The Dreamcatcher

I always wondered why the trees outside of the walls were black and gnarled. And why there were so few. Inside, what plants grew were green and spry, symbols of life sprouting from the fine soil. They all seemed so fluid and full of energy. Out there, though, gaunt trunks and limbs stood like ghostly hands, frozen in time as they reached from the desolate ground. Monuments that there was something before “it” happened, that there was a much greater world outside Arbor. Emphasis on was.

I drew in a cool breath, filling my lungs with the fresh air of the heights. Down below in town, everything had the earthy smell and accompanying heat of growing plants. Ripe fruit and plump vegetables, fragrant blossoms and ancient wood were all so common I could practically identify each aromatic tone. I can’t say I didn't love it though; it was my cutie mark after all. A single green leaf adorned each of my flanks, a somewhat-fitting mark for me.

Apothecary work was always in the family blood. So it was no surprise when one day while stomping a pile of leaves into mush did my marks appear. Apparently I had made some kind of a poultice by accident. Funny how that works. Anyway, excuse the rambling.

It was as nice a day as any; a few stray bands of sunlight twinkled on the metallic city walls. I had just finished up my daily botany lessons (thank heavens) and was now free to spend the remainder of my afternoon relaxing.

“Tag!” cried a squeaky voice from behind me. “You’re it!”

An all-too-familiar hoof prodded my back. “Mushroom,” I growled, getting up on all fours. My dumb foal brother always found my quiet hiding places.

He snorted. “What’s wrong Jade, can’t catch me?”

Oh, it was on then. I twirled around and darted forward, causing him to leap away. We were on the rooftops of the village. Our family hated that we went up there all the time, but thankfully understood that there was no talking down a renegade streak. Still hot on his tail, I called out.

“Those stubby legs of yours won’t carry you far, Mushy!” I teased, leaping over a gap in the rooftops. My hoof-falls clopped against the steel tiles, a good deal heavier than his. Still, the little rat was as quick as me.

“Don’t call me that!” he grunted as he leapt to a lower roof. I made a mental note to call him that name more. Despite the competition, it was strangely relaxing being above everything. From the rooftops, Arbor seemed like an island in the middle of a sea of grey and brown. Some part of me wished to venture beyond the walls, but nopony ever let me when I was a filly. The lesson became hardwired in after numerous time-outs and firm scoldings.

I nearly ran face-first into a wall mid-thought. I could hear Mushroom laugh as I stopped dead in my track a few inches from the concrete. Turning again, I practically dove for him, getting so close that I could hear his panting.

“Jadeleaf! Mushroom!”

That tone of voice would stop anypony dead in their tracks. We both skidded to a halt, our ears perked. Mother was standing on our balcony, glaring at us. Mushroom and I exchanged nervous glances before making our way off of the rooftops and trotting over to our own home. When we got there, Mother was standing menacingly in the doorway.

“Hey Mom, we were just--” My rationalization was cut off by a snort from her.

“Jumping on the rooftops, disturbing the neighbors, and almost getting yourselves killed again?” She asked us, her tone icy. One eyebrow was cocked in disappointment, her silver eyes seeming as punitive as always. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but she was a master at making you feel bad in the most subtle ways.

“...yes, Mom.” I admitted. Mushroom shot me an angry sneer. I wanted to tell him it was no hope lying, but he’d learn that on his own soon enough. Not to mention Mother’s glare had me frozen.

“I don’t know how many scoldings I can give you until you learn. No dessert tonight, but I know that won’t teach you anyway.” The idea of missing out on Grandma’s famous berry tarts was painful enough, but it her disappointment in me was worse than any other punishment.

“Aww, but Mom, we were just having fun!” Mushroom squealed. I cracked a smile, knowing that the whole ‘no dessert’ thing was intended for him. I was a young mare now, too old for petty little punishments. Still, her words stung like a slap.

She turned around and marched in, her hooves clopping on the thin metal porch. Everything seemed to be metallic. I always noticed that the houses seemed to be made of scrap material, but I never did ask why. I figured I’d ask Grandma about it today; there was a lot on my mind I was curious about, especially outside. Not only that, but I found my dear old grandmother to be a great warmth when my mother was cold and authoritarian with me.

Wisps of steam curled up and away from my cup of tea, like gossamer ribbons. The room was dark as it usually was; Grandma said that too much light hurt her eyes. We had come up to her room after dinner (which thankfully went well, as Mother had cheered up after I helped her cook).

I waited for a moment, watching the twilight sky through a dusty window. Grandma’s room had a nice view of the town’s center garden, a lush and overgrown patch of land that stood out from the greys and browns of the buildings towering over it. The day guards and the night guards were switching out their shifts, handing off their bows and arrows to each other as another was checking the front gate mechanism. I turned my attention to Grandma, who was watching gingerly sipping her tea.

