Breakfast with Rose

by Admiral Biscuit

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Human, Roseluck, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Other
Length: 13110

After a dinner with Rose and a late night drunken trip to Sugarcube Corner, Sam wakes up from a nightmare with more questions than answers about life in Equestria.

After a dinner with Rose and a late night drunken trip to Sugarcube Corner, Sam wakes up from a nightmare with a hangover and more questions than answers about fitting in in Equestria. Luckily, ponies have pancakes and aspirin, which at least deal with the first problem. For the second, Sam's got a day off to hopefully find some answers.

Published 2015-12-28 07:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2016-01-16 05:19:35 UTC

Nightmare

Breakfast with Rose
Chapter 1: Nightmare
Admiral Biscuit

I opened my eyes, momentarily disoriented.

I'd just had a really weird dream. It had started in a mall McDonalds which was completely vacant.

Since I couldn't get an order of poutine, I headed down the escalator into the main part of the mall. Unlike any real-world escalator, once it got down to the lower floor it seamlessly turned into a moving walkway, and it felt like I was trapped on it for a long time, going past dozens and dozens of backlit posters advertising vacations to exotic locations like Acapulco and Bermuda and Canterlot.

When I finally reached the end, I realized that I was in the Sheraton and that I had no idea where my car was now, or how I'd get back to my apartment. But there were a bunch of doors, so I thought I'd look through them and see if I could get my bearings back.

The first opened to the sky, which was odd since I was sure I'd gone down into the parking garage and down to the McDonalds and down to the mall/hotel. There was a landing platform with people-sized paper airplanes, and as I watched, a man got into one of them and launched himself off into oblivion.

That wasn't where I wanted to go, so I tried the next door. A counter was off to one side, with two bored-looking teenage ponies leaning on the counter and not paying attention to anything except their cell phones.

I asked them where I needed to go, and one of them pointed to an unassuming steel door on the right side of the room. It looked like the kind of door that might lead to an underground parking garage, so I tried it.

Instead of stairs, there was a long cave-like poured cement room, lit only by a single caged light bulb. Exposed pipes ran along the walls and hung from the ceiling, and the room was jammed full of people. They weren't saying anything, they were just standing there, occasionally shifting on their feet. It was like a room full of zombies.

I closed the door in alarm and looked back at the desk. A rising feeling of unease was creeping up on me: the room was now full of ponies. I was in the wrong place, I didn't belong, and I didn't know how to get back to where I did belong.

I saw a pair of bulky stallions dressed in police outfits coming my way, and the crowd was parting to let them through, and there was just nowhere I could go. I saw a skywalk leading away, but I wouldn't make it far.

Amid the rising worry, though, I began to have a feeling that this wasn't real; this was a dream, but I'd be damned if I could remember what real was. Nevertheless, I began running, even as the rational part of my mind was beginning to debate whether I should wake up and end the nightmare, or let it go on and see what happened next.

And then it was gone, reduced to drifting nonsensical fragments as I opened my eyes. I was back in my own bed, in my rental house, which was in Ponyville. A statement that by itself should have been nonsensical, yet I’d mostly adapted: some of my memories of the time before Equestria were starting to feel as if they could be the product of an overactive imagination. I knew that wasn’t true, I knew that there had been a time before I was here, but sometimes in the middle of the night the past seemed like it had been just another vivid dream.

It was dark in my room, although there was enough moonlight that I could see clearly. I’d never really understood the Equestrian moon: unlike Earth's moon, it didn't seem to have middle phases. Sometimes it was full and sometimes it was a crescent.

For a moment I thought it was the dream that had awakened me, and then I became aware of the pressure in my bladder. How much did I drink last night? I wondered. Probably too much. Hopefully I could make it to the outhouse in time.

I really didn't want to move. I was spooning Rose, and she was like a little furry heater. I vaguely remembered that horses had a higher body temperature than humans, and while I wasn't positive that was true of ponies as well, it felt true.

As I disentangled myself from Rose, I spared a moment to wish for indoor plumbing, ideally with an attached master bath. Unfortunately, unless I could get a steady, well-paying job, it wasn't in my future.

Of course, my robe wasn't anywhere obvious. I usually hung it over the top of the door for convenience, but it wasn't there. The blanket wasn't a standby option; I wasn't cruel enough to deprive Rose of it. As I scooted out the side of the bed, hoping not to disturb her any more than I already had, I tried to think of alternative choices, but none sprang to mind. You went to Sugarcube Corner naked last night, I reminded myself. The backyard is no big deal. I was still going to grab my robe if I saw it on my way out of the house.

As soon as I made it to my feet, it was obvious that I was still drunk. The room swayed alarmingly, but there was nothing for it now. I didn't really have a lot of choice, so I pinballed my way down the short hall and made sure I had a very good grip on the handrail before I began to navigate the stairs. By the time I was at the bottom I'd gotten used to being on my feet, and made a nearly straight path through the living room and kitchen to the back door.

I caught sight of my robe in the kitchen, folded neatly out of the way next to some kitchen towels, but by that point I was convinced that I wouldn't have time to put it on and then take it back off in the outhouse, so I went without. From more than a few sleepless nights in the past, I could attest that Ponyville didn't have much in the way of a nighttime population, so barring a Pegasus with insomnia I would be unobserved.

You went to Sugarcube Corner naked last night, I reminded myself again as I scurried across the grass.

You were drunk so it doesn't count. I grabbed the outhouse door, yanked it open, and squatted down.

When I stepped back out, Rose was waiting on the lawn. A faint smile crossed my face, and I charitably held the door open for her. Judging by the way she was dancing around on her hooves, her need was just as urgent as mine had been. At least she didn’t ever have to worry about taking off her clothes before she used the bathroom.

Not that I’d had to this time, either. Despite my nakedness, I paused for a moment in the backyard, glancing up at the star-studded sky. One of the blessings of Ponyville’s primitive nature was the complete lack of arc-sodium lights totally washing out the night sky, and every time I saw it, it filled me with wonder.

I must have been contemplating nature for longer than I’d intended, because I was suddenly snapped out of my trance by a warm face pressing against my bare hip. I reached down and rested my hand atop her head, took one more look at the night sky, and then headed into the house. I vowed that some other night when I was more sober and more dressed, I was going to spend a night in my backyard, looking up at the stars.

My robe was still neatly folded in the kitchen, alongside yesterday's clothes and a completely empty wine bottle. I leaned against the kitchen counter as a brief wave of dizziness came over me, then decided that I ought to have a bit of water. Hopefully it would help quell the inevitable hangover in the morning.

There weren't any clean cups to be had, so I took one out of the sink, poured out the last few dregs of wine, filled it with water, and quaffed it in one go. Rose was still standing in the kitchen, so I looked down at her. “Do you want some?”

Rose nodded, so I filled a glass for her and handed it down. When she’d finished, I drank a second glass for good measure, then refilled it in case Rose wanted some more, but when I looked down she was gone. I caught a flash of white going up the stairs and shook my head, figuring that I’d just zoned out there for a moment.

Since I was already in the kitchen, I scooped up the clean clothes I’d set out and not worn last night, and my robe as well. I was feeling a little steadier on my feet, but I made sure to keep a good hand on the railing as I went up the stairs.

