Author's Note
I had a lot of fun writing this, though I know (as usual) it could do with an extra layer of polish. I hope you enjoy reading it, and perhaps adding to it.
Dancing in the Sky
Pon-Pon was dancing in the fields. The early-morning sun was warm on her shoulders and the long, wet prairie-grass tickled her bare legs. The only music was the wind across the plains, but that didn't matter to Pon-Pon. She twirled and spun, throwing great handfuls of grasses, flowers and attached pieces of sod into the air, all the while giggling and laughing.
A sudden flash of gold interrupted her aimless revelry. Blinking, Pon-Pon turned around and around, searching, until she spotted it again; it was the sun, glinting off something shiny, far up in the mountains that surrounded their valley. She squinted and stared, eager to make out what it was. Several minutes went by until she realized that the shiny thing making its slow way up the distant mountain track was a dagger, attached to a crude rope belt which was firmly tied around what had to be her brother Little Frog's waist.
Her heart leaped into her throat; Little Frog was climbing up the side of Ancestor Mountain.
It wasn't exactly forbidden to climb Ancestor Mountain, it was just... not done. It was very... not done. It was likely to end badly, probably in the jaws of a bigdog, with the juicy crunchings of Little Frog's head between its teeth.
Pon-Pon made a decision; she ran towards the mountain, calling out for her brother.
***
Little Frog reached out a hand, stretching for the distant ledge. The sun was hot this high up, but the mountain was hotter, almost glowing with heat. The cool breezes that swept through the valley lower down were all but absent, leaving the boy to stew in his own sweat. It dripped down his face, ran down his neck and soaked his back. Ordinarily this would have called for a dip in a lake, what with the weather being so fair this time of year, but not today, not for Little Frog.
Little Frog too busy climbing to swim in a lake. Little Frog was going to climb Ancestor Mountain, because he was going to bring Aunt Hen back from the After.
His grasping hand took hold of the promising outcrop he'd chosen and he squeezed with his fingers, wedging them into what cracks he could, until they were fast. Then he heaved. Tensing, he took his weight off one foot and stretched it out, reaching for and digging his toes into another imperceptibly small ledge. Then he pushed, and rose another foot.
“'I-'ll F'g!”
The reedy, thin voice almost made him fall. He looked down, bewildered, at where the noise had come from, but couldn't see the owner for the curve of the mountain.
“Pon?” he bellowed, hazarding a guess.
“Frog Frog come!” bounced back the reply. “Frog come down!”
Frog said several Bad Words. “No Pon. Pon go home! Frog go up!” he bellowed back, his voice blasting into his face as it rebounded from the rocks in front of him.
“Pon come up!” was the reply from his sister. This made him pause. This made him scared. He didn't care for himself, so much – mostly because he couldn't imagine that he could fall, and in the oblivious arrogance of youth, was sure he'd just get up and try again – but his little sister Pon-Pon was a girl, and like most girls couldn't climb for sweetmush.
“No Pon! No! Stay! Go home! No climb!”
“Frog!” was the eventual, plaintive reply. It was full of frustration. She'd tried to climb and had failed. Little Frog breathed easier.
“Pon-Pon wait!” he shouted. He counted to five, and when no interruption floated up, carried on. “Frog get Auntie Hen. Frog come back. Promise.” He hung there, stretched out like a lizard on the spit, until Pon-Pon answered.
“Kay-Kay!” his sister cried finally, defeated. “Pon wait!”
Little Frog screwed up his face in a scowl, though there was nothing but the rock to see it. After a few moments, he gave up the consideration of a protracted shouting match with his sister – she wouldn't climb up, but he also knew she knew he wouldn't climb down to make her go home. He grunted with dissatisfaction, and continued his upward trek.
***
Ancestor Mountain was the highest peak in the mountain range that ringed Home. It was so high it touched the sky. When it was made, it had shattered Above, scattering the pieces across the dome above Home. The pieces could still be seen most every night, if it wasn't cloudy.
Auntie Hen – Old Fat Hen had been the name her charges had called her, though they'd loved her with all their hearts – had died a month ago. They'd wrapped her body in blankets, given her gifts for the voyage to Beyond, and had left her to lie in the Dying Fields.
The fairies had come that night and had spirited her away to Ancestor Mountain. This, Little Frog had reasoned, was monumentally unfair. Aunt Hen couldn't go to After yet, he wasn't done growing up. And then living in Home. And even then, Aunt Hen couldn't go! It just... wasn't fair.
And so, Little Frog was going to climb Ancestor Mountain, find his way to the After and bring her back.
