Another busy day had come and gone, the summer sun reluctantly slinking towards its rest. Her duties were coming to an end, and so too were her charges turning in.
Their caretaker tucked in each in turn, giving each of her roommates and friends a goodnight and her personal farewell. A glass of water for the bear, whose throat was always sore at night. The owls and the jays convinced to share a perch with the crow, who always meant well even if he did not show it. And her dear rabbit was given just one more goodnight snack, and a brushing out of his tail, before he hopped on towards bed himself. It was always a production, and she fretted and worried her way through it until everyone was sleeping well.
But eventually, all chores come to an end, and she was alone once more, surrounded by the sound of a house full of gentle repose. Now, it was her time.
Her kitchen was a tiny space off the main room, a utilitarian dream with no space wasted. She had to maneuver around her breadbox and her can opener in order to set her tea kettle up, the tiny room filling with the scent of sharp lemon, wrapped up in the sweet warmth of peppermint. Pouring herself a cup, she sighed happily, leaning back and taking a slow sip. It was a far stronger flavor than her usual, but it was bracing, and she could feel her nerves calming.
She sat there in contemplation, reflecting on the chores of the day. She recalled the state of every task, all put away tidily, whether complete or set aside for another day. She had earned this break, and as she let the tea sit on her tongue, a content sigh came rumbling out, bringing a smile to her face.
And then she thought of how she was going to spend her evening, and a blush joined her smile.
Both sun and moon were just visible on the edge of the sky, summer's warmth making both reluctant to move. The sky was a backdrop of pinks and yellows, making her almost invisible against the horizon. With the sky like this, the world felt like it was hiding with her, helping her keep her secret.
She was not rushing, but her heart was too light to go slow. Her love lived outside of town, in a giant tower that reached into the sky. The one time she had been invited in, she had declined out of fear. She said it was because she was afraid of falling. Truth be told, she already had.
As she made her way, she looked down over town. The town was not too large and not too small. She had been popular, in town, once; adoring fans had come from near and far, offering her treasures, begging to hear her speak, wanting to see how she was dressed and what style she did her hair in. She had been too timid for their love and attention, and shied away until the crowd chose a new obsession. The spotlight did not suit her.
She was not bold. But her love made her want to try.
For the last two weeks, she had been preparing for this moment. She had gone over every word, every line, every avenue the conversation could go. She was prepared for rejection. She was prepared for not being taken seriously. She was prepared for, if the fates were wiling, her feelings being returned. Every little detail meticulously worked, prepared for. The only hard part about this conversation was starting it.
In the romance novels, you are supposed to find your love in the tallest room of the tallest tower. Instead, she found her sprawled out under a tree.
She was concerned for a moment, seeing her lying there, her heart skipping a beat as, for a moment, she assumed the worst. Then, her love rolled over in her sleep and tilted her head back for a deep snore, her face disappearing under the messy, rainbow-dyed shock that she called a hairstyle. She couldn't help but giggle, watching her scratch her belly without a care in the world. She was not strong enough to pick her up, and neither could she imagine waking someone who was sleeping so peacefully. But... she could not leave her there, exposed to the cold.
The door was not locked, so she invited herself in. Her love lived in a house that was tidy thanks to lack of use. It was airy and spacious and free of both clutter and personal effects - just the sort of house that needed someone to make it a home. It was nothing to find the only closet, and to gather up the only spare blanket inside.
Her love still lay under the tree, using a knot as a makeshift pillow under the crook of her neck. The blanket was large when unfolded, but as soon as she covered her in it, she rolled away, giving a little snort and squirming. For a moment, she watched her, smiling like she might smile upon a puppy. That utter lack of pretense was the thing that united her love and the animals she cared for. Her love had everything she admired, and she had everything she wanted to be herself.
It was only when she felt her love's breath against her lips that she realized they were nearly touching.
Squeaking in panic, she sat up suddenly, covering her mouth and squeaking again. Terror shook through her as she neither moved nor spoke, hoping she would not be noticed. But after a few moments, the yawn became a light snore again.
It would be so easy to just say it. A dreamer would not laugh at her, would not reject her. But then again, neither would a dreamer say yes. Instead, she turned around, and began the long walk home, her heart still light.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be just fine.
Author's Note
This was a constrained writing challenge: Nothing 'pony' about it, in vocabulary or character names. Additionally, it was written mostly on a phone whose semicolon, apostrophe, and hyphen keys were broken. That wasn't a challenge, that was just frustration. So I kept going and tried to ignore all my usual hangups of formatting.
Also practice for Thirty Minute Ponies - total of about 65 minutes. Thanks to Artimae for proofreading.