It took but a moment to set my clothes on top of the dresser—there was no point in putting them in a drawer; I’d be wearing them in the morning—and hang my robe over the door where it usually went.

Rose, predictably, was already in bed. She’d pulled the covers up around herself, graciously leaving enough for me. I just studied her for a minute, my half-drunken mind trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

She looked almost human, with the way her head was lying on the pillow and the lump of her body under the fabric, and yet . . . she wasn’t. So what did that make me? What did it mean that I was sleeping with an animal?

You slept with your cat all the time. Mimi liked to curl up on your chest at night.

That’s not the same. But it was, in principle. I’d never been much of a pajamas person. So that line of logic went nowhere.

Well, ponies aren’t animals. They can talk and build houses and cook dinner and some of them can even solve complex equations.

If anything, that made it more awkward. Rose occupied an undefined space, something that all of humanity had no experience with, and it just kept gnawing at my mind. Less so now than when I’d first arrived, but still . . . it was one of those things where I wouldn’t think about it for a while, and then out of the blue, there it was again.

Maybe my dream had prompted those thoughts. It felt like something I should bring up with Tenderheart, but I knew that she didn’t really have the frame of mind to truly understand where I was coming from. Might as well have tried to describe a Macbook to some villager in a jungle tribe somewhere.

I shivered, either from the cool night air or a dream flashback, and told my brain to shut up. A few steps took me to the bed, and before my rebellious mind could conjure up something else to mess with me, I was sliding my legs under the covers.

At first, I just lay on my back, not quite touching her. The physical gap between us couldn’t have been much, but the mental gulf was much, much wider. I closed my eyes and tried to divert my mind from its pointless yammering by imagining pine trees. Counting sheep had never really been a successful technique, but pine trees usually worked.

This time, it didn’t work. I kept getting distracted in my attempts to imagine a nice pine forest, and I felt as if I was going to reach that point where I wasn’t ever going to fall asleep and the attending worry that went with that would reinforce the sleeplessness in a vicious cycle.

Then Rose rolled into me.

Rather than slide away, I gave up. Answers would come when they came, and until then I’d just muddle along as well as I could and try not to think too much about things I couldn’t change. As I snuggled up against her, the traitorous part of my mind was still saying that I wouldn’t fall asleep again tonight.

The next time I opened my eyes, it was faintly light. I had to pee again, although it wasn't as urgent as last night. I was still snuggled up against Rose, and I wasn't sure I wanted to move. However, after a little thought, I decided that if I went now I could probably fall back asleep, whereas if I didn't move I'd certainly be up in half an hour and then I probably wouldn't get back to sleep at all.

This time I took my robe.

Author's Note

Pre-read and edited by Topaz Moon, AShadowOfCygnus, and MSPiper.

Breakfast

Breakfast with Rose
Chapter 2: Breakfast
Admiral Biscuit

Given how light the room was, it was clear that my strategy had worked. I was sprawled out on my back, and Rose was draped across my chest, her head pillowed on my right breast. I reached up with my right hand and ran it through her mane; then, just because I could, I traced her upper ear, giggling as it twitched. Then it swiveled around to face me.

"Good morning, Rose," I said softly. "How do you feel?"

She groaned.

"Yeah, me too." My head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. The water last night hadn't helped as much as I’d hoped it would. Luckily, ponies had aspirin and thus—by extension—I had aspirin. Downstairs, which was unfortunate, but it was still better than not having any.

All the same, I wasn't sure getting out of bed to fetch it was worth the effort. I closed my eyes, which helped ease the throbbing pain a little. "Do you want to just lie here for a while?" I asked. I felt her nod against my chest.

"I haven't had that much to drink in a long time," Rose said softly. "Now I remember why."

"Last time I had that much to drink I wound up going to the bakery naked."

Rose snickered. "Was it worth it?"

"Ask again later," I said, channeling my inner magic eight ball.

I set my right hand against her neck, and closed my eyes. I must've drifted off again, because the next thing I remember, the bed was empty and I could smell breakfast. My head still ached; ponies probably had a better constitution.

I scooted out of bed and set my feet on the floor, dreading what was going to come next but knowing that there was no way around it, unless I decided to go downstairs on my hands and knees. As much as that would amuse Rose, I didn't think it would help. I idly wondered if it was easier to be drunk with four legs than with two. Maybe when I got downstairs I'd ask her.

I staggered over to my little vanity and cautiously looked at my reflection in the mirror. I had a severe case of bedhead, bloodshot eyes, and a bit of an unhealthy pallor which hopefully the breakfast I smelled would correct. The eyes, I couldn't do much about.

That left my hair to untangle. I noticed that my hairbrush had a few wine-red strands of hair clinging to it, and thought about picking them off, but decided it really wasn't worth the effort.

While it didn't make the headache go away, brushing my hair did have a bit of a calming effect.

I considered my robe, but only briefly. Then I cautiously made my way down the stairs, hand firmly wrapped around the banister.

Rose was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on breakfast. Scrambled eggs, pancakes, and toast. Some bacon would've been nice, but there wasn't much chance of getting any. Ever.

She'd also brewed coffee. My coffee supply was generally carefully rationed, but I could hardly be mad at her: a cup of coffee might be just the thing to dislodge the cobwebs in my brain after the aspirin worked its magic.

As much as I would've liked to start a conversation, she had a spatula in her mouth, and while I had discovered that ponies could talk surprisingly well with things in their mouths, it still felt rude to try and draw her into a conversation.

"Let me know if you need any help," I said as I walked to the cabinet and grabbed the precious bottle of little white pills. I dry-swallowed two of them, making a face at their bitter taste, and waited for them to have an effect.

I was still waiting when she served breakfast.

• • •

By the time breakfast was over, I was beginning to feel vaguely human again. The coffee I'd chased my scrambled eggs with wasn't exactly enough to make me want to run a marathon, but it did diminish my desire to crawl back in bed, pull the covers over my head, and tune out the world.

I finished eating before Rose—she'd kind of painted herself into a corner with her breakfast. Too much maple syrup on her pancakes and no hand to hold a fork were giving her serious problems, and while there was a certain satisfaction to be gained from watching her struggle, it was rude.

Instead, I took my plate into the kitchen, refilled my coffee cup, poured the hot water that she'd started into the sink, and began washing the dishes.

When she finally brought in her plate, there wasn't any syrup in the fur on her chin. I'd been too distracted to notice if she'd wiped it off, or if the small bites she'd been taking had been sufficient to avoid making a mess.

I took the dish from her mouth and dropped it in the sink. "Do you have to work today?"

"No," Rose said. "I told Daisy and Lily that I was coming over here and didn't know when I would be back. But I’m supposed to cook dinner for us tonight, so I shouldn’t stay here too late."

My face turned bright red—I could feel my ears burning. To distract myself while I thought of a response, I started scrubbing her plate. Just what did she mean by that?

"We sort of rotate leisure time except when it's really busy." She walked out to the kitchen and back to the table to collect her coffee cup. "I worked extra so I'd be free today." She grabbed the cup in her mouth and brought it back into the kitchen. "In case you wanted to do anything."

What did I want to do? Lazing around the house was one option. I normally had stuff to do, but I'd cleaned before Rose came over, and I could hardly ask her to help me do laundry or come to the market with me just in case some pony had a deal on produce today.