***
The climb had been hard, and it had made his head spin. At times he had seemed to almost hanging from the rocky wall, others dragged outwards more than down as he ascended. He didn't know how the fairies did it, but they did. Fairies could jump on moonbeams and spiderwebs, Little Frog couldn't - it had taken everything he had to not fall. Finally, though, the mountain ridge he was slowly but surely heaving his body up was coming to an end. He was sure that soon, very soon, he would see the peak.
One last effort. He grunted, heaved, and pulled himself up another foot, flailed with his suddenly-free arm, and dragged himself over the lip of the rockface to sprawl, exhausted, on the sudden plateau.
The sky was bluer than blue up here, Little Frog mused. The clouds had been left behind, far below. There was nothing in the Above now but the sun as it wended its way from horizon to horizon over Home.
Scooting away from the edge, Frog lay on his back, breathing hard. He could scarcely believe it! Here he was! Ancestor Mountain was uncrossable fairie country; all peaks, sheer rock face and scree. And yet he, Little Frog, had found a way.
Once his breathing had steadied, he rolled onto hands and knees and peered over the edge. Down, far, far below, was Home. He could see the odd trail of smoke from one of the huts as an Uncle or Aunt was cooking. He could see the pens of the animals, and could even spot the odd cousin or friend, though at this distance he wasn't entirely sure who was who. Looking to one side, he could just see the Dying Fields. Peaceful and beautiful, the fairies would make their way there from Fairie Wood to pick up anyone foolish enough to sleep amongst the flowers and long grasses, spiriting them away to the After with promises of treats and song, whether they were dead or not. The other side of Home held the Neverwood, equally dangerous, though more direct in its approach. The Neverwood was home to the bigdogs, great hairy beasts full of teeth and claws that would snatch up stragglers quick as a flash, crunching their bones and rending their flesh. Where the bigdogs hunted, no animal remained. If the bigdogs caught you, they'd crunch your head, and send your spirit to Below.
Below was a fearsome place, the last destination for all the Bad Bads. It was also the place where all those unfortunate enough to be lost before they could make it to the Dying Fields went.
And if some stray bigdog or razorbird found him, or he fell, Little Frog would join them. Little Frog wouldn't fall. And he wouldn't fall prey to no bigdog or razorbird neither.
Turning from Home back to the peak of Ancestor Mountain, he also – for the first time – wasn't sure he'd make it to After, either. This was where the sky had been shattered, apparently. It had all seemed so close, from down in the valley, but it didn't look shattered now he was up here. And no matter how high he had already climbed, it seemed the mountain went up even further… but at the same time, something seemed wrong with the mountain, the ground and the sky.
Before Little Frog, the ground seemed to slope gently out and then, impossibly, up. The peak of Ancestor Mountain was little but a minor hill, this high in the Barriers, almost inconsequential. Little Frog found with some chagrin and not a small amount of fear that he could walk around it on this hidden flat plateau, the rocks and ravines playing tricks with his head. From one angle, it seemed to stretch up and up further still. From another, a vantage point usually hidden from Below, it was revealed to be a sham.
The silence and sudden thudding of his heart in his ears gave Little Frog pause, and he wiped the sweat from his brow with shaking fingers. Maybe he'd done it, and this was the After. But if so, where was everything?
The lands in this strange Beyond seemed to carry on into the distance. It seemed he had little choice but to carry on.
***
Little Frog took a deep breath and stopped, slumping down to sit on his rear amongst the strange, white-blue gravel. He dug his hands in morosely - there was nothing up here! He'd been trudging for seemingly miles and he could conclusively say that there was nothing here, not even trees or grass. He'd left the last sign of greenery behind a while ago, and instead the ground was an expanse of white-blue gravel. Everything was going wrong.
Little Frog sprawled on his back and sighed... and then screamed. Wailing, he covered his face with his hands, curling into a ball. Screaming and flailing helplessly, Little Frog swam across the ocean of gravel until his voice grew hoarse and his breathing heavy. Eventually, almost catatonic, he lay flat against the ground, whimpering.
For many long seconds, he refused to move. Eventually though, fearfully, Little Frog looked up, and realized he was looking down. Above him, impossibly, was Home.
He was sitting on the sky.
He wailed again and curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth.
It was only when he was forcefully nudged a second time that he opened his eyes a crack, and came face to muzzle with a wide set of curious brown eyes and a shock of blonde mane framing a smiling mouth and two large nostrils. The sudden noise of clip-clopping hooves echoed from all around as the pucca, the fairy horse, examined him. Little Frog held his breath, rooted to the spot, as the strange little speckled brown and cream pony snuffled at him.
