That time of year.
It’s that time of year again. The time I hold so dear to my heart. I sit at my spot by the painting, like always. I sit and watch as ponies pass, going to and fro. Looking at all the other art around this small gallery. I can see the group of school foals, that are brought by every year in the distance. Of course there are new faces, as with every year, but they always share that same look of awe, and some with that same look of boredom.
“Now students.” I can hear the lovely teachers voice speak. “This is Alderspring’s very own art gallery. It might not be anything like what you can find in Canterlot, but there is still so much rich art and sculptures that you can find around here. As I said back in class, all you have to do is find one piece to write a paper about.” The groans of the students could be heard from here, and I let off a chuckle.
“You have the rest of the school day to look around. So please take your time. We will be meeting back here. Understood?” The quick nods could be seen, before the students were allowed to walk around.
Most forming their small groups of friends to look around together. But I notice a couple foals walking around by themselves. It always felt a little irresponsible, but Alderspring is such a small place, that no crime goes undetected.
I lean back in my seat again, letting my eyes gently close shut. It’s about time for my normal nap anyways.
“Hey mister?” The tiny voice speaks, and at first I choose to ignore it. “Hey mister?” I hear again, and a small poke to my side. “Hey mister?”
The third time makes me open my eyes to see a young, blue colt standing there. “Don’t ya know it’s rude to poke a sleeping pony?” I say to him teasingly, and he nods sheepishly.
“Yeah. I was just wondering if you could. . If you could. . .” He stutters nervously. Probably thrown off by my teasing earlier.
“Ah. Hey. it’s okay kid. I was just teasin ya.” I chuckle “Just ask me what you wanna know.” He nods.
“I was just wondering if you could tell me about that?” He points to the painting on the wall that is next to where I sit. The painting is an old thing. Nothing that special to a passer by. Just a simple painting of a mare and a stallion, dancing in the snow by a tree in the middle of a spring at night.
“Ah? That old piece? Wouldn’t you wanna write about something else. something more interesting. I think most students tend to write about that over there.” I point over towards the sculpture of Celestia. The kid shakes his head and keeps pointing at the painting.
“That one. for sure.” He says firmly and I nod.
“Well. What is there to say?” i put a hoof to my chin, looking at the painting from the corner of my eye. “Well. Do you have any questions?” He nods, pulling out a small paper and pencil.
“What’s it called?” He asks through the pencil held in his mouth.
“It’s titled ‘A Dance with the Mare of the Night.’ “ I smile, watching him jot that down.
“Who made it?” He asks next.
“Donated anonymously. Only one pony knows, and that’s the one who donated it.” The kid nods. Looking like he’s struggling to spell anonymously, until he just puts down a different word altogether.
“What’s it about?” he asks, and I give him a small confused look.
“Well. It’s kinda obvious kid. It’s a stallion. And a mare. Dancing at night. A mare that only dances at night.” The kid nods.
“Did you draw it mister?” He asks me randomly.
“And why do you think that?” I ask him, smiling gently.
“Because the stallion looks like you. But you're old. And he’s young. So a young you.” The kid says bluntly. “And, you kinda seem to know a lot about it too.” I nod.
“Yes. I drew this. When I was young. A long time ago.” I get a little wistful, and the kid pokes me again probably after a minute of silence.
“Can I hear it?” I give him a confused look. “Can I hear the story of how you made it?”
“What makes you feel there is a story behind it?” He gives me a deadpan look, and I chuckle, noding. “Fine fine. first, my name is Sketched Line. Sketchy for short.” The kid nods, and writes that down.
“I’m Crafty!” He smiles back. Nearly dropping the pencil.
“Kid. You’re a unicorn, like me, why don’t you use your magic?” I ask with a chuckle.
“Cause I haven’t learned good control yet. And using magic gives me headaches.” He whines slightly.
“Well, you gotta practice to get better, and those headaches will lessen. Trust me.” The kid smiles and nods. But keeps the pencil in his mouth.
“So. i will warn you now. This is no short tale on how I made this. You still sure you wanna hear it?” he nods again.
“Okay. Well, let’s see. . . It was this time several years ago that I saw her. My Muse. The mare that I danced with in the night. . . “ I pause and glance down to the young foal. ‘When you hear the term Mare of the Night, what comes to mind?”
“Princess Luna. . Did you dance with a princess?!?” I chuckle and shake my head.
“No no. But she was as beautiful as one. See, during that time, close to when I was your age actually, Princess Luna was nothing more than a myth to us. She was still locked in the moon. And would still be for a long while.” The foal nods.
