Author's Note
This Story is based off of Leo Tolstoy's short story called "the old shoe maker". It is a christian based short story.
Now I have adapted it to MLP, and wrote it in a different style, but this is basically that story... I tried to stay as true as i could.... plus there are some other neat elements and characters I thought were cool that I added.
I would really like to do this story proud, as it is one of my favorates of all time. If you have suggestions or critique please PLEASE post a review so i can improve it. Thanks!
The Old Horse-shoe Maker
The fire was warm, and his bed called to him. Deep bags under his eyes told him that it was time to put the horse shoes down for the night, and get some sleep. The old horse shoe maker turned down his forge, so the fire was just enough to keep his modest home warm through the night. Then the elder of the small town slowly and deliberately put away his tools, one by one, until they were each in their place. It was his nightly routine, but he found it took longer and longer to complete as the winters and snows seemed to grow colder and deeper as the years trudged along.
Finally the elderly stallion having seen to his small shop and forge, with the falling snow and bitter chill kept at bay by his warm fire and heavy blankets, pulled a small set of scrolls out from under the pillow that had laid empty for some years, next to his own.
The scrolls were precious to him, as they had been precious to his wife. They were both simple ponies who loved God and each other with everything they had. There’s was an old faith, now lost too many ponies due to time, but it was still as simple and sweet as the words on the pages of his precious scrolls.
The elderly stallion unrolled the first one, and while reading the holy script, slowly fell asleep. The beautiful and simply sweet words filled his mind, as he dreamed of what his life had been, and as he worried about the work he had to finish the next day.
His dreams were happy, mainly of a beautiful and youthful mare who raced him through meadows and forests and plains as they both laughed at their mutual foolishness.
“Cobbler…Cobbler…Do you know who I am?” came a voice, in his dream. He knew it was a dream because of the presence of the mare who he had loved for nearly fifty seven years, who had been dead for five.
“Yes… yes master? Is that you?” Cobbler asked, confused as to why his savior would choose to speak to him in such a way.
“Tomorrow, look out on the street Cobbler, for I am coming.” The Cobbler’s heart raced! He loved his savior, his master, who had lead him to the love of his life, and who had sent precious dreams of her after she had passed. Who’s teachings he had tried to live by, treating every pony kindly and fairly no matter what they believed or looked like, or did.
Nodding, Cobbler knew that the voice had left, that his savior had left his dreams. He turned, and continued frolicking with the youthful mare, eating dandelions and splashing each other with water as they danced in the small stream beside the meadow.
They both laid down, panting and laughing at the exertion of the play. “It’s almost time my love… It’s almost time for you to wake up…” Cobbler’s heart pounded in his chest. “Not yet” he thought, sadness and loneliness creeping in on him again. “Remember…” his wife said “I will always be with you.” She smiled at him, as she faded.
Cobbler blinked the tears away, trying to clear his vision. As he did, he saw a small stone, with a beautiful flower carved into it “Oh no… my precious Marigold.” He whispered, as tears fell freely, silently from his cheeks. “I will see you soon… just not yet.” Cobbler stood, and then woke up.
He woke up rested, if a bit melancholy at the dream and started to work right away. He through coal on the fire to heat his home and bring his forge to life. He opened his tool box, and laid them out one by one, all feeding into his morning ritual; it too seemed to take longer as the winters grew colder.
The bell to the front of his shop rang, his first customer of the day. “You always have the highest quality horse-shoe’s Cobbler. Sometimes I wonder why you live in such a humble shop.” Said the young mayor mare, bright pink hair bouncing against her grey coat as she picked up her order. Smiling she waived exiting his home and business, as he waived back.
Cobbler returned to his work, crafting a pair of particularly small shoes for a young colt who had just reached the age of five, out on the Apple farm. The words from the night before came to him “look outside your window… I am coming” Cobbler, knowing it was simply a dream, but hoping none the less to see his beloved savior, glanced out the window.
