The Icing on the Hearth's Warming Cake

by Impossible Numbers

Rating: everyone
Tags: Coriander Cumin, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Saffron Masala
Length: 8239

Coriander Cumin and Saffron Masala prepare for their first Hearth's Warming Eve pageant. He is less than excited to be attending... but not for the reasons you'd think.

The Tasty Treat has never done better business since its grand re-opening, but as usual Coriander Cumin watches his life with eyebrow raised and disbelieving grunt ready and waiting. So when Saffron Masala persuades him to sample a bit of local culture and attend the Hearth's Warming Eve pageant in Canterlot, he's not exactly leaping at the chance the way she is. After all, one of them needs to keep their hooves on the ground.

Even if it is covered in bitterly freezing snow. Uncomfortably familiar snow, come to that...

Published 2017-02-19 22:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-02-19 22:40:01 UTC

Spice of Life

Shivering as he moved among the tables, Coriander Cumin stacked the chairs and hoped he didn't finish too early. Anything to delay going outside.

Then he glanced over to the half-frosted window at the front of the restaurant. Surprisingly, he could still see his daughter with her back to him, pressing her face against the glass. And not, he couldn’t help noticing, giving the propped-up broomstick as much as a flicker of unicorn magic.

“The pegasi work so hard, Father,” she said suddenly, “to make Canterlot look so beautiful. Why not stop working for a moment and come see it?”

Because one of us has to make sure we do not end up late. That is why. However, Coriander Cumin merely grunted while he stacked. He had no intention of saying it, in case he had to act upon it.

“So many customers today,” he said, more to himself than to her. “What a profit we have made! If more families come visiting from all over, soon we will have enough money to get an extension.”

“Oh, Father!” If she’d been gasping with awe beforehand, now Saffron Masala was biting with annoyance. “Is that all you ever think about? Profit this, cleanliness award that, review everything else? Only this morning, I had a lovely time talking to Sunshine Smiles. She was so excited, and she told me so much about the stories they used to read every night before bed on Hearth’s Warming Eve. I would not trade that for all the gold in Equestria.”

“But you cannot keep a restaurant going on bedtime stories, Saffron.” The last chair flipped over and placed itself on the edge of the table. Coriander allowed himself a flash of a smile. “Less chatting, more catering. That is the whole point.”

Finally, she turned away from the window, and for a second he glimpsed the frown she was trying to hide. “You can keep it going if you develop a friendly rapport with your customers. They will come back if you treat them with kindness and respect.”

Coriander’s leg muscles tensed. “Rapport,” she says. Oh dear, she has picked up yet another fad word from those stuffy unicorn types. And “respect”? Like I don’t have any? Sometimes, she goes too far!

After a roll of his eyes, he sensed the thought drifting back into the depths, and relaxed his limbs. “It is all well and good giving and receiving words as well as food, but The Tasty Treat is one-of-a-kind. I’d rather not see those windows boarded up just yet.”

“Oh please, Father. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Ha! One day, you will pass it on to your children, and you cannot do that if you fall behind on the rent. Money is not everything, but it certainly helps! Now, come help me clean up in the kitchen.”

Both of them strode through the bead curtains, and took in the stained tiles, the pots and pans piled high beside the sink, and the dustpan in the corner, which was full of broken china pieces. Through sheer habit, Coriander waited for her to open the store cupboard first, and then summoned mop and bucket to his side. Focusing, he forced the sink’s taps to trickle, and then groaned when he saw the empty bottle of washing-up liquid.

Just because it is a holiday, he thought, and to his surprise a private chuckle punctuated the words. Ponies start dressing up and crowding outside, and she always tries to get out of cleaning and go. “I’ll do it when we come back.” “Why not save it up for the weekend?” “I think you should have a turn.” She uses every trick in the book.

“What do you think the pageant will be like?” said Saffron, who barely noticed the dustpan emptying itself into the bin. Before he even opened his mouth, she burst out, “I cannot wait to see it! Oh, it’s been so long since we’ve gone out to see a show as a family! And look at how they do it! To have special buildings just for acting out stories and dancing to songs!”

Despite himself, Coriander hummed in agreement. Nothing like the theatre existed in the country town they’d lived in previously, but then Sleepy Boondock barely had enough cottages for a street. And before that… before even Equestria…

He remembered standing at the front of the crowd, the small hooves of young Saffron striking his shoulders as she bounced and squealed with joy. They’d watched the robes and the tambourines dancing down the street, shaven heads and floral wreaths bobbing. There’d been banners stretching from rooftop to rooftop, the town fountain trickling away, and the smell of incense from the levitating candles. Oh yes, they did things differently in the old country.

Yet that morning, he’d collected the newspaper from the young colt, and then seen the lines of mares and stallions outside the theatre. They did not whoop or jump or sing. They simply walked, and then stood, and barely spoke. Hardly any of them had cracked a smile.

My kind of pony, he thought glumly.

“Saffron,” he said. “Did you forget to buy some more Sparkle Shine again? I cannot mop the floor with nothing but water.”

Lowering the dustpan, Saffron blushed. “I must have… forgotten. So busy cooking the saag kadhi, ahaha. Aheh.”

