Friend of a Not-So-Different Stripe
No explosions this time, Apple Bloom noted as she wiped the sweat off her brow—always a good sign.
Zecora gave a quick glance over the potion Apple Bloom had mixed and grinned broadly. She shoved the various containers of herbs, powders, and extracts to the back of her work table to make room for the burner and distilling coil. “I think you have outdone yourself today,” she said as she reached for the lighter. “Some heat will cook impurities away. It’s time to clean this mess and take a break—what kind of lunch sounds good for me to make?”
Apple Bloom tapped a hoof on her chin. Usually, they’d share something “normal,” like a hayburger, but Zecora got the most interesting things in care packages from her family. Apple Bloom would give anything a try, and she’d discovered some very tasty treats that way. Tell that to Applejack, though—she’d raise an eyebrow at any leftovers Apple Bloom brought home and wrinkle her nose without even sampling any. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo, too. Twilight could teach her all she needed to know about potions, they’d say. But to her credit, Twilight would admit she didn’t know much about the kinds Zecora made.
Even if not for the potions, Apple Bloom would come here anyway. Zecora always had such interesting stories, and… she wasn’t like anypony else. In a good way. Even Twilight—
A knock sounded at the door, and Apple Bloom shouted, “It’s open!”
Twilight poked her head in. “Oh, hi there, Apple Bloom. Minding the store for Zecora?”
“Naw, she’s here,” Apple Bloom replied, pointing toward the hearth.
Twilight opened the door the rest of the way and craned her neck to see around it. “Hi, Zecora! Hey, you were kind enough to bring me back all that tea on your last trip, so I thought I’d return the favor. I have to go to Baltimare this weekend, and I wanted to see whether I should pick up any regional herbs for you. Just let me know by Friday, okay?”
“Why, thank you, Twilight Sparkle. You’re quite kind. There are some items rather tough to find. A shop that carries ginseng by the bunch—but later, we can talk. Please stay for lunch!” Zecora said, beckoning her in. Twilight strolled over by the table and sniffed at a couple of bowls.
“Wh-what is it?” Twilight asked, her forehead wrinkling.
“Just our potion stuff,” Apple Bloom answered with a sharp nod. “I’m pickin’ lunch today, and I think I’d like some o’ that… sukuma wiki? Am I sayin’ that right?” Zecora closed her eyes and gave her head a slight bow. I remembered how to pronounce it!
For a moment, Twilight hemmed and hawed, but just as Apple Bloom opened her mouth to say something encouraging, Zecora spoke up. “Don’t worry so—I’ll tell you what it means. Just think of it as foreign collard greens.”
And just as quickly, Twilight’s face brightened. “Oh, that sounds good. Thank you for having me, then. I’d love to stay!”
While Zecora got to work setting up a pan over the fire, Apple Bloom sidled over near her latest effort. It’d make Twilight proud for sure! “I made this today! All by myself, for the first time ever!”
“Oh?” Twilight peered closely at the vial and squinted. “What does it do?”
“Um…” Darn it. Had remembering those Swafilly words pushed something else out of her brain? “I don’t—” she glanced over toward the increasing hiss from the saute pan “—Zecora, what’s this stuff for?”
Twilight poked a hoof at one of the cups of ground herbs that had a similar color to the potion, an aqua blue. “Maybe it helps dowse for water out in the arid plains?”
That wasn’t it…
“You know what ponies say about ‘assume’,” Zecora said to Twilight, one eyebrow raised. Then she tossed a clump of leafy green vegetables in the pan and smiled at Apple Bloom. “Enriching garden flowers, Apple Bloom.”
“Oh yeah!” She nodded vigorously at Twilight. “It makes flowers come in all big and colorful-like. You wanna see?” she asked on her way to the door.
Twilight took a few steps, but the squint never left her face. “I wouldn’t have figured on flowerbeds being much of a priority in the savannah.”
