Carrot Top dreams that she opens the door to find him, sitting there on his broken stool in his painfully cramped studio. The confined space can barely contain all the watercolors and sketches and canvases that hang off thin little nails. Her dream makes the pictures run into each other like syrupy paint until the walls themselves look like a swirling, living mural.
The pictures on the walls are the ones she loves, the ones she couldn't bear to see getting sold to a fancy restaurant or somepony's office. She thinks about the one of a sunny hill under a great big oak tree or the one of an enchantingly green meadow, and she knows that he painted them just for her and no one else. So she would hang each special painting on the wall and beg him not to sell it. It was one of their little games when he would look the piece over, remind her how much it could go for, and she'd tell him it’s worth a hundred—a thousand times more than that to her. He would give that one smile, the smile that goes up to his cheeks and eyebrows, and say that he must have finally painted another good one. That would always make her love him a little bit more.
As she passes the narrow door into the small room, Carrot Top carefully steps around the paintings neatly arranged on the floor (these are the ones she could agree to part with) but her dream makes her walk like a tipsy filly; her legs are numb and dream-drunk, but she manages to make it to him without him noticing. She takes a moment to quietly giggle at the way he always sits, balancing on his three-and-a-half legged stool by leaning his torso first to the left then to the right. An unhealthy sharp bend twists his middle, which lays sprawled on his desk. He tilts his head even further as he bends over towards the canvas, engrossed in his own work. His thick, dark mane is always a little bit of a mess.
She hugs him from behind like she always did, with her right foreleg through the sharp turn of his back. His face turns up with that big silly grin plastered all over it. Then they're downstairs in the living room, dancing a slow, warm dance around the green couch. She laughs because he's singing; he has such a wonderful singing voice and he's singing some nonsensically romantic song about her—her! Carrot Top awkwardly tries to follow along. She blushes and again wonders why she hasn’t inherited any of her mother’s beautiful singing voice.
But that's okay, because the wine is really excellent tonight. It goes straight to her head and almost knocks her off her hooves. She remembers how it feels to be adventurous just like when she was a newlywed mare.
Carrot sings and dances with him in spite of her stumbling hooves and wavering voice. Her hooves clap to the jolly song he's singing while she pretends to know the lyrics to this silly, sexy song. He laughs and holds her closer to his warm body.
She giggles with him, and soon they're laughing so hard that Carrot Top wakes up.
/~~~~~ o ~~~~~\
Carrot Top sighs. She rolls over to the side of her bed and lands on her hooves, shaking them one at a time as she yawns and stretches her back. For the thousandth time she decides that the bed is just too big for one pony, and for the thousandth time she decides not to get a new one anyway. She glances out the window and sees the sky just barely pinkening in anticipation of sunrise. If there is one thing Carrot Top could be thankful for, it’s that she had never needed an alarm clock.
The edges of her dream start to melt like tissue in cold water, but she hangs on to what she can, feeling the aching, aged sort of sadness that the past years have made her familiar with. For a moment, she wishes with all her being that Palette's paintings and his broken stool were still in the room across the hall, instead of collecting dust and cobwebs in a neat stack under the footboard of her damnably large bed. She wishes that his studio hadn't been cleaned out to make room for a thin little bed, and for one long, condemning moment she decides that she hates the two ponies sleeping in the old studio.
A guilty frown twists her face even before she can begin to banish the intrusive thoughts. Bringing a hoof up to her brow, she quietly coughs to relieve the uncomfortable lump swelling in her throat. Carrot Top swallows and determinedly blinks her eyes before quietly opening her door and walking to the room across from her own.
She presses her ear to the door, leaning comfortably against the wood. The familiar sound of Ditzy's long, droning snores are almost audible even from Carrot’s room, but when she listens carefully, she can also pick up Dinky's soft breaths between each of her mother's. Carrot Top stays there for almost a full minute, as if to assure herself that the pair of them haven't vanished because of her own selfish thoughts.
For a moment, she halfheartedly considers closing her eyes and resting (just a little while) to the sound of their sleep, but she stands straight and shakes off her weariness for the second time that morning. Stepping into the washroom, she splashes cold water on her hooves and face.
/~~~~~ o ~~~~~\
Carrot knew the house was too small for three ponies. She and Palette had never planned on foals, so they bought a small plot of farmland (carrots don't need a lot of space) and this house, thinking they'd only need the one bedroom. What had been snug and cozy for a married couple was not at all enough for two mares and a foal.