Calmly, he propped the mop against the wall and blinked across the kitchen at her. “Ah well, no matter. We’ll just have to let the place stink up while we’re gone, then. Just as well we’re not open tomorrow, anyway.”

“Oh, please don’t make me work on a weekend! I was hoping we could stay away from the restaurant altogether. Don’t you miss having a relaxing day at home, just once? We could play old games like we used to do, remember? When it was just the family, back in Indrabhumi?”

Coriander’s lips twitched. Stupid as it was, he couldn’t help himself. Indrabhumi! Ah, things back then! So much simpler! So much less demanding!

“Well, we’re not in Indrabhumi anymore,” he said, but only the sigh made it through, not the bite. “Just be grateful this place has holidays. Besides, you remember what that Monk Sage Paneer used to say?”

Saffron groaned behind a hoof. “Not this again, Father.”

“He said, ‘Don’t take more days off than the other Equestrian ponies, because the instant you do… WHAM!’ The customers just go to your rivals instead. You fall behind. Then it’s goodbye, Tasty Treat.”

“Yes, and what a blustering old stallion he was, always hiding in his cave and saying whatever he felt like saying. Sage Paneer said a lot of things about Equestria. Was he ever here? Well, we’re here. And let me tell you, we’ve found out more than half of the things he said were wrong anyway.”

Coriander smirked to himself. Overhead, a single smoke alarm huddled against the fiery fresco of the ceiling. He cast a spell, and nodded when the alarm glowed in response and beeped three times.

“Always good to check,” he muttered. More loudly, he continued, “Well, old Sage Paneer did say one or two silly things, I’ll give you that. I remember once he told me the world outside Indrabhumi was filled with nothing but ghosts and evil spirits.”

Summoning a brush, Saffron tried to scrape off a particularly stubborn stain. “Ho yes! And I remember when he said there was a giant tortoise holding up the country, and if I didn’t believe him, I could go and have a look for myself.”

Coriander’s shoulders shook, but he kicked back the treacherous chuckle before it could storm his mouth. “OK, a lot of silly things. But sometimes he could be right on target.”

“Oh really?” She gave him a sidelong smirk. “Like the time he said you could live on no food but pure air, and you tried it, and we had to rush you to the hospital three days later?”

Trying not to picture all the whiteness, he forced the memory down and snorted. “Be fair to him. He never said anything about no drinks. That was my crazy idea.”

Still, she laughed her tinkling bell laughter, and he allowed himself to chuckle along for a few seconds. All too soon, they turned back to their cleaning.

I suppose she has a point, thought Coriander while he summoned more magic and rearranged the heap of pots and pans. We used to do so much together as a family. And I used to beat her so often at Pachisi, and still she’d insist on playing over and over to “catch” my “trick”. Just as well I’m not a betting stallion, or that would’ve been easy money.

Unexpectedly, a twinge of guilt plopped into his pool of thoughts. Stacking the pans into respectable columns, he felt the small drop spread and turn his mind blue.

Those Canterlot ponies do work so hard to make the winter special. These are their proud traditions. It would only be fair to show them some respect.

“Well, I think we’ve done enough for the old place,” he said, and then he tilted the topmost pan by the handle in case the whole thing tried leaning that way. A shiver ran through him. “Time to wrap up, I think. It’s no spring evening out there.”

Not even hiding the sigh of relief, Saffron sent their tools flying back into the cupboard before the slam. “I wonder if we will see anyone we know there. I certainly hope so! Moonlight Raven and Citrus Blush told me they always buy tickets for the pageant.”

“Ha,” said Coriander. “If only the young ponies back home had been that observant. I’ve never missed a single Garuda Festival Evening in my entire life, but those young rascals were always running off to play their silly little games instead of joining in. If they’d tried that sort of thing when I was your age, they’d have gotten a hiding –”

Saffron groaned irritably.

In a softer voice, he continued, “Hardly important now. Times change, new beats old, things get steadily worse –”

This time, Saffron’s groan was louder, more like a machine revving up.

“OK, OK. But you have to admit the festival was one magnificent get-together. I just hope you never forget to keep going. Your brother was bad enough, but at least we got used to his lazy ways.”

“Father, please. I liked the festival too, but we have to keep an open mind these days.” Saffron disappeared into a backroom, and from within, her muffled voice continued. “I wouldn’t mind being here when the unicorns fulfil the Winter Wrap-Up. It would be so amazing to see them work their magic in a day.”

Yes, instead of relying on dull-witted earth and pegasus ponies who’d take a week to clear it up. Best thing we ever did was get out of Sleepy Boondock. Why did we even move there in the first place? That village was a dump.

“Certainly not!” he said. “That’s too close to the festival’s date. And I’m not missing the Monsoon Mock-Up beforehand, either. Say what you like about their snow, but the pegasi here couldn’t make decent rain to save their own wings.”

Even through the timber door, he could hear her chortle before she swiftly cut it off. Ah, so you do agree with me, then? I bet you still skip and jump at the thought of seeing the old pegasus ponies of Indrabhumi push the monsoon clouds around. We always went to watch them suck up water from the Southern Shores, and you always used to pretend you hated it just to annoy your mother.

Not that you’ll admit it to my face. Too proud for that.

“Oh, all right,” she said, and he could tell she was only trying to sound peeved. “But we’ll be missing out on a magical occasion. Although… it would be nice to see Mother again. I just hope Rice Vinegar hasn’t driven her crazy.”