“Little Frog?” it asked.
Little Frog nodded, dumbly. Somehow this fairy knew his name, and lying about it seemed a very bad idea. Slowly, trembling all over, he got to his feet. He hadn't fallen down yet, he reasoned, but there was no reason that whatever magic had overtaken him couldn't fail at any time.
“It is you! Oh, Little Frog, my little chicky! I have missed you so!”
The pony trotted closer, before rearing up on its hind hooves to put its forehooves on his shoulders in a rough, heavy, pony hug. If Little Frog had been down below on the plains, and perhaps a little bit less scared, he would have run for it. As it was, he was too shocked to move, and when the pony gave him a rough, wet kiss on both cheeks, something finally clicked.
“Auntie Hen?” he gasped, breathlessly.
The pony released him from its surprisingly powerful grip, and stood before him, grinning. “Who else would it be, silly boy! Did you really climb all the way up here?”
“Frog climb! Frog come see... you. Frog come take you home!” Event to him, full of the bluster of youth, Little Frog knew how lame that sounded.
At this, the pony looked suddenly sad. “I can't, my dear little chicky. I am...” she paused, then cocked her head to one side. “I have gone Beyond. To After. I can't come back. None of us can. But we're here, all of us, and--”
“NO!” cried Little Frog, plaintively, his fear momentarily forgotten. The pony moved swiftly to comfort him as best she could.
“--And we're happy, and well. And waiting for when you come Beyond, to the After. A long time from now. A long, long, happy, gorgeous time from now.”
The pony had embraced him again, tears rolling down her muzzle, fiercely pulling herself to his small, young, but powerful body.
“B-but Li-Little Frog want--”
“I know, poppet, I know. But I can't. I...” Aunt Hen, the pony's voice hoarse with emotion, paused. “Would you... like to come see? Then you'll understand. You came all this way, honey child. I don't want that to be for nothing. Come, come with me.”
“T-to After?”
“Ye-es... and no. You're safe, safe with Auntie Hen. Auntie Hen is... a powerful fairy now. You can... come see the After, and then go home. Auntie Hen will take you, okay?”
Little Frog stared fearfully at the strange creature, so familiar and yet so alien, stood blithely in the sky as it waited for him to answer. Eventually he nodded, though his body still trembled with fear.
“Come then, chicky. Put your hand on my withers. Here,” she gestured, leaning the base of her neck towards him. “Walk with me, do not stray, you could easily be lost Beyond, where the bigdogs roam. You wouldn't want to go to Below, would you?”
Little Frog shook his head as he moved to do as bid.
“Aunt Hen would come get you,” the little pony said contritely, as they walked, in a new direction. “We from Home don't let anyone who doesn't deserve it to stay down Below, but you would go there. As long as you are with me, you're safe.”
Fearfully, though doing his best to hide it, with his fist buried in Aunt Hen's brown-speckled blonde mane, Little Frog walked across the expanse of the sky.
***
Presently, they came to a strange little cave. It was all blue-white like the sky, but it stood out from the floor, and little steps led down - or was that up? - to somewhere… else. Inside was dark. Distantly, Little Frog could hear the snuffling and growling of bigdogs, and the raucous screech of razorbirds, and the murmur of a hundred other vicious animals. But he was with Aunt Hen, and Aunt Hen was from the After. He would not be afraid.
The pony didn't speak as they walked, and though Little Frog was bursting with questions, neither did he. Silently save for their foot and hoofsteps, they meandered through the darkened tunnels. The strange, smooth ceiling was lit by unseen torches that neither flickered nor faded, and the walls were equally uniform, marked with odd little pictures all in rows, all the same colour. Drinking it all in, torn between boredom and enchantment, Little Frog was casting his gaze left and right, eyes wide with wonder.
Suddenly, they arrived ata wall that wasn't a wall. All at once, it vanished, flooding the tunnel with light. Little Frog shielded his eyes, stumbling into the room beyond, until he was used once more to the brightness. Aunt Hen was unfazed and had already trotted right into whatever strange underground hut they now found themselves.
She shook herself totally free of his grasp and moved to stand next to a strange, large seat. Little Frog peered at it. “That like rocker!" he said, his voice hoarse and cracking after the silence. "Old Old's use rocker! Frog not old!” He scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. Here, safe in what had to be fairy-Hen's house, he had regained some of his brashness.
Aunt Hen grinned. “You wish to see After? Aunt Hen has grown powerful these years in After--”
“Years? But--” Little Frog screwed up his face in confusion, Hen hadn't been dead for more than a few weeks. This Hen was... different, more than just the hooves. This Hen spoke differently, acted differently, though he was sure this was - despite everything - his Hen.
