heated argument about whose wings were bigger. After watching this and that and everything in between, Twilight did have to admit to herself that it hadn't had been that bad of a wait. Just as Granny Smith had predicted, as dusk blanketed the town, the ponies underneath the large awning began to disperse and head on with their own lives. Twilight waited until the very last had left before crossing the street again. "Granny Smith," she said as she neared the old mare who was busy counting the revenue for that day. "Granny Smith," Twilight said again when the old mare did not respond. "Granny Smith!" "Oh what's going . . . oh Twilight. How nice to see you. Do you want some apples?" "Um no . . . I actually have something I want to talk with you about." "And what would that be, dear?" "That old house on Mayberry Hill." Granny Smith stopped counting the bits and sighed. She turned away from Twilight and picked up her saddle bags. For being as old as she was, that didn't stop Granny Smith in the slightest. When she had finished, she turned back around to Twilight and gave her a sad look and sighed again. "That's an old story," she said before flipping over the 'closed' sign on the cart and closing the panels to the apple stands. She locked them with a turn of her key and sighed again. "That's an old story," she said again. "So you do know about the old house?" Twilight asked as she got nearer to the closed stand. The sun had set now and everything was cast into shadow. "Can you tell me about it, please?" "Of course this old mare knows about it," Granny Smith said sadly. "I was here and around when that old story got going around. I was a young filly then but I can still remember the day I first heard that story. It was a hot summer day, much like this one here was today, and my family and I were out picking apples. This young filly, much like myself when I was younger, was walking down the street with one of her friends and they were talking about it. I went over and asked them about it and they told me. Yup. They sure did." "So you heard it when you were a filly . . . so other than the story," Twilight said as she sat down on her haunches to hear more. "Do you know anything specific about the house?" Granny Smith looked sadly to the ground and began to walk down the street as fast as her old legs would carry her. Twilight stood up and followed her as she went. "Yeah I know a little about it," Granny Smith sadly said as she kicked up some dust. "But you gotta remember, that house was around long before my family and I started up our farm. I think you heard that old story. My family and myself were wandering around Equestria looking for steady work. One day, we went up to Canterlot and the princess had a taste of what we were selling and you know how things went from there. She really liked it and she gave us some land down here in this valley and it was there that we started up everything. By the time we arrived, that old house had already been there for some time and was already abandoned . . . so you see, I can't really tell you much about it personally, but . . . " "But what?" Twilight Sparkle asked suddenly, cutting off what Granny Smith was saying. "Are you saying that there's somepony who knows about the house?" "If he's still alive, then yes," Granny Smith, even more sadly than before. "If he's still alive then he's the person you should speak with." "What do you mean 'if he's still alive'?" "Well I haven't seen that old fart in decades. He and I met when I was younger mare," Granny Smith explained with a smile. "Oh he was a nice young stallion when we met. Oh yes. He was as tall as the tallest stallions and he was stronger than all the rest. He was the most handsome stallion my eyes have ever laid on." "What was his name?" "Bindweed Orchid." "Bindweed Orchid?" "Yes. Bindweed Orchid," Granny Smith responded with another smile. "Yes. He was a handsome stallion." "How do you know him?" Twilight asked, her interest piqued. "Well once again, it was a hot summer day, much like this one here, and I was in town selling some apples. It was about time I was beginning to load up and go back home when there was a knock on the stand. I turned around and standing there was this really handsome stallion. He asked for some apples before I closed up the stand entirely and so I obliged. After that evening, he came back to the stand everyday for the next couple weeks and you know how things go, you're a mare. You should know." "I'm sorry but I don't know," Twilight said with a little blush. "Huh? You don't know?" Granny Smith asked as if she couldn't believe a word she was hearing. "No," Twilight shyly asked, her blush deepening. "Well anyways," Granny Smith continued on. "He came by everyday and things just sort of ticked. He and I began meeting up some days during my breaks and we'd go and walk around Ponyville. We'd just talk and we'd just have fun. Those were good days although things never really turned physical except for a kiss every now and then. And then several months after we started up, he left one day and I haven't seen or heard from that old fart since," Granny Smith said with a bitter tone in her voice. "Where do you think he went?" Twilight asked as she felt a little sorry for the old mare. "Heavens should I know! He didn't leave me a note or anything. He