Carrot and Ditzy had talked about this many times, the mares sitting around on the faded greyish couch and nursing cups of tea that had long since become lukewarm. It had managed to become almost a tradition for them, in its own sort of tasteless way. Bits were always short and as quickly needed as they accumulated. Dinky wasn't a baby anymore, and she was overdue for her own room with a desk and books.
Dinky was a smart foal and mature beyond her few years; in her own way she accepted that things were different for her family, but somehow her understanding made it worse. A foal shouldn't have to worry about these kinds of things. Carrot remembered the way Ditzy chewed her lip at Dinky's obtrusively short and pragmatic Hearth's Warming Eve list.
On one evening while the tea was still steaming, Carrot Top desperately offered to switch rooms, but they both knew that would mean the end of restful nights for her. Ditzy didn’t entertain the notion for a moment.
“You've already done so much for us, Carrot,” she said, holding the older mare. “You don't owe anything to anypony." In the firmest voice Carrot had ever heard from her, Ditzy promised to find a way that worked for all of them.
Carrot could only cry and hug Ditzy closer, somehow both relieved and sorry.
They came to a decision that night. Ditzy took more hours at her delivery job, and Carrot started closing her stand in the market earlier so she could be home to watch Dinky after school. It'd be rough for a year or two, but with Ditzy bringing in more bits, she'd be able to save enough to get a place for Dinky and her. Carrot Top didn't sell nearly as much as she used to, but they just ate more carrots and saved on getting food. "Two birds with one stone," Ditzy would say after the fifth carrot dinner in a week, and for the last few months they'd been getting by just fine.
/~~~~~ o ~~~~~\
Carrot Top steps out of the bathroom and trots down the stairs, glancing out the living room window. The sun has just started peeking out over the distant Everfree trees, and it's casting long black and orange stripes through the banisters. She smiles and silently thanks the sun for its comforting familiarity.
By the time Ditzy walks down the stairs with Dinky half-asleep on her back, Carrot has laid out plates of scrambled eggs, jars of jam and butter, and warm toast on the dining table. A muffin from the fridge sits next to Ditzy's spot in an almost expectant kind of way.
Ditzy smiles. She always looks so happy in her blue mailmare uniform.
“It smells delicious, Carrot,” she says before sitting down. She carefully places Dinky in the chair next to her and tickles Dinky's nose with her wing. “Breakfast time, lamby. Say, 'Thank you, Auntie Carrot Top.'”
Dinky yawns and holds a hoof in front of her mouth. “Thank you, Auntie,” she says. Her eyes are half-lidded and her words are slurred and fuzzy around the corners. Dinky scrunches her muzzle and smacks her mouth a couple times.
Carrot Top holds back a giggle. “You're very welcome, Dinky,” she says warmly.
Cutting a chunk from her muffin, Ditzy spreads some jam on it and puts it on Dinky's plate. “Yummy, yummy. Dig in, Dinky.”
Dinky’s mumbled response is lost to a mouthful of banana-nut goodness.
Ditzy turns her head to Carrot. “Before I forget, I think we’re supposed to get that mail shipment from the Griffish Isles today. If your friend wrote you another letter, the folks at the office should have it dropped by here sometime this afternoon.”
A little smile tugs at the corners of Carrot's lips. “That’s wonderful! Thank you for telling me.”
“Uh-huh!” Ditzy closes her eyes as she enjoys her own piece of muffin. “In fact, if you write your reply and get it to me by tomorrow morning, I’ll make sure it gets on the next airship out to the Isles.”
“What would I do without you, Ditzy?”
The mailmare laughs. “Don’t be silly, Carrot,” she says with an exaggerated glance at the full table. Both mares chuckle.
Most of the rest of the meal passes in silence. As they eat, the room wakes up along with them; the thin, hazy light of early dawn swells into a full, bright morning. Shadows that minutes ago hung lazily in the air in a kind of omnipresent fog now shrink away from the light, condensing and sharpening until they tightly hug to the objects casting them and far corners of the room. Carrot notices that Ditzy takes two sugars with her coffee today.
“Long flight today, Ditzy?”
“Yeppers. Manehattan and back,” she says. With a roll of her eyes she adds, “Parcel delivery, both ways.”
Carrot Top winces. “Oh my word, I hope that's not as bad as I think it is.”