Coriander grinned. “No worries there. I just hope she hasn’t cracked the whip over his haunches one too many times. That layabout always brought out the tyrant in her.”

Smiling, Saffron emerged wrapped from neck to fetlocks in a padded overcoat. Long though her scarf was – she stepped on and almost tripped over the trailing end on her way through – Coriander nodded and beamed at the symbols woven along its length. An elephant’s head here, a bolt of lightning there, a lot of smiling, full-cheeked faces: his wife had really outdone herself over that one.

“What?” he said in mock surprise. “You didn’t get my coat?”

“It’s right here.” Horn aglow, she summoned the thing from behind and sent it floating over to him. “I’m not a total scatterbrain.”

Once he’d slipped it on – wincing at the itches breaking out across his flanks – Coriander summoned the tickets out of the pocket. Or at least, he tried to.

“And those are right here, too.” Saffron levitated them up to his face, and now she was smirking.

“What! I said I’d look after them.”

“Then it’s a good thing I checked your shirts before taking them to the laundrette yesterday, isn’t it, Father?”

“What?”

Saffron waved at him. “Not so fun when the shoe’s on the other hoof, now is it?”

But she simply giggled and shook her head resignedly. Sighing, he relaxed and pressed a hoof into his own face. Not again, he thought. I think I’m right on top of it, and then I go and do something silly like that. Just as well we haven’t got that much silliness between us, or we’d be in a real pickle.

Tucking the tickets back into his pocket, he coughed gruffly. “Yes, well, let’s get this over with, then. We’re going to be stuck in a queue if we dawdle any longer.”

“Always full of hope,” she said.

Both of them pushed through the bead curtain and strode towards the front door, Saffron idly straightening the curtains draped across the ceiling, Coriander struggling with the knot in his own scarf. Merely thinking about the crunchy whiteness outside sent shivers down his spine. Cold winds had scratched his face that morning, and he’d only popped down the road to buy a newspaper from the vendor.

Sluggishly, he tried to remember everything the salespony had told him. They’d reckoned it was going to be a big turnout this year; some special mare, Coloratura or something like that, was going to sing the first hymn. From the way the salespony had squeaked and fanned himself with a hoof, he guessed this was supposed to be a big deal. She didn’t come out usually. Perhaps she was some kind of modern officiator, then.

Paranoia gripped his brain. He checked the pockets for the key.

“Did you lock the back door?” said Saffron suddenly.

Oh dear, he thought.

Several seconds later, Coriander grumbled his way back from the backroom. He tried to ignore the “and you always have a go at me” glare he was getting.

“I must be getting old,” he said sadly.

“Oh, don’t you try and get my pity like that again,” she said. “You’re worse than Mother.”

“My back is bent, my knees all ache, my eyes can barely see,” he chanted.

“Well, guess it’s just me going to the theatre, then, if you’re too worn out to make it.”

“Suddenly feeling a lot better now. Come on. We’ve lollygagged enough already.”

Saffron barked a laugh. “‘Lollygagged’? My, my, what a very Canterlot word to use. Where on earth did you pick up that one?”

Coriander fought against the blush blooming over his face. “Never you mind. I said let’s go. Come on, come on!”

Such a tease, he thought, watching her knock the door back and hop down the steps. She must get it from her mother. Or else from my mother, and it skipped a generation. Thank goodness for small mercies.

What greeted him outside was white slush. Careless as a foal, Saffron leaped from random spot to random spot, gaping and laughing at the crunch of the snow and the depth of her imprints. The entire sky sagged with grey. Despite the main road being cleared of the worst of the drifts, the spires and windows of Canterlot blended into the wintry covering as though they were melting.

He stopped halfway down the steps.

He took a deep breath.

OK, Coriander. You can do this.

Ten-hut!

Ready. Steady. Go.

One leap barely cleared the steps, and then he crashed into the shock and had to bite his lip. Sheer cold stung his hooves, and then to his own surprise the warm soup of comfort and familiarity splashed him. It must’ve been years since he’d last met the enemy in his head, and yet here the feeling was, as fresh as yesterday.

Coriander let out the breath. True, he’d faced the snow every day this week, but every single time, it ambushed him. All four hooves itched to kick something.

“Father?”

He glanced up. Saffron watched him from a few feet away, knees still bent for another leap.

“What’s the matter?” She straightened up.

“Just a bit chilly,” he said. “They never put this much snow down in Sleepy Boondock, I’ll give them that.”

Gritting his teeth against the crunching hooves, Coriander strode forwards. His daughter fell in beside him like a bodyguard, face frozen with no expression, gaze sweeping ahead for trouble.

Soon, they joined the Restaurant Row. Around them, roughly a dozen unicorns and earth ponies ambled along the cleared road, their hooves clopping on the stonework. Some had jackets and woollen hats, but most bore only a scarf, and one or two managed without winter accoutrements of any kind.

They must be insane, Coriander thought. Or really thick-skinned. You could freeze the balls off a brass monkey out here.

“This should be interesting,” he said.

