The Ballad of The Next Adventure

by Dotterall

Rating: everyone
Tags: Adventure, Sad
Length: 2695

In the throes of labour, Daring Do writes a poem to her new foal

Estranged from her husband and daughter and dying of mysterious wounds, a pregnant mare writes a heartfelt apology to her unborn foal in the hopes that it will someday learn to feel pride for her.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-07-13 15:00:02 UTC

My Final Journey

It has been so long since last this was felt.

The wrenching, heaving, life so desperate to be.

Five years is long, so long, I guess.

How I long to see her face once more.

Now I may just survive this ordeal,

so long enough to see a new face.

I am sorry. Now I have said it.

This was not where I intended to begin your life.

But it is too late for second chances,

as my old pa might once have told me.

And the adventure is only just beginning.

For you at least.

This will not be the only word I leave you.

Oh, no, my child, my story is too great

for so few words to speak of.

Shelves and shelves, books on books.

Endless stacks and pages,

Waiting.

Waiting for you.

Waiting for others, too.

Here, I have rested my life,

before you on the shelf above my death bed.

And here I lie.

Here, more so than in any other bed ever, I lie.

My life stretches out before me,

Endless adventures, stories to tell.

I hope you someday discover such things.

Learn to let go of this incredible, wondrous world

For a few days, hours, minutes:

For just a few of the worlds that I have encountered

And stored for you here in these books.

Here lies my second motherhood, to replace the failed.

Here, on this age-dusted spine,

you will here of my very first adventure:

Of the mark that glowed upon me

Bright and new.

In heart-wrenching seconds of terror and exhileration,

It came to me suddenly and  brightly.

Telling me of my true calling.

I will relate it to you now so you do not forget.

The chill winds blew softly through the darkened trees as she finally neared her target. She was still just a filly, then, without a mark to show of her skill. As the mouth of the mighty temple loomed before her like the maw of some terrible beast, she shivered with a certain apprehension. Was this truly what she was meant to do? She took out her trusty compass, aligned her north arrow, and swallowed all fear. No matter how twisted and frightening the path was before her, she would find her way through it eventually. She realized in sudden jolt of epiphany that this was what she was born to do. No matter who would shun her for her adventurous excesses, endless curiosity, curious interests, she could live without regret. She could walk her desolate path alone, for her own guidance through this most terrifying and wonderful of worlds was as good as the next pony's.

Keep following that wobbling arrow.

Your prize will be worth the pain of thorns and rocks.

She knew where she was heading.

She kept walking forward, never back.

I had my words, and I had my curiosity,

My love, my life, my waking joy.

And I wrote these books, whole series of them,

For you, and the other before you.

Every day was to be a great adventure,

every night a mighty journey into unknown.

Were these the reasons why

I lost sight of my greatest adventure?

Oh, but I remember those days, too:

The heady trembles and joyful sickness.

I remember the cut of love.

That aching, pulsing wonder within my very breast.

Those days when it would seem the world would last forever.

I was in charge of my life, power incarnate,

Celestia, universe, Lord Time in all his unseen majesty.

And there was his face, that caring heart,

That loving hoof upon my own.

His funny, deep laughter aching through me.

His muzzle upon my own.

His soft lilac ears flicking mine cheekily.

I remember his strength, and incredible speed,

His mane but a blur,

gentle rainbows just for me.

Leaving me breathless.

Though I would not admit my love in public,

his beauty broke my soul, reshaped it everyday

into something fresh and new, still hot

from some great forge within his glorious golden eyes.

Had I ever thought of love and beauty before,

I would have laughed my own harsh laugh:

Daring's my name, Danger's my game.

There was no other life to be lived.

I wish for you that feeling that I have found,

To someday see a great rainbow in the sky,

and know that it is not pathetic,

This happiness found in the eyes of lovers.

For your heart to pound, your ears to ring,

at the sight and sound of another.

It is the most dangerous thing you can face.

More pain and wonder lies here than in any lost relic.

Here, within these withered pages,

lie my second, and third wondrous trips

Through danger, loss and terror did I trek

till my wings were broken from exhaustion alone.

My hooves were worn down and aching,

till my breath ran short and pained,

and each beat of my heart seemed sure to be the last.

But oh! How worth it it was!

The final glory, to have unraveled the ancient mystery,

proven my own strength and skill,

To have climbed that great mountain and stood,

above the beauty of the world below me.