just up and left like a fart in the wind." Twilight laughed at that. "So you have no idea where he could be . . . " "Nope. I haven't a single clue as to where that stallion's gone off to." Twilight kicked at the ground. "Well that doesn't help me at all. Did he tell you anything about the old house?" "Nope," Granny Smith was quick to respond. "One of the few things he told me about that old house was that he was the grand-colt of the mare that supposedly died up there in that house. Other than that little piece of information and some more of this and that, he didn't tell me anything." "That really doesn't help my situation at all." "Well I'm sorry Twilight," Granny Smith said lightly. "But I can't help you as much as I would like to. I'll see you tomorrow if you stop by the cart. I should be closer to the square tomorrow if you want to stop by. But for now, I'm gonna head down the road and fall asleep in my rocking chair." Twilight looked around and found herself in front of the large Sweet Apple Acres sign. Had they really been walking for that long? "Oh okay," she said as she turned around back towards town. "I'm really sorry I can't help you more than that," Granny Smith said before she started her way down the dirt road to the farm. Twilight looked to the dark sky and sighed. She was no closer to finding out the truth about that old house than she was when she spoke with Rarity earlier that day. She walked on and as she walked, the lingering promises of the day vanished beyond the horizon. The moon was rising and the stars were shining. A thin veil of fog was beginning to roll in off the cool river as it, just as it always had and always will, slowly drained out to the sea. Some businesses were still open as Twilight re-entered the town but most had already closed up for the day. She marched up the steps of the library and unlocked the door with a quick flick of her horn. She slowly went up the stairs to her loft, completely ignoring the book she told herself that she would finish, and flopped down into the bed. "Twilight, where have you been today?" Spike asked as he came out of the bathroom. "Out." "What do you mean by 'Out'? You just up and left. Do you know how many ponies stopped by the library while you were gone?" "No." "A lot. That's how many," Spike said as he curled into his own bed. "I'm sorry, Spike. I had a lot to figure out." "Figure out what? If you had something to figure out, then why didn't you just stay here at the library with all these books around?" "It's not something I can figure out with a book," Twilight said. "Well then what is you were trying to figure out?" "Nothing really important." "Then why worry about figuring it out?" "Because I want to." Spike shook his head and laid down completely in his bed. "Well whatever then. Good night, Twilight." "Good night, Spike," Twilight said as she opened the window beside her bed. She got out of bed and crossed over to the window. She propped her head up onto the sill and gazed out at Ponyville. She really was no closer to finding out the truth about the old house. She had no idea who this Bindweed Orchid pony was, she had no idea where she would find him, she had no idea where he could be, she had no idea if he was even still alive, and even if he was, he might be addled and have no memories about the house. Twilight deeply sighed and let the first cool night breeze kiss her face. She let it wash over her coat and through her mane, she let it enter the room and lightly rustle the papers on her desk, and she closed her eyes. Twilight removed herself from the window and crossed back to the bed. She plopped down into it again and let all thoughts about the house fall away. She fell to sleep.
The BarnThe House on Mayberry Hill Chapter 10: The Barn The moon was rising slowly over the low horizon as the dusk faded to night. The circular orb that hung as if by a string cast a pale opalescent glow across the lands and the thin white tint of it reflected off of window into the shadows below. A slow steady wind, chilled by the onset of autumn, was blowing through the narrow lanes and caused the wind chimes hanging in the windows to chime. The bell in the church tower sounded at the arrival of the hour. At midnight when the moon was at its highest as if determined by a timer, the darkened form of a stallion darted out from the alleyway squeezed in between two homes built of wooden boards. He quickly ran across the cobblestone before taking refuge in the alley across the way. He paused only for a moment to catch his breath before darting out again into the road. He ran as quickly as he could towards the center of town. Without missing a step, he quickly turned past the darkened silent library before continuing onwards to an alley that was shadowed by the blank backside of the postal house. He turned into it and crossed it to the street on the other side. Once on the other side, he slowed his pace to a mere walk and leisurely strolled onwards to the only home that was still lit up. A thin layer of moss had lazily formed across the wooden side of the home and light was pouring out into the night through the open window. The stallion crept closer to the home and propped himself up in the window sill. “Holly,” he said quietly to the red mare that was sitting back in a cushion by the far corner. Her