“I'm sure I'll feel it tomorrow. But it’s actually not all that bad while I'm in the air. Mostly just boring, but this week Raindrops is flying with me. She's nice. We'll keep each other company.”
“Oh, so they're sending two of you this time?”
“Yeah, we've got a lot of packages this week,” she says. Ditzy sips her mug and puts it down before motioning with her hooves. “The pile's about this high and that wide. Between the two of us, though, I think it actually works out to less weight per pony,” she finishes with a smiling shrug.
It suddenly occurs to Carrot Top that Hearts and Hooves Day is this week. The next few days will probably be very busy for Ditzy. “Well, I feel better knowing you won't be flying alone today. Be safe, Ditzy.” Carrot Top begins to pick up the used dishes.
Ditzy takes her own plate and stacks it with Dinky's. She follows Carrot Top into the kitchen. “Thanks, Carrot. I'll see you this evening.”
“Thank you for breakfast, Auntie,” calls out Dinky from the table. The filly looks like she's finally woken up, and she's her chirpy, lively self again.
“You're always welcome.”
As Carrot Top starts the dishes, Ditzy helps Dinky with her saddlebag before putting on her own. While the two of them walk out the door, Carrot Top hears Dinky ask, “Mommy, do you think you can tell me what 'parcel' means?”
Carrot Top doesn't try to hold back a chortle this time. It's precious how Dinky sounds like she's afraid of admitting she doesn't recognize such an important-sounding word. Carrot only hears the beginning of Ditzy's answer before the door closes behind them.
A step and a sigh later, Carrot Top can't help but remember the first time she met the mailmare.
/~~~~~ o ~~~~~\
It was almost six years ago on an August day, the best kind of sunny and warm a pony could ask for. Between the sun on her fur and the humming bustle of the market, it was almost enough to make Carrot want to nod off under the shade of her wide-brimmed hat. The mare in the stand next to hers didn't seem to have that problem at all.
Roseluck was almost fifteen years younger than Carrot Top, and still very new to the market. She was the kind of pony who couldn't spend five minutes with someone without striking up a healthy conversation. Whenever they both weren't dealing with customers, she almost persistently talked to (and sometimes, at) Carrot Top with an ever-present smile on her face.
To be honest, Carrot Top had to stop herself from raising an eyebrow the first time she heard the girl go from debating Canterlot politics to commenting on the weather in Baltimare with the same passionate sincerity. Mostly though, Carrot appreciated the daily dose of chatter and the friendliness. Ever since the accident, her life had been awfully quiet, too quiet; sometimes she just wanted to bury her face in the pillows on her couch and scream and cry until her neighbors—
Carrot Top sent that train of thought down a cliff. She swallowed hard and smiled at her customer, a young blue pegasus she had never seen before, with a striking rainbow mane. Her customer pointed with her hoof: “That one and that one and the big one over there, please.”
Mechanically, Carrot picked up the carrots as the pegasus pointed them out, held them together, tied a ribbon around them, tightened the knot with her teeth. Pushed them over the counter.
“That'll be six bits, please.”
The coins rattled against the wood. She swept them into the bag behind the stand. Clink, clink, clink. “Thank you, have a nice day, please, goodbye.” Carrot Top squeezed her eyes shut and let out a sigh through her nose.
“Hey, you alright, CT?” Roseluck's normally jaunty voice was slow and careful this time.
“I'm fine,” Carrot managed. Liar. She noticed Roseluck's sad glance (of course she knew about the accident—Carrot bet the entire damned town knew), and it made her feel small and tired and pitiful. Carrot Top tried to change the subject. “Did you see that filly with the mane? I don't recognize her.”
Roseluck clearly wasn't fooled, but she knew to drop it.
“No, I've never seen her either,” Roseluck said. She glanced around conspiratorially before continuing. "Kinda reminds me, though, just the other day I was with Lyra and her sister at the post office. There was a new pony there, a grey pegasus with a blonde mane. When I asked Ink Quill about her, he said they just hired her and she's from Cloudsdale.
“Funny thing, though, he gets real hush-hush all of a sudden and says that the poor filly's been living in the break room since she got here! Apparently she's got a foal, a unicorn foal, and the manager's clueless on what to do. My guess is they've got to kick her out sooner or later; I think it's a law or something. Poor thing though, probably doesn't know anypony—probably even moved from Cloudsdale for her foal.”
