Along a River Flowing, Never Knowing, Always Going
Marshwillow stood over the graves of his parents and reflected upon their end. The sickness had overtaken them all, the fever, the chills, the coughing, and eventually, they had died. Marshwillow had survived somehow. His mother, Weeping Willow, an earth pony like himself, had died first, and then not even an hour later, his father, Marshmoss, a pegasus, had died as well. Marshwillow knew when they gave up the ghost because he could no longer hear their cries.
In just a day or two, Marshwillow had recovered and was faced with dealing with the bodies of his parents. It had taken all of his strength, but he had dragged their bodies out of the cabin they all lived in, placed them beneath a tree entwined with one another, and then covered them with rocks.
He looked at the cabin and realised there was nothing left for him here in the swamps. He had no family, no prospects, no clan, and no reason to keep enduring with the old way of life. The others in the clan had gone on years ago, heading off to civilisation. Marshwillow’s parents had held on to their ways right up till the end.
He craned his head around and looked at his mark, a giant skunk cabbage. Wasn’t going to do him much good where he was going. He sighed a heavy sigh of resignation and said goodbye to his parents and his way of life.
The raft looked crude but serviceable. Crude logs from kicked over trees and the branches kicked off, all bound together with creeping vines. He had made a serviceable rudder that he hoped would hold. He had woven several baskets out of palm fronds and filled them with food. Marshwillow turned away from his work and headed back inside the cabin.
He stood inside the single room, looking down at the packed dirt floor. The beds were piles of hanging moss. The cabin had no door. There was no furniture. There was nothing to take with him. There was nothing to say.
He backed out of the cabin and approached his parent’s graves to say one final goodbye. He stood over them, silent, he had never had much to say, and now was no exception. He caught the scent of death coming up from under the rocks.
It was time to go.
He kicked his raft into the sluggish river and hopped aboard. The raft took off into the water and he cast one final glance at his home of all these years. He lifted up one front hoof and waved. He sat down and took the tiller in one folded fetlock, carefully steering the raft as he began his journey down the river.
It took no effort to travel by river and the raft went where the river meandered. All around him the marshy swamp sang with life. Dragonflies buzzed, frogs croaked, birds screeched and sang to one another. Marshwillow watched everything as he slowly drifted past. The sun trickled through the thick overhead canopy, dappling the world around him with puddles of sunlight, and creating scintillating sparkles on the surface of the river.
There were no signs of other ponies as he traveled, but he already knew how it would be. He had wandered from home a few times, out walking for several days at a time in different directions. He had never even seen another pony other than his parents in years.
He eyed his baskets. He had only been on the river for a few days and already his supplies were dwindling. He was going to have to find a good place to pull the raft ashore and forage for more food.
In the distance, he saw a column of smoke rising up into the sky and wondered what might be burning. Too much smoke to be a campfire. And it was the middle of summer, so a fire wasn’t needed to keep warm.
He wondered if the river would wander by whatever had caused the fire.
Marshwillow was near whatever was the cause of the smoke. He could smell it now, it was thick in his nostrils, and he wasn’t too far off. He sniffed, smelling the distant smoke. He could also smell the hot smell of vegetation warmed by the sun, the scent of decay that was always present in the marsh, the smell of the water, and the smell of some rotted tree that was nearby.
He approached a clearing in the trees along the river’s edge, a place free of trees and their tangled knots of roots, and he steered his craft towards the tall grasses along the bank. He ran aground and once he did so, he grabbed his raft by some vines, and, using his teeth, tugged the raft ashore, grunting with each step as he backed up.
He let go of the vines, turned around, and nearly tripped over a filly. He let out a startled grunt but then pulled himself together, back away from the wide eyed and clearly frightened filly.
“Are you here to rescue me?” the filly asked.
The filly, a unicorn, was dirty and covered in soot. Her pelt, once white, was now a dirty streaked grey. Her soft pink and green mane was matted and crusted with mud. She had a few scabbed over cuts along her sides.
“I don’t know about rescuing you, but I can help you,” Marshwillow said. “I’m traveling down the river.”
“My name is Mouse… please help me,” the filly begged.
“Don’t worry Mouse, I’ll help you. My name is Marshwillow.”
“Marshmallow?” Mouse said, cocking her head.
“No, Marshwillow.”
“Oh,” Mouse said.
“What happened?” Marshwillow asked.
“Our airship crashed. There was a thunderstorm. A bad one. Everypony’s dead,” Mouse said and she began to sniffle.
A moment later, Marshwillow felt two legs around his neck squeezing him and the filly was reared up on her hind legs hugging him. She was smaller than he was, but about the same age as he was, or so he thought, He couldn’t tell for certain. He wrapped one foreleg around her withers and held her close for a moment. It was nice to see another pony. To feel another pony.
It was nice to see a filly.
After a moment, Mouse let go and pulled back. Tears had left streaks along her face and more continued to fall. She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out. “You don’t want to see the crash. Everypony burned. I couldn’t get them away. My mother held me in her magic and I survived the crash. She’s gone. They’re all gone. Even our butler.”
“I’ll take your word about it. You can come with me if you’d like… are you hungry? I have a few apples left, not many, and a couple of tubers,” Marshwillow offered.
“I’d love some food,” Mouse squeaked.
Marshwillow led her back to the raft and gestured at the baskets. The filly gingerly stepped onto the raft and stuck her head into one of the baskets. She came up a moment later with an apple in her teeth, a big green one. Her horn glowed and the apple hovered as she began to eat it.
“Eat a few more, I’ll stop and forage for us along the way… and let me shove the raft into the river,” Marshwillow said.
Mouse stepped away from the raft, looked off into the direction of the smoke, and then watched as the raft was dragged to the river. She hurried after it and jumped aboard just as the raft was beginning to drift with the river current. She turned again towards the smoke, waved, and then turned her head away with her eyes closed, suppressing a cry.
“Do you know where we are going?” Mouse asked as she opened her eyes once more.
“Nope,” Marshwillow replied.
“I suppose I should go home… but my parents are dead. I don’t know what to do,” Mouse said sadly.
“My parents died too. Got sick. I just buried them a few days ago,” Marshwillow said in a low voice as he took the tiller in his folded fetlock once again.
“I’m sorry,” Mouse said. “So you just set out on your own I take it?”
“Yeah I did,” Marshwillow replied.
“With no idea where you are going? Anything could happen! My parents had a plan about where they were going… we were going to Saddle Arabia. And we crashed. How can you just set out without knowing where you are going?” Mouse said as she lifted another apple in a soft pink bubble of magic.
“My mama once told me, “Life along a river flowing, never knowing, always going,” and I had to think about what she said real hard. You’ll just end up where life needs for you to be if you just go with the flow of things. I came along and rescued you. And now, I ain’t alone no more. I have me a right pretty filly to eat apples with me and keep me company as I go.”
Mouse sat down on the raft, which soaked her backside. She felt an odd jumble of emotions. Sad, hopeful, and something else that she couldn’t quite put her hoof on. She looked at the moss green earth pony with the dark green mane and studied him carefully.
“I ain’t got no idea where this river will take us,” Marshwillow said.
Author's Note
Something I salvaged as I was deleting a bunch of stuff on my GDrive. I did a little editing and released it into the wild, where it will summarily be ignored most likely.
