Brushstrokes

by Camolot the Creator

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Romance, Big Macintosh, Slice of Life, Human
Length: 5582

Emily enjoys Mac's presence, to be sure, but he's begun to avoid her recently. Strange.

Emily enjoys many things: the feel of a fresh canvas, applying paints to a surface, taking in a wonderful afternoon, but nothing compares to her daily ritual of enjoying the sunset with Big Mac. But he's been acting a little cagey recently, skipping their quiet and contemplative sessions, and she can't help but wonder why...

Published 2017-06-08 03:40:07 UTC
Last updated 2017-06-08 03:40:07 UTC

Painted Light

Emily could barely restrain her steps as she made her way towards the hilltop, fighting down eagerness and purposefully slowing her paces. She had come straight from the orchards, where she had been working today with Applejack, and had stopped only to retrieve her artistic supplies from her small workshop shed. Part of this eagerness was her desire to paint another beautiful sunset. Celestia made each one individual, memorable, and she had given herself to to the task of recording these works of art, temporary as mandalas and just as meaningful. However, another part simply wanted to see... him.

And if that latter part was the larger of the two... well, not like anyone would really know, or care. There wasn't any harm in wanting to see a friend.

She rounded the last corner, trees making way for a bend of the path and a single, solitary hilltop, graced with a single large oak, came into view... and she stopped. The hilltop was empty, devoid of anything but that one oak, and the waving grass beneath its branches. A wave of something, perhaps disappointment, welled up, but she suppressed it with a sigh. After a moment, she made her way towards the crest of land, steps far less energetic than they had been.

This had not been the first time that he had been absent but recently he had begun to make a habit of it, and the part of her that had been so eager to see him before was worried. Was he... avoiding her? She hadn't seen him all day, nor the day before- in fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen him all week.

She shook her head, took a quick breath in and out.

Come on, Em: paintings to paint. He's probably just... busy.

She climbed the short hill, leaning against the tree at the top of the rise, taking in the landscape. Green grass stretched for miles and miles of fields, the Everfree forest rustling softly to itself and framing the expanse. Mountains in the distance, capped with glittering white, rose purple and blue against a mosaic of bright orange, fiery red and soft pink as Celestia's flame slowly dipped below the horizon. Gradually, the dome above her faded to a deep blue behind her, the first heralds of night still streaked with shafts of gold and the clouds shining with the last light of day. The sight had always taken her breath away, did so even now. Earth's sunrises were beautiful, to be sure, but the sunset and sunrise here, the night and day, were beautiful works of art and passion that she strove to even copy. Celestia loved her day, Luna loved her night, and they painted their skies with such talent and beauty that sometimes, one could do naught but stare in awe at the majesty of it all. It was, in a word, magical.

Emily set up her wooden easel, the legs folding outwards and the wood scraping softly against itself, hissing against the grass. Slowly, methodically, she gathered the supplies and set them in their intended places: paint, of all pigments, based on the rainbow liquids produced in Cloudsdale. A small folding stool, all carved wood and brass fittings. A canvas, crafted lovingly from cloth and just the right texture. Brushes, made with pony hair.

One of the last, a gracefully smooth affair of carved wood, she rolled between her fingers in thought. Here, they made the brushes for artistry with their own hooves and hair, putting a piece of themselves into every tool. This one contained the hair of a mare named Golden Swirl, taken from her tail. Such dedication to produce the finest object possible, even if it was something so small and simple; she liked Golden, for her excitable nature and honest interest in Emily's latest painting. She lifted her eyes from the brush, continuing to roll it between her digits absently. So much of this world was a work of art, ponies putting their all into the things that they created. The sunset, the stars, their buildings and their furniture, even pencils and brushes.

The brush tapped slightly as it was placed into a receptacle made especially for it, and Emily drew a pencil, sharpened to a fine point, from the bag that hung at her side. The stool creaked gently as she lowered herself on it, and she lifted her pencil to the canvas... then lowered it.

She tried again: the point approached the textured surface of cloth, hovering just above the surface for a few precious moments, then lowered again. She spared a glance at the base of the tree, at a small hollow where the grass was, even now, obviously compressed. The gaze was almost wistful.