The fact was, during the rare times when I was completely caught up on work there wasn't a whole lot I'd found to do. Back home, I might have watched a couple of movies or clicked random links on YouTube, but neither of those were options here. Truth be told, I wasn't really sure what ponies did for fun, short of spontaneous parties.

I couldn't just tell her that I didn't have any plans, though. What kind of hostess doesn't have a plan? "What do you normally do on your days off?"

She shrugged. "Whatever. Weed some of the flowerbeds in the park, or go to the spa if anypony wants to go with me. Watch a movie if they have anything funny or romantic playing. Read a book inside if it's a rainy day. Sit out in the sun. Go around town and gossip." She got a faint blush on her cheek at the last one.

"I wanted to go to the schoolhouse after school's out," I told her. "To look at that drawing."

She nodded. "Do you still have that Daring Do book?"

"The one you were reading last time you were here?"

She nodded eagerly. "I went to the library and tried to borrow it, but Twilight didn't have a copy. She said they were all checked out. I don't know why she can't have more than one of each. Lots of ponies like reading Daring Do."

I hadn't exactly planned to spend a day off reading, but why not? If it was something that made Rose happy, I wasn't going to object. Best of all, it was free. "Yeah, I've still got it. Your page is still bookmarked, too. Let me go get it."

It didn't take too long to find it—not owning much really helped to keep the clutter down. Fact was, I wouldn't have even had the books, except that I'd been gifted the whole collection by Tinsel Hat after spending a day cleaning brush off the spillway of the dam. She'd apparently gotten bored of the adventures of the plucky pegasus and moved on to some other literature, and I'd been looking for something to help pass the time on days when I couldn't find work.

I hadn't realized at the time that books weren't exactly common in Ponyville. Sure, they weren't unknown, but most ponies didn't actually own very many. In that regard, Twilight was one of the major exceptions; besides the library books, her own collection was quite respectable.

Before I came downstairs, I took my clean clothes off my dresser. They’d be handy to have in case some pony stopped by. While it didn’t happen very often, there had been a few occasions where I’d been startled by a knock on the door.

Rose was still in the kitchen when I returned. She’d spent the time drying the breakfast dishes and putting them away. Next time I’d have to remember to tell her not to do that; even though I hadn’t asked, it still felt like I was putting my guest to work.

"Can we read in the backyard like last time? It’s too nice a day to be inside."

"Sure." I set the book on the counter—along with the one I'd chosen for myself—so I could get dressed. I was just pulling my panties over my hips when I happened to glance back at Rose. "I’m not—"

"You were—"

"Last night didn't count." I crouched down to be at her level. "I was drunk. It doesn't count when you're drunk."

She got a kind of distant look in her eyes. "No, I guess not."

I reached out and ran my hand through her forelock. "Let me put on my shorts, and then I'll be ready." I stood back up, only to feel her hoof against my thigh.

"You could," she began, and then paused, collecting her thoughts. “You said that in your world, you always wore clothes. You said that nopony went without ever.”

I nodded. I'd said as much.

“And when we were at the spa, you said that you wore your panties to cover yourself, even if they didn't keep you dry.”

“Yes.”

“So what about just wearing them?” I could hear a note of uncertainty in her voice.

It was a perfectly logical suggestion, though, especially from her point of view. And while a dozen excuses all jammed together in my mind, I couldn't really find one which felt right. I glanced down to make sure, but this pair was pretty opaque. They'd be a little bit iffy if we were going swimming, but in the backyard I wouldn't be flashing anyone.

“They're pretty, and they look good on you,” she told me.

They were nice. Not as good as some I'd owned before, but not too bad, either. They were white satin—I'd paid a little extra for that, but justified it in my mind with the money I was saving on shirts and bras.

You're being stupid, I told myself. You'd go out in the backyard in a bikini without a second thought, and these cover more than your favorite bottoms did.

It still didn't feel quite right, but rather than answer her, I grabbed the books off the counter and pulled open the back door.

• • •

This time I didn't hesitate too much. I was covered, for some values of covered; besides, Rose hadn't dallied on her way to a prime sunshiny spot in the yard.

As I watched her stretch out on the grass, I thought about maybe going back inside and getting a towel to lie on, but then decided that I might as well live dangerously. I handed her the Daring Do book, opening it to the bookmarked page, then stretched out beside her.

My position wasn't all that comfortable—while she'd stretched out her forelegs and folded her hind legs under herself, my body didn't work that way. Lying on my stomach like I was, I had to bend my neck uncomfortably in order to read, although it would be tolerable for a bit.

If I'd really gotten into the book, I probably would have been able to ignore my discomfort, but I just couldn't focus. Whether it was the vague nagging unease at being outside in my panties or the lingering aftereffects of the hangover, I wasn't sure; perhaps a combination of both. I'd read a page or two and then my attention would wander.

Rose, though, was completely engrossed. Whenever my attention wandered her way, she had her snout pointed right at the page, both ears locked forwards. If it weren't for the occasional flicks of her tail, she could have been a statue.

Well, if she's happy, I'm happy. I wasn't sure if that was entirely true—but I guess it was close enough. I still had the vague nagging feeling that I was failing as a hostess: who reads books with a guest?

I'd made it through three chapters when I decided to try a different position. My neck was getting stiff, and my back was getting a bit warm. I wasn't worried about getting a sunburn: by now I was plenty tan. A bit lighter on my thighs and butt, admittedly, but not as much as it could have been. The clothes Rarity had made apparently didn't block all the UV rays.

I set down the book and rolled over, then spent a few moment brushing loose grass and lawn detritus off my chest and legs. There wasn't a lot—my lawn was mowed every week by a small flock of sheep. There were a couple of roving flocks that went around town, keeping lawns and streets trimmed. I'd been skeptical at first, but they did a good job and didn't poop all over the place. Also the lamb who had asked for permission had been absurdly cute, and I'd just been too shocked by a lamb asking if her flock could crop my lawn to refuse.

My new position was only marginally better than the old one. If it had been up to me, I'd have been on the couch, my head on the armrest and the book against my chest. I probably could have gone inside for a pillow or two to prop myself up with, but I just didn't feel like putting that much effort into it, so I finally set the book down, folded my arms behind my head, and looked up at the sky.

Some of the magic I'd felt when I'd caught my first view of pegasi in flight was gone, but it was still an amazing sight. Most days, they'd be soaring around without a care in the world, a few of them even gliding on thermals; other days, they industriously moved clouds to and fro. I didn't entirely understand how they did it, since the number of pegasi working on any one storm didn't seem sufficient to actually accomplish anything, but they managed.

The ponies had quite the system going on. The pegasi handled the weather, and the earth ponies took care of food. I wasn't really sure where the unicorns fit in the mix . . . there were times when I wondered if they actually needed the unicorns. The other two types could do pretty much anything without their help. Maybe unicorns had some other role that would be more apparent in a larger city. They did seem to be the most educated of the different types—Rarity was super-cultured, Twilight ran the library, and the head doctor at the hospital was a unicorn. I thought it was likely that some other important functions were probably handled by unicorns, too, but I didn't know what those were, especially since the mayor was an earth pony.