Suddenly Carrot’s thoughts became all jumbled up and all she could think about is this young mother who probably had nowhere to go, but Carrot Top had a perfectly fine spare room (no I don't) and it'd be wrong of her (selfish, terrible, immoral, disgusting) to knowingly (I just learned today!) let a poor girl with a little baby sleep on a park bench or in a diner or in an alleyway when she could help. In a faraway part of her mind, Carrot Top noticed that Roseluck was still prattling on about the bureaucracy of law-making or something.
After several minutes, she realized that she already came to a decision almost since the beginning. It scared her. She made it a point not to tell herself that she was 'moving on.' No, it was easier to think of it as just a change, and changes were good, she told herself.
Carrot Top looked out at the herd of busy ponies in the market. She thought how big and quiet her house was and how empty her bed felt each morning, and she decided that she'd been due for some change in her life for a while now.
/~~~~~ o ~~~~~\
The chime of her old cuckoo clock lurches Carrot out of her memories. She spares a glance at its hands before returning to drying the last plate from breakfast. It doesn’t take long at all.
It's late morning by the time Carrot Top trots down the road towards the market. Her wagon is unfamiliarly light. Today she harvested the last of her over-winter crops from the year before. She'll need to plant new rows tomorrow to join the ones planted on Winter Wrap Up last month. It'll be several weeks before even the faster-growing varieties will be ready for harvest, but there’s no worry; she's sure there's enough stored in the cellar to last until the spring harvests.
Carrot hums to herself. Thinking about crop rotations and carrot-picking is familiar and comforting. Her wagon jumps and shakes at bumps in the road that wouldn’t have disturbed a heavier cart. It gives Carrot's tune a funny off-beat that only makes musical sense occasionally. Carrot Top grins to herself.
The market is quieter than usual as Carrot Top pulls her cart into her regular spot next to the flower vendor's stand. Roseluck smiles at Carrot Top as Carrot pulls the display on her cart up and folds out the counter tucked on a hinge next to the left side of her wagon. She finishes by pulling the awning over the top, and in moments she's turned her cart into a smart-looking market stand.
“What's going on, CT?”
“Not much, Rose,” Carrot Top replies, taking her place behind the stand. She points to the carrots. “These are actually the last fresh batch of the season. You're welcome to first pickings if you want.”
“Why, thank you!” Roseluck says, selecting half a dozen carrots. “Is there anything on my stand that you might want? It's getting awfully close to Hearts and Hooves Day, you know,” Rose adds with a dreamy, girlish look in her eyes.
Carrot Top laughs as she ties the bundle of carrots together. “If I didn't know better, I'd think you've already saved away the best ones for yourself.”
Roseluck waves her hoof dismissively, but smiles wider. “Oh, it's more of a possibility than a sure thing. He's a bit harder to read than most ponies I know. Much handsomer too.”
The two mares swap bits for carrots.
“Well, just 'cause he's a looker doesn't mean he's a keeper. Good stallions can be awfully tricky to find, sometimes,” Carrot cautions. Her eyebrow arches playfully. “You sure about this one, Rose?”
Roseluck nods almost frantically, holding her toothy smile. “Eeyup! He's real gentle and kind and he's got a lovely family who says nothing but the best about him. And he's got a jawline you can cut yourself on, and he's got such strong, firm-looking shoulders.” Roseluck giggles and blushes crimson.
Carrot laughs out loud. “Well, you'd better snatch him up before some other pretty girl does.”
The mares both laugh, but Carrot Top finds herself studying the ground. She stays like that for a little while, and just when Rose begins to notice, Carrot places a hoof on Roseluck's shoulder and locks eyes.
“When you're sure he's good for you, you go marry him and never let go, you hear? It's a precious thing; don't you waste a moment of it.” Carrot struggles to keep her voice unbroken by the end of the sentence.
Roseluck brings her arm around and pulls Carrot Top into a tight, shaking hug. When she speaks, her voice comes out thin and weak.
“Thank you, Ms. Carrot Top. I promise I won't.”
/~~~~~ o ~~~~~\
They'd been married ten years when it happened. Two weeks before, Carrot Top kissed Palette Blues goodbye on his trip to the Griffish Isles. His over-sized saddlebags had been laden with some of his best pieces. Palette loved these trips; he'd been to Prance, Las Pegasus, even Saddle Arabia to try to sell pieces to galleries and restaurants. Whenever they'd hear about a casino or hotel opening somewhere, off he'd go.