She was worried, for the most part. Emily thought that they had been getting along well, and she enjoyed the silent, calming presence of Big Mac whenever she had come here to begin a new painting. She had come to find it comforting, and he had occasionally offered a compliment or comment on her artwork, even the occasional bit of musing that surprised her with its depth. Mac was deeper than most ponies suspected, and knowing that he almost casually opened a side of him most never saw to her made her heart swell. Now, however, she had not seen him since days before, and he almost seemed to be purposefully avoiding her presence. Perhaps, tomorrow, she would ask Applejack if she knew what was happening: in Emily's experience, the orange mare had always understood her brother far more than anybody else- Pony, she reminded herself, anypony else, and might have answers for his strange behavior.

Vague and idle thoughts of him flickered across her mind, and she brought the pencil to the canvas once again: this time, it did not lower.

"Applejack..."

"Yeah, sugarcube?"

They were in the eastern orchards today, harvesting the most recent crop of apples. Harvesting worked on a rotating cycle, as new apples came in and the ripe ones were carted away for sale. Apple Orchards was built on, and the trees grew in, magical soil, accelerating and improving the growing process. It was also one of the oldest of its kind in Equestria, allowing the magic inherent in the trees and soil to mature and seep into the fruit itself, making for better all-around crop. Harvest for the east trees had to be done today, and so the two worked side by side to get the last few trees harvested before the next section of trees were fully ready.

Emily licked her lips as she placed empty baskets around the periphery of the trunk of a full tree, searching for a way to phrase her question. Asking directly about her brother would be... suspicious, and a little creepy, maybe. Neither of them really spoke about the evenings they spent sitting on that hilltop, appreciating the ambiance together- it was their private, personal thing. She would have to handle this carefully.

"So, how- I mean, what is Mac up to these days? I haven't seen much of him recently. And he's been missing meals..." This was true enough. Emily was beginning to suspect that Mac was eating separately from the rest of his family to- to what? Avoid her? Don't jump to conclusions, Emily.

Applejack glanced in her direction, and Emily suppressed a nervous fidget. A moment passed, and Applejack seemed to shrug mentally.

"Ah don't rightly know, Ems. Ah ain't seen hide nor hair of him for... well, days, Ah reckon. Ah think he's makin' repairs on the barn... hold that steady, will ya?"

The barn, she thought. Well, it's something to go off of.

Emily stood outside the door to the barn, listening to the soft hammering that came from within, dulled by the thick wood the aperture was constructed of. She was currently giving the door handle an intent stare, as if that would cause the door to open on its own. Gradually, hesitantly, she raised a hand up to the black iron of the handle, then dropped it back to her side, fists clenching and unclenching.

The worst part, by far, was the simply fact that she had no idea why she felt so anxious. It was just Mac on the other side of the door- not a monster, not an angry Celestia, just kind, caring, understanding Mac. However, with her borderline unwillingness to just open up the barn and step through, an outside observer might think that she was about to step into a boxing ring with a manticore. In reality, she probably would have preferred the manticore.

She sighed, turning and leaning her back against the warm, solid wood, rubbing her eyebrows as she did. What was wrong with her? She had spent months with Mac and never felt like this before. Their friendship was...

Their friendship was... something warm, something comforting. He was there for her, she had known that, and she had made it abundantly clear that she would be there for him, should he need her. It was now, thinking back on days past, that she realized what a hole Mac's sudden skittishness had made in her life, her daily routine. She missed-

I miss when I didn't act like such a teenage schoolgirl.

She scoffed: was she really mourning the loss of contact with someb-pony that was perhaps thirty feet away? She turned, determined, and grasped the door handle. Yes, she would swing the door wide open, she would ask him what his problem was. She would- she would...

It wasn't happening. She couldn't open the door, and every time she went to release the little latch, designed to be hoof friendly, which made sense, she stopped in her tracks. And now, she looked like an absolute buffoon, standing here with her hand on the handle and completely frozen. It was like elementary school all over again, and she was standing in the hall of the school and hesitating in front of the door to the classroom, because interrupting in the middle of a lesson drew all eyes to you and embarrassment was worse than death when you were that young. She wasn't in school, the teacher wasn't going to yell at her, unless Cherilee made the trip all the way out here to perform that specific task, which she highly doubted was going to happen.

She stood there a moment more, her hand tightening on the piece of iron till her knuckles were white, before she finally gave up in disgust. With a huff and a practically murderous glare at the offending bit of metal in question, she turned and marched off towards the house.

Next time. She'd ask him what was going on next time.

Once again, she made her way towards an empty hill.

Five days, she thought drearily, five days since I've seen him.

