A Nightingale's Song

The Royal Guards had arrived promptly, their ranks quickly filing through the ashen ruins and remnants, extinguishing any residual flames that burned through the cold night. There were more than a few survivors but as they made their way closer and closer to the heart of Coltsburg, they found more and more of the burned city unsalvageable.

The guards had found him unconscious and slightly charred, his wings smelling of burnt feathers. Nightingale had been huddled tightly under a collapsed floor, seemingly hiding in a cellar. They had told him that they had found his hooves against the top, apparently attempting to break through to the surface. Nightingale did not remember much else from the night, and yet, he knew he had been trying to reach his parents, desperately and frantically.

One does not simply forget that feeling.

Within one of his hooves, he remembered, was a letter, scorched, singed, and barely legible. He remembered finding it in a pile of ash, a mask lay nearby. He did not know what had happened to the masked one, but the letter, the note, was all he needed.

He had been taken, with several of the other unfortunate colts and fillies, to a train bound for Baltimare. Before they had left, however, one of the guards had brought Nightingale a set of brown saddlebags. Contained within them were his father’s journal, notebook, and quill, slightly burnt yet still usable, as well as a small crystalline amulet.

Nightingale did not know how long the train ride had taken—he only recollected the grey interior and slight rolling sounds of the train, passing through the heart of Equestria. But, he did remember the feeling of their arrival at Baltimare. It was a large city, though nowhere near the size of Manehattan, and it felt larger than life, terrifyingly so, to the young pegasus colt. This was not home, and the ponies here were not family. Not like his parents were. Not like his friends were.

Nevertheless, he had pushed forwards like his parents had taught him with the guards taking the small group of children to small apartment in the middle of the city. There, they had been introduced to a middle-aged pegasus mare, her coat a light red and her mane a pale, dying orange. She was the widow Weatherby, and she would act as their caretaker, their surrogate mother, for however long they would remain with her until adulthood.

She had loved them, Nightingale knew that much and had come to appreciate her for it. The old widow Weatherby would spend many a day and night nurturing the small group of colts and fillies, attending to their growth as young ponies. And, as the only pegasus of the group, Nightingale Shade was a particular focus of hers—she helped grow his capability to fly, and had given him the necessities to practice his flight.

One night, one solemn, cold night, a few days into their tenure with her, Nightingale had asked the widow a question, under the pale moonlit sky. Why had the guards taken the children to her? What was the purpose?

‘My dear child,’ she had said, slowly, softly. ‘This is an orphanage.’

He had understood, then, why they had been taken to the old widow Weatherby. Why his parents’ most favored possessions had been passed down to him. And why he and his family no longer lived at Coltsburg.

The taste of grass had never been Nightingale Shade’s favorite, and he remembered with disgust, why exactly he had hesitated to deign himself to grazing in the first place.

Ah yes, that was why. He had no money for food.

Nightingale Shade thought this with disgust as his picked through the bright jade-colored grass with his teeth, a perfunctory frown on his face. Finishing up quickly, he turned back to his makeshift camp, picking up his saddlebags and sliding them across his back. Giving a slight nod as he took in his appearance in the nearby lake, Nightingale left the camp, making his way towards Ponyville.

His goal, today, was to find work. It was, after all, the only way to make the money he needed for transport to Canterlot and to repay his benefactors.

Yes. Benefactors. That was a good name for them.

He made his way past a cottage seemingly built into a hill, animals fluttering this way and that way around it. Bunnies and rodents stopped to gaze at Nightingale, while birds hesitated in their paths, seemingly wary of the pegasus. Despite this, however, Nightingale paid them no heed, singing a tune under his breath as he passed over a wooden bridge.

“Now we are ready to sail for the Horn,

Weigh, hey, roll an’ go!

Our boots an’ our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn,

To be rollickin’ randy dandy Oh!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have any open positions here. Our last opening was for a waiter, but it was taken yesterday.” The earth pony said, a frown upon his face. Nightingale frowned, though understanding as he turned around, leaving the restaurant through the front door.

He took a gaze around the center of Ponyville, desperately attempting to find any place that he had not tried to requisition a job at yet. He had tried the theatre, the bowling alley, the café, the bookstore, and yet none of them seemed to have any open postings. His latest attempt, the restaurant, had also proven to be a bust—and an annoyingly ill-timed one, as well.

Nightingale had glazed over the ridiculously-built bakery, Sugarcube Corner—he had no talent with baking, and he knew any attempt to learn would only end in disaster. Besides, he had seen the seemingly insane pink, bubbly mare who had visited him with Twilight in the hospital working there and had backtracked quickly, almost falling down in his haste to get away.