“I wanted to ask a few questions, Grandma,” I said. She looked up from her tea and smiled, her eyes sunken with age but still joyful.

“So you’ve said,” she responded, levitating the cup back down to its coaster. “I’ll try my best, dearie.”

I smiled. “I wanted to know a bit about… outside,” I whispered, as though it were a forbidden word. Curiosity had been boiling up for a while now. Why were there no ponies out there? Why was everything dead? And why do we have to have guards and walls?

As soon as the words registered in her slow, thoughtful mind, her ears drooped weakly. Her eyes lost the whimsical shine and just looked sad and old. I instantly regretted asking and was about to withdraw my question, but she took a deep breath and began.

Well, you can probably tell it wasn’t always like this. Even in my own grandparents' generation there was no such thing as Arbor. It was just a pile of scrap from some plant somewhere. Things were so much better then, you know. The sun and the moon didn't always vary in patterns. Days were the same length all the time and so were nights. Plants grew everywhere, even in the little cracks in the streets. We didn't have to have big walls or guards with bows or anything like that. Ponies were happy.

At that time, there were two princesses: Celestia, the princess of the sun, and Luna, the moon princess. I’m sure you've heard of them in your little books, but they were as real as you and me. And they controlled the sun and the moon, every day. They were the leaders of Equestria, and they loved each and every one of us. They were spectacularly magical too. Ever heard of an alicorn? Yup, that was them.

There were six others more, you know. I don’t remember their names, darn this old brain of mine. But they were special too. Ponies called them the Elements of Harmony. If you thought of any of the things that made a friendship good and right, one of them was the symbol of it. I think one of them even got to be a princess too.

But that doesn’t matter now. One day, all eight of them just disappeared. Poof. Vanished without a trace. Now in hindsight it may have been a little foalish to leave the entire kingdom as the responsibility of just two goddesses, but they were the most magical, powerful things ponies knew. It didn’t take long before Equestria just fell into hysteria.

To make matters worse, you remember how I said they controlled the sun and the moon? Yup, when they were gone, so was that pattern. One minute you were staring at the sun in the sky and the next it was pitch black.  It was horrible. You couldn’t grow plants, couldn’t get food, couldn’t survive. Thank the heavens Arbor’s founders were lucky enough to magically produce enough light to sustain plants, because out there you don’t know when you’re eating next.

Speaking of out there, it’s dangerous. Those Elements of Harmony apparently meant a lot, because when they were gone, so was harmony itself. Friends turned on each other, lovers broke up, and sometimes there were little wars. Ponies or otherwise began to use violence to solve their problems. Ponies died. Far too many. We never were meant to fight, you know. A few families managed to settle down right here, fashion these walls and buildings out of the metal they found lying around, and began to regrow. That’s the birth of Arbor. I’m sure there’s more like it out there, but it’s like stars in the night sky; there’s lots of darkness between ‘em.

Thankfully it did start to get better. The sun and the moon sorted themselves out, even if it was a bit too late. Still the schedules are a bit looney and we still need to use the magic lights from time to time. At least in Arbor, ponies are happier and friendlier now, although I don’t know if it’s the same kind of magical friendship there was before.

So much else has changed. Did you know pegasi used to be able to control the weather, kick clouds around? Imagine how much that would’ve helped out. Us unicorns used to be a lot better at magic too. And earth ponies could grow the darn best plants you can imagine, but now that just isn’t the case.

With a long, slow sigh, she looked up at me. “Ponies used to have dreams, you know. And not like ‘hopes’ dreams, we still have those. When you’d sleep at night, sometimes you’d… oh, I don’t know. I’ll tell you tomorrow, all right? All this talking’s worn me out.” She sipped on her tea again, which had by now grown lukewarm.

I felt my head swimming. It felt like the whole ground under me had shifted. To think, there was something there before us. Something so different, so alien sounding. I felt naive, lost, and afraid. I put the utmost trust in Grandma, but this sounded like a story she’d tell to me when I was a foal.

“Thanks Grandma,” I said after a long pause. The night sky had replaced the purple twilight, a glowing moon hidden behind grey clouds. To think, once upon a time a pony controlled that thing, I thought.

“You should probably head to bed, missy,” she said. She gave me a grin, but I could feel that telling me all that had shaken her. I apologized quietly and went off to my room.

I could barely fall asleep that night. If anything, Grandma just made me even more curious. It gnawed at my intestines like a starved rat. Kicking the sheets off of my bed, I rolled off of my mattress and tiphoofed over to the window. Suddenly the walls felt more like a prison than just, well, walls. The new insecurity I felt was strangely sickening. I didn’t know it at that moment, but that was the night my life would be forever determined.