“I think it will be spectacular,” said Saffron, far more enthusiastically. “All of my friends told me what a special occasion it is. Everyone gossips about it. Who will be playing the lead roles, which story they’ll tell this year, what decorations the Canterlot authorities will allow or reject –”

“That’s something to gossip about?”

Saffron paused, shrugged, and kept walking. “I think it’s meant to be a fashion statement, not a tradition. I don’t understand it myself.”

“Huh.” Coriander grimaced. “Modernity strikes again.”

They used to try that one back in Indrabhumi. Even Rice Vinegar got in on the act, telling old Monk Churma he ought to play some modern-type pop music at the temple to “spice it up”. Ha! I’ve never seen the boy run so fast. Made good time, though. Monk Churma never caught up with me when I was a colt, either. At least that no-good layabout son of mine’s inherited something decent off me, then.

“Oh no,” continued Saffron. “My friends told me it’s always been like that, ever since the ancient Princess Platinum kept changing the style of her court amusements. Maybe it’s traditional not to hew to any particular tradition here?”

“You sound like Sage Paneer. ‘How far up is the direction of down?’ ‘Who gets bigger the smaller he gets?’ ‘What is the sound of one hoof stomping?’ And those were his saner questions, when he wasn’t trying to starve himself or eating suspicious-looking mountain mushrooms.”

Saffron shouted a greeting and waved. Following her gaze to the other side of the road, Coriander saw a pair of unicorns stop and wave back. Shouts and smiles went back and forth.

She turned back to him. “Minuette and Twinkleshine never miss a Canterlot pageant. They told me they’ve always auditioned for the Clover the Clever and Princess Platinum roles, but never have they made it through.”

“I see,” said Coriander politely. Who the heck are Clover the Clever and Princess Platinum?

Saffron’s brow creased, and her gaze fell downwards slightly.

For a moment, the drop of guilt plopped into his mind again. All his life, he’d accompanied his daughter to any and every special occasion they could – from watching a shower of shooting stars to ending Contemplation Fast with the town’s Great Feasting Day – but here in Canterlot he’d seen her smile grow more and more strained. He had the vague idea that he was behind it. After all, Equestrian mothers and fathers seemed quite happy to let even their fillies and colts run around by themselves.

And she did so love talking to the customers, especially the mares. If he didn’t keep sending her back into the kitchen, she’d spend more time hosting than cooking. In fact, she’d spend more time hosting than he did, and he was the host. She loved all that chatting and whispering and laughing and nodding eagerly at the other ponies. She seemed to be turning into one of them.

Some small part of him rubbed its legs gingerly and fretted over this. But really, where was the harm? Hadn’t the whole point of moving been to live under another sun, to see new faces, and to walk through different colours and shapes and symbols?

They passed a giant candy cane. His lip curled at the sight. Garish red stripes ran up the curving stick. It was tilting away from them, and he itched to tidy it up; it reminded him too much of the scattered toys in his children’s bombsite bedrooms.

Soon, they emerged into a large plaza, the centre of which boasted a magnificent spruce like a green mountain. Bells and tinsel and baubles and stars clustered all over the branches, clinging on for dear life. Coriander had to look away. Even the colourful chaos of the street festivals back in Indrabhumi had never made him feel sick.

Trying too hard, he thought. Then he glanced up. And those lights and banners hanging overhead! Pfft.

Wait, why am I criticizing those? We had banners everywhere back home.

Well… Well, our ones were better. And we didn’t have those ridiculous lights. And as soon as I see this pageant thing, I can say it was bad and never have to do this again. I don’t know how she talked me into doing this in the first place.

Coriander shook himself down. Biting snow attacked his hooves once more, and he had to suppress the grunt. Ponies clustered into several dozen around the tree, and a few of the nearest ones were giving his coat raised eyebrows.

“Wow,” said Saffron. “They must all be waiting to see the pageant.”

“I told you there would be a queue,” he said, but not with any fire in his breath. “You really want to wait so long just to see a bunch of ponies playing a story?”

The glare this earned him made him squirm where he stood. Only his wife could’ve thrown one worse than that, and this one was a knife.

“And miss the highlight of the Canterlot winter season?” she said. “Are you mad?”

Coriander couldn’t resist any more. His hoof rubbed his flanks, trying to beat down rather than scratch the itches; the coat was too thick for anything else.

Besides, the crowd was making him nervous. Not that he had any problem with crowds, the heavens knew. The old towns of Indrabhumi used to heave with thousands of ponies during the Monsoon Mock-Up, when the Great River burst its banks and the farmers would not stop partying for days. But it hadn’t been like this, with all the cold winds and the even colder upper crust ponies giving him funny looks.

Not forgetting the last time he’d been crowded in the snow…

No! What on earth has come over me? Maybe I am a bit mad. Give the poor thing a chance, will you?

“Fine,” he said. “But this had better be worth it. That’s all I’m saying. If it’s just some stuffy story about how these smug-looking types wrote up a constitution or something, I’m going home.”

Mollified for the moment, Saffron turned her gaze back to the crowd. One by one, the ponies leading the way began pouring down a nearby street, trickling past several shiny shops and under the shadows of pegasi flying parallel to the course. While they watched, the crowd around them began trundling after the leaders.

“Huh?” he said.

They exchanged glances. No cue had been made. Yet the ponies seemed to know where they were going. Coriander shrugged, and the two of them followed.