I vaguely remembered reading that one of the most important developments in human history was the invention of agriculture, which gave ancient humans the leisure time to invent the arts and language and things like that. Perhaps that was the role of the unicorns as well: they were the ones with the free time, so they were the ones that made sure that society kept advancing beyond a simple hunt-and-gather—or in the ponies' case, grazing—society.

I could've asked Rose, but she was still engrossed in her book, so I just closed my eyes.

School

Breakfast with Rose
Chapter 3: School
Admiral Biscuit

I don't think I ever fell all the way asleep, but I definitely zoned out, because one moment I was pondering a unicorn's role in pony society, and the next moment Rose was prodding me in the side with a hoof.

“I'm awake,” I assured her, and wiped a bit of drool off my cheek.

“Sure you are.” She leaned down and nuzzled my cheek—the drool-free side. “I've got to go back home now.”

“Mmh, okay.” I blinked a few times and then sat up on my elbows, one position I was sure that Rose would never be able to emulate. “Did you finish the book?”

She shook her head.

“Well, you're free to come over whenever you want. I'll keep your place marked.” I sat the rest of the way up, putting me at her eye level. It felt strange to be eye-to-eye with a pony.

I picked up my book and got to my feet. Rose picked up the other book and handed it to me. Judging by where the bookmark was, she hadn't made all that much progress. Either she'd also dozed off, or she wasn't a very fast reader.

I probably could have just bid her farewell in the backyard, but it didn't feel right to not show her to the front door. I only remembered after I'd opened it for her that I was just in my panties, but strangely, I found that the idea didn't bother me as much as it could have.

I stayed at the door until she'd turned off the little path in front of my house—calling it a street was a bit too grandiose—and onto the road which led into Ponyville proper, then took a step out of the house to study the rosebush next to my front door.

Why I was suddenly drawn to it, I don't know. I'd helped her plant all the flowers around my house, although to be honest, most of the help was digging holes and staying out of the way. Even that was probably more than she needed, but I wasn't going to let her do all that work on her own, especially since she was just giving me the flowers.

As would be expected, they were thriving, most likely because she took care of them every time she came over and I didn't mess with them at all. I knew what I was good at, and flowers were not on that list.

I reached out and touched one of the blossoms, letting my finger run over the soft folds of its petals. I wanted to break it off and put it in a vase in my room, but that felt kind of like I was desecrating the plant.

Then I thought about how Apple Flora had brought me a bunch of wild asters to share with Rose, and I snapped it off with a dozen centimeters of stem, scratching my hand in the process.

“Sorry,” I told the plant.

Back in the kitchen, I filled one of my mugs about halfway with water, then took it upstairs and set it on the table next to my bed.

Judging by the sun's position, it would be at least an hour before school got out. I wanted to get there when most or all of the students were gone, but before Cheerilee left. That probably gave me a very narrow window of time: while teachers back home often seemed to stay at school late to have faculty meetings or complain about their students, Cheerilee was a one-pony-show, and as far as I knew she didn't have to answer to anyone, so unless she particularly liked her desk she had no reason to stick around very long after class.

While I probably could have met her at her house—I didn't know where it was, but it wouldn't be hard to find out—I had a feeling that if I caught her at home, the last thing she'd want to do was head back to the schoolhouse.

I put on my shorts and puttered around the house for a bit, not accomplishing much other than making the bed, then headed out. There was a chance I might run into some pony who wanted my help; one problem with mostly doing odd jobs was that I had to do more legwork than I really wanted to in order to find work. Things were better now than when I'd first struck out on my own, at least: I had a few semi-regular jobs, and there were a few that were good fallbacks, like chopping wood. If nothing else, I could always go out with Berry Black and gather deadfall from the forest, although I didn't like doing that since I'd completely worn out my shoes.

In town, being shoeless wasn't so bad. While pony hooves were hard on the edges, their frogs were still sensitive to sharp objects, so they kept the streets fairly clear. I hadn't found any nasty surprises yet, anyway.

Despite my hopes, I'd made it most of the way across town before I finally ran into a pony who wanted some help. I'd already been angling towards the job board that was in front of the town hall. I dreaded that board; postings on there were generally something that no one wanted to do, the kind of thing that you couldn't beg a friend to help with.

Luckily, fate intervened as I was crossing the broad parkway around the town hall, and after a brief discussion, I had a job for tomorrow, unloading furniture at the train station for Davenport.

I was nearly to the school when I heard the town clock chime. I'd taken a bit of a roundabout route to avoid the main crush of schoolkids headed back to town, but my path wasn't entirely clear. A light blue unicorn filly and a blue-grey colt were headed my way, somewhat oblivious to my presence until the colt suddenly noticed I was there and stopped. His companion made it a bit further, until she realized that her friend wasn't next to her any more, and then her lavender eyes met mine.

She, too, stopped in her tracks as she assessed the situation. One ear turned back, while the other stayed locked on me. I wondered if ponies were right- or left-eared, or if they just picked the one that worked the best for any given situation.

I also stopped; when I was in town, I didn't concern myself with what the ponies were doing around me, but here, I didn't want to needlessly terrify a pair of children who'd never seen me up close.

Like a cloud crossing the sun, our brief pause was quickly gone. “It's only Sam,” she said for the benefit of the colt, who'd crept up a little closer to her, but was very much keeping her body between us.

“I know,” he said, but I could hear a bit of relief in his voice.

I didn't really have anything I wanted to say to them, so I just started walking in their direction again. They moved over to the right side of the path, the colt keeping up against the very edge, just following along behind the filly.

Right or wrong, I felt like I had better luck dealing with the ponies if I just did my own thing without going out of my way to put them at ease, and it seemed to work in this case too. I kept my focus on where I was going, and didn't open my mouth as they passed by. When they were ready to come up to me and talk, I would be open to them; until then, just being around and not being a monster waiting to gobble them up would do.

It was tempting to turn and see if they were staring at my backside, but I didn't. I was just a normal, everyday girl, minding my own business, and if they didn't like that, too bad. Eventually, every pony in town would get used to me, but there wasn't any way to rush the process.

When I finally got to the schoolhouse, there weren't any stragglers. I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, some part of my mind flashing back to school, maybe. Still, the one-room schoolhouse was a lot more inviting than the cement block and tile monstrosity that I'd graduated from. Every now and then I'd see one on the back roads of BC that had been converted into a house. It was hard to imagine that anyone would do the same to a modern school.

What does happen to schools when they close? I'd never really thought about that before. Every now and then, there was an article in the Vancouver Sun about a school closing. What did they do with the buildings? Who'd want them?

I raised my fist to knock on the door before I remembered that it was a public place and I could just walk in.

It was blessedly empty inside; I'd had a moment of concern as I pushed open the door and thought about a foal staying late. Not only would Cheerilee be upset about me interrupting a detention or a tutoring session, but I wasn't sure I wanted to have an adult discussion in front of a foal.

Cheerilee looked up as soon as the door was opened and I swore I saw a brief frown cross her face before she smiled brightly at me. “Good afternoon, Sam. What brings you by the school?”

“I . . . .” Well, there wasn't really any good way to dance around the subject. “A couple of days ago, Apple Flora said that you had a drawing of me?”

She nodded.

“May I see it?”

“Why?” She wasn't hostile, just curious. From her perspective, I thought I could guess why. Clearly, I knew what I looked like, so what purpose would seeing a drawing of myself serve?