“Of that I have no memory, you know,” Zecora replied as she stirred the cooking vegetables, “for rarely from the city would I go.”
“I guess I always figured you lived in a hut like this one, away from everything else,” Twilight said. She’d stopped heading for the door and turned to face Zecora again. Now Apple Bloom would never get to show off her potion!
By the fire, Zecora sprinkled in a few seasonings and tossed the pan’s contents a bit. A smirk played at the corners of her mouth, but for just an instant, something else flashed. A held-in sigh, maybe. “I see that misconceptions still take hold about somebody not within the fold. A little disappointing, I must say, but I’m more used to it each passing day. Yet I digress; you asked about my land, surprisingly bereft of desert sand.”
Apple Bloom let the door swing shut again. This might actually turn out to be more entertaining. Nothing she hadn’t seen herself before, though. Heck, done herself. She’d made all the same mistakes, but… just something about seeing somepony as perfect as Twilight make them, too. Kinda lowered the bar of perfection to where even a little filly with good intentions and bad decisions could reach it.
“A city grand as any you might see,” Zecora continued, her voice picking up a lilt as she let her mind drift across the ocean, “Neighrobi has such great vitality. The wonders, dangers, treasures it has got can equal any found in Canterlot.”
“I’m sorry,” Twilight said, holding a hoof to her mouth. “I didn’t mean any offense; I just didn’t think—”
“Please come, sit down, and rest your hooves awhile,” Zecora said. She angled her nose toward the empty space at the end of her work table, with four chairs arranged around it. “And while we wait—” she rolled her eyes toward the sizzling vegetables “—a tale may make you smile.”
Potion time would keep, especially if it meant hearing another one of Zecora’s stories. Apple Bloom rushed back over and clambered into the seat opposite Twilight. Then she watched. Something always happened in these moments, just an utter stillness. Odd to think of a stillness happening, but the sparks that lit in Zecora’s eyes hinted at the building energy.
So she waited. It didn’t take long.
“In far-flung pastures, zebras tend the earth,
In vain, they fear, because the drought has lasted.
Their rakes and plows—”
“I thought you spoke in couplets,” Twilight said, her brow creased. “And that last line had an extra syllable.”
Zecora took a deep breath and fixed her stare in the dancing fire. “I beg you hold your tongue until the end, and all will be made clear to you, my friend. For now I’ll say that stories are an art which take a grander structure to impart. I give my due respect to telling each by raising it above my normal speech.”
A little smirk wormed its way across her mouth, and she glanced toward Twilight. “A sonnet is allowed from time to time a concept widely known as female rhyme. I trust that will explain the added beat, and if I may—my story’s incomplete.”
“Oh. Yes, I’d forgotten. Please, go on,” Twilight said. She must have sensed it too—she leaned forward at the light glistening in Zecora’s eyes, but then Apple Bloom shut her own and didn’t see any more. All sound now, not like the show she’d put on during Nightmare Night. Just the tale itself, the naked music.
“In far-flung pastures, zebras tend the earth,
In vain, they fear, because the drought has lasted.
Their rakes and plows produce no crop of worth,
And rumbling tummies for so long have fasted.
“They sing their paeans to the sky for rain
And plead with forest spirits for relief,
But no such bounty comes to ease their pain,
So gather they together with their chief.
“The wily stallion hears their plaintive shout;
While superstition holds with him no sway,
The seeds of wisdom may within it sprout.
He boldly strides among his tribe to say:
“‘Fear not, my fellow townsfolk! I propose
A pow’rful shaman’s craft to heal our woes!’”
For a moment, only the hiss and crackle of their lunch sounded. Apple Bloom almost opened one eye. But she knew better.
“Is… is that all?” Twilight said. “I’m not sure I understand…” But she quieted at Apple Bloom’s soft giggling.
“The chief has not been chief for very long.
His father, wise beyond his years as well,
Had sent his son to school to make him strong,
For brains can triumph over any spell.
“Now after taking up his father’s seat,
He cannot change his people’s minds so soon;
And thus it must involve a magic feat.