Their caravan joined onto a main avenue, and they both gaped. Ponies crowded every last space, up to and including the air above them as pegasi gathered in clusters that blotted out the grey sky. A low murmuring seeped under the clatter of hooves and the crunch of occasional cart wheels. At once, Saffron, glancing about and biting her lip, moved close to Coriander’s side; a few of their neighbours crisscrossed in a slow and gigantic Brownian motion, and the pair of them winced with the occasional knocked pastern or bumped shoulder.

At once, his coat felt like an oven, and he growled at the nearest ponies. Gently, she patted him on the withers.

“This is such chaos!” he muttered, trying to pretend his legs weren’t aching to grab something and throw it.

Someone stumbled out in front of them.

And he stiffened, face taut, limbs ready to pounce, horn thrust out…

…before he recognized the unicorn with the brown locks.

He sighed and relaxed again. Old instincts settled down.

“Watch yourself, Miss Biscuit,” he said levelly. “You almost had an accident there.”

“What? What?” She spun around wide-eyed and, at the sight of them, grinned. “Good turnout, isn’t it, Mister Cumin? Oh my gosh, Saffron! Hi!”

“It’s so exciting, Sweet Biscuit!” Saffron and Biscuit quickly embraced before a crowd member pushed past, and Coriander smiled at the sight. “We saved up for so long to get these seats, but I’m sure it’ll be worth every cent.”

“It’s so weird to see you out of the restaurant! Ah, I’ve got something perfect for you. Look.”

Sweet Biscuit turned her head for a moment. When she turned back, her horn glowed and what looked like three tiny brown models of walking ponies floated before them. Coriander’s kitchen nose, even through the encroaching numbness of ice, recognized the tangy scent of –

“Gingerbread ponies!” Sweet Biscuit dropped one, which Saffron caught with a telekinetic spell. “Specially decorated with the best icing and caramel glaze Cinnamon Chai has to offer. It’s really good, and it’s traditional Hearth’s Warming food.”

Coriander sniffed again, and then shuddered at the rush sparking through his snout. “Sugary treats?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sweet Biscuit levitated one before him, and he couldn’t help noticing that it was a little fatter than the others. “You can have one too, if you want.”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it again. Beside him, Saffron was already turning hers over, examining every pit of its crenulated underside. Judging from her stretched mouth, she looked how he felt.

Oh dear, thought Coriander. Firm, or friendly?

“And that’s very kind of you,” he said, bowing his head. “I’m sorry to tell you, though, that we don’t normally eat foods with such high sugar content. It upsets the body’s energies too much, and traditionally, oat cakes are about as far as we ever venture –”

Saffron crunched the head and chewed thoughtfully, staring up at the sky.

“Ah,” he said. “Or apparently not.” When her face lit up, he was moved to say, “How is it?”

“Wonderful!” Saffron levitated the crumbs off her mouth and threw them in. “Thank you so much. What other foods are traditional this time of year? I’d love to try them.”

Glancing at Coriander, Sweet Biscuit drew the gingerbread back a few inches. “Er… carrot-in-a-bun’s good too. And sometimes we have Pferdestadt’s sprouts and chocolate logs. Hey, there’s a thought! Why don’t you join us girls for one of the nights out on the town? We could try all the other places on Restaurant Row, and you must visit Doughtnut Joe’s sometime!”

Saffron giggled into her hoof. “I’d love to!” Then she glanced at Coriander, who simply shrugged. “I’ll just have to see what nights I’m free, that’s all.”

Around them, the river of the crowd suddenly became a raging rapid, and Sweet Biscuit yelped as a wave of ponies swept her along. Over their heads, she shouted, “Great! See you after the show!” All three gingerbread ponies dipped before Saffron and Coriander lit up their horns and lifted them up again.

They winced at the buffeting around them, but soon the crowd eased up, and they could amble alongside it again. Overhead, the pegasi converged on an upcoming collection of spires. To their right, the side of the mountain emerged from behind the white rooftops. Icy water fell as a curtain from its lofty ridge, grey as the sky.

“You really should try one of these, Father,” said Saffron, narrowing her eyes at him. “All that stuff about sugar is just Sage-Paneer-type thinking. They’ll make you feel better.”

“I feel better when I’m cooking food than when I’m eating it,” he said, but it was an unthinking retort, and he brought the gingerbread pony closer to his lips. “Still… I suppose if it’s just the once, there’s nothing wrong with a sugary treat.”

Saffron grinned impishly. “It’s not as if you need to worry about your weight, now is it, Father?”

“Oh, haha. What an original thing to say to a fat old pony. You got your mother’s sense of humour, all right.” Nevertheless, his teeth crushed the baked neck and his cheeks bulged under the work of his chewing jaws. Through the crumbs, he added, “I just appreciate a good meal when I can get it.”

You had to, back in those days on the mountain glaciers. I’d have eaten rocks if my friends hadn’t dragged me away from them. And I sure didn’t bulge around the middle during that part of my life: not when everyone in the company had to carry their own pikes and saddlebags and portable tents every single mile.

Joy oozed out of the bits sticking to the insides of his mouth. Shivers ran down his jaw. Eyes moistening slightly, he gasped and hummed, half in surprise, half in delight.

