Rumor of a Southerner on the farm had very quickly turned into fact. When the colt had played with the other foals, too young to even know prejudice, Crescent wasn’t the only mare to keep a close eye on him. The coat was too white to be Northern, and he didn’t wear his ego on his sleeve like a Vanhooven. Crescent, of course, read the colt’s character the instant she saw him cower behind his father. She found his shyness endearing, and after she showered him with sweets and juice, the colt warmed up to her. The young colt reminded her of Decid Zest, the way he was always asking questions, only getting a respite when he went off to play with the other colts. Cunts she thought when the other mothers began to sneer at the colt. ‘That hole-dweller’, ‘the dog-fucker’, and other slurs. She hated the Pears, who she regarded as nothing more than second-rate at best, clinging to their self-prescribed prestige through a suspected shared lineage with The Orchard. Although it was Crescent that Big Mac fell in love with, not any of them; much to her glee, and to their conniptions. While she didn’t have many, the few enemies she did have she almost treasured. It was an odd habit she couldn’t just willingly abandon, the passive aggressive exchanges she had brought a little more spruce to her day to day.

A few hours of playing and then the colt’s movements became sluggish; yawns frequently coming from his mouth. “C’mon little one,” she said, “I’ll find ya someplace to lay your head down some.” She found that her voice went softer around the colt. Not a conscious decision, but something she found she was doing regardless. “They say this place has been ‘round for a thousand years you know. The world was a different place back then when supposedly North and South took turns being hot and cold every day. My granny told me that her granny’s granny once said that the marble ruins at the mountain’s base were apparently a castle once. When I was a little filly, I always fantasised about bein’ a princess in that castle that once was.“ Talking kept the colt quiet and smiling. She liked his smile. “I was told a lot of stories like this when I was your age too. Any stories from your part of the world, sugarcube?”

Steorra scrunched his face to one side, clear the cogs in his head spun. “Only those the old Crone told me and the others,” he said, “but I think they were supposed to scare us.”

“Were you scared?” she asked playfully, brow arched and smiling.

“No!” Steorre said, pouting. She recognised that expression. Almost defiant to himself, like a foal who insists they’re ‘not tired’ with bags beneath their eyes. “I don’t get scared by stories.”

“Alright, alright, I believe ya,” she replied, smiling. “Ah’m still curious though. Just what did she tell ya?”

“Umm,” he seemed to ponder, glancing to the floor with pursed lips. “Once she said that if you wander too far East, that you’d get taken by the Shapeshifter Queen.”

“Shapeshifter Queen?”

“Yeah! Her eyes are green and she doesn’t have a coat; she’s made of black clay and can mold herself into looking like anypony!” he gushed, stuttering over himself in his excitement. Can’t say he doesn’t have enthusiasm.

“Sounds magical. What’s so scary about that?” she smirked, turning a corridor.

“She has the teeth of hounds, long and sharp; then suck the life out of little foals!” his voice went low, but Crescent still heard the excitement in his voice. Colt’s a natural born storyteller. “Oh, and father told me about birds that walk on fours; like us!”

Crescent stopped before a door; no light came from it. “Many creatures in the South arn’t there? Up here we’re all jus’ ponies. No wings or magic,” she said, hoof pressing on the door.

“Maybe you could come visit one day to see them? We have plenty of room,” the colt looked up at her beside the door with a large smile and equally as large eyes. Adorable.

“Maybe I might. Maybe I might,” she nodded slowly, hopefully, her half-hearted agreement would keep the colt jovial. “But we need to lay your head down and get you some shut eye.”

The door popped open with a firm push, and looking in was like looking into a room of silhouettes. The room was sparsely decorated, with only the necessities of a bedroom. Crescent's gaze went to the bed, and she saw the greenish hue of limes sewn into a lighter green quilt. She looked down and saw Steorra’s eyes wandering, piercing the dark with seemingly no effort.Figures, she thought, colt’s probably used to the dark.

“Am I sleeping here?” Steorra asked.

“Sure are,” she confirmed with a small grin, leading him inside. “If you’re wonderin’ why it’s dark, there ain’t many places where somepony can just lay there head down without Tia shinin’ in your eye. So while we have our windows, we prefer ‘em closed.”

The colt didn’t seem to be listening to her, his eyes looking curiously around the sparse room. She smiled, even when in the room equivalent of a small box, his curiosity was still blistering. “You’ll probably wanna sleep on the sheets, rather than under them, right?”

Steorra looked at her with pursed lips, joining her by the bed. “Is it always this hot?”

“Afraid so, lil’ guy,” she gave him a comforting half smile. “But you’re a big colt. I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

Crescent Sickle watched the colt climb onto the bed, immediately falling onto his side and grinding his head into the pillow. She smirked. “Alright, sugarcube. You get some rest now, you got a big da-”

“Wait,” Steorra interrupted, halting Crescent in her steps. “Can you stay. U-until I fall asleep?”