Multiple times throughout her last session, she had made a joke, or asked an opinion on some portion of her basic sketch, then turned to find Mac's customary spot cold and empty. It had been a bit of a struggle to come out here again, and a wholly different struggle to wrestle down the small hope that he would be here, that he would act like nothing had happened.

Ah'm sorry, ah had the flu, he'd say, or perhaps he'd say that he was simply overworked, or that he had been thinking about other things. She had suppressed the hope in the end, but it had still hurt, just a little, to find him still absent.

She stood at the top for a moment as she always did, looking out over the landscape that stretched into the distance, before she set up her supplies, placing the canvas with its completed sketch on the wooden arms of the easel and settling into the familiar spot on the stool. With the outline of the painting finished, she could begin with the actual colors: with a careful hand, she selected a brush from the array at her disposal, gently dipping the fibrous tip into the pigment. With paint on her brush, and a layout of colors imprinted into her mind, she went to work.

In a moment of annoyance, piercing through the meditative fog she always experienced when she worked, she noted that she was running desperately low on some colors in paint, and one in particular. She nearly blushed when she considered why she needed so much of that particular color but, once again, she was not a giggling schoolgirl. She would simply have to make a trip into Ponyville to retrieve some at her earliest convenience: hadn't Applejack said she had wanted to take the apples into town tomorrow? Ponyville market was open at the end of the week, and the end of the week it was.

She nodded to herself once, brush leaving a gently waving line of red behind on the cloth surface. She would volunteer to assist Applejack with transporting her produce into town, then purchase the needed supplies. It would be good to see Golden Swirl again.

"Alright, I reckon that's the last of 'em."

Emily dropped the final basket of apples on the stand. One of the advantages of being human was that her limbs and digits were more exact and dexterous than a pony could achieve without a horn, and Applejack greatly disliked asking for help from her unicorn librarian friend- whose name escaped her, at the moment- so Emily was often brought along on market day. Applejack had told her, quite emphatically, that both the set up and the take down of the stall was much faster when Emily was there, as compared to when she had been absent. In fact, before she had found steady work at the Apple's farm, Em had worked many odd jobs that had been relatively easy for her to perform with digits, but would have required a unicorn with fine telekinesis otherwise.

"Thanks, AJ. I'll be back at, say, noon for lunch?"

The orange pony nodded her affirmation.

"Stay out of trouble, ya hear? I don' wanna have ta spring ya, if'n I can help it."

Em grinned. "The Element of Honesty breaking someone out of prison? I would give good money to see that."

AJ simply chuckled and waved her off with one hoof, turning to help a brown earth pony that had approached the stand.

Job done, and this month's pay weighing down her pocket, Em walked into the hustle and bustle of ponyville in high spirits. The little ponies came up to her waist, for the most part, so even the market day crowd was easy for her to handle, though it looked to any outside observer that she was wading through a pool of pastel rainbow fur. She snorted slightly at the image: she would have to paint that at some point. Mac would surely get a kick out of-

Em hesitated in her stride for a moment, then continued down the street at her normal pace, though now in lower spirits than before.

It didn't take long, however, for somepony she knew to find her: she managed to make it as far as the edge of the market crowds before it happened. As luck would have it, the pony in question happened to be the lovable, local town eccentric- well, one of them, anyhow. Strange that this small a town had managed to collect so many of them.

"Hiya, Em!"

Emily spared a glance at the pony in question. The mint-colored unicorn beamed back at her, a bounce in her steps a clear indicator of her excitement at the prospect of simply being in Emily's presence. Lyra had explained to her, once, or twice, or near every time the two had met, that she was a part of a small cadre of scientists and historians that studied and generated theories about humans. Apparently, once, Em's species had been one of the ones native to this strange world, though they had disappeared mysteriously and left little evidence behind of their existence.

"Hey, doc."

The unicorn laughed, bumping her side against Em's leg.

"Aw, you know it's just Lyra."

"Whatever you say, doc."

In truth, Emily owed the little pony quite a bit, up to and including her life. If Lyra hadn't been there when she had first come to Equestria... Em shuddered at the thought. The unicorn had saved her with what she knew of human biology, and the two had quickly become fast friends afterward. Thus, their interactions: Emily called Lyra doc, an honorific of endearment and respect from her point of view, and Lyra jokingly insisted that she call her by her actual name. For the first time in days, Em felt herself relax, settling into the comfortable quirks and kinks of her oldest friendship. A more philosophical portion of her compared it to an old machine that one had owned for years: worn, broken in, and so familiar that even the slightest change in noise was glaringly obvious. Unfortunately, such familiarity ran both ways.