“My goodness!” he said. Then he swallowed the rest. “I’ve never tasted anything with so much sweetness packed into it.”

“They remind me of the berry fruit pies we used to make.” Saffron nudged him in the ribs. “See? Energies, schmenergies.”

“Don’t use that silly Equestrian slang,” he snapped. Far more warmly, he added, “But I admit you’re right about these things. I wonder if we could get something like this for The Tasty Treat.”

“Definitely not! The Tasty Treat has its own exotic cuisine, and we should be proud of it.”

“I know, I know. It was just a thought.” He broke the third gingerbread pony in half and passed one to her. “I wonder what else they do this time of year…”

“Maybe if I have a weekend out with the girls, I can find out. We should send some home to Mother and to Rice Vinegar, too. They always ask what the food is like up here.”

“Or maybe we can lace some of the curries with sugar and call it Saccharine Blend Surprise. That would draw more customers.” He caught her glare and shrugged. “Or not. Whatever.”

Crunching and humming cheerfully, they followed the crowd to the bridge. On either side, the moat was as dull grey as the ice cascade. Up ahead loomed the white and gold and fiery accents of Upper Canterlot, its few colours losing against the snow smothering the tops. So many fiddly bits and arches and bridges crashed about the complex of spires that Coriander turned his gaze downwards at once, to see the Royal Guards watching the lines, and the velvet red arches squeezing the crowd three and four wide.

Coriander summoned the tickets. Once more, he caught himself shivering. This coat is next to useless!

“Here you go.” He passed one along to her. Not once did he look away from the guards, with their shiny metal armour and their casually tilted pikes.

“Relax, Father,” she whispered, and it carried itself well under the murmurs of the crowd.

Still, the way their horns crackled and shimmered under the burning yellow magic…

…he found himself for a moment seeing shadows around the flame, his fellow unicorns and a few turban-bearing pegasi circling the thrash of light. Only the outlines of tents suggested any world beyond their campfire.

He’d lowered the sticks, watching the way the speared mush at the tips writhed into bulbous crescents. Father always said to make sure the skin darkened from beige to chocolate brown, crusts cracking. Only after the cracking would it be just right: soft and chewy in the centre, in spite of the egg-like shell that made such a satisfying crunch under their champing teeth.

Every shoulder had sagged the moment he’d raised the sticks.

Wordlessly, he’d passed them round. Some faces had been scuffed and the skin underneath sagged with too many days under the sun. Shaking hooves, and horns with sputtering magic, had practically leapt for his offered treats.

The fire, the one bright spot in their endless days of marching, marching, marching…

“Psst. Father?” whispered Saffron. “You’re staring again.”

The guard’s horn went out. A face like granite turned to him.

“Oh,” he said hastily, blinking. “Right. Sorry.”

He waved his ticket in front of the guard’s face as though brandishing a shield. Apart from grimacing at this, the guard barely moved.

Coriander gave what he hoped was a businesslike nod. He pocketed the ticket.

They stepped through the archway without issue. To his relief, Coriander felt the old feelings melt away, and much more familiar low-grade irritation seeped in at the sight of the grand plaza.

“What a sight! This snow is all over the place,” he muttered. “I get it. It’s winter. Good for them.”

“Chin up, Father. Here, have some more gingerbread.”

Only after he’d chewed and swallowed the half did he realize it had been hers. He checked, but no more treats hovered between them.

“I don’t like walking through it either,” she whispered, leaning in and casting furtive looks at their neighbours. “How these ponies don’t freeze to death, I have no idea. These coats are terrible.”

“You know what we need? One of those palanquin things they used to have in the Land of Kings. Imagine being carried everywhere in your own moveable room.”

Saffron laughed, earning a few startled looks from those nearby. “Imagine us travelling like royalty. We’re halfway there, anyway. Look at the palace!”

Despite his patriotic “Pfft”, the rest of Coriander drank in every ivory turret, every garlanded tower, and the sheer mountain weight of the main chambers. Somewhere inside him, a much-overlooked colt gaped.

Ah, now this was worth walking across half the continent for!

How young he’d been when he’d seen the vast libraries and grand temples of the Land of Kings, his father prattling on about ancient Heavenly Generals and Cosmic Wars while he’d felt a new world opening up around him. Never had anything made his spirits flow with such energy, such life. He could’ve stood there all day, trying vainly to grasp at a beauty that towered over him. Now the much-overlooked foal looked out through his own older, much-narrowed eyes.

Beside him, he could hear Saffron chatting excitedly to yet another recognized unicorn customer about the royal castle. He longed to tell her what his friend Onion Bhaji had once told him, one day in the street while waiting to see the monks dance. Strange tales of a Great Spirit, who ruled Equestria and took the form of the legendary White Horse. Onion had been sure it was her: the one from the ancient prophecy.

Everyone knew that prophecy; they taught it at school, chanted the song on special occasions, even told it around campfires when he’d been up in the mountains.

Kalki, the last of the Great Spirits, Tenth Incarnation of Nine, and Servant of the Heavenly General Indra himself.

A thrill ran through his stomach. There! Looking out from one of the balconies right now! Kalki herself, the White Horse!