Sighing in disbelief, Nightingale’s frown grew as he realized his desperation. Indeed, if no employer would give him a job then he was, in the end, out of luck. No bits to pay his benefactors back, and no bits for a train to Canterlot.

Asking for handouts was out of the question, and Nightingale quashed that particular line of mental thought immediately, shaking his head slowly. He looked around, searching keenly for any place he might have missed. Ponies passed by, most of them paying him no heed, and Nightingale let out a low sigh, frustrated at his inability to find a job.

There was one other choice, though. One that the doctors and nurses, Nightingale realized, might not approve of.

On his way into Ponyville, Nightingale had passed by a farm. Its green and golden fields had been filled with rows upon rows of apple trees, their fruits hanging like jewels on a necklace. The pegasus stallion couldn’t help but wonder if the pony he had met the day before, Applejack, lived on the farm. She was, after all, selling the same apples he had seen in the orchard, and her named seemed to fit the bill.

‘Apple? Can’t be a coincidence…’ Indeed, the name was familiar to him—it had been, after all, the name of the family that had owned the farm in Coltsburg during his childhood. Family relations, mayhaps?

Nightingale’s father had, back in Coltsburg, worked as a farmer—there hadn’t been much else to do there. While he himself did not know much about farming, Nightingale knew that it was a start. It was simply a matter of heading down to the farm and asking for a job.

There was, however, the problem that his doctors did not want him taking part in any “strenuous activities.” There was no doubt in Nightingale’s mind that working as a farmhand would most certainly be considered strenuous work. That would be an issue that he would have to work around. Nightingale Shade stood in thought for a few moments, ignoring the many passerbys that gazed at the idle pony strangely.

‘Ah, what the hay, it’s worth a try,’ he thought in resolution, nodding his head. ‘I’ve recovered from worse, while working harder. It won’t be a problem.’ A small smile upon his face, Nightingale turned south, beginning to make his way to the farm he had passed in the morning. His paced increased to a steady jog, the buildings and sounds of Ponyville turning into green hills and the ambient sounds of nature as he hummed a low tune.

The sun had progressed to a point directly above in the sky by the time he reached the farm, the apple orchards and golden fields of wheat seemingly glowing under the high noon sun. As he approached the farm, Nightingale could see a small filly seemingly playing near the apple trees, a red ribbon tied in her mane. Having caught sight of him, the filly stopped, looking towards the pegasus stallion. After a few moments, she cantered over to Nightingale, a smile on her face.

“Hi, mister! Welcome to Sweet Apple Acres, where we farm the best apples in all of Equestria! What can I do for you?” The young filly beamed, her eyes shining as a glint appeared in her teeth. Nightingale hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to react, before responding.

“Hey there. I’m looking for somepony named Applejack. Do you know her?” Nightingale wore a thin smile, watching as the filly frowned.

“Applejack? Why’re you looking for my sister?” The young pony asked, tilting her head as she did so. “You one of her friends?”

“You can say that I am,” Nightingale nodded, before continuing. “Do you know where she is?”

Before the pegasus could respond, a familiar voice sounded from the trees, a scolding tone accenting it. “Apple Bloom! What have I told you about talkin’ to strangers?” An orange earth pony approached from between the trees, an irritated look on her face.

Apple Bloom, the young filly, turned around. “But he ain’t a stranger, sis!” She exclaimed indignantly. “He said he’s a friend of yours!”

Applejack turned to look at Nightingale, her eyes widening for a moment before she grinned, her gaze returning to her sister. “Yeah, he is, but it doesn’t mean you should have talked to him. You couldn’t have been sure if he was anypony we knew.”

“If I can’t talk to strangers and get them to visit Sweet Apple Acres, then how am I ever gonna get my cutie mark in pitchin’ sales, sis?” The filly exclaimed, a pout on her face as she looked up at her sister. Her sister, however turned away with an exasperated shake of the head, eyeing Nightingale strangely.

“Didn’t reckon I’d see you here at Sweet Apple Acres, sugarcube. Why’re you here? You need something?”

Nightingale hesitated for a few moments, the gears in his mind struggling to arrange his words correctly. “Well, yes. I, uh…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Nightingale did not want Applejack to realize that he was still in need—it was likely that she would pass off the information to her friends, and that was something he could do without—he had no choice, however, and decided to ask. “I sort of need a… a job. You see, I don’t have any money. And no other business in Ponyville had any openings, so I thought I’d try here, since I met you yesterday.”