"So. What's wrong?"

Em started slightly: that had been what she was least expecting.

"Uh, wha?"

Lyra raised an eyebrow, sending a sideways glance in her direction.

"What, do you think I can't tell when there's something the matter? You must not think very highly of our friendship, Eeeem~"

Emily raised her hands in defeat at the jab, laughing slightly.

"Alright, guilty as charged, I guess."

"So, come on. Spill it."

"Ah..."

It wasn't so much that she was reluctant to discuss what was going on with Mac with Lyra- after all, she was the one that Lyra had confessed her feelings for Bon Bon to, and she had been the one to push the unicorn into taking her relationship with the earth pony in question to the next level. Some minor trouble with another friend was nothing in comparison. No, it was more that she was unsure how to phrase the issue, mostly due to the fact that she had no idea what she had done wrong, or even if she had done something wrong in the first place.

"Well... Mac's been acting sorta, well, weird recently."

"Oh? Weird how?"

"I think he's been... avoiding me?" Em's face creased with a frown, her eyebrows drawing together. "I think I might have upset or insulted him, somehow, but I don't know how or when it happened."

Lyra frowned slight at this, but it only took a moment for her cheery persona to re-assert itself. Emily was practically a beacon of happiness for her, and she had yet to fail when it came to cheering up her bipedal compadre. That was not a record that she was planning on breaking any time soon.

"Well, you know, his is Big Macintosh, the stallion who is so wrapped up in his responsibilities to his family that he comes in second only to Applejack or Twilight, in terms of single-minded obsession. He's probably doing something he feels is so important to the family that it kinda ate the rest of his concentration, and he just honestly didn't think it would come off that way or didn't consider that you might feel bad about it in the first place."

Em rubbed the back of her neck, frown stubbornly perched on her face.

"Well, maybe... but I don't- I mean, Applejack would have known if that was what was happening, yeah? And she had no idea what was going on."

"Why didn't you just ask him, then?"

She cringed slightly. "I made it as far as the barn door, then I just sort of stared at it, for a while. I couldn't make myself open it- what? What are you looking at me like that for?"

Lyra's expression had changed from all smiles and happiness to a deeply contemplative look, which broke into a smile again when the two made eye contact.

"Ah, don't worry about it. So, what brings you into town besides this-" Lyra struck a pose- "beautiful mare?"

Despite her newly-solemn mindset, this still managed to extract a laugh from Emily. She really could always count on the unicorn to raise her spirits, no matter the situation, and Lyra was only too happy to help. The previous conversation was all but forgotten in the face of something that was linked to artistry- exactly as planned, on Lyra's part.

"See, I was starting in on this new painting, and, unfortunately, I'm afraid that I need a number of fresh supplies. I need to restock my paints, some brushes are getting slightly ratty- you know how it is."

"At least you get to see Golden Swirl, right?"

Em nodded, visibly cheered by the prospect.

"Definitely. How is she, by the way?" She took on a more mischievous tone. "Still sputtering and stalling over that stallion of hers?"

"Oh, definitely." Lyra toyed with the idea of mentioning the similarities present, but dismissed it. "I just think she doesn't know how to go about approaching Silver, really: after all, she's met every single Pegasus she's ever seen here in Ponyville. How does one without wings approach one who possesses them?"

"That... is a very good point. And what if there's some Pegasus ritual of courtship, and she offends him-"

Lyra waved a solitary hoof. "Nah, this is Ponyville. Nobody really cares about that stuff here. In Cloudsdale or Canterlot, maybe, but not here. Mostly, recognition of such traditions would be a bonus in terms of a relationship, and Silver Streak isn't exactly a staunch traditionalist anyway." The mare tapped her chin with a hoof. "That said, it may be a good idea for her to study up on the customs anyhow."

Emily shrugged. "More knowledge never hurt anypony."

"True enough."

Emily felt better in the presence of her long-time friend, the worries of the past week sliding off like water. They spoke, wandering through the streets of town towards her destination: she had nowhere to be urgently, no responsibility weighing down on her. A breeze, crisp in the warmth of a summer day and smelling of fresh grass and flowers, wafted through the streets, and she took a moment to simply enjoy it. Spring had always been her favorite of the seasons- birth, renewal, the return of life to the world- and no spring she had ever seen compared to the pony world's.

