My Path

by Silver Moon

Rating: everyone
Tags: Fluttershy, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sad
Length: 1562

My name is Fluttershy. Like most ponies, I am afraid of the Everfree Forest. Unlike most ponies, there is one path I’m not afraid of. I’m not scared of it because I walk it every week to visit my Mother.

My name is Fluttershy. Like most ponies, I am afraid of the Everfree Forest. Unlike most ponies, there is one path I’m not afraid of.
I’m not scared of it because I walk it every week to visit my Mother.

Cover art: Here.

Published 2013-08-31 02:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-08-31 02:20:02 UTC

Worn by One Set of Hooves

I smile lightly as I tuck my note under my doormat. The sun has yet to rise but my little cottage is full of life. Birds fly overhead, chirping their joy as mice and squirrels scurry underhoof, chattering happily. Critters don’t care for ponies’ concept of time. They go where and when they please.

“Be good, now, Angel Bunny,” I softly tell my pet, kneeling down to pat his head. He nods but as he hops off I know he is planning today’s mischief. I’m not sure where he will go but I do know he won’t do anything around here today. He knows what day it is. Shaking my head lightly, I turn and grab the lantern by my hooves after tightening my saddlebag. I hesitate, putting the lantern back down and double-checking that my note is secure. I’m not expecting company today but I always leave a note in case somepony stops by. The slip of paper is simple, just saying that I have gone for a walk and will not be back until tomorrow.

Satisfied, I grab my lantern once more and give my wings a little flap to warm myself up. With a final glance up at the twinkling stars, I turn away from my safe, warm house and friendly, happy animals. Rather than taking the usual path into town, I turn and walk behind my house. Looking at the dark, gloomy trees of the Everfree Forest, I can’t help but let my smile slip from my face. I hesitate, but not out of fear.

For all the times I am afraid, this is not one.

My eyes light up when they spot what I was looking for. I hum a soft tune around my lantern as I trot towards the path.

The path is small, just wide enough for me. Overhanging leaves brush my pink mane into my eyes as I breathe in the scents of the Forest. Fragrant berries flank me on both sides and my mouth waters. I know better than to eat anything the Forest has to offer, although I enjoy the scent. The berry bushes fade as I walk deeper into the trees and the fog sets in. Tall, moss coated trees surround me, their roots creeping onto the well-worn path I tread. I ignore them the best I can, which is rather well.

I’m not afraid. I have no need. The path I’m on is mine.

It really is. I made this path, simply by walking it time and time again. The grass on both sides has tried to worm its way back but my hooves have kept it at bay. I cannot allow my path to be disturbed. This is the path I take to visit my Mother.

I love my Mother. She is the one who raised me and told me that she loved me. It was in her soft, pale orange wings where I hid from bullies. It was in her long mane, golden like the sunrise, that I cried away my fears. I don’t do that anymore but my love for her is the same.

My mind wanders back to my path, back to when I started it. It was exactly a year ago, on this very day. I was afraid of my path back then. I was for the first month. That’s how long it took me to fully make this path. I’m not afraid anymore. I know this path better than I know most ponies and I trust it a whole lot more.

My thoughts keep me occupied and my mind away from the darkness of the pre-dawn and the heaviness of my bags. Lost in happy memories of my Mother, I only notice the darkness when it begins to flee. Up ahead, my path widens into a grassy clearing. I pick up the pace, eager to meet with my Mother again. As I burst into the clearing, I startle a few birds who take flight into the golden sky. The golden sky looks just like my mother’s mane and I am struck by the beauty for a few moments.

I shake my head lightly. I’m here for my mother, not for the view. Turning, I see she is already here. I’m not surprised as she always is here first. Smiling, I walk over and nuzzle her, wishing her a happy birthday. She is cold so I drape a blanket from my bag around her. I smile at her, glad to see her but saddened by the fact that she was so cold and alone. I shake my head again. She’s not alone anymore. I’m here.

I take off my saddlebag and lay down next to her. I take an apple out and wordlessly offer it to her but she’s not hungry. She never is. I munch it as quietly as I can, trying not to disturb the peace of the meadow. Once I’ve eaten, I get up again. I hug my Mother, pleased that I have warmed her up a little.

“I’m going to spend the whole day with you, Mom,” I promise softly. She doesn’t say anything but I know she appreciates it. I haven’t had time to spend a whole day with her since last year, although I visit her every week.

Undisturbed by her silence, I look around for something to do for her. I smile as an idea comes to me. I trot over to my saddlebag again and reach in. This time I pull out several flowers, the same colours of the sunrise, the same colours as my Mother.

“I know you love flowers, so I brought you some for your birthday,” I tell her. “I’ll plant them by the others,” I add.

I walk back to her and give her another hug before taking a few steps to her right. There, I have created a garden for her. Most of the flowers have been here for a year, although I brought a few to replace the ones killed by frost last spring. I get to work quickly, pulling out the weeds and planting the new flowers. As I work, I fill the silence by telling her about how my life has been.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit you for long until today, Mom,” I begin, “but I know that you understand. I’ve made a few friends this year and we went on an adventure together. . .”

My Mother stays silent as I recount what happened with Nightmare Moon. She seems to be enjoying my stories so when I finish telling her about Twilight is now living in Ponyville, I move on to tell her about the rest of my year.

The sun is high in the sky by the time I finish tending her garden. My stomach growls softly as I wipe my muddy hooves on the towel I brought with me and I blush. I take out the sandwich I brought with me and sit down against my Mother again. I offer her a bite but she doesn’t take it. I eat without talking. Sounds of the Forest fill the clearing over the soft sound of my chewing. I swallow my last bite and start to tell Mother which bird is making which sound. I lie down and close my eyes, listening intently. Hours pass before I feel like I have managed to distinguish every sound every bird is making. An idea comes to me and I get up and walk to the centre of the grassy field.

I sit down and start to sing to the birds. A few of the younger, more curious ones fly over and land near me, chirping their own notes. I keep going, a plan forming in my mind. It takes another hour before enough come to make a choir but I feel it is worth the wait.

I line the birds up and start to conduct them. The concert goes on as we sing all of my Mother’s favorite songs. I know she is enjoying the show, even if she doesn’t say anything.

All too soon, the sun starts to set. Either by themselves or in groups, the birds all flee back to their homes for the night. Reluctantly, I turn back to my Mother. Wordlessly, I walk over and pack up my saddlebag.

“I have to go now, Mom,” I tell her sadly. “I had a good time today and I hope you did too.” The sun has nearly set as I place my saddlebag on my back and tighten the straps. I walk over to the edge of the path, where I had left my lantern.

“I hope you had a happy birthday, Mom,” I say softly as I light my lantern for the walk home. “I’ll come back again next week. I love you, Mommy.” I cast one last look around the clearing before picking up my lantern to light the walk home.

As I walk out of the clearing, a lone figure sits facing the path. Oblivious to the growing cold and darkness, my mother’s tombstone stills as silent and still as it has for the last year.

Author's Note

One of two stories I wrote for my one-year anniversary on this site.
If you see any mistakes, feel free to let me know!