After was surely a very strange place.
“Years, Little Frog. Time is different in the After. Come. If you're to see the After, you must pretend you are an Old Old. Bend over, hobble, then sit in the rocker. Do you feel it? The cold? The sleepy?”
Little Frog did actually feel a little strange... tired, kind of, and cold. He made his way to the odd rocking chair – so very similar and yet still starkly different to the ones the old folks back at Home sat in – and clambered into it. It seemed to mould itself around his body, like a comfortable bed.
“Lie back, little chicky, and close your eyes. You're safe, safe here with Auntie Hen. You'll take a short trip to After, and then we'll... both go to where we belong.”
***
Little Frog startled awake. The last thing he could remember was sitting in a rocker, pretending to be old, but now he was... here. Wherever here was.
He heaved himself to his hooves, and then went several steps before realizing what that meant. He then spent a good few seconds trying not to trip over all four of his legs before giving up and – like all the young – just deciding to go with it.
He was now a dark green pony, much like Auntie Hen save for the colour, though his mane was a similar yellow. He was in the middle of a large, grassy plain, kind of the like Dying Fields, but a lot like Home. It was late spring here, warm, with all the flowers out. The warm wind rustled through the tall, green stalks of grass as Auntie Hen, or rather the pony that the old woman had now become, joined him.
“Auntie?” he whispered.
Auntie Hen nuzzled him softly. “Welcome, little chicky, to the After.”
The little pony gestured with a hoof, and Little Frog turned to see pony after pony trotting towards them over the hills. He felt like he could almost recognize them, even in their new guises, and after a few seconds found he was already guessing who they were... and as their joyous voices called out to him across the dwindling gap, he found most of them were right.
There was Uncle Oak who had endured a vicious cut from a wild beast before going to sleep and not waking up, here was young cousin Shell taken by fever several summers ago, and this was Mama Trout the old matron of the village... tears sprung to Little Frog's eyes as loved ones he had lost over the years through age, accident, sickness and even bigdogs and other vicious wild animals surrounded him, trotting hale, hearty and happy out of the distant sun. They pushed close to him, nuzzling and welcoming and crying as they each sought to greet him properly.
Everyone was there. Everyone. Every single person Home had ever lost, all whom he knew and many he didn't, from the youngest to the oldest. They were all whole, they were all safe and well, cured of all sickness and bereft of pain. They all smiled at him, jostled and called to him, laughed and played and danced and sang and spun around and around him, revelling in a single, perfect moment of reunion.
He broke down, then, and cried, all pretense shattered. All twelve summers of his life had been enough to teach him what death meant, enough growing to understand loss... and with one fell swoop all that pain had been undone.
And Auntie Hen gathered him close, and held him until the tears had dried.
When he opened his eyes again, a tall, glowing, four-hoofed figure stood before him, having moved carefully through the silently parted throng. It was the queen of the After, the one painted on the walls of Story Cave. For a moment, he was fearful that Auntie Hen would be in trouble, but then the great winged, horned horse bent down and kissed his forehead.
“Greetings, Little Frog. Do you know who I am?” Her voice was soft, and friendly, and full of mirth.
Little Frog nodded, then shook his head. “Frog know, but... not know name.” He quivered, unsure of whether he should look down or up.
The creature nodded, satisfied. “It is enough you know I am here, and that I watch over you all in Home, and Beyond." The large horse embraced Hen, then turned to look at him again. "Your time in the After draws to a close, little one, so make your goodbyes, and then follow your Aunt Hen back to Home. Do not look back, promise me, or the magic may be undone and you may not be able to leave."
"B-but Aunt Hen must--" Little Frog began, his voice dwindling to little but a squeak.
The queen of the fairy horses shook her head, sadly. "She cannot. Her time in Home is done. You, however, have tasks yet to do amongst your own people. Little Frog, do you know what becomes of those who dare cross between your world and mine?"
Little Frog shook his head.
"They grow up to be powerful shamans, little one. One day you will be a wise and powerful shaman, but that day is not today. Today, you must make your way home before the magic your aunt has gifted you runs out. You must away to your home, where you will have many tales to tell of how you travelled to the After and how you returned to tell of it.”
Little Frog's mouth fell open. A shaman? Him? He nodded, dumbly. Maybe travelling to the After had changed him, though he didn't feel different – not even wearing these hooves. Either way, he wasn't about to argue with the Queen of the After.
"Well?" asked the fairy queen, a small smile upon her lips.
“Little Frog g-go home," he replied, defeated.