Carrot Top knew he had to go on these outings just as well as she knew she had to stay at home. Palette had a wanderlust about him; to feel refreshed and renewed was just as important to his travels as to make a name for himself. He'd only stopped in Ponyville for Carrot Top, and this made her feel like the luckiest mare among everypony in all the places he'd visited. It was part of how they lived: it made him happy so it made her happy, and he would always come back speaking a few terribly beautiful words in a new language.
Carrot Top didn't have the slightest worry until the morning after the day he was supposed to be back. She had finally gone to bed on his arrival date late at night, assuming that his cab or his airship simply got delayed. When she woke up in the morning, she felt more than a little perplexed that Palette hadn’t snuck into bed with her late the night before. Carrot began to actively worry the following day. Palette had always written an overnight letter beforehand if he was going to be late more than a night or two. Nevertheless, she told herself to be a sensible mare about this.
Then she heard the rumors. She caught bits and pieces of ponies talking in hushed tones about the biggest airship accident since the Haydenburg explosion. Carrot had never been so afraid. Her friends tried to calm her, saying wonderfully reasonable things to soothe her. They spoke of the safety warding on airships, Griffon customs delays, Princess Celestia.
Their words only managed to keep her home for one more night. On the third day, she filled her purse with bits and scrounged around her little house for any official-looking documents she might need. Their birth certificates, stubs of his ferry tickets—she prayed that her they'd take her spa card as a picture ID. After grabbing what she could, she hurried out to board the first nonstop train to Canterlot.
Three hours later, she was in the Griffon Embassy. Her heart raced when she saw how many ponies and griffons were there, packed into the small waiting room. What made it worse was the absence of the hum of conversation she'd expect from so many people in the same room. Only whispers and hushed voices.
Suddenly afraid of the crowd, Carrot briskly approached the receptionist in a glass booth. The griffon was fat; he wore an exceedingly large black uniform, and his face around his beak described a nearly perfect circle. The quiet room lent Carrot’s voice an eerie clearness that drew the hushed looks of those around her when she asked the griffon behind the glass about the Cloud Angel.
Carrot Top found his bird-like features completely unreadable as he looked over the documents Carrot gave him. She watched as he slowly got on his feet, huffed his way to a little door on the side of the booth, and opened it with a very full ring of keys. Gesturing with a talon, he beckoned her in.
She followed the receptionist through the back halls of the embassy, where only busy-looking griffons paced the halls. She heard click-clacks of typewriters and rough-sounding foreign words from the rooms they passed. As they walked, the griffon's wings rustled with nervousness. Some distant part of Carrot Top's mind thought about how awful it must be to be a flying creature with a desk job. Those thin, tired-looking wings looked like they could barely carry him up to Cloudsdale from directly beneath it. The griffon in front of her trod on, unaware of her thoughts. Finally, he led her to a small room fitted only with a table, two chairs and a suspicious-looking mirror on the wall.
They sat, and for a long moment the large griffon only stared at the table with what seemed to be a focused, determined glare. Then the griffon brought his eyes up to Carrot Top. When he spoke, his accent grated the edges of his words, as if his beak were sawing pieces off of them.
“I am Private Karlheinz Greywing. I am sorry for the room. It is the only place for privacy.”
Carrot Top was taken back by the somberness of his voice. She stammered her words, “Why? What's going on? What's happened to the Angel, sir?”
The griffon took a deep breath through the two little bird-nostrils on his beak.
“At the moment, the facts are... unclear, ma'am Carrot Top. All for sure we know is that Cloud Angel did not arrive in port on the morning of Tuesday as scheduled.”
It took just a moment for Carrot's worry to boil into fury. “What? What do you mean that's all you know? Everypony knows that!”
“Ja, ja,” he sighed. “I am sorry but the conditions surrounding the incident are extraordinary. We know so little to make the likely predictions.”
Carrot Top noticed his Equish breaking up. She took a moment to force herself to appear calm. “What do you mean, officer? Please, my husband is on that ship.”
Karlheinz frowned. “The ship has arcane gemstones put into the hull at many locations. When they ever touch the land or the sea, they create an arcane energy that we can pick up with our instruments here. It is as fast as light and detectable from twice the distance to the Isles. That way, we are immediately notified of distressed ships and their position.
