Chapters The evening wind blew warm and gently through the forest. It was a lovely evening, with winter having been wrapped up shortly before. Spring was just around the corner, and everywhere the animals were waking up and staking out their claims.
Not all of those animals, though, were friendly.
A chicken’s head popped up out of the bushes, red eyes gleaming in the setting sunlight. It ducked back down, rustling the leaves slightly.
This was a good place, he decided, sneaking through the bushes, his long snake body propelling himself forward at a rapid speed. Here there was plenty of food, shelter, and…
He slowed to a stop. A pony? In his territory? His eyes narrowed. Not for long. He scuttled around through the bushes, barely making any noise. Sneaking up on ponies was too easy.
But something was different this time. The pony paused, and her ears pricked. She looked up, looking at nothing in particular. “I know you're there,” she said softly. “Hiding, in the bushes.”
The cockatrice blinked. How? No matter. The element of surprise may have been lost, but a cockatrice was more than just sneaky. He slithered out rapidly, scuttled in front of her, and with a threatening ‘ba-kaw!’, he glared. The magic flowed through his eyes, turning the hapless pony rapidly to stone.
At least, that was the plan. But nothing of the sort happened. She merely stared back, unblinking; remaining soft and squishy as ponies normally are.
The cockatrice was taken aback. He shook his head and stared even harder. Nopony could resist the stare of a cockatrice!
But the mare remained stubbornly unstoned. A little smile played at her lips, one side pulling up enough to reveal a tooth that was pointed, like the fangs he himself bore. A cold fear settled in his stomach. This was not a normal pony.
And then she stared back.
The transformation started at his tail. It thickened and hardened.
He was turning into stone!
He squawked and tried to run away, but found his feet had also started changing. The transformation slowly crawled up his legs. The cockatrice leaned back, horrified, unable to do anything else. What was this creature?
“This is my territory,” she hissed. She looked away, breaking the spell and letting the stone that had been encasing him shatter.
The cockatrice needed no second invitation. Squawking wildly, he fled, sending leaves and sticks flying in his hurry to escape.
The strange creature watched wordlessly as the cockatrice disappeared.
With a ‘thump’, the suitcase hit the ground, sending up a small cloud of dust. The pony who had tossed it there exhaled through his nose and ran a hoof through his mane as he glanced around. It was early morning, but it was still pleasantly busy, with ponies moving around about their business. This seemed like a nice enough place. Maybe here he’d find what he was looking for.
Doubtful , he mused as he passed the fare to the pony pulling the cart, but still possible.
Wings spread wide for balance, he lugged the heavy suitcase across the entryway into the Happy Hooves Hotel. He set it down and glanced around. He would probably describe this place as quaint. It was nothing fancy, but it was clean, decently-sized, and it smelled rather good in here. A small restaurant was on his far side, with rates scrawled neatly on a blackboard for guests and visitors. At first glance, the prices seemed fair, and he resolved to try the daisy sandwich tonight.
“Hi!” a cheerful voice broke in through his thoughts.
He glanced over to the front desk, where a very cheery-looking, slightly pudgy mare with a light blue coat sat. She waved to him excitedly, as if to ensure he knew who had spoken to him. He cracked a small smile and dragged his suitcase over.
She seemed to be wiggling in place with excitement, like a filly half her age. “Welcome to the Happy Hooves Hotel! Do you have a reservation?”
She was certainly living up to the first part of that name. “I don't,” he admitted, “but-”
“That’s alright!” she interrupted perkily. “Always plenty of room here at the Happy Hooves Hotel!” She pulled a clipboard up. “I’m Happy Trails. What’s your name?”
He cracked a smile. “Not Happy Hooves?”
“Green Hooves is my- partner. She’s in the back.” She looked up expectantly.
That little hesitation told him all he needed to know (if not more) about their ‘partnership’. But it was now his turn to hesitate. Giving his name tended to have a different response, and giving false names had always come back to bite him. “Wind Shear,” he finally answered.
To his immense relief, she didn’t seem to recognize him. “Alrighty,” she said, scribbling his name down. “Wind, Shear. And do you have any preferences to the room?”
He shrugged, relieved to have escaped notice. “I’d prefer someplace quiet,” he answered.