head was drooping into a pillow as she vainly fought the will to stay awake. “Holly,” he said again. She jerked her head upwards from the pillow at the sound of his voice and quickly turned to the window. Her expression instantly changed from one of drowsiness to one of alarm at the sight of him and she quickly crossed the floor to open the door. “Boldwood,” she hushed as she held the door open for him to enter. “You can’t be here! I’ve told you that my father doesn’t like you being here! Quickly! Go before he wakes up!” “Not until I tell you what I have to tell you,” Boldwood protested. “What do you have to tell me?” “Did you not get my letter?” “What letter?” “I sent it a week ago. You should have gotten it by Monday.” “I have received no letter. After the last letter I got from you my father’s been going through every bit of mail that comes to and leaves this house. Perhaps he found it and burned it. I don’t know. I just know that I have received no letter of any kind.” Boldwood stormed across the room to the wooden door that led the way to the hallway and angrily placed his hoof on the doorknob. “Boldwood stop!” Holly cried as she rushed to his side and forcibly removed his hoof from the knob. She silently reclosed the door. “Stop! I beg you! Father’s sleeping and if he were to ever find out that you’re here or were here I don’t know what he’ll do.” “Holly, that stallion is controlling. He’s keeping you here as if you’re some dog. Holly –“ “Boldwood, he’s my father; he’s free to do that if he wants to.” “Holly, no he isn’t free to do that. This isn’t love he’s doing, this is meanness and cruelty.” “Please don’t say that –“ “How can I not? It’s the truth.” “Boldwood please. I love my father. I know he means well with the things he does.” “Holly, see reason.” “My father is a loving father. He’s always loved me. Boldwood please.” He looked down at the face of the pleading mare before finally consenting with a heavy sigh. “Fine,” he said quietly, retreating back to a position of submission. Holly extended her hoof and placed it lightly on his cheek and brushed his mane away from in front of his eyes. “It will all be alright. Don’t worry. Father will come around. Just promise that you won’t worry too much about it, my dear.” “But Holly, he’s –“ “No more. Just be patient. Everything will work out.” Boldwood pressed his cheek against her hoof and marveled at the warmth of it. He said, “I still haven’t told you what it is I have to tell you.” “True,” Holly agreed, smiling as her lover nuzzled his cheek against her hoof. Boldwood took a deep sigh before beginning. “I’ve been working on getting a house,” he finally said after a moment of silence. “The finalization of it will take a while and it probably won’t be until I get back.” “Get back from where?” “Aren’t you worried about the house?” “No. I have a home here currently. I’m more worried about where you are going and what you’re doing. Boldwood, I love you. No house will ever be more important to me than you are. “But the house –“ “Oh hang the house. I’m more worried about where you’re going. So I’ll ask again, getting back from where?” Boldwood hesitated with answer before finally answering, “Someplace far away from here.” Holly removed her hoof from his cheek with a blank expression on her face that ranged on being unsurprised, as if she had known all along. “So where are you going?” “They’re sending me away to Los Pegasus where ever that’s at. They say its some sort of town blooming out west towards the deserts but that’s all they’ve told me.” “When will you be coming home?” “I don’t know how long they want me to be there. It could be a couple of months for all I know.” Holly pressed the fore of her head to his and held it there. “Please tell me you’ll wait for me,” Boldwood said he pressed his muzzle into the side of her neck. They sat in silence for moment in which only the swinging pendulum of the grandfather clock made any sound. “Of course I will.” “Even if I’m gone for a year?” “Without any doubt.” “What if I were gone for two?” “I would think of you and worry over you everyday.” “Really?” “With all my heart.” “Holly –“ “Yes?” “I love you. I want you to be my wife when I return.” “I love you too, Boldwood. I would be grateful and proud to call you my husband and to call myself your wife. It’s all I wish.” Boldwood broke the connection with the side of her neck and stole her lips with his. Their passions were hot. Drool leaked from the corners of their mouths as their tongues sought each other. They pushed and pushed, trying to find where each began. It was Holly who broke the kiss. “Now hurry,” she said as she wiped a trail of drool from her chin. “Hurry, before father wakes.” Boldwood kissed her again. “Not until you say you love me again.” “I love you.” “Wait for me?” “Always.” He stole her lips once more before turning away and dashing back out into the night. Holly quietly closed the door after him and went back to her cushions. Blushing and suddenly in heat, she buried her head into her pillow. She slid her hooves down the length of her belly to her nether-regions. With a touch, she moaned and bit down on the corner of her pillow. “Dammit Boldwood.” ****** The air was cold as Palmer Orchid slowly walked down the dirt road; olden Tinker was following close behind after having recovered from his