There, half buried in the deep snow and uniform soaked up to the waist, stood an elderly soldier stallion. He was a stranger to the small town, probably visiting family from far away, and he was shoveling the sidewalk between the shops and houses. As the old soldier, dressed in his combat uniform struggled against the deep, heavy snow Cobbler went outside.
“Come in please. Before you catch your death. I have a warm fire and hot cocoa if you want some” Cobbler called from his front door, but the soldier didn't hear him. The chill biting to his bones, Cobbler grabbed his coat, his only protection against the winter, and took a cup of his poor attempt at making his wife’s world famous hot-cocoa out to the old stallion as he braved the snow.
The soldier accepted gladly, shivering visibly from the cold, so Cobbler invited him in to warm himself by the fire. The two talked for what seemed like hours before the younger village stallions had finished the work that the soldier had begun so early that morning. They found out that they both had been stationed at the same fort up north while they were in the military, watching for any signs of trouble coming down from the frozen mountains, but had never met each other. Bidding farewell, the two elderly stallions parted ways, bones warmed by hot-cocoa, a warm fire, a new friendship and old memories.
Cobbler went back to work on the set of diminutive horse-shoes, his only order due that day. Taking great care to match them to the cast of the young colt’s hooves he had taken a few weeks before. The memory of the previous night’s dream came back to him, and Cobbler anxiously glanced out the window, feeling slightly foolish at his actions.
Something caught his eye, a young mare shivered visibly as the snow fell around her. She carried a small bundle tightly wrapped, clutching it even tighter to herself as she slowly trudged along her way. She had no winter coat, no shawl, and nothing to keep her warm as she kept doggedly going along her way.
Cobbler ran to his door just after she passed by, and opened it saying “Ma’am? Please come in, you and your baby will catch your death out here.” She turned and Cobbler saw frozen tears in her eyes, mixed with disbelief and gratitude.
She sat by the fire and warmed herself, as Cobbler worked together a honey stew for the child. “Here” he said handing the young mother the water skin now filled. “This is something I use to give my children when my wife was sick, and they were young.” She took it gratefully, and gave the small nipple to her crying child. The babe fell silent, happily and greedily suckling the mixture of honey and broth.
The two sat and talked for a short while, and Cobbler discovered that she had just sold the last of her warm clothes in order to gain the bits for food. She had not been able to suckle her child or some time, and had no family in the area to help her care for it.
Eyes brimming at the mare’s tale, Cobbler grabbed his coat and laid it across her back saying “An old codger like myself has no need of such things. Someone like you however, you have places to go, and pony’s to see and a baby to care for… even during winter.” She tried to hand him the three messily bronze bits she had gained for her shawl at market. Shaking his head he said “please, it’s a gift. I can make another one later.”
It wasn't until she left with three water skins filled to bursting with the honey broth, and his heavy coat around her shoulders that she realized he had left a small bag of bits in the front right pocket. The mare counted, nearly fifteen gold bits! More than enough to feed them both until spring. Still crying, though for vastly different reasons, the mare all but skipped the rest of the way home.
Cobbler, smiling and laughing at the wonderful pony’s he had met that day, returned to work on the small set of horse-shoes. He was almost finished when again the words from last night’s dream came to mind. Feeling even more foolish then previously, Cobbler looked out the window hoping to see his savior, his friend.
Instead he saw the matriarch of the apple family, Smith apple, pulling her cart through the snow toward his shop. She was coming for the small shoes he had been working on all day. Cobbler sighed, and inspected his handy work. The shoes were clean, and would suit the young colt for at least six months. For most they would serve a year, but he knew the apples, they grew like weeds they did.
Cobbler looked out the window again, expecting to see Ms. Apple much closer. Instead, she was right where he had seen her before… and had a little yellow filly by the ear, a couple of red apples having fallen to the ground around her.
Cobbler raced into the cold afternoon, horse-shoes in hand. “Oh Ms. Apple! I have your shoes right here.”