Other ponies, out enjoying the soft spring day or going to the market, were out on the streets. Written Script, chewing the end of a quill, was working on a scroll, the papyrus laid out on the cafe table before him, with Golden Harvest in the chair opposite. Harvest waved a hoof, and Emily returned the gesture: she had met the couple on occasion, as well as Golden Harvest's younger sister. Time Turner, eyes focused forward and muttering to himself, made his way through the square, his customary bow-tie slightly singed. Socket Wrench was pulling a blockage out of a fountain's drainage pipe, whistling while he did.

Emily supposed that one of the side effects of living in a town as small as this for as long as she had was familiarity with the people- well, ponies- that lived there, and these ponies had been nothing but friendly and welcoming. She... enjoyed it, here: the ponies, the weather, the town, and the most beautiful of skies-

"Em. Em. Equestria to Em."

Emily's attention snapped back to the present, and Lyra, to realize that they were standing just outside the door to the very shop she had come to Ponyville to visit. She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs and stray thoughts.

"Sorry, Doc: got a little distracted, there."

"I can tell," Lyra smirked, "the faraway gaze, the small wistful smile-" the mare gestured dramatically, head to the side, one hoof raised to the heavens and the other over her heart. "Ah, but the beauty of the day takes one's breath away, steals it as if it were the finest treasure-"

"Oh, stop." Em went to bump the unicorn with her hip, but Lyra danced out of the way, laughing. "Drama queen."

Lyra pointed a hoof at her. "That's drama princess to you, and don't you forget it."

Em laughed, any trace of her mood gone. "Oh, go and write a research paper, Doc."

"I plan to! See you later, Em."

"See you, Doc." Emily turned back to the shop, smile still lingering on her face.

The business was a modest two-story affair, like most businesses in Ponyville. Emily had the feeling that ponies tended towards this particular arrangement with such regularity because it made them closer to the place they practiced their talent, the thing engraved into their very bodies and souls. She supposed it was sort-of wondrous, in a way: they knew what they were best at, loved it with all their hearts, and lived as close to it as they could manage. Another amazing, beautiful little thing about this world, she supposed.

The sign labeling the shop was emblazoned on the shop's plate glass windows, large and carefully crafted stylized letters in gold and silver, reading Coloured Swirl's. Colour Swirl had been the name of Golden Swirl's mother, the original owner and proprietor of the store, who had gone on with her husband to the art galleries and artistry of Canterlot. Emily had never understood why the two of them had left Ponyville- sure, other places were fine enough to visit, but none were like her little town.

Still, Golden Swirl had been all but ecstatic to take over the family business, and had gone into it with such determination and aplomb that the shop was now on a list of must see locations for visiting artists, and boasted some of the highest quality materials and supplies in Equestria. Emily herself had only stumbled upon the shop- and the excitable owner- by complete accident, something that she had not regretted to this day. With a final breath of the warm air, and a glance around at a square chock full of ponies enjoying the sun, she pushed the door open and stepped into the cooler shade of the shop.

She caught sight of the inside of the store for a moment, as the door closed and the small bell attached to it rang, her sight was blocked.

"EMILYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

The full force of the ball of fur rocketing into her almost sent her off balance, but she recovered quite gracefully at the last second, hugging the earth pony before letting her drop back to the floor. Back on her hooves, the orange and gold mare practically danced on the hardwood floor, muzzle split with a smile and making clicking sounds with every step.

"I'm so happy to see you! I missed you a ton!"

"You saw me last week, Gold."

She gave Em an appraising look, her excited dancing momentarily paused.

"A week is a long time, Emily. A lot of paintings can be made in one week." Golden cocked her head to the right, mane swirling with the movement and smile reappearing as if it had never been gone. "Speaking of paintings, how is your latest project? Do you have sketches? Can I see them?"

Emily held up her hands in a placating motion, saying "sorry, Gold: I did this one completely stream of consciousness. No small sketches."

Golden's face fell for a moment, then immediately perked back up. "Well, that just means I'll be surprised by the finished product."

She blushed slightly. "Ah, um-"

The earth pony ignored her friend's expression, completely oblivious in the face of art.

"You didn't just come here to see me, right? You probably need something, which is good, because I probably have it."