earlier over-exertion. Palmer’s crook hung lazily to his side, held up by the faint blue light of his magic. As he neared a stone bridge, he turned his gaze up to the high moon and tracked its position in the sky. “One in the morning,” he said to himself. “I should be close by now.” He continued his walk before seeing the faint glow of fire burning off in the distance. He sped up his speed to a quick jog and then to a hurried run as he tore down the road and eventually down the field. As he neared the light, he nearly ran headlong into the side of a barn. Pausing shortly to correct himself, he looked up to the window high above his head and recognized it as the light that he had seen off in the distance. He walked around to the front of the barn before looking back up to the road he had ran down from. He knocked on the door. “Hello,” he said, “I’m looking for a place to stay for the night. I’ll have been left by the morning. Please, if you’d be so kind as to let me stay here for the night.” He knocked again. And then again. On his fourth knock, the door flung open to reveal a band of stallions huddled around a dying fire. One was nursing a bloody nose, one was sitting on a fraying cushion and another was resting with his head on a dirty pillow. Palmer looked down and saw the old stallion that had opened the door. His mane was as white as the wool of sheep and his face was lined and shrunken with wrinkles. “May ah help ya?” he asked in a voice that shook with his age. “I’m just looking for a place to stay the night,” Palmer replied as he felt his dog press up against the back of his legs. “Well come on in then,” the old stallion continued as he shakily moved out of the way. “Ah think we got a spare blanket or two someplace for ya to use.” “Thank you kindly, sir.” “Think nothin’ of it. Sometimes ‘tis only best to simply show an act of kindness to one another.” With a nod, Palmer stepped in past the old stallion and heard the swing and the click of a closing door. He walked unsurely to the fire in the middle of the floor and sat down next to the stallion that was nursing his blooded nose. From afar, it looked almost comical but from where he was now, he could clearly see how severe the wound actually was. The side of his muzzle was ripped and blood was slowly oozing out from the wounds. He was busy as wrapping bandages onto it. “What happened to him?” Palmer found himself suddenly asking and he clasped his hoof over his mouth as if he had just said a very dirty swear word. “He got himself kicked and trampled by some of our cows,” said the stallion that had his head rested on the dirty pillow. “He got too drunk down at the tavern in town and ended up messing around with the cows. They didn’t find that too funny so they got him real good.” “Shut up Manson,” the one with the bloody nose retorted as he finished tightening the bandage in its place. “You knew I was off it. Why didn’t you stop me when you had the chance to?” “Because it was funny watching you stumble around like a foal,” Manson replied, sitting up a little higher to get a better look. “You’re mean, Manson.” “I know. What else is new?” “I’m not going to start this with you today, Manson.” “Start what?” “You know exactly what it is you’re starting.” “Do not.” “Oh you’re doing it now!” “Now, now you young’un’s,” the elder said as he walked to the pair and sat down between them. His old whitened mane fell like a thin linen sheet down the side of his face. “No arguin’. Can’t ya see we got a guest?” “I can,” the blooded one said as he refitted the bandage. “Ain’t y’all’s gonna introduce y’allselves?” “Why? He’s only staying the night so I’ve heard,” the one named Manson said as he shuffled back into a lying posture on his pillow. “Even so ‘tis common courtesy methinks.” Palmer looked around at the crowd. There was the olden one that was obviously the kinder out of the bunch, there was the one that had been drunk and trampled by cows, Manson, and then the other that was still lying on his cushions without saying a single word or even having moved. Something seemed off about that one. “Who’s that fellow?” Palmer asked across to the oldest as he pointed over to the younger stallion. “Not quite sure of his name,” he replied. “Oh by the way, they call me Lock and they call these two idiots Manson and Flannel.” “Nice to meet you,” Palmer said as he nodded his head to each in turn. “But getting back to my original question, who is that fellow lying on the cushions in the corner?” “No pony knows his name,” Lock said as he looked sadly over to the other. “We just all call him Incognito. He’s really anti-social-like and he hardly every musters more than two words to anypony and when he does it’s usually ‘Morning’ or ‘Good night’. He’s a strange one. When he first came to working here on this here plantation, Ah had been here a good thirty some odd years. He came in as the tiniest foal Ah’d ever seen. Some rumors around town floatin’ round is that his mum and dad had been gotten into this here accident. Some say accident and some say murder but the truth is, no pony knows and no pony’s lookin’ to push to subject more than it’s worth. Ah think that the deaths may have messed him up in the head a little. That’s really all we know of him.” “You said this is a plantation?” Palmer asked as he gazed sadly to the young