Shall I describe the places I have been,

mother to foal directly?

Will this be my only chance,

to give the love I have so failed you in?

The sky was like a mighty bowl of hand-spun blue glass above the golden-orange sand of the scorching desert.

The slime of wet leaves dripped down like fattened frogs escaping from the light.

The ice of the mighty tundra shimmered, serene beneath its howling snowy veil.

The ocean stilled and flattened, mirroring the sky; mirroring its every gentle breeze and soft white cloud.

One day, my child, you will see all this,

One way or another.

I feel already by the pounding of tiny hooves within me

that your time is nearing to run, to leap and soar.

I wish only that I was on Cloudsdale now,

someplace that you could call a home.

Someplace for a true pegasus child to grow up.

Here is too near to my final mission.

I thought this as soon as the heaving began,

deep within me, and within that dreaded forest.

It has been the death of me, and, I fear of you.

It can only be wondered that you are still here within me.

I hope this dull and worrisome town

teaches you to fly properly.

You will need it to get back home.

To explore from there.To find your sister.

I fear I have not seen her in far too long.

Will her father know what has become of me?

Will he search me out till his very last breath?

Mourn my endless passing?

Or sit, and wait, ever certain of my imminent return?

Any of these turns could be taken by his way,

and made so like him.

Just like her.

Ah, my dearest one, who I'm sure is already flying.

She was her father's daughter, from the moment she was born.

How I wish I had taken the care, to sit and teach her,

Take that precious time as it was so generously given to me.

But how eager I was, how restless,

to hunt, and capture the next mysterious treasure,

that I managed to overlook my most precious one.

The one I made for myself. That perfect image of my love.

Her eyes, like looking in a mirror;

seeing my own face reflected back in his most colorful splendor.

There was no greater beauty, in any forest, plain or palace.

I missed that fact, for so long I missed this.

He encouraged me to write,

to leave my experiences in solid form,

so he could show her who her mother was;

make her proud of all I did.

What a foal I was.

So desperate to set out on this great mission I was,

I fairly sidelined my own pride and wonder,

leaving her with unread letters, uncomplemented drawings,

empty seat at the table.

The refuse of a "welcome home, mummy,"

and a "goodbye again, mummy" party,

all from the same flurried night.

Scattered, broken things to clean up.

The pain in his eyes cut my heart

like a boot-scorpion cuts your hoof,

But he knew my calling,

and knew that I wouldn't be home for Hearth's Warming.

Those hurried kisses at dawn,

rushed apologies and farewells in the tender darkness.

These are all I have of my husband, my daughter.

All I will have of you, I am afraid.

But I leave you with my words.

There, beneath the well- hoofed cover,

lies the account of my first scrape

with the dreaded Ahuizotl, God of Predators.

I hope you enjoy the read.

What I have learned from my tribulations

in this majestic world of ours, my dear one,

is the most important journey one takes:

You must follow the journey

that your heart sets out for you.

Through trials, hurt and loss,

You always must follow that "N" on the compass.

Your sister may not take to you so quickly,

The surprise of a sudden young one to care for.

But she will protect you from harm,

And deep down she will find love for you.

I am sorry that your father's golden eyes

will not be the first family you have.

Or his bright mane there to cheer you,

comforting your motherless existence.

Though I doubt you will be lonely here,

In this strange world of courage and fear.

You will find friendship.

You may find magic.

But whatever destiny befalls you,

I will always be here to guide you,

and you will always find me

on your humble wooden shelf.

My words will tell you of my life,

my deeds and discoveries,

wonders, curiosities,

of hope and despair.

Here lies my love and life,

my hope and glory, for you,

your father, your sister, to enjoy.

Here you will always find me waiting

For the lesson I could never teach you,

The story I could not tell.

I Lie I waiting for you, dear.

To give you life once more, in mine.

I will teach you to hunt for lost dreams

In the secret temples of your soul.

I'll train you to never give up, till the end,

To keep aspirations within your hold.

Here, in this slimmish volume,

lies the tale of my near-death,

The asp that finally bit its mark.

The writhing pain that followed it.

This was not the end I had foreseen,

The agonizing final moments of heroism

that had come with my past,

would come with my future.

This end is but a beginning.

A final, great beginning.

I was always ready for the end,

so ready and so very willing.

To throw my whole life before

danger and glory, and life.