“This mare was her own, special, filly, that I was in love with from day I saw her. But, she never paid any attention to me. Not like I would ever go up to her and talk to her. I was far too nervous and shy to do something like that!” I pause, gathering my thoughts.
“She was very, very, pretty though. And I would always take any chance I could to see her. To hear her. I would have given any chance to talk to her.”
“Why didn’t you? I mean. If you loved her why not?” I shrug.
“Honestly I don’t know why I never did talk to her. That’s something I regret. Always will.” he tilts his head to the side giving me a confused look.
“I thought you ended up dancing with her though? That’s what the painting is. Right?” I shake my head slowly, and sadly.
“No. The painting is my dream. A dream I never tried to fulfil.” I sigh, and look at the painting.
“Let me tell you the full story.” I say, and my memory is brought back in time.
“i was younger. But still older than you are now. My mane was still a striking brown, instead of gray. My fur was a lovely hazelnut, instead of this dust brown.” I chuckle, and the foal giggles.
“It was just after the clock tower struck eleven. And, every night after eleven I took my walk. Just a simple stroll around town. it was nice, and always calming. Didn’t take too long. Back then Alderspring was even smaller. That’s slightly off topic. Anyways, I had just left my house when I noticed a mare down the street. Not just any mare, the mare I had fallen in love with. I was going to take my chance. I was going to go talk to her.”
“So I started walking towards her. I got closer, and was about to say something, when I noticed that she was crying. I stopped, stunned that the mare that was always happy, was crying. what reason did she have. I was about to speak when I noticed that she had started going faster, and was now quite a distance from me.”
“I followed anyways, but kept my distance. She walked down the cobblestone path. Down towards the spring. The one this town is named after. You’ve probably been there so much.” I chuckle. “It is a lovely place for a picnic in the summer. But this was the winter. It was cold outside, our breath was visible. The spring was frozen over. And the tree that’s normally in the middle was just a tiny thing.”
He nods, his eyes looking at the painting. Probably comparing it with how it is today. The place is exactly the same, the only difference is the tree in the painting is way smaller then how it is today. Either way, it was still a lovely place.
“The spring was frozen solid. Couples would skate there in the morning. Before the chill of the night set in.” I smile softly.
“She stood there, at her place by the tree. And slowly she started to dance. Elegant, and soft. Every step was placed perfectly. She danced a dance for two alone.” I let out a soft sigh. “I would have gone up to her. I would have asked her what was wrong. I would have asked her for a dance. But. . .”
“But what, mister?” The foal asks, a look of awe in his eyes.
“But. I just couldn’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask anything. Or even walk up to her. So I just followed her. Every night, she would walk with tears in her eyes to the spring, and dance her lonely dance. And every night I would follow and watch from afar. Soon, I brought my sketchpad with me. I would draw her in her most elegant poses by the tree.”
“Ahw. When did you get to painting that then?” The foal asks, looking at the painting once more.
“I’ll get to that.” I chuckle. “That pattern went on, of following her, and drawing her. But soon, as spring started approaching, and she slowly stopped leaving the house. I would sit at the spring alone, and just draw the tree. I was happy after the seasons kept changing, and winter started rolling around again. Happy that I would be able to see her again, see her when she was happy. See her dance.”
“But she never did leave her house at night any more. Even after winter rolled around. She just would sit inside, and stare out her window. Sometimes I would notice her look down when I would walk by. Almost longing. Like she wanted to just rush out and come with me. But she never did. And I still never talked to her.” I let out a sad sigh.
“And then, I found out why she never came outside again. the word spread through school like it was a wild fire. She had a. . Illness. One that made her not able to dance anymore. It hurt her to dance.”
The kid takes a sad look of his own. And I gently pat his hair. “So, I was going to give her the dream she wanted. I gathered up all my sketches of her. And a wrote a note. Just a simple note saying ‘i’m here if you need me. Sketchy.’ I found a nice box to fit them all, and put the note on top. And then left it at her door.”
“What happened after that mister?” The kid asks, in almost an excited tone.
“Well. She got the box. And. That’s all I know. She moved the next day. With her family to Canterlot, to seek better treatment. And I never had seen her sense.” I say slowly.
“But. it wasn’t all bad. About a week later I got a letter. It was from her. She thanked me for the sketches, and asked me to keep drawing. Keep drawing because I can, and because I am good at it. And to never lose sight of that. And so I did. Every night I would walk to the spring, and just draw. Most times I would draw the tree and spring. Sometimes I drew what ever came to mind. But I kept drawing, just like she asked me too.” I smile softly.