Of course, they gave her a different name here, but as far as he could tell she looked the part. Long, swanlike neck craning over the rails, her javelin horn putting his own stubby version to shame. From time to time, she waved at the crowd, and excited whispers broke out whenever she did so. Then she opened her wings and swam through the sky, briefly illuminating it before a flash of her horn enveloped her. She was gone.

Coriander spun around to Saffron, who was still chatting with her friend. “Did you see that? The Princess herself was just there!”

Saffron nodded so fast, her puffy hair bounced off her horn. “I saw her! I saw her! She’s even more impressive than the stories say! So graceful and serene!”

Beside them, a cluster of unicorns gave them sidelong smirks and raised eyebrows. Of course, they must be long used to her by now, thought Coriander, but he didn’t even blush. Wait until I tell the ponies at home I actually got to see Kalki, the White Horse herself!

They followed the ponies across the plaza to the main entrance, passing the front row of guards and staring up at the arching portal of the palatial door.

Now that was something that could’ve kept him going through whole mountain ranges! He imagined himself charging, pike raised, heart fiery with passion and rage, shrieking among the wall of shrieks while everyone stared up at the shadows in the sky.

“Want a program?” said a voice to his left.

Standing beside a stack of booklets, the attendant unicorn held one up to his face. He saw the front cover, and almost gasped.

Just like that! Unicorns charged, horns aglow and pikes raised and mouths wide. No matter that they wore burlap rags and the leader some kind of faux ermine cape; the hooves ploughing through the snow fit his own, the dynamic blur of the rush was his own chaotic mind amid the flashing impressions, and the rage on their faces had burned through his brow and cheeks, so long ago, when he’d still been eager to tell his father how thoroughly he was going to wallop the bad guys.

“They’re three bits each,” continued a voice a long way off. “Bargain price. Get three for the price of two.”

He took in the rest of the scene. Pegasi in dull armour hovered over the unicorns – save for the strange dress, they could’ve been the old Bird of Paradise regiment he'd accompanied to the mountains – and earth ponies galloped alongside them, all in puffy sleeves and outrageously pudding-like hats. Their enemy closed in, ghostly horses with white eyes. They could only be spirits, engulfed as they were by a blizzard that hadn’t yet reached the pony armies.

“Come on, buddy,” said the attendant. “Ponies are queuing.”

Coriander gulped and tried to ignore the curses being uttered behind him. “Ah. Excuse me. I only –”

“We’ll take three please.” Saffron threw six coins across to the unicorn, who lowered the glowing bits into her money pouch before magicking a smile onto her face and nodding them through.

While another unicorn punched their tickets, Coriander wiped his brow.

“Three?” he said.

“One for me, one for you, one for the family back home.” Saffron accepted her ticket from the stony stare of the unicorn.

“I see. So,” he said once they’d been waved through yet another arching portal, “what kind of story exactly is this they’ll be acting out?”

“I’m not sure.” Saffron flicked through the pages, and, in a flash of old paranoia, he wondered if she was avoiding his gaze. “It says on this page it’s about the Founding of Equestria.”

“The Founding?”

“That was how the holiday started. Look, it says right here.” She now watched him, foreleg raised as though to bolt at any moment. “Father, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Coriander barely listened. Flipping open his own book, his gaze scanned the details printed on the glossy pages and amid the stylistically black-and-white photographs. Stuffy? Constitution? What had he been thinking?

He strode without looking, barely noticing how plush the red carpet was below him. Words like old comrades stepped out before him. “Struggle.” “Blizzard.” “Hatred.” “Journey through the mountains.” “Following plague.” “Trapped in a cave.” “Near death.” “Fires of friendship.” And the ones that shrank his entire consciousness to a few measly lines of ink: “Final battle.”

He knew Saffron was nudging him every now and again – what a fool he must look, blundering along the aisles with his muzzle pressed up against the pages – but it was just too similar. Even the horse spirits, with their ethereal wintry glow, their long faces stretched, and their forelegs permanently raised ahead as though holding the reins of the storm, resembled the icy water dragons, with their watery-looking scales, their muzzles channelling the cold blue flames, and their talons straining forwards.

To his surprise, he looked up at the ponies around him. They had long since arranged themselves rank and file – no, row and column – across the main hall, cheerfully chatting away and glancing ahead to the waiting stage. Regimented as they were, they formed a living mass that wriggled and flexed.

He could almost see again the ponies from home. They’d stood by or in the river. They’d hovered overhead or watched from afar. They’d talked and chatted excitedly, just like these ponies, as if unaware of what he’d had to go through. Unaware of what he and his generation had done to make sure they were there at all.

“Father,” snapped Saffron.

Grimly, he dragged his brain into the present. Two empty seats stood out on their right. Saffron marched on ahead, apologizing and thanking the ponies who got up or pulled back their legs. Coriander followed, wishing as he squeezed along that he’d kept in shape after the army.

Up ahead, the stage loomed across their immediate futures. Coriander eased himself onto his seat. Only then did Saffron drop onto hers beside him.

“Let’s take off our coats and scarves,” she said irritably. “Ponies are staring at us.”

He fumbled with his. He could tell in the way she spoke that he’d been daydreaming for a little too long. What a fool he must’ve looked!

So it goes, he thought.

“Well,” he said glumly. “At least we have good seats. Be thankful for small mercies.”