Crescent turned to face the colt, who propped himself up on the bed. Crescent’s shadow covered him.“You’re not scared, are you?” she asked with furrowed brows and a smile.

“N-no, I’m just, uh…” Steorra stuttered, flustered.

“It’s okay, I was jus’ playin’ lil guy,” she giggled, re-entering the room. “I understand. Far away from home, being in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers. Sometimes that can be scarier than any of your Southern monsters.”

Crescent joined the colt, sitting by the side of his bed, her most comforting smile on her face. The colt pressed his head into the pillow and looked at the mare before he clamped his eyes shut. Crescent sat unmoving beside the best, watching him quaintly as he lay there. In After a few minutes, however, the colt cracked open his eyes, huffing.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, looking at the colt with concern.

“No,” he replied, his voice quiet. He shifted in his spot slightly, snuggling closer to the edge of the bed.“C-could… could you tell me a story? Father sometimes tells me stories.”

She giggled, instinctively bringing one of her hooves up to the bed, a comforting gesture. “Sure thing, sugarcube,” she cooed, shuffling closer so that her chest pressed into the side rail of the bed. “I do hafta be truthful. Ah’ve never been much good at tellin’ stories.”

“Y-you don’t have to tell stories,” he started, looking up at her with those large eyes of his. “Just talk.”

She smiled. “Alright. About what?”

“I don’t know,” he started, his lips pursing and eyes wandering. “I wanna hear more about the North. Like those ruins.”

“Really? You wanna hear me talk about some old ruins?”

“I like knowing stuff,” he murmured.

“Ain’t that right?” she smirked, and she found herself admiring the colt’s curious mind. “I s’pose I know a few things that grannie told me as a filly.”

“I’d like that,” he replied grinning, her words seem to bring the colt back to life, his ear flickered at her eager to listen.

Crescent liked his smile. “Ya know those ruins were once a castle. But granny told me that the castle belonged to a princess, but not just any princess, the princess.”

“The Princess?” Steorra asked, brows furrowed, confused.

“The one they talk about in the stories. But granny told me she wasn’t just in stories, that she was real, and she lived right on that mountainside once upon a time,” she explained, trying to imbue her voice with gusto.

“I’ve never heard of a princess before,” Steorra said.

“You’ve never heard of The Princess? Not even about her dragon?”

“No,” he replied, although he inched closer to her, his smile subtle but there.

“Well, The Princess was said to be very powerful. She ruled the whole world, and with her, she had a gigantic dragon. His wings were so big, they covered entire cities in their shadow. She had wings too, and flew in the sky with him,” Crescent jawed, emphasising certain words to make the colt more impressed.

“Was she a bird?”

“No,” she giggled, “she was a pony, like you or me, but she had wings.”

“I’ve never seen a pony with wings before,” he commented.

“Nopony has,” she said.

“She sounds amazing,” he said, awe visible in his features.

“She was,” she concurred, her features softening. “She was said to be kind, generous, and displayed the virtues of The Five strongly. She was beautiful, strong, and all who served her loved her.”

“Where is she now?”

“Nopony knows,” she stated simply. “They say that after her castle fell from the mountain, she simply vanished, never to be seen again. Depending on who's tellin’ the story, they say she headed North with her dragon, others tell it that she went West to where the world ends.”

“Why did she leave?” he asked, and Crescent saw his brows knit.

“To save the world,” she replied, giving him a half smile. “The world was ruined with storms they say. Sand scattered everywhere by mighty winds, snow falling where there was no cold. Soon there were no more dragons, unicorns and pegasi disappeared, and all that was special and magical faded from the world.”

“How long has she been gone?” he asked, and to Crescent, it looked as though the entirety of his hope hinged on her answer.

“Not long,” she lied, her hoof stroking his cheek. “The stories of good ponies can only have happy endings, sugarcube.”

“That’s good,” Steorra said, the smile returning to his face. “I hope I can see her some day.”

“I’m sure you will, sugarcube,” she said softly, her hoof brushing behind his mane. “I’m sure you will.”

Steorra didn’t say anything else, his hooves pulling into himself as he closed his eyes. Crescent watched him sleep, a little bundle of innocence. She kept a hoof on him, feeling the warm heat of the cold-born colt. She knew she should’ve pulled back, but she couldn’t pull away. It was a lamentable longing she felt in her chest, the hollowness was unfillable, she knew that. After several moments, when the colt’s chest rose and fell calmly; obviously in the throes of sleep, she reluctantly tore her hoof away from him.

She walked to the door with heavy hooves, her lips pursed in a frown and sniffling. “Goodnight,” she whispered, glancing to the colt and then the lime embroidered quilt. She would miss them both.

Author's Note

A smaller aside chapter, mainly for lore purposes. Originally going to just be the next day. I originally planned for Crescent Sickle to be Big Macintosh's daughter. It has no relevancy overall to the story, but I just wanted so share a few miscellaneous details like this. If you have any questions about anything ask below. I apologize for lack of editing this chapter. It was short, and not too essential to the story. Next chapter coming soon.