After decades of service to Princess Celestia—years of planting and tending and cutting the plants in Her Highness’ ever changing garden—Greenhooves stared at something he had never seen before. “You look in quite the bind, darlin’.”
A yellow pegasus hung suspended in a net with her long, pink flower-braided tail dangling to the ground. She looked over to him with blue-green eyes that glistened with tears.
“Aw, no need to cry, darlin’. Ol’ Greenhooves’ll have you out in no time.”
The mare sighed and turned her head.
He stroked his beard, eyed the rope that held the net aloft, and followed it along its length to where it was anchored to the ground by a stake. He trotted over to it. “Teeth ain’t what they used to be, so you might want to brace yourself.”
Her head snapped around. “What?”
Greenhooves bent over and bit down on the stake, yanking it free with one pull. The mare’s weight pulled the rope taught, but his hooves and grip held firm. He walked forward, one slow step after another, until she was safely on the ground.
The mare tossed off the loose ends of the net and shifted onto her haunches, looking down at her hooves. “Thank you.”
“You don’t owe me nothing, darlin’.” He poked at the net. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to an explanation. I don’t remember this being here.”
Not meeting his gaze, she brushed a hoof over the net. “I set it up.”
He blinked. “What? What in tarnation did you do that for?”
“I...” She rubbed a foreleg with a hoof, her voice vanishing to almost a whisper. “I was trying to catch one of the animals.”
“Huh.” He sat next to her. “That explains it. They’ve been acting awful jumpy tonight.”
“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “I’ve been chasing them all night, ever since I saw you in the garden. I... I just...” Her head bowed, and she hid behind her mane. “I just wanted them to love me. Tonight was supposed to be special.”
“Darlin’, you might be prettier than a spring morning, but you can’t force a critter to do something it don’t want to do.”
The curtain of hair heaved with a sigh. “I know.”
He watched her hoof play in the grass for moment, its polish still gleaming in the moonlight despite how frazzled its green, lace-up sandal was. “You were really looking forward to tonight, weren’t you?”
She didn’t answer.
Greenhooves pursed his lips and whistled a short, lilting tune.
“Ha.” The mare peaked out through her mane. “I remember that melody. I followed it—”
“Shh.” He grinned. “Just listen, darlin’.”
The tune returned to them several times over. A small group of meadowlarks flew into the clearing and perched on a tree branch.
The mare gasped. “How did you do that?”
Greenhooves stood up and stretched out his legs. “Oh, there’s no real trick to it. These critters don’t see many ponies ‘sides me.” He reached a hoof out to her. “Takes awhile for ‘em to get used to new faces. That’s all.”
“Time I don’t have.” She ignored his hoof and bowed her head again. “I should just go.”
“Now who said that?” He pulled his hoof back and kicked at the ground. “The birds are still here, ain’t they? Listen to ‘em.”
The larks carried on, chirping their song down on them.
“They’re here for you,” the mare said glumly.
“Well—” Greenhooves stroked his beard. “They could...” He swallowed. His fiddling hoof swept off his hat and pressed it to his chest. “They could be here for us.”
She looked up, her eyes wide open.
“Y-you’re not the only one that had something in mind tonight.” He pulled his hat back on and let his gaze wander over the carefully tended grounds—grounds that knew his hooves, and had been cared for by them day after day—and finally settled on the bright lights of the palace. “I’ve seen this Gala come year after year. Every year, I’ve wanted somepony to see my garden. See my work with me.”
“I... um...”
“I’m botching it up, aren’t I?” He looked at her again. “You didn’t come to hear me talk.”
Three blue jays flocked to the larks’ branch and joined in the song. A pair of humming hummingbirds flitted between them and circled around. Somewhere in the gardens, an owl hooted in time to the rhythm.
Greehooves sighed. “Well, I’ll just out and ask it then.” He bowed, reaching his hoof out again. “May I have this dance?”
She shrank away. “I-I don’t know...”
“I don’t know either.” He smiled. “You and me. Here and now. No one and nothing else.”
She held his gaze for a long moment. Slowly and deliberately, the mare lifted her hoof and placed it on his own. Her other foreleg crept up to the back of his neck, and she pulled herself up.
He kept his three hooves on the ground for balance, but the mare was nearly weightless as she leaned against him.
A light blush colored her face, framed by curled strands of her mane. Her leg held tight around his neck, and she took a tentative step to the side.
The scent of the flowers in her hair filled his nose, and he swayed in place, holding her up with his hoof before following when she was set. Then he pulled her along a quick step back.
Her step... his step... a smile softened her features. The song surrounded them as more birds flew over their heads. He recognized each voice as it chirped, and he delighted in the growing joy on her face.