I had a feeling that the conversation was about to turn really weird. “Back on Earth, it's . . . inappropriate to have that kind of thing.”

She gave me a Teacher look, and I cowered back. “It's educational. Too many ponies in this town are too insular for their own good. Even me . . . there have been incidents with griffons and zebras and donkeys in this very town, because ponies don't know anything about them, and they're scared of things that they don't know. As a teacher, it is my job to make certain that they do know so that the next time a zebra or griffon or diamond dog or even you come into town, they don't panic or do something everypony will regret.

“Ponyville's last teacher did not do her part, and I admit I was also complacent at first. I didn't even think about it when I started teaching. We never covered xenobiology and xenoculture at all . . . and let me tell you, some parents were strongly against it—still are—but I think that a diverse education helps ponies become better citizens.”

I couldn't argue with that. “Can I at least make sure that it's accurate?” Deep down, though, I knew it probably was. Most likely embarrassingly so.

She looked me square in the eye, and I swore she could see into my soul. Just when I was sure she was about to give me a detention for insubordination, she reached down and slid a desk drawer open, rummaged around for a bit, and pulled out a book titled Creatures of Equestria.

“I'm in a book?”

“Not yet.” She opened the book and extracted a folded sheet of paper, which she then spread out on the desk, turned to face me.

As soon as I saw it, I realized that I'd been making a mountain out of a molehill. I'd somehow expected—I don't know why—that it was a portrait or something like that; instead, it was a simple line drawing of my front, back, and side. The bottom corner of the page had notes, starting with 'no cutie mark' and ending with 'very sparse coat most places.' Aside from the nipples and pubic hair, it was at most a Barbie me.

“Is it accurate?” Cheerliee's mood had softened just a bit.

“More or less. We humans call these breasts, not teats.” While I waited for her to write a correction on the paper, I considered whether or not I should point out the other incorrect term . . . it was funny, but since this was a school setting, I decided it ought to be accurate. “And that's pubic hair, not crotch coat.”

Cheerilee nodded and made a second correction. “Do you know what a human stallion looks like?”

I nodded before I could realize where this was probably going. Cheerilee pulled a clean sheet of paper out of her desk and slid it over to me.

“I'm, ah, not really much of an artist. Sorry.”

“Hm.” She wrinkled her muzzle. “I could draw it, if you told me what a human stallion looks like.”

“A man,” I said. “Well, pretty much the same as me. Broader, straighter shoulders, and not as much curve to the hips. Generally a few inches taller, and more bulky.”

“So you're sexually dimorphic too?”

“I guess?”

She sketched out a rough outline in pencil, occasionally making corrections as I pointed them out. Cheerilee seemed a bit confused about the nipples, but drew them on after I swore that men had them.

“Guys—men—don't have a sheath,” I told her. “Their, um—“

'Penis.”

I nodded. “It just hangs down. Oh, and guys are smaller than stallions.”

“Interesting.” Cheerilee made a quick correction to her drawing. “Like that?”

“Close enough.” If any guy ever showed up in Ponyville, he was going to have a lot to live up to. Well, that wouldn't be my problem. He could go to the school and have her shorten it up a bit. “Yeah, that's about right. Men have hair in all the same places as girls, but it's thicker. They also have hair on their faces, but a lot of times they shave it off.”

She scribbled out some quick notes on the drawing, then looked back up at me, speaking around her pencil. “Why?”

“Fashion? It's just like getting a manecut or whatever. Different people like different things. Like what kind of clothes you wear, that makes a statement.” I figured she'd understand that; the only reason ponies seemed to wear clothes was to make a statement.

“I see.” She set the pencil down. “Would you be interested in giving a class presentation?”

Tell her no. “Well, I, uh, I'd have to think about it. I'm not sure what the class would be interested in hearing.”

“Apple Flora thinks you're 'pretty cool,'” Cheerilee told me. “She was bragging to some of her friends about how much fun she had swimming in the river with you, and how good of friends you and her mom are.”

“Huh.” I didn't think that Apple Cider considered me a friend. She had given me that bottle of brandy, but that didn't exactly make us best friends. Maybe in Apple Flora's mind it did—kids often had a rather oversimplified view of the world, after all. “What kind of class presentation did you have in mind?”

Cheerilee shrugged. “Whatever you want to do is fine by me. It could be about yourself, or about how humans live.”

“I'll think of something,” I said, realizing too late that I'd pretty much committed myself.

Thinking

Breakfast with Rose
Chapter 4: Thinking
Admiral Biscuit

To say I had mixed emotions would be an understatement.

I was sitting on a bench in the park, mentally kicking myself for inadvertently volunteering to give a presentation at the school sometime in the not-so-distant future. It was a sign that they were beginning to accept me, which was good. Unfortunately, I didn't know what to speak about.

I could try to impress them with human technology—that was kind of a no-brainer. It would have been easier if I’d had any human technology to show them, but I imagined that fillies and colts were just as impressionable as elementary school boys and girls. As an adult, practically anything I told them might be believed. Cheerilee, I was confident, wouldn't contradict me. Not during the presentation, at least; perhaps afterwards she'd remind them that my stories might be made-up.

Wasn't that something that the early explorers had found? I thought I remembered that from school—they'd sent letters home about the wonders they'd discovered in exotic lands, and people at home had gotten a good laugh. Of course, some of the things they'd reported on had been true, like the platypus.

Besides, I wasn't sure what good it would do. I doubted that the majority of the schoolchildren had the sophistication to appreciate what I told them life on Earth was like. The complexity of the cell phone network would be utterly lost on them; they might find it interesting that I could hold a small device in my hand which would let me communicate with people at a distance, but for all I knew there was a simple unicorn spell that could do the same. Maybe some towns had an entire unicorn-powered telephone network.

Likewise, other parts of human technology might not impress them all that much. Cars—I’d seen a few spell-powered machines, including a wagon which had followed Twilight Sparkle to the library. Our trains were bigger, but in principle not too different than theirs, and the wonders of aviation might be lost on all the fliers in the class. Everything which I could explain reasonably well wasn’t that much different in concept than what they already had. The only difference was that human technology wasn’t spell-powered.

If Apple Flora was an indicator of what fillies were curious about, they'd want to know about me, and they'd want to know in more of a biological sense than a day-in-the-life-of sense. Cheerilee's class presentation with the drawing had no doubt raised all sorts of questions, and it was a fair bet that a lot of them went unanswered as far as the students were concerned.

The ponies might not see any problems with it, but I wasn’t going to become a living biology lesson. That was fine for a fern or some zoo animal, but there was no way I was willing to face down a bunch of bright-eyed foals with questions I wasn't comfortable answering. Even if they kept the questions benign, I probably wouldn't be able to answer half of them to their satisfaction. Since that was out, I was back to technology.

I realized that I was just thinking myself in circles, and I wasn't going to be able to come up with an answer. As often as not, I thought of the ponies like humans. Little furry quadrupedal humans. But they weren't; they were their own society who played by their own rules.

That's why my sessions with Tenderheart were so valuable. I could just blather on for an hour about whatever came to mind. She didn't usually answer any of my questions these days, but it felt like she sort of set me on the right path to find the answers on my own. As simple as it sounded, that's all that psychotherapy was sometimes, an ear you paid to listen and not judge.