“We can do that,” she said, making a note. “So what brings you here, anyway?”
“Just… looking for someplace quiet,” he answered, making her giggle at his repetition. “Maybe a little inspiration.”
She chuckled again as she dug around under the desk for the paperwork. “‘Quiet’ is a pretty good descriptor of around here,” she said as she laid it on the desk. “It's a nice little town, and the forest nearby is nice and quiet as well.” A devious smile flitted across her face. “Just as long as you watch out for the gorgony.”
“The what, now?” Wind Shear asked as he flipped through the paperwork.
“The gorgony.” She chuckled and settled against the counter, eager to tell the local tale. “The gorgony is a wild mare who lives in the forest. She’s half pony, half cockatrice, and she has snakes for a mane and her eyes can turn anypony who looks at her to stone, just by looking at them! She lives on eating birds and mice whole, and swallows little foals who stay out too late, alive and whole, just like a snake.” She opened her mouth wide for emphasis, showing off her pearly white teeth. “And if she’s not hungry, she turns you to stone. The statues are out there in the forest, only a short walk away. Ponies. Turned. To stone.” She ‘ooh’ed and waved her hooves mysteriously.
Wind Shear cracked a smile against his will.
“Or they're from a cockatrice, or they're abandoned statues from some old castle buried somewhere in the forest that somepony tried to steal and abandoned when they got too heavy. Either way, it’s a fun story. But seriously. Forest is dangerous, stay away if you value your life and all that good stuff.” She finally selected a key from off the wall behind her. “Alright, your room is room 114, all the way down on the right.” She looked over her shoulder. “Greenie! We got a guest!”
A rust-colored earth pony, somewhat larger than the average mare and just a little bit taller than Wind Shear himself, poked her head out from the back room. Her reddish mane hung over one eye, and she gave a small (if shaky) smile.
That single eye widened and the smile faded as she recognized him. Her jaw dropped and the cleaning rag she had held in her mouth fell to the ground unnoticed.
Wind Shear smiled wryly and gave a little wave at her. So much for anonymity; it had been nice while it had lasted.
Moving much faster than seemed physically possible for a mare of her size, she darted over and quite literally dragged Happy Trails away off her stool and behind the door she had come from. Happy Trails didn't even have time to react beyond a few startled squeaks of surprise. He could hear her scattered, confused protests louder than the words Greenie was whispering, but he could tell the exact moment when she revealed his identity (mostly because the protests stopped).
And when Happy Trails poked her head back out, her grin was more than the tiniest bit predatory. “So,” she said as she sauntered back and clambered back onto her stool, only able to suppress about half the smile on her lips. “Greenie here says you're quite the author.”
“Does she, now?”
“Says you wrote the whole Wandering Wheel series.”
“Guilty as charged,” Wind Shear said with a half smile.
“And the Lonely Heart series.”
“Also guilty.”
“And the Open Door series.”
Wind Shear’s smile flickered. “I've been pretty guilty so far,” he said. “You sure you want a pony of such questionable character staying in your hotel?”
“Oh, sure!” Happy Trails said brightly. “We’ve always wanted a celebrity in our place!”
“Ha,” Wind Shear snorted wryly. “Pretty sorry celebrity. I haven't published a book in years .” He nodded to Green Hooves, asking her to corroborate this, and she nodded wryly. “Endorsements are about all I'm good for now.”
“It's something,” Happy Trails said hopefully. “Anyway, there's your key.” One side of her lips curled up. “Should we be expecting anypony else to send your way, oh master of romance?”
Wind Shear scoffed. “Love is for my characters. Or, it would be,” he added quietly.
Happy Trails didn't comment, but she did purse her lips knowingly as he left to follow Greenie to his room.
The room was nice and cozy, but Wind Shear didn't stay long. He had come for a productive purpose, so he set up the bare necessities, dropped off his bags, and left.
Before long, Wind Shear hovered in place, looking out at the forest. This looked like a nice enough place. Happy Trails had been right about at least one thing: the forest was nice and quiet.
Perfect for some writing.
He landed and scouted out a nearby rock to use as a desk. Finding one, he pulled his typewriter out of his saddlebag and set it up.
Now. To write.
