Golden early morning sun cast a layer of warmth onto a small farm that was nestled in a peaceful gully under the towering Western Mountains. It was said that the mountains were too high for a pegasus to fly over and it was believable, they easily rivaled the mountains in Yak Yakistan and even the small ones were still snow capped this time of year. The cool dew covered morning gave the air a crisp taste and a sweet smell. Looking around you wouldn’t think that ponies lived in this area unless you stumbled upon one of their homes or towns, much like the everfree this frontier land was not tamed by ponies, the inhabitants lived with the land rather than subjugating it and those that had lived there for a long time could feel the coming spring rains in their bones. Today however the cloud cover was sparse as the birds brought never before heard melodies into the world to soon be forgotten by those who were already waking to begin their chores.
A cozy cottage with a thatch roof and stone walls made of a light yellow clay sat at the far end of the farm opposite a small brown barn and large fields of wheat and barley. Raspberry bushes, assorted wildflowers and weeds crowded the outside walls of the delightful home, hugging the underside of the windows where they had been trimmed down to not block the view from the rooms. It had a slightly crooked brick chimney poking out of the roof and a tiny bird feeder hung off the edge of the roof on the left front corner, it swayed softly in the barely existent breeze; a small black and yellow finch alighting on it and tucking into it’s breakfast. A little fenced area on the side of the house covered by a wooden awning had some chickens roaming around and picking little bugs off of plants, a bucket sat under a water spout attached to the wall in the corner of the little enclosure and caught little drips of water from it. The soft sounds of the water droplets accompanied each ripple drawing the attention of one of the chickens who shoved her beak into the pail to get a drink, disrupting the quiet of the morning.
Inside the smell of cinnamon and the sizzle of a griddle accompanied the warm light, after a long winter it finally felt like spring, a light pastel green unicorn mare in her late middle age was cooking what we humans would call french toast on a wood burning stove, a small metal chimney snaked its way up and out of the roof from behind the white stove. Her horn was alight and busy squeezing oranges into juice while she hummed softly and pushed the toast around in the pan with the spatula in her mouth. She had to keep blowing up around the spatula to keep her wheat gold hair from getting in her eyes. The smell and humming made their way past the living room and down the hall, bouncing off the hardwood floor and walls made of the dark oak. The sound made it to the ear of the small human boy first and he rolled over, yawned and stretched. He tilted his head back and took a breath through his nose, the corners of his closed eyes and his lips curling into a smile. His eyes fluttering open he gazed around the room with big brown eyes, after living here for three years he still hadn’t gotten use to it. Every morning felt like a dream waking up in a house that he could only describe as what he imagined Bag End must have been like and while he often thought of his home and worried about his parents and little sister he had come to terms with being here and tried his best to build a new life. He slipped out from underneath the big comforter and made his bed the way his parents had taught him before making his way to the washroom. The room consisted of a wooden tub, a small polished rock sink that sat on a wooden counter with a mirror behind it and door that led into the little toilet. While they had plumbing it was mostly drains the actual spickets being outside and the one in the kitchen. He grabbed the little bucket that his mom always filled up for him in the mornings and dumped most of it into the sink to wash his face with. He scrubbed with a little bar of homemade soap and a cloth before rinsing his face with the remained of what was in the bucket. He wiped his face off and looked in the mirror happily before pulling the plug out of the sink and running off to the kitchen calling ahead of himself to announce his presence, “Good morning mom!”
She looked over her shoulder smiling and tried to talk around the spatula as he rushed past her and grabbed his boots up off the ground next to the door, “Good morning dear, Hurry up food is almost ready.”
Tugging his shoes on Chris flung the door open and ran out to the little barn, the high grass kissing his legs with morning dew. He came to the barn and gripped the large door and tugged it to the side as he walked backwards dragging it open. He walked inside and looked over to animal pens; a single cow looked back at him from the second of five pens the others being empty, her name was Clarice. It mooed loudly and he smiled as he ran over to the opposite wall and tugged open a bag of oats and dried berries that laid next to a big stack of hay bales and some large farming tools such as pitchforks and shovels. Digging around in the bag he found the large scoop and used it to gather the food for her, it took three trips of him running across the barn to fill her trough thoroughly.