It had only been a short little war, really. Barely a year. A flash in the pan compared to the rest of his life, when he’d stared at lotus temples he couldn’t enter, or got a list of “D’s” on his exam papers, or lost the antique toys going back to his great-great-great-great grandfather. Or had to elope from the Land of Kings with his pegasus wife, just because her family had thought him much too mud-splattered for the likes of her.

Behind him, a pair of unicorns made an unmistakeable “harrumph”. To his surprise, his jaw clenched. Normally, he’d have simply absorbed it like he’d absorbed everything else.

Smiling, he turned to Saffron to say something at least pretending to be cheerful, and a flash of white caught his eye. At once, he prodded her in the shoulder and pointed, ignoring her “tsk” of annoyance. What did it matter? She was chuckling with joy a moment later.

“You see her? Up there on the balcony?” he whispered, straining to keep it a whisper. “And her sister is sitting next to her.”

“I see her, Father!” Saffron stamped her front hooves on the tiles in the traditional manner of equine applause. “Kalki herself! She’s exactly as beautiful as the legends say.”

Overhead, Princess Celestia beamed down and waved at the crowd. All around the hall, hovering firefly lanterns bobbed up and down, and through their dim glare, her golden shoe arced and glinted. For a moment, he fancied she’d looked in their direction, and he raised his hoof back exactly at the same time Saffron raised hers.

“Look!” Saffron covered her giggles. “They even have the ancient firefly lanterns from back home.”

“Of course they do,” said Coriander smugly. “The Indrabhumi ponies invented them in the first place. Didn’t I ever tell you that?”

Sunlight dawned within his chest. Life after elopement, in the towns and beside the Great River, where the monks disappeared for weeks at a time and everyone had smiled and talked and laughed and played on the banks. Saffron’s wide eyes now had once looked out upon that scene. How many times had she and Rice Vinegar splashed about in the waters? And one day she’d had her bright idea, drifted up to his wife on the land – his wife had been too well brought up to go in, though she didn’t mind their doing so – and then thrown water over her at the last minute!

Up ahead, the stage was dark red, rich and empty. Yet already he could see the whirlwind snowflakes crossing it, see the ponies and the slurry and the swooping young dragons gnashing and clawing and flapping their wings. Pegasi had zigzagged over their heads, crashing thunderbolts.

Their freezing breath had frozen the river solid. Even, or so the scouts had said, all the way back to its source, deep in the belly of the mountains. He’d seen the Great River, a shining mirror, undrinkable and dead, if anyone could have managed to dodge the guarding monsters basking alongside its radiating chill.

“Do you think we could visit the actors backstage once they’ve performed their show?” said Saffron. “I wouldn’t mind trying it.”

“Hm.” He shrugged. “You can try, but I doubt it.”

Yet another familiar pony sat next to Saffron, and after the raised voices of delight greeted each other, the two were lost in conversation. Coriander tuned them out.

Yes, that was Saffron all right. Always wandering off, scaring the life out of her mother and making him wander out under the monsoon rains shouting her name. At least nothing worse than that had ever happened to her.

And then he saw himself, running through the broken remains of the unicorn shield and yelling at the dragons and casting as many spells as his roaring mind could remember, striking pressure points on their scaled bodies, remembering the monks’ words, daring the dragons to take his family, his home, his country away, beating away anything that tried to steal his future from him. Just so his daughter could one day ask to go to Equestria.

He grunted under his breath. What a life.

Finally, the two Princesses glanced round at the stage. Talking ponies began falling silent. The chatter became a murmur. He could smell so many foodstuffs in the still air: crisped carrots, whiffs of burnt apple, the slight tickle of icing and sugary powders. For the first time, he felt really, deeply, gratefully at home among the ponies.

“That’s fascinating! Father,” cut in Saffron. “Did you know the ponies used to live in a completely different country long ago? They were like us once. Remember how many towns and villages we passed to get to the Griffonstone station? They travelled almost as far as that.”

Yes, he thought, and he sighed under his breath. Pity we had barely enough to stay at the Sleepy Boondock for five years. What a way to start a living.

A herald strode onto the stage, making the curtains flex for a moment as she passed. Her costume was puffy and lacy, but at the sight of her, the ponies whooped and stamped in applause. Decades ago, the Anti-Vritra battalion – his battalion – had whooped and stamped too, at the dots vanishing into the bright skies. He remembered that victory, that joy burning fiercely throughout the entire long, long trek back to civilization.

Onstage, the herald began a booming speech, but he was barely paying attention.

“Do you know what I loved the most?” he said suddenly.

Ignoring the shushing around her, Saffron replied, “What do you mean?”

He leaned forwards and beckoned for her to do the same. “Coming home again. The first thing that greeted me was the smell of your mother’s cooking.”

Saffron’s face was blank. Of course, fool that he was, he’d just blurted it out like that.

“Sorry. I’ll explain it to you when we get back,” he whispered.

In the end, after the shushing died down, Coriander let the herald’s speech talk to him. Saffron shrugged and turned to watch. He noticed she was blushing. Perhaps she had only now figured out what he meant.

As the lights dimmed and the stage curtains drew apart, and amid the hushing voices and the eager silence, they patted each other’s hooves. Then they sat back, and, for a brief moment, he felt both their hearts warming them from the inside out.