That got me to wondering about medical confidentiality. Back in the old days, doctors and nurses gossiped as much as any old lady, happy to reveal your problems to anyone who'd listen. At some point, a wall had gone up, and they weren't supposed to do that any more. Even medical literature had names redacted, replaced with initials or the always-useful John Doe. Did the ponies feel that need for privacy, or didn't they? Did Tenderheart gossip about me to her drinking buddies?

How had Cheerilee come up with a drawing of me? Even as sketchy as it was, I hadn't exactly been running around town naked—well, besides last night—so had she gotten those details from talking to the nurses? Or Rarity? No, I'd kept my underwear on when Rarity measured me.

That had been a weird experience. I'd never been measured for clothes before, just bought off-the-rack stuff and tried it on in the dressing room. In retrospect, it was obvious that she would have to take measurements, but I hadn't been ready for it when her tape measure came floating over to me.

I let out a dramatic sigh and stretched out on the bench. There wasn't any reason to be getting all worked up about it. When I got up the courage, I was going to go into town naked anyway: that was apparently what it would take to help me fit in. So what did it matter where the drawing had come from? One of these days, there wasn't going to be anybody in town who didn't know.

None of this mental rambling was helping me figure out what kind of presentation I ought to give. I wasn’t any closer to a decision, although I could console myself with the thought that I’d at least narrowed the choices somewhat.

I could list off all the Prime Ministers. I'd had to memorize them for history class, and like a lot of useless trivia I'd learned in school, it had stuck with me. Multiplying fractions had not. I knew that you were supposed to cross the top and bottom numbers to solve something, but I couldn't remember what it was. Probably x.

Or I could cover kings and queens. They had mayors and such who were elected, so the concept of lower-level government jobs being temporary wouldn't be all that fascinating. But they had a top pony—Celestia—who had been in charge forever, as far as they were concerned. The ponies were aware that there had been a time before her; apparently, it was mentioned in a play that they put on every winter. Oddly, though, nobody in town seemed to know who was in charge before she was.

I got the impression that it was a historical cut-off point. She'd been the one who’d unified modern-day Equestria, and before her there had just been separate tribes. Presumably there were historians who did know, but it clearly wasn't taught in school like the fact that Sir Charles Tupper had had the shortest term as PM. I seemed to remember that there was an American president who'd had an even shorter presidency, but I couldn't remember who it was. Garfield, maybe. He was easy to remember, since there was a cartoon cat named after him and a Johnny Cash song about him.

I tried to dredge up more useful stuff I'd learned in school which might appeal to ponies. Cheerilee hadn't really given me any guidance, which was both a blessing and a curse. Rose liked reading Daring Do, and obviously enough other ponies did that the library couldn't keep them on the shelves—so what about re-telling some human story? Even a summary . . . I could go with a traditional myth, a religious story suitably toned-down, or even something from popular culture. What would they make of Indiana Jones? He was kind of like Daring Do. Or if I wanted to go with a female character, to be more in-line with their gender defaults, Lara Croft.

I could probably skip over her huge boobs. They wouldn't understand the appeal.

Of course, that idea relied on me recounting enough facts from Indiana Jones or Tomb Raider to actually tell a decent story, and I wasn't sure I could manage to do that. Perhaps I could just make some stuff up to fill in the blanks; they wouldn’t know the difference. If Cheerilee didn’t think that was educational enough, then maybe we could discuss the differences between them and Daring Do.

Or I could go with books instead; I'd worn out a few Tamora Pierce novels. I could remember enough of Protector of the Small to give a good presentation, and they might like the idea of knights. Or else they'd be confused and offended by the idea of people riding horses. Maybe not, though—the horses of our world would be mythical giants to them, and anyway, Peachblossom had been a character in his own right. I pondered the idea of maybe enlarging his role just a bit, and dialing back Kel's.

I could try a practice run with Rose. If there was anything which needed more explanation, she’d tell me. Plus, she was probably curious too: we hadn’t really had that many conversations about what it meant to be a human or what it meant to be a pony.

The park was a good place to go and ponder—with my eyes closed, it was almost like being back on Earth. The birds and insects sounded the same to my ears, and quiet conversations in the distance could have been conversations back at home, so long as I didn't focus too hard. The ponies mostly complained and gossiped about the same things kinds of things as on Earth, the gleeful shouting of kids playing kickball or tag was occasionally followed by a kid crying and being comforted by her mother . . . best of all, their social rules kept them from bothering me when I was keeping to myself on the bench.

But then I'd open my eyes, and it would sink in. By now, I'd mostly gotten used to it, but sometimes it took me by surprise: everything seemed superficially identical at a distant glance, but the closer I looked, the odder it was. From the insects to the trees, nothing was the same. I understood why tourists liked to visit chain restaurants: you could go to a McDonald's anywhere with confidence that there’d be a Big Mac on the menu.

There certainly weren’t any McDonald’s in Ponyville, or any other chain stores for that matter. I wasn’t sure that there was much in the way of standardized anything . . . all the businesses in town were quite literally cottage industries, and all the farms were family-owned.

That led to another idea: I could tell them about modern agriculture. They'd be horrified to know that most of it was done by machine. One thing about living in a farming town was that I'd learned more about crops than any lesson in school had ever taught me, and I’d gotten the impression both from overhearing farmers and talking to the merchants at the market—who, often as not, were the same pony—that they felt it was the personal touch which made their fruits and vegetables and grains worth eating. As a buyer, you knew where it had come from, and you could be confident that the entire life of the crop had been overseen by the very same mare who was trying to interest you in her tomatoes.

Even a pony like the miller paid close attention to who she was getting her grain from, and watched over it every step of the way. The thought of it being dumped into a gigantic mill one railcar at a time would horrify her. In our modern society, the flour mills ground on relentlessly; hers shut down when the wind stopped blowing. The occasional shortage never seemed to bother the ponies, nor did the fluctuation in prices. They all considered that to be normal, and scoffed at the ponies who lived in cities and got their food via train.

Deep down, the idea of that disconnect from the local market seemed to bother them. The miller occasionally griped about her shipments to Canterlot, and how the ponies there wouldn't know who'd grown the grain or ground the flour which they were eating.

Had humans felt the same way as the cities grew and the farms grew increasingly distant? If the ponies were on the cusp of the same type of industrial revolution, they were going to be forced to watch everything that they were accustomed to shifting more and more rapidly. There had been a time, I was sure, when the shipments to Canterlot had gone one wagonload at a time, and maybe it had once had a market like Ponyville did, but when it got too big, the traditional methods had become too slow. Going forward, farms might consolidate, and the pony-drawn plows might be replaced by mechanical tractors. Would they embrace the new technology, or shun it?

Back on Earth, there were even large commercial flower-growing operations. I couldn’t imagine there being rose-harvesting combines, though. Rose's livelihood would probably be safe for her lifetime.

I probably could have sat on the bench forever, coming up with one question after another, but my thoughts were interrupted by a now-familiar filly.

“Hi, Sam! Me and Caramel Tooth were playing kickball with a couple of other fillies you probably don't know but then her mom came and she had to go home and do chores and then I saw you.”

I opened my eyes and looked into the eager face of Apple Flora. It was weird how things could come full-circle like that.