“Why you little ruffian, I aout to take you right to the Sharif I aout to I tells ya!” the little filly, light yellow coat bristling with fear, and long pink hair dragging along the ground as her wings beat fervently trying to keep her ear from being ripped off by the angry Ms. Apple, mumbled unintelligibly, as tears streamed down her face. Ms. Apple let go, and the little filly dropped right to the ground, covering her tears and face in the snow.
“Ms. Apple please. I know she tried to take from your cart without paying, but cant we keep the constable out of this? I wouldn't want a hungry belly to ruin the rest of the little filly's life.” Cobbler pleaded with Ms. Apple for a short time after that, arguing for mercy over pure justice.
“Well… I can’t say I didn't do worse as a little filly your age. What did you say your name was little Missy?” Ms. Apple asked the filly, who was still in near hysterics. “You are going to have to speak up young one, I can’t hear you through that mess of hair you have.” Ms. Apple leaned in close ear perked up so as to hear the crying and whispering filly. “Flutter… Fluttershy you say? Well now little one where are your parents. I expect a good grounding will do you some good, even if we don’t get the law involved.”
Another little squeak, followed by harder sobbing was the diminutive figures only response. “Ms. Apple? May I?” Cobbler asked, motioning toward the yellow pony. Ms. Apple nodded, stepping away from the small filly, concern taking over her features overriding her anger. “Where are you from Fluttershy?” Cobbler asked softly.
A whispered answer was all he received for his effort. “I am so sorry Fluttershy, but these old ears don’t hear very well in this bitter cold.” Cobbler said laughing slightly, trying to fight off a wave of involuntary shivering. Another, slightly louder whisper. “Cloud… Cloudsdale? Well now little filly you are far from home! How did you end up here?”
A few whispered words, and a lot of patients later the truth came out of the little filly. She had been living in the woods for nearly a year now all alone, after falling and getting lost from her home. Ms. Apple’s expression was now of pure fright for the little filly. Cobbler invited them both into his home and gave them the last of his Hot-cocoa batch from earlier that day. In the end Ms. Apple offered to take Fluttershy home telling her that there was another young filly just about her age that she might be able to play with.
Much more confident, which wasn't saying much, the little Fluttershy slowly followed Ms. Apple home, after Cobbler gave her the young Colt ‘big’ mackintoshes, newest set of horse-shoes.
Closing the door behind them after wavering good bye to the pair, Cobbler shivered and sighed. He was happy at all the pony’s he had been able to help and befriend today, but… well he had not seen his savior, his closest friend.
After his nightly routine, cleaning up his shop Cobbler retrieved his scrolls and sat down at the small dining table he had once shared with the love of his life. The words were comforting, but he couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment… or the cold as he shivered despite the warmth of the fire.
His eyes started to grow heavy as the night wore on, but then a certain passage came to mind. He found the right scroll and tried to read, disappointment still strong. But there was not enough light in the tiny shop for him to read by, so Cobbler struck a match, and lit a candle.
As he did so, Cobbler heard… no… felt is more the right word for what happened… Cobbler felt the words come to his mind “Cobbler… Cobbler… did you not recognize me?” then suddenly, as the light from the candle leaped forward, dispelling the darkness, Cobbler saw visions of the pony’s he had met that day. The old soldier, the young mother and her baby, and the elderly Ms. Apple and lost and hungry Fluttershy. They stepped into the light of the room and whispered as one, grateful smiles on their faces “it is I… it is I.” The shadows disappeared, and Cobbler read the passage that had come to mind, now fully understanding it for perhaps the first time in his life.
“For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in. Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me… Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my little ponies, ye have done it unto me.”
Cobbler smiled, as he felt a soft hoof grip his shoulder. “It is time old friend. Time to come home.” Cobbler shed a tear, but stood, and left the earthly world of Equestria behind, joining his master, his savior, his friend and brother for another beginning, another adventure.