They glided around the clearing together, Greenhooves taking the lead and guiding her along slow, gentle curves. Though she took advantage of their path by watching their choir, he never looked away from her.
Her leg curled tighter against the back of his neck. “This really is a beautiful place.”
“That’s kind of you to say, darlin’. Almost as kind as giving me this moment.”
They stopped and looked into each other’s eyes.
“I’ve been at this Gala for years,” he said. “For the first time, I’m glad I’m here.” He pulled their entwined hooves between them. “Because of you.”
Her face flushed.
He pressed his lips to her hoof. “Thank you.”
The mare smiled. “Wake up.”
“What did you—?”
A quick jolt of pain shot through his hoof.
“Wake up!”
“Gah!” He sat up, and his hat fell away from his eyes. “What in Celestia’s—?”
One of the royal guards smirked down at him. “You fell asleep.”
“No. Really?” He stood up from the tree trunk—joints aching every inch of the way—and swiped his hat across the guard’s chest. “Don’t they teach you respect for your elder ponies in the Guard, Duster?”
The pegasus grinned. “Nope. They teach me to follow orders, old timer, and the Chamberlain is worried the garden won’t be ready by this weekend.”
“I’ve had these gardens ready every single year.” Greenhooves snatched up his rake and slung it over his shoulder. “How long have you been here, boy? Five years? Have you ever seen these gardens less ‘n perfect for that Gala of theirs?”
“Not once.” Duster chuckled. “Still, it would probably be best not to let them see you sleeping on the job. You’ll set a bad example for the new girl!”
He snorted. “Thought she wasn’t starting until after the Gala? ‘Sides, if I’m gonna get this done, I don’t have time to coddle a rookie.”
“She’s just going through orientation until next week. Your territory is safe, old timer.”
He bumped the pegasus and headed for the next tree. “And my territory will look perfect for your special night, soldier boy.”
“My night? What do you mean?” Duster’s hoofsteps followed him, slowly at first, then catching up after a few halting steps.
He looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Your night. You and Wind Whistler. You’re taking her to the Gala, ain’tcha?”
“Oh, that?” Duster shrugged, a faint blush creeping out from underneath his helmet. “Nah, I haven’t picked up the tickets yet. Not sure if I will.”
“You’re not what?” Greenhooves slapped a hoof across his muzzle. “You... dumb... young...”
“What? What did I say?”
“Don’t you ‘What?’ me!” He pulled at his beard and groaned. “Didn’t you see her eyes when you mentioned those tickets to her? She’s dying to go to this thing!”
Duster rubbed the back of his neck and sat back on his haunches. “It’s... it’s not that big a deal.”
Greenhooves rounded on him and prodded his armored chest. “Have you told her that?”
“I... no, but—”
“But nothing!” Greenhooves turned away and pulled out the rake again. “You said you got those tickets in a raffle for the guards! Luck like that doesn’t come again.”
Duster’s heavy footsteps followed him once more. “And except for that stampede last year, you’ve never said the Gala is anything but a bore. Did I miss something?”
“Miss something? You think?” He snorted. “It is a bore. It’s supposed to be a bore. The Gala isn’t about... it’s not about the Gala.” A vision of the mare danced through his mind. “It’s about you, and-and... you’re not there for the Gala. The Gala is there for you.”
Duster looked to the ground, shifting his hooves.
Greenhooves leaned on his rake. “She’s going to make herself beautiful for you. The Gala is just the backdrop, you fool. It’s up to you to make the night special. For her. For you.”
“What...” Duster swallowed his words and shook his head.
He studied the younger stallion. “Just wait. You’ll regret not going. One day.” He swept at the leaves on the ground. Some of them scattered away. “One day you’ll wonder what it was like. What she was like. You’ll want to see her. You’ll want to hold her.” He sighed and gathered the scattered leaves into the pile. “The only way to have a memory like that is to make one. Otherwise you’re just chasing after your own ghosts.”
He continued raking up the leaves while the mare floated through his mind, and for a moment, he wasn’t tending to his garden. He was dancing with her.
Then the moment was gone, the night vanishing into his dreams, and so did she. He stopped, then, and his rake was just a rake again.
An armored hoof touched his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Greehooves took a slow breath and nodded. “Yeah.”
Duster’s hoof lingered. “Wind Whistler is bringing me lunch today. We were going to eat under the willows. Why don’t you join us? She’d love to see you again.”
“Kind of you to offer, but no.” He shrugged the hoof off his shoulder and forced a smile. “She’s coming here for you, ain’t she? Don’t mind this old fool. If I knew what I was talking about, wouldn’t I have a mare to bring me lunch? Don’t mind this old fool at all.”
Duster opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything. He gave a tight smile and a curt nod before flying off.
Greenhooves hung his head and went back to his leaves. “Just an old fool.”