“Do you know how to multiply fractions?” I asked her. As greetings go, I could have done better.

She nodded. “We learned how in school. Miss Cheerilee is so smart—she knows all sorts of stuff.” She hopped up on the bench and stood on her hind legs. “Hey, I'm as tall as you when I stand like this.”

“Oh yeah?” I straightened my back, but her head was still slightly above mine. Still, I had an ace up my sleeve. I stood up.

“No fair.” She dropped back to her hooves and pouted.

“I could give you a piggy-back ride again,” I offered.

Her tail flicked and she dropped her head slightly. I suspected that if she'd been a pegasus she'd have been less worried about having all four of her hooves off the ground, but then, if she'd been a pegasus she could have won the 'who's tallest' competition easily.

I sat back down, and like that her mood changed. “You said that you were going to be with Rose all day, but now you're at the park.”

“I wasn't sure how long I'd be with her,” I said. “She had to go back home and work.”

“It's a lot of work to raise a crop,” Apple Flora told me. “That's why wildflowers are better, 'cause they don't need a pony's help to flourish.”

“What if it's a bad year and there aren't any?”

Her muzzle scrunched up. Clearly this hadn't occurred to her. One thing that was nice about modern civilization was that you weren't as dependent on the bounty of nature. “That couldn't happen,” she decided. “Somepony would fix it.”

I considered explaining the facts of life to her, but two things stopped me. First, for all I knew, that was actually true. If they had weather management, there was no reason why they couldn’t have their hooves on the rest of nature as well. Second, even if they didn't, there was no reason to burst her bubble, any more than I would have told a kid that neither Santa nor the Easter Bunny were real. “I guess so,” I said cautiously. “I hadn't thought of that.”

Her left ear turned off to the side suddenly, and a moment later, her head followed. I was a bit slower on the uptake; it wasn't until I'd heard a shouted greeting that it occurred to me to look towards the center of the park.

A group of fillies and colts had come in in a cluster. I recognized some of them: the pair I'd seen on my way to school were there, along with the two yellow fillies I’d seen wearing roller skates. The other four were complete strangers to me.

“Wanna play hide and seek?” the orange colt asked.

Apple Flora nodded, then turned to me. “Do you know how to play hide and seek?”

“Yeah.”

“Can Sam play too?” Not waiting for an answer, she hopped off the bench.

Her friends engaged in a hasty discussion, the end result of which was a narrow vote in my favor. I got up off the bench and walked over to them, fully anticipating losing badly.

Playing

Breakfast with Rose
Chapter 5: Playing
Admiral Biscuit

After paying close attention during the introductions, I only half-listened to Apple Flora's explanation of the rules, instead studying the cluster of ponies around me. Shady Daze still seemed a bit wary of me; he kept an ear pointed in my direction all the time, even when he wasn't looking my way.

The rules weren't that different from playing on Earth. Nobody could leave the park—that wasn't fair—and if discovered, one could run for the safe spot, which was a bench nobody was using.

When they were done discussing the rules, they picked who would be the seeker first, quickly deciding on me. It probably wasn't an honor, but I graciously accepted my role.

“You gotta count to sixty,” Apple Flora reminded me. “And have your eyes closed.”

By way of an answer, I closed my eyes and began counting. I heard the scuffle of hooves, and then nothing but my own voice.

For being as brightly-colored as some of them were, they were pretty good hiders. If they'd gone off to their hiding spots at a full gallop, they could have gotten quite a ways away, but I didn't think that many of them would have done that. If you ran too far away, you risked being spotted before you found a hiding spot.

As I started searching, I kept my eyes open for places I might be able to hide. My size was going to put me at a major disadvantage; the question was whether I could make up for it with cunning.

I did have one thing going for me—height. I could see over the top of most of the low bushes, and it didn't take me very long before I noticed a bush with a blue tail sticking out of it. I took two steps in that direction before I remembered that the tail was probably attached to Shady Daze, and he was nervous around me. I didn't want to upset him by picking him, so I angled off in a different direction, moving towards a likely cluster of short trees which seemed to be moving more than the gentle wind should have caused.

Sure enough, I saw some yellow when I got closer. While I considered the best way in, there was a sudden flurry of movement, and then a pair of fillies shot out of the trees, one right behind the other.

For a moment, I was completely confused. I hadn't expected there to be two, and couldn't decide on which one to chase. Then I remembered that it didn't matter: as long as I could beat one of them back to the bench, I'd win.

They weren't making it easy on me. They'd both spread apart, rather than taking a direct path, so I couldn't make a quick estimate of who was the fastest. I angled to the right and had made it partway back before I realized that I should be splitting the difference and going straight for the bench. If I was quicker than them, I could block their way to safety and then run one down; if I wasn't, I wouldn't waste so much energy on a fool's errand.

I was quicker. While I might not have been able to keep up with an athletic adult pony at a gallop, their legs were too short to get up all that much speed, and once my victory was assured, I curved off and intercepted Peachy Pie.

She loudly announced that she'd been caught, and the other ponies started emerging from their hiding places, which I took careful note of. Most of them came out in pairs, suggesting that hiding in groups was their favored strategy. I wasn't sure how I could use that to my advantage just yet, but if I knew that particular ponies usually stayed together, that might give me an edge. There would have to be a loner who I could use as a temporary teammate, relying on my quick sprint to get me out of trouble if we were discovered.

Everybody clustered up, and when we were all in place, Peachy closed her eyes and started counting.

All the other ponies ran off to the east, which had been their preferred direction before. There didn't seem to be any reason for it, but if that was their instinct, I could buck the trend by going in the opposite direction. So I did, angling towards a cluster of pine trees.

From my position, I had decent visibility towards Peachy, but was sure I was completely obscured from her point of view. I knew that the eye was attracted to movement, so I concentrated on being as still as possible when she started looking.

The first thing she did was turn my way, and I saw her lift her head up slightly. It took me a second to figure out what she was doing. I was still crouching down, not moving a muscle, but it wasn't going to do me any good: I could tell by the way her ears suddenly turned forward that she'd smelled me. No wonder all the others had run off downwind.

It might not have made all that much of a difference anyway; the park was probably full of their scents, but mine was surely unique.

I could tell by the angle she took on her way over that while she'd been able to get in the ballpark with my scent, she didn't have a good enough sniffer to pinpoint me. That gave me one chance, and I took it, waiting until she was poking her muzzle into the trees trying to spot me.

I burst out of the pine trees at a dead run, and she was caught out.

I angled wide around her and beat her to the bench by a good margin. She skidded to a stop and stomped in frustration before heading off to find some other pony.

• • •

I’d made it through two more rounds before I’d been caught by Lickety Split, who was as surprised by his victory as I had been. I was still getting the hang of good hiding places, and I hadn’t moved quickly enough when he was counting down. I’d assumed that he didn’t see me when he passed me by, but he’d been clever enough to circle around and take me from behind.

When I started my next search, I’d learned enough by observation to have a pretty good idea where they’d hide. Rather than take a direct approach, I took a page out of Lickety Split’s book and went around the cluster of bushes where I’d seen a pair of them hide two times previously. It was a good bet that they still thought their hiding spot was safe.