Applejack frowned in response, an eyebrow raising slowly. “You want to work here?” She asked, before mumbling something under her breath. “Don’t reckon I’ve ever heard of a pegasus working on a farm before.”

“Well, I’ve got nothing else. Thought I’d give the farm a try.”

Applejack nodded before responding. “Well, I guess I can let you try, but one question, first.” She paused for a moment, a questioning look on her face. “Didn’t the doctors say you couldn’t do any hard work? ‘Cause you’re recoverin’?”

Nightingale shrugged in dismissal. “I’ve been through worse, so I think I can get past it. Doctors don’t need to know.”

Applejack looked nonplussed by his statement, and Nightingale was ready to simply withdraw his proposal. Before he could do so, however, Applejack shook her head, chuckling lightly. “Ah, what the hay. We could use another worker ‘round the farm, so I’ll take you to Granny Smith, see what she thinks of ya.”

Though he didn’t know who this “Granny Smith” was, Nightingale nodded, agreeing to meet her. The two ponies headed off in the direction of a farmhouse, Applejack’s sister following closely behind.

Shortly thereafter, the trio had entered the farmhouse, Nightingale walking in slowly as he took in the smell of food. Freshly baked goods, it seemed. Applejack, on the other hoof, wore a large smile as she called out.

“Granny Smith? Big Mac? Ya’ll in here? I brought somepony for ya’ll to meet!”

Nightingale turned to his right as he heard an almost feeble sounding voice respond to her, a tone of confusion and weariness accompanying it. “Wha—what? That you, Applejack? Who’d you bring this time?” Around the corner approached an old mare, her green coat pale and her knees knobby and frail. “Who’s this feller here, Applejack? A friend of yours?” She asked as she took a hard look at Nightingale, as if sizing him up.

“You could say that, Granny. This here’s Nightingale Shade, came recently to Ponyville.” Applejack glanced at Nightingale, before continuing. “He’s lookin’ for a job, and he thought he could work here, at Sweet Apple Acres.”

Nightingale dipped his head respectfully towards the elder pony, a smile on his face. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I hope I’m not too much of a bother.” If he had a hat, he would have tipped it, but Nightingale settled for the simple nod.

Granny Smith frowned as her eyes narrowing into a tight glare focused on the pegasus stallion. Moments passed in silence, Nightingale growing increasingly nervous as the elderly earth pony seemed to stare into his soul. Around the same corner, a large scarlet-coated stallion appeared, his mouth curled into a frown as he, too, stared at Nightingale.

Nightingale was relieved when Granny Smith finally broke the silence, her mouth tipping into a slight grin. “Why, you look mighty famished there, young’n. Why don’t you come eat some lunch with us, and we can talk about that job you’re needin’ afterwards.” She looked at the rest of her family, nodding in contentment. “Soup’s on, everypony. Let’s eat!”

With that, Granny Smith turned around, walking back into the room she came from. Applejack, Apple Bloom, and the large red pony followed, the young filly gesturing for Nightingale to join them. Frowning slightly, he shrugged to himself, before following them into the next room—a dining room, of sorts, the four farm ponies making themselves ready at the table as Nightingale entered. Granny Smith motioned towards the seat across from her—most definitely, Nightingale thought, to keep a firm eye on him. He took the chair, sitting down gently, and as politely as possible.

He was, Nightingale surmised, not the best at social scenarios like this. The lack of experience was absolutely a factor.

Looking at the arranged dishes and bowls on the table, Nightingale’s eyebrows lifted as he took note of the arrayed foodstuffs. Most of the items were related to apples—apple sauce, fritters, pies, dumplings, and the like were spread amongst the table, accompanied by flower sandwiches, eggs, and a bowl of salad. The smells wafted from the food, piquing Nightingale’s sense of smell, and at that moment he realized how hungry he really was.

When was the last time he had really sat down and eaten at a table? It had to have been years before, at least—after escaping Fremitus Canis’ clutches across the Antlertic Ocean, Nightingale had roved for several years, at one point returning to Brave Hunt’s tribe of buffalo. The buffalo did not eat upon tables, and, at this point, Nightingale was rather used to the mush and grain of the buffalo, or the few foods he had been able to forage and gather on his journey back to Equestria. Before then, he had nourished himself with the rations supplied to him and his three turmae, as well as the occasional fanciful foods he had been privy to in Canis’ parties.

