The Stable

You may find it a bit cramped in here, but I find it quite cozy. It is also wet and dark, but this is not bothering me. I have everything I need.

I guess you could say, that I am like a fish in water. I am swimming around in my private ocean. I hear the sound of a heart, my mother of course. The beat is always there, and I can hear it clearly. The noise lets me know she does all right.

If I am looking, I can see the pip-buck just above the right fore-hoof. It is mine, and it has always been there. At least, for as long as I could possibly recall. It is translating most of the noises from the world outside, permitting me to understand what the other ponies are talking about. It is kind of odd, but I never knew anything else.

This is my life, and everything I have ever known.

I love my life, such as it is; no worries, and no dangers to fear. She is looking out for me, out there; in the stable, sealed off from the world above. The world; that is no longer for ponies, such as myself. Of course, there never was a pony, quite the likes of me out there. Maybe there never will be?

Am I strange? I am the daughter of my mother. I may not yet be born, but that time is coming shortly. That is the day, when I choose to enter the world outside, to stand by my mother. I am not regretting it, but am looking forwards to it. My mother once was considered strange, when they found the buck already fastened above her hoof at birth. While I guess I could see the point, but now most ponies have the buck from birth.

This buck is the sign of a life in the stable, it is also the light in the cave that is my home. This is the only home I would have known, if it had not been for the one small detail. I am the Farcry of the stable, and I am Far See.

f my mother is awake, I could choose to see the world through her eyes; it is an interesting, fascinating experience. I do enjoy this often, in part due to not having much else to see in here. I could watch the lights on my pip-buck, of course. But, why do I want to do that?

Sometimes, if I have a dream while she is sleeping; I can see her by my side; we share the dream, seeing one-another. If I had not been so inexperienced, I guess this would have been odd, strange and new to me.

I imagine, this is how she actually looks, from the outside. Or is it, just how she is viewing herself? There is always the possibility; this is just my image of her and it has nothing to do with, what she looks like, or how she is feeling right now.

I am trotting along the sunlit road, with my mother by my side. The birds are singing, and the inserts are buzzing around. This is starting out, like such a lovely day for me.

After a while, there is a wall of clouds swooping in over the sky. I can see the formation approaching before me. The sky had been clear, there is no pony in the air. Not even a dragon. After a few minutes, the clouds start to darken into what seems to be storm-clouds. The clouds, now covering the face of the sun. Celestia’s sun. I know the names, just as I know the takes behind it.

This is a dream, but part of what I know is clearly leaking in from outside. Memories that are clearly not mine. Clearly not for a pony inside a stable. I know the settlers originally lived outside, in the open; yet, this is not accounting for that.

The grass is no longer lively, vibrant and lusciously green. The sky is mate, grey and feels outright smothered, saturated by bad energy and dark magic. How do I know? How do I recognize these things? In the dream, I am not worried, in the dream you know without a doubt.

My mother is still by my side, as we continue along the dreary, grey gravel road. A dead road, leading up to no good.

“I do not like, where we are going!” I ponder.

“We should turn back, and hurry! Look out for shelter, we may need to take cover!” she yelps out, in sudden and obvious distress.

“Yes!” I respond, turning around and follow her example; “That seems ominous!” I then add, in a whimper.

I trot along, behind my mother; trying to pick up speed and get into a faster gallop. Just that I can’t quite build up the speed, or get into a proper gallop. One of these dreams?

“Oh, no!” she exclaims, and quickly picks me up and places me on her back.

“Thanks!” I respond, trying my best to hold on as she is speeding across the path away from the looming weathers behind us.

When I falter, she is quick to secure my hoofing on her back. She is my mother, even if I am technically not born yet. She cares for me, as if I had been her and protects me, against anything and everything. She is protecting me, with her life. I can’t blame her, I would do the same, when that day comes.

This was the very same path we had enjoyed trotting on, just a moment before, now we’re hasting back; only the path is no longer the same path as we had enjoyed so much mere minutes before.

As luck would have it, the path is turning into stone; blocked by a monumental, menacing iron clad Steel Ranger with a mean, scolding expression on its face.

“If I smother thy mother, you will be no more!” she exclaims, with a roaring laughter.

“Incorrect!” I point out.

“How so, you are not even born yet; so if she is dead, how could you possibly survive?” she inquires, with a steely deadpan.

“While my flesh may be weak, but I am clad in an armour even tougher than yours; one that transcends simple problems, such as pain and death!” I point out.

“Don’t tell me, you count that silly little tin buck over your hoof as an armour+” she tentatively mocks.

“That buck, is a Starlight buck the toughest, most resilient and powerful buck ever to be built!” Pinkie Pie exclaims, through the speaker of my buck.

“Are you, the ministry mare; Pinkie Pie of the Ministry of Morale herself? Is this your witchcraft, behind her?” the Ranger inquires, now visibly shaken.

“It is, indeed; and I will watch you, F.O.R.E.V.E.R.!” Pinkie pronounces with her fierce finality.

“But, but, but!” the Ranger stammers; “You were assassinated!” the ranger points out.

“But of course, I know! I saw it, and I also had a tin of PTMs too many!” Pinkie explains; “Mark my words, Candy Floss; you will regret that and ever crossing me, and you will learn to suffer!” she then add3ed.

“How does a dead mare know the name of a Steel Ranger not even born, before she died?” the Ranger inquires.

“Maybe, because she was looking too deeply into her Crystal Ball, just as I am already reading my pip buck before I have even been born!” I giggle.

“In that case, your foresight would be legendary, even beyond that of the Princesses Celestia and Luna themselves!” Candy Floss suggests.

“Foresight was already my forte, but having the PTMs for candy pushed me through the roof, as the expression had it. Besides, I am still here!” Pinkie points out.

“Candy floss? Wait, you really have an impressive and intimidating name!” I giggle.

“When I die, I will be reborn; a pony will carry my name and recall who I was and what I did!” my mother points out, glaring at the ranger known as Candy Floss.

I look down at my hoof, and my buck; suddenly realizing just who my mother is, she is the filly who was first born with her pip buck. Of course, through the buck; I now know who I am, and my mother. I am not forgetting it, even if I may not have to actively think of it ever again.

With that, the road slowly turns back to the original and grass is green on both sides.

“I do not like that mare!” my mother exclaims.

“We do not have to see her; we live in the safety of the Stable Starlight provided for us!” I point out.

I blink a few times; once, twice thrice. My mother catches up and trots to the nearest mirror. I need to see her face, so I can take face-to-face with her. I like to see her reaction, when I am talking to her.

She nods, then blink.

Yes!” she then says.

As I am looking, I can clearly see her face in the mirror. She is having a buck, identical to my own. Though hers has her mark on it, mine does not. I guess you could call me a blank buck? Just as ponies said blank flank before the war. Some expressions simply have to be changed, to correct for the changing times.

“Mother, you are that one first filly, to be born with your buck?” I inquire, and my voice comes out on the speaker of her pip buck.

She momentarily blushes, then nods.

“Yes, that was me!” she then responds, giggling like a nervous school filly on the first date.

“Thank you!” I respond; “That makes for a very special tail for us to share!” I add.

“Yes, that is a special moment, in my life; something I love to share with you, as you grow up!” she points out, in response.

“I think!” I say; “That we will have plenty of these moments to share, as time ties us together!” I then continue.

By now, the scary moment, with the threatening Steel Ranger has already been forgotten. Even if I can’t say that the memory is truly gone. It is the blessing of the buck, and the curse we pay for the blessing. This will change, and shape me into the pony I will grow into.