Sure enough, First Base came galloping out of the bush, followed by Peach Fuzz. I’d been prepared for that; I’d stayed closer to the bench side of the bush and outpaced both of them easily. There was something deeply satisfying about their shrieks as I closed the distance, finally getting my hand on First Base.

In the next game, he caught Peachy Pie; in the round after that I teamed up with Apple Flora and we managed to avoid capture together. It did feel a little safer to have her by my side, although I would have betrayed her in an instant if we’d been discovered. I was sure she’d have done the same for me.

Looking back, I wasn't sure why I agreed to play with them. It was an impulsive choice, one I probably would not have made if I'd had time to think about it. There are all sorts of ways that things can go wrong when an adult gets involved in children's games, and that's assuming that the adult is familiar with the rules of the game.

In many ways, I was still a total outsider to them, and my position in town was tenuous at best. The dark side of my imagination could conjure up all sorts of ways that this could go horribly wrong, from some action on my part being totally misunderstood, to a foal somehow getting injured, and the blame falling squarely on my shoulders.

I tensed as I heard a twig snap nearby. Liza wasn't saying anything. She was playing the part of a predator, trying to psych out her prey. She probably knew roughly where I was, and was waiting for me to foolishly reveal myself. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

The bush totally blocked my view. I thought I saw a flash of movement between the branches, but it was most likely my imagination. Was she circling, getting my scent? Were her ears turned in, waiting for the rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig to betray me?

Off to my left, I heard her shout “Gotcha!”

The disappointed reply from the hidee sounded genuine, so I risked standing up. Hopefully, it wasn't a trap.

• • •

“That's not fair!” Apple Flora stomped to illustrate her point.

“Why not?” I called back. “You didn't limit where I could hide.”

“I found you.”

“So tag me.” I stuck my tongue out and blew a raspberry.

She swished her tail and then dropped down on her rump, her eyes never leaving mine. “You have to come down sometime.”

“I'm in no hurry,” I assured her, dangling my leg like bait. I knew she couldn't reach it.

I'd gotten the idea to hide in a tree fairly quickly, although I’d held off on doing so until Apple Flora was the seeker. I wasn't much of a tree-climber, but there were some trees in the park which had fairly low branches, and foals weren't any good at climbing trees. They also didn't tend to look up, which made sense since none of Apple Flora's friends were fliers. She probably wouldn't have found me at all if I hadn't had to sneeze at a rather inopportune time.

She was right, of course. It wasn't fair. But sometimes life was like that. “I can see Sunny Daze from where I am.”

“Really?” She turned her head, looking off in the direction I had been, hoping to spot somepony she could capture. She wasn't going to have much luck: Sunny Daze's ears had come up at the mention of her name, and I could tell by the way she was shortening up her body that she'd figured that she was discovered and was going to risk a gallop to the safe spot.

To give her a better chance at success, I shifted around on my perch, bringing Apple Flora's attention back to me. “You know,” I said conversationally, “my ancestors lived in trees.” It was technically true. “Humans are very good tree-climbers.” That wasn't as true, but in general we were better than ponies.

“Did they climb trees so that they could pounce on unsuspecting prey? Miss Cheerilee said that you sometimes eat meat.”

I nodded soberly. “That's true.”

She scrunched up her muzzle. “Ew. You—” Her head snapped around as Sunny Daze broke cover, and she launched herself off the ground, although she needn't have bothered. There was no way Apple Flora could gallop fast enough to catch her.

She realized that halfway to the safe spot and simply gave up, dropping down to a trot, before looping around and heading back my way.

I could have kept to my perch. I know I could have outlasted her, but that wasn't the way the game was played. While it had been fun tormenting her, there wasn't anything to be gained by being viewed as someone who didn't play by the rules, so I dropped out of the trees and started my own jog towards the safe spot.

She probably wouldn't figure out that I'd intended for her to catch me. From her last gallop, I'd gotten a pretty good guess of her speed, and I deliberately took an easily-intercepted path to the safe spot. Apple Flora bumped me in the back of the leg with her nose while I was only halfway there, and I slowed to a stop.

“You should have stayed in the tree,” she told me, as if I hadn't already known that. “I wouldn't have been able to get you.”

I crouched down. “I thought I could make it.”

“I got Sam,” she announced loudly, and her friends began emerging from their hiding spots. “No more hiding in trees,” she added, giving me the stink-eye. “It’s not fair.”

• • •

The game broke up not long after that. The town clock chimed and most of the ponies headed off for home, leaving only three of us in the park—Apple Flora, Liza Doolots, and Shady Daze. He appeared to have overcome his initial fear of me, which was a good sign. He wasn’t willing to sit on the bench with me like Apple Flora was, but he wasn’t hiding behind Liza anymore either.

My stomach growled at me just then. Playing had been hard work, and it hadn’t been helped by my decision to skip lunch on account of our large late breakfast. Fortunately, I had half a loaf of bread left, and a few veggies I hadn’t used for the stir-fry last night.

I rubbed my hand through Apple Flora’s mane and she pressed her head into my side, rubbing along my ribcage. “Sam says that she can be our swimming buddy,” she announced.

My eyes involuntarily went to Shady Daze. There was no way I was going to go skinny dipping with a colt. I wasn’t ready for that at all.

“Really?” Liza gave me a hopeful look. “We could go right now!”

“Yeah!”

Crap. “I . . . ah. . . .” I scrambled for an excuse. I could have just said no; that was the easy answer. “I’m a little tired from playing hide and seek.”

“Oh.” Apple Flora’s ears fell.

“If I come home with a lather on my coat, mom’s going to make me take a bath.” Shazy Daze stuck out his tongue. “I hate taking baths.”

I wasn’t sure how much different he felt it was to swim in the river versus taking a bath. “Well,” I said, “what if you swim and I just stay up on the bank and watch you? That would be okay, wouldn’t it?”

The three of them shared a look, and then Liza nodded.

“Thanks, Sam!” Apple Flora stretched up and nuzzled my cheek before hopping off the bench, while I cursed myself for being a pushover. At least I’d thought of the idea of just watching; that was safe.

As we walked towards the river, I counted my blessings that I didn’t have to face a barrage of questions this time around. The three foals were happy gossiping with each other, while I was a third wheel. I didn’t mind.

Instead of going to my personal bathing spot, Liza led them to a closer bend in the river, one without any significant slope down towards the water. The three of them jumped in without any hesitation, and while I did briefly consider the advantages of joining them, I didn’t want to walk home in wet clothes.

A large tree near the river’s edge provided a convenient backrest, from where I could watch them play. Not only was it close to the water, but its canopy shaded me from the late-afternoon sun.

There was something funny about watching ponies swim. From the movement of their backs and the way their heads bobbed, it was almost like they were trying to gallop in the river. I wished the water had been clearer; I would have liked to see how their legs moved.

I sat on the bank and rested, reflecting on my day. In one sense, it hadn’t been productive. I hadn’t earned any bits, I hadn’t spent any more time knitting, and what few minor chores I’d done around the house weren’t really that much of an accomplishment.

But the positive side, I had gained the trust of no fewer than two more ponies, and perhaps as many as seven. I’d been given the dubious honor of speaking at the school, and I’d had a pleasant, relaxing morning with Rose. And I’d played hide and seek for the first time in a decade or so, and hadn’t totally sucked at it.

All in all, I concluded the day had been a success.

Author's Note

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