Movement, as slow as it is still the groups of ponies gather and watch as the old one moved his brush against the parchment like leaves gliding across a lake. Time, it passes quickly as the ponies watch him paint his newest master piece. In his mind a battle of emotions rage like a twig of a tree barreling against a hurricane. Nothing but the sound of wind in the small village, as it should be while he works. In this small village of ponies silence is the norm and they live in a strict routine. Berry grows and harvests crops with her children, ,nimbus and her team of Pegasus would clear the skies and bring rain to water the crops of the village so they would have fresh produce and john would work the genreal store with his wife selling tools, candy and other wants of the ponies. And betwixst all the other families is a lone stallion. His mane gray from the tides of time yet his muscles still tone as if he were still 49 years younger.
He was quiet and kept to himself for most of his days in this village but ponies still would try and conversation with him and he would only nod and grunt at there news and questions. He was never rude though for the ponies knew he could not help his way of response for he had no tongue, He however did have a way to communicate through the silence, his artwork. He would spend days perhaps even weeks at a time on a single piece to convey his emotions and thoughts and after many many creations the ponies of the village finally began to understand his silent and beautiful language.
he seemed to harbor a slight hatred to dragons for and unknown reason, he was obsessed with the sun and fields. And he seemed to draw a mare constantly, she could be found in almost every painting. He would rely on himself to get paint, mixing berrys and melt other things to get the colors he needed, he never wanted to rely on another. He would make works of art for ponies who would ask. Somtimes they were simple pictures of the ocean and others it would be complicated like a family herd.
He was loved by the entire village, his artwork would bring tears of joy and smiles to the village as the blues and reds told a story of love and loss, happiness and depression. but one day he was found laying still in his home. Time had claimed another victim and the ponies mourned his death. Fillies would play in his yard and adults would light candles to remember him. Some would even attempt to paint him and would hang they're painting In front of his home to let the new children of the village perhaps get a glimmer of what he looked like. The painting would differ, some showed a strong sliver haired stallion and others would show a feeble gray haired stallion, but each one would show his cutie mark. A paint brush and empty canvase. His home was never renovated, never used by another family, it's cozy wooden stove and strong walls would never see another inhabitant.
one day a filly by the name of dandelion was playing with her friends in the stallion's lawn and she began to wander off as they began to chat about school under a tree he had planted when had first came to the village. She soon found herself at the back porch of his house and saw that a window was slightly cracked open, she debated with herself and finally curiosity won her over as with most little ones. She pulled it open just enough to get her small frame into the house and explored the long abandoned house. Dusty paintings and brushes littered the home from the kitchen to even the bathroom. The sound of the old floor would startle her and the cobwebs tangled in her hair. She soon found a small door into the basement and a dim light could be seen from the crevasse of the door. She pulled open the old entrance and ventured down into the depths of the home. She could hear her friends calling for her but she couldn't stop herself from seeing what was in the basement. As she reached the bottom she gasped at what she saw. The old man would use hoof language to describe his ultimate master piece, somthing to top all others but he died before he could complete It, or so the village thought.
The little filly looked at the walls, floor and ceiling and saw a gigantic portrait of a summer valley. The walls were the open fields in the distance, the ceiling was a beutifull sky and the floor showed grass so realistic it seemed You could touch it. And On the grassed floor you could see the picture of a beutiful mare. He eyes a bright green and her coat pink, her long blonde mane seemed to cascade in the breeze. Words could be seen in the fading colors stating "my dearest Tess, though our time was cut short my heart will forever be yours. Soon I will see you again in the white clouds while we watch the sun set on a beutiful field in the warm summer". The little filly ran as fast as she could to get out of the house, the others had to see this! The village soon found itself in the large basement admiring the beutifull painting. And soon enough the house was empty, the ponies had their fill of the artwork and went about they're lives. And sitting in the once again empty house on a dresser laid a dust picture of a stallion with gray hair, muscles toned as if he hadn't aged and a beutiful pink mare as her long blonde mane blew in the breeze.