“However, there have been no significant arcane events of the proper frequencies since Cloud Angel left port last week. This has been confirmed by many Griffon and Equestrian facilities.”
As he spoke, Carrot Top’s hooves began to shake. She found it harder and harder to follow his words, mumbled in that thick, brutish accent of his. Carrot swallowed and breathed deeply for several moments.
“But wouldn't that mean the ship could be okay? This is good news, right Mr. Greywing?”
The big griffon slowly shook his head.
“We cannot say that. A large airship like Cloud Angel would be accompanied by two Flügeln of griffon guards. Twelve griffons in all. If they ever were in distress or expected delays, they would send their fastest flyers to relay messages. One to Equestria, one to the Isles.”
Karlheinz paused, his eyes returned to the table. There was a long moment before he spoke again.
“None have reported.”
A blurry part of Carrot Top realized that she was hyperventilating, bringing in sharp, knife-edged intakes of air. Her lungs ached and her hooves dulled. She tried to hide her gasps—her quivering chest made it difficult to draw air. Suddenly she was acutely aware that her face was matted and wet. Hoof shaking, she brushed the tears away, only for them to be replaced in a moment. She quickly glanced at the griffon before turning her face away in embarrassment.
Carrot looked instead at her saddlebags and forced herself to take slow breaths. She willed herself to focus on minute details in the fabric and the clasp, and gradually Carrot's breaths became even and whole.
The sound of her thumping heart gradually gave way to the stark silence of the room. Carrot Top clenched her eyes shut. In her fear, she couldn’t help but fill the quiet, dark emptiness with terrible, frightening thoughts. As new tears stung at the edges of her eyes, she almost wished for the numbing hysteria back before gathering herself back together as best she could. She looked back at Karlheinz and realized that minutes must have passed since either of them last spoke.
She swallowed. “What does this mean?”
Karlheinz closed his eyes for the first time in their conversation, his beak still pointed down.
“Our experts believe an arcane storm may have overtaken Cloud Angel, disabling its gems and making flight on wing impossible. For a storm big enough to disable every gem on a ship this large, it is unlikely that there are survivors.”
Carrot Top stared disbelievingly at the griffon. The screaming fear blotted out all other thought and in that moment she felt incomprehensibly alone.
She was sure that the sobbing she heard was her own, until the griffon's form shook and heaved. Carrot Top snapped out of her trance when the Karlheinz's cries became sharper and nearly screeching. Fat, round tears rolled almost serenely from his eyes and down his beak, dripping off into a little splashed pool on the table.
“What?”
In the strange surreality of it all, Carrot could not find any other words.
Private Karlheinz Greywing wept. He brought his head up to meet Carrot Top's gaze and his talons up to hold his face. His eyes were red and swollen.
“My youngest brother, Heinrich, was the Corporal of one of the flight teams. He would have been tasked with delivery of distress messages.”
Carrot Top's mouth opened and shut soundlessly. She felt tears swelling in her eyes again. The two looked at each other for a long while, neither knowing what to say to the other.
/~~~~~ o ~~~~~\
It doesn't take too long to sell all the carrots she has with her, but it’s still already mid-afternoon. Carrot Top checks the big clock on Ponyville Tower: a little more than half an hour before Dinky gets off from class. She begins folding up her stand back into a cart and decides that there's not enough time to drop the cart off at home before picking Dinky up.
Roseluck waves. “Take care, CT.”
Carrot Top finishes hitching herself to the cart. “You too, Rose. Knock 'em dead, girl.”
Roseluck grins and turns to a customer; he's a young skinny stallion with acne dotted around his white fur. “Hello, there! What can I do for you today? Bouquet for that special mare or stallion?”
“N-n-no, thank you,” he stammers. “Just a little something for my mother. Potted, uhh, p-potted plant. She likes growing flowers.”
Carrot Top can hear the smile in Roseluck's reply as she walks down the road to Ponyville Elementary. She indulges herself and hums on her way again. Years of little hooves have made the road to school well-trodden, and it hardly has any bumps in it. Soon, she takes the familiar turn into the schoolyard, where she can hear Cheerilee holding the last few minutes of class. Her voice is firm but caring, the kind of voice that reminds Carrot of her own mother.