In haste, he writes a friend most opportune.
“Upon the morrow comes a figure tall,
Her head held high, much higher than they know.
When she draws near, they’ve never felt so small
As staring up at her from far below.
“She kneels before the chief. ‘I have no doubt
That we,’ he says, ‘can thrive despite this drought.’”
Apple Bloom almost looked. Almost. As much time as she’d spent with Zecora, she could already see where the story led. And she’d love to see the smile of discovery on Twilight’s face, but she hadn’t heard this one before, and she just couldn’t bring herself to do anything that’d distract her from listening.
“The young giraffe instructs the builders first.
To gain the spirits’ favor for their crops,
A different taste will slake their ghostly thirst:
Not rain—through river’s water, famine stops.
“Their ditches and their sluices bring them health,
For all things green the gods no more forsake!
The farmers next—their key to harvest’s wealth:
Diversity of offerings to make.
“With each new season, planters throw their seed
In shifting patterns ’round their furrowed land.
At harvest time, no zebra left in need,
And why, no townsfolk really understand.
“The chief and his old friend from school would meet
Each night to plan, and keep it most discreet.”
A wooden spoon clacked sharply against metal, and Apple Bloom lost her vision of a faraway village. Zecora soon had three heaping plates of greens on the table and three glasses of water. Then she took her place next to them, added a pinch of salt to her dish, and leaned forward.
Her words soon wove in the air again, and Apple Bloom once more fell under their spell, swaying her head to the rhythm and finding the dusty town in her mind’s eye.
“Why stop with agriculture? Soon, the pair
Inspire artists, poets, singers, too.
A golden age, a renaissance so rare—
To show their thanks, what ought the zebras do?
“They give the young giraffe a gift of shade,
A saddle with a parasol attached,
But do not see the error plainly made:
A pole too short—their sizes are unmatched.
“In hope that she will settle down and stay,
They build a hut where she shall now abide,
But doors too short, and rafters in the way—
Alas, she simply cannot fit inside!
“And yet more presents, all a zebra’s size.
They cannot see her with unclouded eyes.”
Already, a smile had squirmed across Twilight’s face, much like the one Apple Bloom wore. Did Twilight see? Zecora had a way of sneaking up on a point, but when everything unfolded at once like that, it sent chills up her spine. Though her growling stomach told her that getting to the end and digging into her lunch might not be such a bad thing.
“No spirits aid them in their time of need;
No ghosts attend their days and nights of toil.
No totem takes its place to spread their seed;
No gods smile down to fertilize their soil.
“While zebras cast their eyes to stars and sky,
Their true redemption found in fact and thought,
The chief, his friend—nobody else knows why,
But now the two within the lie are caught.
“In future days, perhaps the pair can tell;
In truth, they’d only draw the people’s ire.
Now feared by those she’s come to know so well,
No friends to one with whom the gods conspire.
“So sits she in her too-small house of gloom,
A place of honor, yes, but like a tomb.”
Apple Bloom flinched. That had taken a rather dark turn, but she couldn’t say she hadn’t seen it coming, at least a little. And as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Zecora munched away on her meal.
Twilight squinted toward the wall somewhere, though she did float her fork up—she was probably used to going on automatic while thinking. Had she ever had lunch without even realizing it? The idea made Apple Bloom giggle, and Twilight’s eyes came back into focus at the noise.
“Mm. This is good,” Twilight said through her mouthful. “Does somepony grow it around here, or do you have to import it?”
“Take all you like—have seconds, if you please. I have a garden out beneath the trees.” Zecora turned a wide smile on her. She wasn’t even going to ask?
Well… maybe Apple Bloom could get the ball rolling. “So what did you think of the story?”
“Interesting.” Twilight chewed another forkful and took a gulp of water. “The giraffe played off everyone’s superstitions to make herself seem powerful, then tricked them into a scientific solution. I can’t say I blame her.”