Emily collected herself. "Um, yeah. I need a can of... red, as well as a couple things, but mainly... this guy isn't looking too good." She held out a brush that she had brought with her.

The ornately carved thing was the first thing she had seen in the shop, and she had loved it. Little diamond patterns, carved into the wood itself using various machines, made a grip and ran the length of the stem. The metal was covered in a graceful vine design, which stretched and looped and arced across the thin band of brass, leading into the tapering point of the brush itself. Golden had presented it to her as a gift, and she had taken care of it the best she could.

Now, the brass was worn shiny from use, the slightest imprint from her fingers visible along the shaft, and the brush simply looking... worn.

"I was hoping you could do something for it? At least make it look a little better? I don't exactly want to get rid of it, but I would love to keep it on a shelf-"

Golden's eyes widened. "Oh, no! This..." she took the brush from Emily almost reverently, taking a few clicking hoofsteps away and using her mouth to gently place the implement on the front counter. "This is an implement of art, and its purpose is to be used." She turned her head back to where Emily stood, smile softer than it had been a moment before. "That way, you remember me, remember I'm there in spirit, helping you form every brush stroke, every splash of color. Art comes from emotion, and there are few stronger than friendship."

Emily blinked, surprised, then smiled, a small and truly warm thing. "Thanks, Gold." She would have to just add the earth pony to the growing list of ponies with surprising depths.

Golden turned back to her fully. "You can come back for it in a day or so- I'll have it repaired by then. For now, though, you mentioned that you needed supplies?"

Her pocket considerably lighter, and her postman's- poststallion's?- bag at her side weighted down with the load of fresh art supplies she had purchased, Emily hummed a light tune as she made her way down one of the thoroughfares of Ponyville. Ponies trotted this way and that among the brightly colored buildings, greeting each-other amicably and making small conversation. The occasional laugh, the delighted scream of a colt or filly at play, drifted over the top of the crowd as they made their way out of the market and towards the various eateries dotted throughout the town.

Idly, Em wondered where AJ might choose to take lunch: typically, the pony chose Sugarcube Corner, but Emily was rather hoping that she might choose to eat somewhere else today. It was not that she disliked the place, or the hyperactive pink pony that seemed to almost always be there, but said pony was like Gold after eating five tons of straight sugar. While it was fun to get pulled into whatever crazy activity the aggressively pink pony was involved in at the time, it did not exactly contribute to the act of actually eating. There was also the point that every time she had been to the place, a completely unreasonable amount of sweets were forced on her. Emily liked cupcakes and such just fine, but there was such a thing as 'too much good stuff', no matter what the half-remembered advertisement said.

As she approached the apple stand, AJ was just finishing up with a lilac-coated unicorn with a cutie mark of two swirling dolphins. A few bits, surrounded in an aura of purple, floated up onto the wooden stand, while the unicorn tucked several apples into the saddlebag at her side. After exchanging a quick series of pleasantries with Applejack, the unicorn trotted off into the maze of buildings that made up the town. AJ let a breath out, adjusting her hat, and, noticing Emily out of the corner of her eye, waved her over.

Emily really hoped that they were going somewhere, anywhere, other than Sugarcube corner. Surreptitiously, she crossed her fingers behind her back, the childish motion giving her some minimal comfort.

"So, how was business?"

Applejack let out a slow breath, adjusting her ever-present hat with a hoof, the corners of her mouth stretching into a pleased expression.

"Ah reckon that we'll be headin' back not too long after lunch, a'this rate." She waved hoof towards the depleted baskets of apples.

"A good day, then?" AJ nodded enthusiastically.

"A great day, Ah think." The orange mare tapped her chin contemplatively. "Say, Ah feel a might peckish. You wanna get somethin' ta eat?"

Em took a brief breath. The moment of truth. Time to see if she was going to actually eat lunch, or be assaulted by the pink.

"Did you have a place in mind?" The mare grinned.

"Actually, ah do. There's a new place over on market way, some sorta breakfast-lunch joint-" Em eagerly jumped on the offer.

"A new place? Well, let's go!" She spun, one hand on her hip and the other pointed forward in as dramatic a pose as she could manage, eliciting a chuckle from the mare.

"Slow down there, sugarcube. It ain't a race."

Author's Note

The theme of this story, the one that plays in my head on that grassy hilltop, is Morning Light.

Okay, you know what?
I was originally going to make this a one-shot.
Then I realized how long it was going to be, and how much I was delaying. So, here you go. Enjoy.