It was a dark and stormy night, but not too stormy. Or dark. Mostly overcast. With enough light to see, but not clearly.
Wind Shear tore the paper out of his typewriter, crumpled it between his hooves, and tossed it aside irritably, and it bounced off a rock and into the river and floated away, like all the ones he'd thrown before.
And there had been quite a few. Three weeks. Three weeks he'd been here. And that? Forced and bland, just like everything else he'd written here. Nothing was inspiring him. Nothing at all.
The negative thought he had been keeping suppressed bubbled up again, and with a heavy sigh, he was finally forced to acknowledge it.
Maybe he was done.
Wind Shear leaned back and wiped the sweat off his brow. Who said pegasi couldn't grow things? His little garden was coming along nicely, and soon he’d be able to eat vegetables he'd grown himself! How was that for success?
He stood up and looked at his little cottage. It was here by the edge of the forest, and it was nice and peaceful, just like Happy Trails had said. She hadn’t even minded when he’d left their hotel; in fact, she’d helped him find this place, with the stipulation that he come back for lunch three times a week. Anything for a little business, she’d said. And even a has-been like him was still somewhat of a celebrity, Wind Shear had added silently. Thank goodness for royalties. He wouldn’t even have been able to get a job on the weather team.
Green Hooves had been pretty helpful, too. Though her advice had come in the form of low whispers that Wind Shear had had to strain to hear, she had explained very thoroughly the whole gardening process. And she would know—everything in that kitchen, she had grown herself. And it was so good he’d’ve come in for lunch even without that condition.
The sound of hooves on dirt approached, and he looked up. Happy Trails approached, that little smile still on her face. “Knock, knock!” she called. “How’s my best customer?”
Wind Shear chuckled. “Not bad,” he said. “Growing some good stuff. I might even not need to come to lunch anymore.”
Wind Shear had the impression that she had meant both of those statements quite literally. He shook his head to clear that particular thought, and looked over his small plot of land again.
Happy Trails looked with him. “Your parsnips are looking good,” she said encouragingly.
“Huh?”
“Your… your parsnips.” She pointed.
Wind Shear followed her hoof and squinted at the sprouting plants. A brief frown flitted across his face. “I thought those were carrots.”
Happy Trails shook her head and pointed to a different row. “No, those are carrots.”
Wind Shear frowned harder. “I thought those were radishes.”
Happy Trails shook her head again. “Those are radishes,” she said, pointing to a different section. “The short little guys. But just that third line right there. The rest are parsnips again.”
He'd thought they looked a bit different, but he'd thought it was from differences in the plants, not because they had come from entirely different species. Wind Shear pointed hopefully to a small patch to the right.
“Green onions.” She gave him a wry smile. “And you've been giving them too much water.”
Wind Shear exhaled. How had he botched all of that? Maybe he wasn't cut out for this whole farming gig after all.
Happy Trails winced. “I, uh, was going to invite you to come to a poetry reading tonight at the hotel—Greenie’s doing a poem she wrote—but if you want to, uh, stay home and rearrange, some of your signs instead, you know, that’s fine, too.”
Wind Shear sighed. “I guess I should.”
Wind Shear snorted derisively and kicked the door shut behind him. Perhaps it was because he was a writer, impelled to tell stories. Or maybe he just didn't get it. But either way, there was no story in this kind of poetry, and he didn't like it. Just… a mental dumping of whatever happened to be in the speaker’s brain at the time did not need to be celebrated. Or, more likely, whatever they'd been thinking of at two am when they should have been asleep. It’s like they were trying to make their poetry as dull, repetitive, or as abstract as possible. He'd probably get inordinately angry at rocks for the next couple days, just for existing. And tongue-clicking instead of stomping? Ugh. Talk about grating. At least Greenie’s poem had been decent. Four lines, and they had been mumbled, but decent. And they had actually rhymed.
He settled down in bed, irritably pulling the covers up to his chin. Waste of a night.
Or maybe he was just angry that inspiration (if it could be called that) had struck other ponies and not himself. Not that he cared, though. He was retired. No more writing for him.
As he tried to drift off to sleep, he happened to glance up at the window.
He was being watched!
He shot up and darted towards the window, but when he looked out, he didn’t see anything. He squinted, putting his hoof up to the glass, but could see nothing.