Apple Bloom had already cleaned her plate and licked her lips while staring at the serving still left in the pan. “She didn’t seem happy though,” Apple Bloom said.
“Hm. No, she gave in to their misconceptions about her to help them, but in the end, that’s what kept her separate. I don’t think they’ll ever learn to appreciate her.” Twilight’s mouth sank into a frown, and she glanced over at Zecora. “Who was the giraffe?”
Zecora let out a hearty laugh. “Oh Twilight, there’s no need for you to fear! It’s just a simple tale for foals to hear, to shine a little light inside their head—” she added a wink “—and calm their hearts before they go to bed.”
And Apple Bloom had to laugh, too. That was just like Zecora. Apple Bloom had learned long ago to stew over a story for a while before talking about it too much.
“I don’t think it’s a lot to ask for the zebras to accommodate her. I mean, it’s not an abstract concept to build a house taller for a giraffe. Seems like they could have handled that,” Twilight said with a shrug.
“In essence, I agree,” Zecora replied, “but I surmise they mean no insult overlooking size. Giraffes have seldom lived among their kind, so never would it pop up in their mind. Unfortunately so, but no surprise that here they simply couldn’t be that wise.”
Hm. An audience hardly ever got an explanation so soon. Zecora just sat there, eating her lunch and slowly swinging her tail. Layers of meaning didn’t sink in immediately, of course.
But Twilight closed her eyes halfway and rolled them toward the window. Oh, well. Apple Bloom had seen that look enough during Twilight Time. Her thoughts had gone off somewhere else, never to return.
Soon enough, Twilight’s gaze wandered over to one of the masks hanging by the plain bed in its own little alcove. “I guess you’re used to it, but I don’t know if I’d like feeling watched like that when I was asleep.”
“No need to fear—they look, but never touch.” By the way Zecora’s mouth kept twisting, that laugh really wanted out. “Besides, it’s rare for me to sleep there much.”
“Oh, are you used to sleeping on the ground?”
Apple Bloom held her breath.
A year ago, she might have said the same thing herself. But she’d spent a lot of time with Zecora, and… everything was different now. Everything was different because Zecora wasn’t.
“No, sleeping here is simply what I do while staying up to watch a potion brew. My normal bedroom’s two doors down the hall, and with no ‘watchers’ hanging on the wall—quite modern, though in here I must effect a theme to give tradition due respect.” Zecora took a step back toward the cooking fire, then glanced at Apple Bloom’s still-growling stomach.
“Dear child, please get some more for you to eat!” she said with a shake of her head. “No need to stay there hungry in your seat.” So of course Apple Bloom bolted over to refill her plate. Then she took her spot at the table again, just in case… yeah, it looked like Zecora wasn’t finished.
Twilight hadn’t moved either—well, she did flinch toward the sink with her dish, but Zecora motioned her to stay. “Perhaps another story should be told—a newer one, its message not so old. My words draw strength; a rest would be preferred, and yet I fear the first was but half-heard.”
Glancing back and forth between them, Apple Bloom stabbed a forkful of her second helping and chewed slowly.
“While townsfolk peer out windows in the night,
A filly slips away and down the hall.
They say, ‘She knows no better—it’s alright.’
“But when the witch has ‘cursed’ them in plain sight,
She turns deaf ears, heeds not her parents’ call,
While townsfolk peer out windows in the night.
“To witch’s house they chase her, in their fright,
But find no spellbound child within her thrall.
They say, ‘She knows no better—it’s alright.’
“When plague should strike, they scatter from the blight,
Or is it fear of curses they recall?
The townsfolk peer out windows in the night.
“The problem solved, a filly now contrite,
But have the ponies changed their hearts at all?
They say, ‘She knows no better—it’s alright.’
“No wonder how the witch perceived a slight!
She asks, and thus replies the filly small,
While townsfolk peer out windows in the night,
‘The grown-ups know no better—it’s alright.’”
Apple Bloom coughed.