Carrot Top doesn't need to wait long before she hears the excited chatter of foals drown out the school bell. They skip, run, and canter down the little hill towards waiting parents and siblings. Carrot spots Dinky near the front and waves at her. Dinky trots over and promptly jumps into the carroty-smelling wagon.
“Good afternoon, Dinky. How was school?”
“It was nice,” she says. The empty cart gives her voice a hollow echo. “Wow, Auntie Carrot Top, did you sell all the carrots today?”
“Yes, but it wasn't very much today. It was the last harvest of the season. The harvest right before a new season is always the smallest,” Carrot Top explains.
“Oh,” says Dinky. She's silent for a few minutes, thinking about this new concept. When she speaks again, they're almost halfway home.
“Why do you harvest carrots?”
“I need to sell them, to make money,” Carrot Top replies with a smile. “And I love them! Carrots are wonderful vegetables.”
“But isn't it a lot of work?” Dinky asks, concerned.
“Well…," says Carrot Top thoughtfully. “My grandmother had this big old book of wise sayings, and when I was your age she'd read to us all of her favorites. I forgot how most of them go; my cousin has the book now. But there's one that I remember. It actually made me a little scared when I first heard it. Do you want to know how it goes?"
“Yes, please, yes!” The excitement in Dinky's voice is infectious.
“Well, the first part of it tells us to work hard—that's the bit I can't remember. The second part of it talks about ‘scarcity like an armed bandit.’”
Dinky makes a little awed sound. From the texture of her voice, Carrot can tell she's leaning out over the front of the wagon to listen.
“Well, that used to confuse me when I was a foal, but I bet a smart girl like you already figured it out.”
Dinky thinks for a moment, quietly repeating the words.
“Does it mean your stuff will get stolen if you don't work and protect it from bad ponies?”
Carrot smiles again. “Almost! It means that if you're lazy and if you don't pay attention to things, you'll become very poor, as if a bandit keeps robbing you.”
“Oh,” Dinky says. She's silent again. When Carrot Top turns her head to glance at her, Dinky’s brow and muzzle are bunched up in thought, as if she's trying to figure out how this explanation is different from her own. She's quiet the entire way to Carrot Top's little farm.
As they walk through the little gated fence, Carrot takes a moment to open her mailbox. A large yellow envelope peppered with stamps and seals is addressed to “Madam Carrot Top” in a stylishly sharp script. Carrot Top beams and slips it into her saddlebag, careful not to fold or wrinkle it. It’s been a couple of weeks since she’s heard from Karlheinz.
Dinky’s still quiet as they unhitch the cart and put it away in the shed. Carrot wonders if she’s still thinking about the proverb, but as they march into their little house, Dinky asks an entirely different question.
“Auntie, how did you meet Mommy?”
Carrot Top takes a moment to think before carefully asking, “What did your mommy tell you about this?”
Dinky replies, "She says we were living in a small room that ponies aren't supposed to live in. She says you took us to live with you because you're a good Auntie and you love us. She says we're always supposed to be thankful for that."
Carrot Top closes her eyes and remembers how not too long ago she woke up half-surprised to find a young mare nursing her foal on top of Palette's green couch. She remembers the look on Ditzy's face, fearful that Carrot had reconsidered her offer. The first weeks were full of the awkward bumps of getting to know each other.
When Carrot Top opens her eyes, Dinky is sitting on the very same couch, eyes expectant and waiting.
“Yes, I love you and your mother very much. You're the most dear ponies in all of Equestria to me.” Carrot carefully watches Dinky's expression. Dinky frowns, worry etches her face. Before Carrot Top can ask her what's wrong, Dinky softy replies.
“Doesn't that mean you'll miss us when we move to our new house?” Dinky asks, her eyes wide with concern. “Can you come with us? I don't want to never see you again.”
Carrot Top smiles, relieved. “Yes, I'll miss you both very much, but I can always visit, and you'll still be right here in Ponyville. I'll be happier knowing that you'll get to live in a brand new, big, big house.”
Carrot pokes Dinky's nose to prove the point. Dinky laughs and bats Carrot’s hoof away with her much smaller one, and Carrot grins at how big she’s gotten. She thinks about Ditzy and Dinky; she thinks about Karlheinz’s letters. Carrot Top’s heart swells and she decides that just for now it’s okay that her small, little house is so full.
/~~~~~ o ~~~~~\
Author's Note
Thank you for reading. This was my first real attempt at writing fiction, so any kind of criticism/comment is very welcome.