stallion in the corner. He thought he saw him move. “Yes, sir Ah did,” Lock replied. “This here plantation is owned by some stallion that come down from Fillydelphia Ah believe it is although he tragically passed several months ago. Now his daughter or his niece has taken over the business and all whatnot ya know.” “What is her name?” Palmer asked as he sat up straighter and turned his ears closer to hear. “Rose? I believe that’s it.” “You’re kidding?” “Ah don’ know. Hardly ever see her much and when we do it’s just in short passing. She keeps herself up by the plantation house most of the time. It’s a fine house. Ah don’ blame her for keeping herself up there instead of comin on down here to the fields and pastures. ‘Tis dirty work as a farmer; although Ah’ve been in this profession mah entire life so Ah’m a little bit more used to it.” “What is it that you do?” “Well mah father and his father before him were wheat farmers and then Ah took up the trade when Ah came of age. Now, Ah feed all the livestock here on this farm.” “What about the others?” “We have names you know,” Flannel suddenly cut in from his spot by the fire. The blood from his wound was already soaking the bandages in red. It seemed to glisten in the light of the fire. “I know you have names,” Palmer replied apologetically, hanging his head and looking nervously at Lock who proceeded to laugh. “Oh come now, Flannel. This here stallion’s only gonna be here the night; no need to go and get feisty at him. And besides, he and I was speakin’.” “You old stallion, it’s a matter of respect. It’s not respectful to others to just simply call them ‘others’ when they’re around.” “Alright then. Alright. Anyhows, Flannel over here takes care of the pigs and Manson there oversees the goats. Now let’s see here, Incognito helps me out with the feedin’.” “Ah.” “Yup . . . so what is that ya do?” Palmer gazed absentmindedly for a while into the red depths of the fire for a moment before answering the olden stallion. “I used to be a sheep herder back in the town of Klimmington,” he said. “My own father was one and so was my grandfather. As a matter of fact, the entire line of my family has been sheep herders.” “Ah. So you’re a shepherd? Why’d ya come here then?” Palmer looked around the room at each of the ponies who were all looking back at him expectantly, all except for Incognito who was still lying in the corner with his back to every thing. He shuffled his hooves uneasily under the weight of everypony’s gazes. He raised his head before answering. “I don’t really wanna talk about it and that’s final.” “Well alright then. If ya don’t feel comfortable talkin’ about it then no pony’s gonna pressure ya into it,” Lock said with a knowing smile. He reached his hoof up to his chin and thoughtfully tugged at the length of his beard that he had allowed to grow out throughout the years. “So that’s that?” Manson asked from his pillow. “We just let somepony just waltz all up in here and we’re not gonna find out anything about him? Sounds fishy to me.” “We’re all entitled to our own share of secrets,” Lock replied with another tug of his beard. “I think I remember that when ya first came round and stared workin’, ya didn’t tell nopony anything about ya.” “That was years ago.” “Even so. It was the same.” “If you say so, old stallion,” Manson said before standing up. He gave his legs and back a sound crack before walking to the door and going outside. Palmer heard the sound of heavy hoof steps going away from the barn. “Is he always like this?” “Hmm,” Lock pondered for a while with a tug of his beard. “Not frequently but he can be. A couple years after he arrived he went and got diagnosed with some sort of disorder that can’t remember which it was. But anyhow, he has good days and he has bad days and then he has days where he’ll just constantly switch his mood. Best way Ah could describe him would probably be to say that’s he’s like Winter and Summer. One day he’ll be cool and calm like a winter afternoon, and then the next he’ll be hot, fumin’, and pissed about somethin’. Ya see what Ah mean? He changes. Ah dunno his story cause he’s kept it mostly a secret but ya know how it is.” “Fair enough.” “I’m too messed up to even care right now,” Flannel said as he held his muzzle in his hooves. “My nose is a mess and my head is pounding. I’m going to bed.” “Good night, Flannel,” Lock said. “Night.” Palmer silently watched as he laid down on his cushion and turned his back to the fire. “Well if Flannel’s goin’ to bed then Ah reckon it’s about time we do the same,” Lock said as he reached over to a pail of water. He poured it onto the fire that consequently sparked and sizzled. Before Palmer had the chance to find a pillow of his own, the barn was cast into darkness. “Good night, stranger. Ah hope ya find whatever it is you’re lookin’ for.” “I do too.” ****** Rose looked out of her window at the dark of night and pressed her forehead against the glass. She reached up to the top of her head and undid the loose bun. Her mane feel like playful ribbons on either side of her face and she brushed the stray strands of it out from in front of her eyes. She turned in her chair at the sound of clicking locks as her door opened. “Manson, you’re late,” she said with a coy smile. “I was starting to wonder if you had forgotten which day it was.”