Real, actual meals, cooked at home with love and grace, had been few and far in between. They were definitely something Nightingale had missed dearly in his travels…

Nightingale looked back up at Granny Smith, noticing her hard gaze was settled upon him. He smiled warmly or, rather, tried to.

‘I’m very bad at this…’ he thought, holding back a frown.

After a moment, Granny Smith spoke, smiling at the assembled ponies. “Well, here we are. Dig in, everypony!”

Nightingale watched as the elderly mare and her grandchildren eagerly began to eat, the sounds of crunching and munching washing over him. He hesitated for a moment and shrugged, before picking up a small apple fritter and taking a bite. Its taste filled his mouth, and Nightingale had to resist letting out a moan of satisfaction. The next few minutes entailed of the gathered ponies making their way through the food, the occasional “pass the salt” or “hand me some of that pie” breaking the relative silence.

Nightingale, on his part, attempted to remain polite at first, eating slowly and in small portions, but a few pointed stares and an innocent mention of Nightingale’s hesitance broke his resolve quickly, and he then ate the food with a similar gusto as the members of the Apple family. The food quickly disappeared, all of them patting their stomachs in contentment. After a few moments of silence, Applejack cleared her throat, before turning to the rest of her family.

“So, this is Nightingale Shade, ya’ll. He’s a new friend of mine—met him yesterday when he left the hospital,” she introduced Nightingale, taking a glance at the pegasus. “Nightingale, this is my family. You’ve already met Apple Bloom, my younger sister, and Granny Smith, and this here’s Big Macintosh.” She pointed to the large red stallion.

Nightingale nodded at them all, a genuine smile upon his face. “Nice to meet all of you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mister Nightingale!” Apple Bloom exclaimed, a wide smile upon her face. Big Macintosh rumbled a low “eeyup” while Granny Smith simply nodded, her eyes once again gauging Nightingale.

“Now,” Applejack started, “Nightingale here told me that he needed a job, ‘cause no one else in Ponyville was hiring. I know we don’t really hire no other ponies, but I thought that since he doesn’t have any money, we could help him out a little.” She looked at Granny Smith, a questioning look on her face. “What do you think, Granny? You okay with givin’ him a shot?”

Granny Smith sat still for a moment, before nodding. “I’ll be fine with it. Could always use some more workers, after all.” She looked up slowly, a contemplative visage upon her face. “Sweet Apple Acres hasn’t really employed any pegasi that I can remember, but I do know Apple Crunch and her husband let some pegasus help her out in Coltsburg. Well, until that big fire took out that town. Darn shame, that was.”  She muttered her last words, looking at a point somewhere behind Nightingale. “Did always tell her that Evening feller and his wife Cardinal were kinda suspicious.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Nightingale asked, having missed her last sentence. In response, Granny Smith waved a hoof in dismissal, shaking her head.

“Nevermind that, dearie.” She turned to Applejack, nodding her head. “Applejack, I’m fine with this feller here workin’ on the farm. Just make sure he does things the Apple way, okay?” She finished her words with a sweet smile as she stood up slowly. “Now, I have to take a nap—I’m right tuckered out.”

Nightingale watched as the elderly pony left, before turning to Applejack. “So I guess I work here now?”

“Yep. I guess you do,” Applejack replied, standing up as well. “Now, we don’t start workers until the day after, so you can go home and get some rest. Tomorrow, Big Mac and I will get you up to speed, and we’ll discuss your payment later. Come back early mornin’ tomorrow, okay?”

Nightingale nodded, standing up to leave himself. “Alright, I’ll be here then. Thanks for the lunch, by the way,” he said, gesturing towards the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A small chorus of goodbyes washed over him, and Nightingale promptly left the farmhouse. Outside, the sun had started to fall, the beginning of dusk starting to set in. The light bounced off the green fields, reflecting in his eyes as Nightingale squinted.

What exactly had he gotten himself into, here in Ponyville? The town was quaint, serene, and pleasant, and something about it called to him. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, only that it reminded him of Coltsburg.

Was it the presence of another branch of the Apple family? Was it the familiar setting, of a quiet town rife with the air of a friendly, utopic society? Or was it the fresh breather from the wide prairie of the buffalo, the salty atmosphere of the sea, or the etesian climates he had been used to?

Shaking those thoughts out of his head, Nightingale made his way off the farm, passing by a treehouse and the cottage he had seen in the morning. A voice that he dared to think was rather lovely sang from the cottage, but Nightingale paid it no heed, his eyes set on the base of the hill that he had come to call his home.

As he prepared for a rather early sleep, Nightingale wondered pleasantly what the town would bring to him within the next few days.