She munched happily while Chris picked up a wooden pail and opened the gate to her pen. A small stool sat in the pen and he dragged it up next to Clarice and sat down on it, placing the pail under her udder. He patted her side and rubbed from side to side for a moment so she knew he was there before he began milking her. Up down up down up down, an occasional moo from Clarice broke the musty silence in the small stable. He finished up while she was nearing completing her food and put everything away. He began to slowly make his way back to the house carrying the pail off to the side with both hands while leaning the opposite direction to offset its weight. He kicked the front door gently twice with his foot and it swung up, the knob golden with his mom’s magic. He waddled over and heaved the pail up onto the counter next to her before turning and heading back outside to check the chicken pen for eggs. Chris walked around the house on a little path of stones through some bushes; raspberry and rose bushes to get to the pen. Lifting the little latch and pulling the little door open wide enough only for him to slip through before shutting it behind himself. Turning to face the chickens he stepped around them on his way to the little coup on the far side of the fence. They squawked as he approached and flapped their wings to make little hops away from him. The coup was only about half as tall as him and spanned the whole 6 feet of this side of the pen, it’s roof lifted on hinges like a lid so you could check for eggs. Pulling it up and peering inside he saw only three eggs, two in one nest and the last in another. Standing on the tips of his toes he reached in and grabbed them gingerly. He used the bottom of his shirt to cradle them as he shut the lid and made his way back out of the pen.
Once back inside he set them on the counter next to the milk as his mom placed their meals at the table. They ate in a quiet companionable silence, his serogate mother smiling while watching him eat. Soon it was time for school, she put his messenger bag over his head using her mouth and nuzzled him with affection that rivaled even the most loving blood relatives in Equestria. He wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her cheek before running out that door, waving back to her as he ran backward through the yard he called to his mom, “I’ll see you after school, I love you!”
She smiled and shut the door. The walk to school was pleasant. As he strolled down the dirt road to the town he looked at the vibrant meadows and small glens of evergreens. Little animals scampered about in the underbrush and up trees, scattering the birds nestled in their branches. He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out his mouth, the crisp air smelled of pine and lavender, fresh rain and morning dew. The sun warmed his face and arms despite the cool breeze and he continued to follow the road as the town came in to view around a bend, down a small hill and past a river sat the little town, with its quaint homes and shops. Happy ponies roamed the village giving good mornings and sharing news while they went about their schedules and in the middle of all of it sat the schoolhouse, a single story gazebo seemingly open to the elements that was magically kept dry and at a comfortable temperature by the teacher. A middle aged stallion with a grey white coat and a dark brown almost black mane and goatee. He wore small framed glasses and a scarf on mornings like this. Originally he came to the town to study a new species of bees but after his work was done he couldn’t bring himself to leave the town, he sent for his things and spent his savings building a quaint little cottage, shortly after he started the first formal school the town had seen. Eventually marrying a young mare and starting a family. He was a kind and patient teacher, often spending his nights and Holidays helping struggling students and giving private extracurricular lessons to eager hobbyists.
Chris walked up the steps to the gazebo and found his pillow, Mr. Quill’s wife Amethyst Dust made each student their own pillow after getting to know them. He always felt a warm happiness while sitting on it. It was a mellow lilac color and had birds and lizards stitched into it from all the times her daughter and Chris had gone searching for new critters in the woods. The pillows were organized in a semicircle around the small wooden desk Mr. Quill taught from. He plopped down and waited for everyone else to show up, he made a point of being first. For awhile he had a kind of competition going to get there before the professor, it lasted a few weeks before Chris’ mom and Amethyst staged an intervention after Chris and Quill spent two days at the school trying to see who would go first. It was all in good fun and a misplaced sense of duty and responsibility, but they had taken it too far apparently.
As his classmates streamed into the building with their teacher not too far behind and exchanged good mornings Chris looked over his homework from the night before with a sense of pride, ready to seize another day.