“We kept talking like that. And I would always send her a nice little drawing or sketch. It was nice knowing that I was actually able to talk to her in some sense. But, I still never told her that I loved her.” I let out a sad sigh. “I should have told her. Soon, her letters started becoming more rare. It would be weeks, then months before seeing a single letter. And, then one day, they just stopped.”
“Oh.” The foal looks to the ground, his ears dropping, even a small tear in his eye.
“Now now. Don’t be sad. You haven’t heard the end of it.” I smile. “About a year after her letters stopped, I was getting ready to leave for Manehatten. I was going on a journey. I had enough bits saved up, and I could easily earn more by drawing for others. But, before I left, I wanted to make one last drawing of this place. A painting of the spring. So I grabbed an easel and a canvas board.”
“I walked outside, down the street, and went to the spring. And she was there. But she wasn’t the same any more. She had grown in that year. Her normal long mane, she cut short. And, she was in a wheel chair. . . “
I can remember this night clearly, as I explain it to the foal, it plays out in my mind.
“I called out to her. Then ran up to her, dropping everything.” I remember when she turned to look at me, her face was not of sadness, but of determination.
“She told me sorry, and that she had to stop writing because of her treatment. And that she had hoped to meet me here. She said that she had been slowly getting better, too. She could walk a little, and even got the okay to start practicing to dance again. And then she told me that I was her greatest friend. And that she was so thankful for my letters and drawings.”
I smile to myself. “I told her that it was all I could do, and that I was glad I could help. Then she asked me to draw her again. While she danced. And so I did. She slowly got up from her seat, and I set up my canvas. Both of us worked slowly. Her movements that had been so well practiced seemed almost foreign to her now. She couldn’t move too fast, but she still moved gracefully. And so I drew her. And me. Together. Dancing by the tree.”
“She got tired quickly, and sat back down. I asked her if she wanted to see it, but she shook her head. She told me. . . She told me.” I let out a slow sigh, and the foal tilts his head slightly. Even today, her words echo in my mind.
“Sketchy, I don’t need to see it. You made it, so I know it’s going to be good. Great even. You’re going to go places, so keep drawing. If not for others, or for yourself, for me. So don’t show me. Promise me that you will do that.” I nod. “Good. So keep that, and always look at it to remember this promise. And I promise you to never stop dancing. If not for me, or for others, for you. And I will always have your sketches to remember that promise.”
“Grace. I’m sure you’ll want to see this though. It’s. . . I. . I’m leaving for Manehatten tomorrow. This might be the last time you can see my drawings for a while.” She shakes her head, giggling.
“Not unless we keep writing to each other, silly Sketchy. You will still write to me, right?” She glares almost angrily, but teasingly at me, and I nod.
“Of course! I promise you that I will write to you. What kinda of. . Friend would I be if I didn’t.” She smiles and giggles.
“Hey, mister? What did she tell you?” I shake my head, away from the flash back.
“Oh. She. . uh. . She told me that she didn’t need to because she knows it was a great drawing anyways. The next day, I gave her one last farewell sketch, and left to Manehatten. We kept talking through letters. And she kept telling me of her progress. A year later, she didn’t need the chair any more. A few months after that, she was performing on stages in canterlot. And a week later she was married with a foal on the way. It felt like no time had passed at all, but there she was with a growing family.”
“Oh. Did you ever start a family too?” He asks curiously, and I nod.
“Yeah. One day I settled down with a nice mare. We moved back here, and had a nice family. I have three grand foals now, with a fourth on the way” I smile. “But, I would never forget her. We kept talking, too, sending letters. Though we don’t send them as much anymore, we still talk to catch up. And, I decided to donate this here painting to this gallery when it opened up several years back. And everyday, for a few hours, I will come by to sit and look at my painting.”
The foal nods once more. “Thank you mister, for telling me that story. You don’t mind if I use some of it for this paper, right?”
“Go right ahead, Crafty. I don’t mind at all. What do you need to do in it anyways?” I ask with a smile.
“Well, it’s a pretty open paper. We just need to find something, and write about it.” he says in a distasteful tone towards the paper.
“Well, hey now, at least you have a lot to write about!” I chuckle out, and he laughs a little, nodding.
“Yeah, thank you again!” I shake my head. Chuckling a little.
“It’s not a problem.” I smile, and look outside. Seeing the crisp, winter sun get close to setting. “Oh my. The time sure has passed quickly. You should go to your teacher now. And, I should get headed home. Dinner will be soon. And, I’m expecting a letter.”