Had… had Zecora…? The question had danced in the back of her head before, but her stomach turned at the possibility of getting caught in the middle. She’d figured on Zecora dropping a few subtle hints, like she did with any of her stories, but this…
Twilight probably didn’t need another pair of eyes on her right now, but Apple Bloom finally looked up at her. Her mouth, her ears… even her wings drooped.
“I-I’m sorry,” Twilight said. “When Apple Bloom had the cutie pox, I thought you were joking about everypony running away from you. I really did.” She leaned over the table, her head bobbing and weaving as she spoke. “If I’d known, I would have tried to assure you that wasn’t the case, or if ponies really did feel that way, I’d find out why and try to educate them, and—”
Zecora bowed her head. “Don’t worry, Twilight, everything is fine—the blame for this is also partly mine. To take offense at what they might not mean makes no more sense than chasing ghosts unseen. While my perception may have been unreal—” she shrugged “—I simply cannot help the way I feel.”
Resting her chin on the tabletop, Twilight covered her head with her hooves. “No, no, I was right there with everypony. I tried to tell them they were being irrational, but it sure didn’t take much for me to join in, accusing you of putting a curse on us.” She huffed out a sigh and let her hooves slide down her face. “I certainly didn’t distinguish myself in any way. And then making more assumptions right here…”
“But now you see, and that is all I ask. Be mindful then, a large yet minor task,” Zecora replied with a smile.
The knot in Apple Bloom’s shoulder released. Two of her favorite ponies—well, pony and zebra… Ugh, was she going to get caught up in this, too?
“Is this why you live out here all alone?” Twilight said, waving her hoof toward the window.
Zecora shook her head. “A matter of convenience, nothing more, for all the herbs not found in any store.”
“Oh. They grow out here?” Zecora nodded, then Twilight kept quiet a moment. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “Do you forgive me?”
“Of course I do!” Zecora immediately blurted out, raising her forelegs to the sky so quickly that her armlet banged against an earring. She wore the same grin that Miss Cheerilee did whenever one of them got a tough question right. “But I want you to know forgiveness isn’t needed; even so, just give an extra thought and trust your heart—a rather simple thing for one so smart.”
Twilight blushed and pursed her lips. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m glad we’re still friends.”
Then Twilight tousled Apple Bloom’s mane, harder than Applejack usually did. “And you! I’m so proud of you!” She even hugged her harder than Applejack usually did. “I think you’ve been the smartest one from the beginning!”
Well, if she wanted to put it that way…
“Sometimes a child is wise through what she’s learned,” Zecora said. “Sometimes through what she hasn’t, wisdom’s earned.” Zecora joined them in a hug, too.
Now, how might a pony get a cutie mark out of all this?
“C’mon,” Twilight said, angling her head toward the door, “why don’t you show me what your potion does?”
Apple Bloom grinned and reached for her bottle. “You see, it… Um…” Darn it. She screwed up her face and peered at the blue liquid. “Zecora, what’s this stuff for again?”
“So flowers—”
“Right! So flowers bloom in colors strong and bright, an odor sweet, and… colors… strong and—” Apple Bloom hung her head “—bright. Wow, talking like that’s a lot harder than it sounds.”
Amid Zecora’s laughter, Apple Bloom grabbed her potion and led Twilight out to the flowerbeds.
Author's Note
I’d watched “The Cutie Pox” several times without giving it a second thought, but one of those times it just struck me how casually Zecora wondered if everyone was running away from her. I figured it must be one of two things.
One, everyone’s gotten over the events of “Bridle Gossip” so thoroughly that Zecora can joke about it without worrying that anyone will take it as anything else.
Or two, she was being honest, except that nobody reacts to the statement at all. Even Zecora just lets it drop. Maybe she was trying to make a point, saw that Twilight and Applejack hadn’t picked up on it, and gave up. And so it keeps simmering under the surface. So I thought it would be interesting to have Zecora deal with it once and for all.