"Good," the white horse said. Then the strange winged and horned beast turned smartly about and left, taking all of his relatives and friends with him – all but Auntie Hen, who smiled, gestured, and walked in the opposite direction. Frog followed her.
The pair of them stopped at a set of boulders. Little Frog squinted at the scene; there was something odd about the boulders. Through them he could see what looked like the beginning of the little rocky path he had followed before he'd reached the mountain and had started climbing.
"There is the way back home, little chicky. Soon, you will pass through and go home. But come, you must be tired. Come and rest a while before then, okay?"
"But--" Little Frog began, but the expression on his aunt's face remained unchanged. He sat down nervously, and Hen moved to comfort him. Pulling his unresisting body closer, she shuffled around until they were laying neck-a-neck and she could groom him. At the methodical chewing, he found himself relaxing. Against his will, his eyes closed and he nodded off.
Seemingly moments later, Little Frog found himself jumping to his feet someways down the path at the base of Ancestor Mountain. Somehow he was human again. Cursing the trickery, he moved carefully back up the trail, and to his dismay found nothing but large boulders blocking his path. Little Frog slumped, then turned around once more and headed back down towards Home. He'd somehow been brought all the way across the sky and back down from the mountain, through what had to be the magic paths that the fairies took... and the way back up was forever blocked. Forever, at least, until it became his time to go to the After for good.
***
Pon-Pon was sleeping fitfully by her small fire. She'd retreated from the Dying Fields and had gathered stones to make a ring, then branches and moss for fuel. It had taken a while, but she'd got a blaze started. The fire would keep any bigdogs away, she was sure of that, and no bigdogs would dare tread between Home and the Dying Fields where the fairies dwelled anyhow.
She was pretty sure of that, at least... the cracking of branches up the trail that headed to the mountains, however, had her grabbing a flaming branch for protection. She waved it menacingly as into the firelight came a very familiar figure.
“Pon-Pon!” cried Little Frog, as he covered the gap between them in a single bound. He swept her up, and hugged her.
“Frog-Frog back?” the girl hazarded.
“Frog back,” he replied. “Found Aunt Hen, but...”
“Aunt Hen stay in the After,” finished Pon-Pon. She screwed up her face for a moment, and balled her fist up, wiping it savagely across her eyes. “Little Frog not go to After! Little Frog come home!”
“Promise promise,” Little Frog replied, hugging her again. “Little Frog come home. Both go to Home now.”
He stole one last glance up the mountain, then turned to take his sister home. They'd both be missed, probably presumed dead or taken by the fairies, and would doubtless be in trouble, but they'd make it home safely, with an incredible tale to tell.
***
Aunt Hen stood watching the magic mirror. She knew the mirror was no mirror – it wasn't even there, and neither was she, strictly speaking, but it suited her to have a magic mirror from which to spy on her little chickies as they made their way home, so she did.
Dying had been an experience she didn't really want to have again, and neither was being old. She'd spent a long time being old when she was human in Home. Now she was in the After, as she'd called it back then, when she still walked on two legs in a meat body and thought with that slow, meaty brain she'd been born with.
Dying wasn't something she wanted her two brave little chickies to experience just yet either, which was why she was making sure that all vicious animals that ringed the little settlement were as far away as possible, and all fairies were ordered to let the two pass unmolested.
At first, upon Waking and learning the truth, Aunt Hen had been horrified at the harsh world that had been constructed around Home, and how vicious the place beyond Home's terribly thin walls were. It was all a lie, too, more of a lie than the After, truth be told. Home was a small group of settlements set in a valley ringed by impenetrable mountains with painful death on one side and gentle death on the other, carefully balanced to provide the optimum experience of Being Human as the poor, innocent souls eaked out a living from the soil that had been as carefully planted as the mountains and fake sun that rolled across the solid dome of the sky.
And then, slowly, she had understood. Friendship and Ponies was the mantra of Celestia, and the satisfaction of values. Her people valued the life they had, and gladly left Home to be ponies, when they were ready – and sometimes before, should cold, cruel, hard Mother Nature take its course, or should one of the engineered beasties have its way. And Celestia allowed it because, she said, it had to be that way. If terrible things happened, and the unthinkable occurred, then this little cache of humanity could rekindle the flame that had given birth to her and her new, improved world of Equestria – should it be necessary – somewhere far away from whatever disaster had to have happened to make such extreme measures necessary.
Until then, Aunt Hen and others like her would watch over their charges, would watch them live their strange, slow, natural, oblivious lives until it became time for them to finally take up their true place in the After, in the wonderful, perfect, happy world of Equestria.
