Sun. Blinding sun, bright sun, inconceivably yellow sun. It could be said that the sun was mocking all that particular day, an imaginary omnipresent sneer present the whole day. Once and only once, Scootaloo had considered staring straight into the sun, perhaps thinking that she might have a wonderful inspiration or burst of courage. However, she had neither the drive nor the inclination to do so, feeling the day was insipid and boorish. Such monotony was not to last, although this fact was not revealed to Scootaloo.
At late midday, the sun had reached the point where it bore down with ferocious heat, inducing drowsiness in many. Lying on her side in the midst of a grassy field, Scootaloo was hit particularly hard by this effect, snoring lightly surrounded by flowers. Earlier she had made a decision to spend the day by herself. For once, she felt the need for temporary isolation, an escape from normality. The day passing with a leisurely pace, she concluded it had been a sound decision and was content to waste away the day loafing about.
Some time later Scootaloo awoke, somewhat disoriented. It was dark and the moon and stars were out. Scootaloo however had not the focus to enjoy them, an arching back pain distracting her. Grimacing, she sat up contemplating heading back to Ponyville for the night. A rustling noise in the bushes froze her in place, her eyes growing wide. Fear began its course, the dark seeming darker, the cacophony of rustling emanating from all around. When she was certain her heart was fit to burst, silence reigned. The noises had stopped, yet Scootaloo did not allow herself a single breath. Then, directly in front of her, a large figure emerged from the brush.
“Good Morning!”
Scootaloo fainted dead away.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
When Scootaloo awoke, it was mid-morning. Lying still for some time, she wondered what had transpired that led to this peculiar morning. Then she heard voices, receiving another nasty shock now remembering the events of the previous night. Feeling physically incapable of movement, she listened…
“I’m hungry” came the first voice, somewhat gruff. What was particularly odd was that the tone indicated a questioning tone.
“Of course you’re hungry, there’s no reason not to be” a second voice responded, sounding confident.
“Well, I suppose you could be right.”
Scootaloo shifted slightly, then the voices stopped. She could only stare straight forward as the sound of hooves shuffling along the ground came closer. From above her, a face appeared directly in front of her. She screamed, scrambling across the ground with a sudden burst of energy. Finding her back to a rock, she confronted the strangers, or at least tried to. There was a stallion there, he stood oddly lopsided, shifting his weight about as if he were nervous. There was also what appeared to be a long snake. Albeit, a floating snake. The reptile hovered slightly above the stallion and seemed duly unimpressed by Scootaloo’s seemingly apoplectic shaking. The stallion walked up to her and pressed his nose against her.
“I have to ask you…” he began, then looked away with a blank look on his face. After several seconds he turned back, this time smiling, “are you a fruit?” This caught Scootaloo off guard, the question so bizarre, she had to blink a few times before she began to comprehend it in the slightest.
“I don’t…no, i’m not a fruit”, the answer sounded as strange as the question.
“Oh, alright then.” the stallion seemed downcast by this revelation. He looked away, becoming preoccupied with something in the distance. His companion, who had been staring at Scootaloo the entire time addressed her.
“Not a fruit? Well then what are you?”
Scootaloo was perplexed. She had noticed at this point that the stallion nearby was also a pegasus, which led to her inability to answer the question. The snake was distracted at this point by the stallion, who now had several assorted fruits. She had not even noticed he had left.
“Mmm, you can tell me later, first let’s eat.”
Not in a position to refuse an implied invitation, Scootaloo unsteadily sat down and began slowly eating a pear. She was beginning to slightly enjoy the sweet taste when she noticed the odd pair staring at her. As she stared back at them, each time she chewed the sound was accentuated in the silence. Eventually she decided to try to shift the subject of the table.
“So, who are you guys anyway?”
Now it was the pair’s turn to be caught off guard. They looked at each other in wonder for a few moments before the stallion spoke.
“What is your name?”
“I don’t know, what’s yours?” the snake replied.
Bewildered would be an understatement at that time to describe Scootaloo. Not quite comprehending the situation, she watched them, mouth slightly ajar.
“Do I really need a name?” the stallion asked.
“I believe that if she asked our names then we must have names.” the snake reasoned.
“Well spoken.”
“Well spoken?”
“Yes.”
They both turned back to her, grinning.
“If we should have names,” declared the snake, “then you tell us yours.”
Scootaloo was happy to oblige, telling them.
“Scoootaloo,” said the stallion drawing out the o. He pulled the snake over to the side, discussing something with him privately. Aside from a few rather odd gestures and glances toward her, she could not tell what they were discussing. They came back to her after a short time.
“If I had a name, it would be…” the snake pondered this question for some time. His expression suddenly brightened and he turned back to her, “You can call me oreiller.”
“What?” was all she could reply.
Standing next to Oreiller, the stallion was shifting his weight again in a bout of indecisiveness.
“Well” the stallion started with an audible intake of breath, “I think,” he tried to appear confident, “I will call myself… Tulák.”
Scootaloo didn’t even bother to ask.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It had taken well over what could be considered an acceptable period of time for Oreiller and Tulák to finish eating. Each bite became an extended affair, seeming to hold significance where there was none. For the longest time, Scootaloo watched them, bored, falling asleep twice, and staring at the ground. It was afternoon again and the heat was almost unbearable in the midst of the field. Eventually she decided to attempt to excuse herself to go back to Ponyville, she was understandably unnerved by the pair.
“Well, it was nice to know you guys, but I have to go now” she said, smiling nervously. Oreiller stared at her for some time before he spoke again.
“No.”
Scootaloo, who was already walking away, froze in place looking back at him.
“Wh-what?”
“No.” was all he replied again.
“Why not”. Scootaloo felt a pressure in her chest again, the air seeming impossibly stagnant.
This time it was Tulák who spoke, holding a half eaten fruit.
“You can’t go home. It’s too late for that.”