Yet with strange and happy fortune

such luck would never come.

And always I would not fail to return,

To cast my small tan frame against his lilac chest,

take her small blue face between my hooves.

By Celestia, she was young!

How will she know her own mother,

from the words I so lovingly wrought?

Will he tell her about me,

teach her to feel the pride I don't deserve?

Or will he remain silent,

Mysterious, as he always had,

So humble in his athleticism,

So steady in his loyalty,

So ready to put his love and duty

above the adventures he longed

to follow my path towards

and join me in my heart-wrenching journeys.

The dutiful athlete, one-time soldier,

protector of Princess and country.

The good and affectionate husband,

always waiting so patiently for my return.

If not for his wounded wing,

he would surely have been a hero

in his own, well-deserved right.

A commander. Record-breaker. Legend.

But home he stayed,

to protect his faithful daughter,

to wait for his beloved and exciting wife.

and now he will protect and wait for you.

Here, between scarred and disintegrating covers,

lie the tales of three most special precious stones,

recovered from the deepest dark temple,

Now on display in Canterlot Museum

for all the great world to see.

Their simple glitter belie their dark properties.

Their glowing centres falsify their baseness.

My sides heave again, harder now.

Are you so ready and rearing to face this world?

I suppose you must be your mother's daughter,

like your sister before you.

You're making your mother pant and weep.

Why, I should be spanking some sense into you!

But of course, I am so thoroughly broken.

I could not lift a hoof to save myself.

This pain between my thighs is almost a relief:

Really, I mean it!

Internal hemorrhaging, says the nurse,

fractured spine, she says, damaged lungs.

I am sure I've had worse.

My body says otherwise.

The machines say otherwise.

The resenting look of the nurse says otherwise.

This was not the welcome to the world I had intended.

I am dying. I am sorry.

The life within me is yours, now, take this final gift.

In death I will leave, and I will finally stay put.

The Pains are coming faster now,

urging me to push all my insides down,

Release all the life within me,

into this tiny lump that is you.

This exciting, brand new mystery that is you.

This death of me, surgery-stopping you.

I have had worse.

This pain is life, and it is death.

I've had my share of both.

I'm sure that you will too.

But whatever journey you embark upon,

Know that you are only given one.

As your tiny red mane finally breaches

the nurses scurry, foalish in excitement.

Surely they of all ponies know

that life begins with every day?

Do I have a name for you?

The question haunts my fading ears,

My only vision a blurred glow of orange.

I say my name, so they know it.

They should take you to your father and sister soon enough.

I'm not sure they hear me correctly.

A new name floats back to me.

Exhausted, I can only nod.

My life comes back to be with yours.

So many improvements unfulfilled.

So many lost moments, unkept promises.

White lies. Unasked Questions. Open doors and waiting cabs.

So many adventures, trials, grand journeys.

Here begins my greatest one.

My first step into my final mystery

My last adventure untaken.

Forgive me.

Report of Birth and Death in The Ponyville Maternity Hospital

Unidentified pegasus mare taken into our charge at 8:45 on Tuesday night, 25-30 years of age, in final trimester of pregnancy, suffering severe bone fractures in both wings, hind-legs and left foreleg, collapsed right lung and internal hemorrhaging. The mare, not a local resident or carrying identification papers of any kind, was in labor, reaching 50% dilation in the early hours of Wednesday morning. She was uncooperative with the nurses on night shift attempting to clarify her identity, identifying herself as the children's literary character "Daring Do", the entire works of which she insisted on having lined up on a shelf at the end of her bed. She also insisted on being given some paper and a pencil, which she miraculously wrote with for the duration of her stay, appearing very intent on whatever she was writing. She gave birth to a healthy pegasus filly at 9:30 Wednesday morning, and was pronounced dead at 9:35 on account of her extensive wounds, the causes of which are unknown. It is believed she was involved in a hiking accident in the Everfree forest early Tuesday afternoon, and was discovered by a young local student-teacher, a certain Ms. Cheerilee, at 5pm that afternoon. The filly was named "Scootaloo" by the nurses, according to what little communication the patient was capable of at this late stage in the progression of her death. The paper given to her earlier was found to be covered in an illegible note which the nurses were unable to make sense of, and filed under patient accounts in the office. The newborn filly has been transferred to the Ponyville orphanage for care, released after thorough checkup for signs of damage from her mother's wounding.