Chalking it up to a trick of the moonlight combined with being tired and annoyed, he flopped back down on the bed and didn't think any more about it.
Wind Shear grunted as he beat his wings furiously. All he'd wanted was one little cloud for his garden! But no, this forest storm had grown out of control far faster than he had expected, and now he was leaving without a cloud and missing a couple feathers to boot.
In his defense, he'd never actually been a weather pony; though now he was thinking he should have at least taken the training course. The wind and rain buffeted at him, and it was all he could do to stay flying straight.
Finally, his cottage came into view. He chuckled, relieved. Safety at last!
But his exultation came too early. A burst of wind to his left threw off his balance. He struggled to right himself, but it was too late. He looked up to see his white wooden fence, far too close for him to react.
His momentum carried him through the fence, splitting the boards with his face. He cried out in pain as he felt warm wetness that was definitely not rain flow down his forehead. Struggling to correct this, he was unable to stop himself. He hit the ground hard, rolled right through his parsnips, and slammed into the brick wall of his cottage.
Wind Shear slowly opened one eye. He attempted to open the other, but saw only darkness. He slowly pushed himself up, and then he realized that he was in his bed.
I must have gotten back inside somehow, he reasoned. He smiled at his own cleverness.
But as he pushed himself out of bed, he caught sight of his head in the mirror. Or, rather, he caught sight of the towel on his head. His head injury had been wrapped, and he reached up only to wince in pain and look down at his right foreleg. It, too, was wrapped.
He couldn't have done this on his own, let alone with a concussion. Somepony else had helped him.
He grinned. He had a pretty good idea of who it was.
Happy Trails brightened. “Wind Shear! Good to see you!” She cocked her head, and then her eyes widened. “What happened?” she asked, gesturing to his head.
“Nasty storm happened,” he answered. “I got caught in it, crash-landed in my garden. And somepony brought me back to my house.” He smiled, expecting her to take credit.
He was not expecting her to shake her head. “Whoa,” she said slowly. “That's crazy. I can’t believe that! You got lucky. Green Hooves and I were inside together all night, and it was sounding intense out there. Tore down a couple panels on our fence, even.”
Wind Shear was fairly certain they had spent the majority of that storm in each other’s forelegs. Hopefully the fore. He pursed his lips. “Honestly, I thought it was you,” he admitted.
Happy Trails shrugged. “Sorry.” She smirked. “Maybe it was the gorgony.” She waved a hoof mysteriously. “Oooohh…”
Wind Shear grinned. “Well, whoever it was, I'm pretty sure I owe them my life.”
“If you find out who it was, bring them over for lunch,” Happy Trails said with a smile. “I’d hate to lose our favorite local celebrity.”
Wind Shear sat on his porch and stared absently into the forest. If it wasn’t Happy Trails or Green Hooves, who was it?
But who?
And how could he thank them for saving his life?
He knew the importance of remaining anonymous, of course. Some of his more, ah, playful novels had been published under the pen name ‘Cinnamon Toast’ (which was good, because some of the reviews let him know in no uncertain terms that he did not understand female anatomy as well as he'd fancied he had). But surely it wasn’t wrong to want to thank this mysterious pony?
After much thinking, he decided that it would be best to leave a note. That way, he could express what he wanted to, and leave it up to his rescuer what steps to take afterwards.
After a little thought (and even more thought figuring out where exactly he had stashed his typewriter), he typed up a note on a half sheet of paper and nailed it onto a post.
To the one that saved my life: thank you. I owe you one; or, at the very least, lunch. Please come by. I’d like to thank you in pony.
The next day, the note was gone.
Wind Shear chewed absentmindedly on the weeds he'd just pulled. Not bad, but they could definitely have used some salt.
A sharp gasp made him look up. He saw a shadow flit behind the house. That had looked like a pony! “Hello?” he called, following. He made it behind his house, and saw the shadow disappear around the next corner. “Hey!” He spread his wings and flew after the mysterious pony.
He was faster; he cut in front of the stranger and landed in front of the open gate, barring the path. It was a pink pony wearing a black cloak, who quickly turned around to face the other direction, prepared to keep running.
“Stop!” Wind Shear called.
After the briefest of hesitations, the pony did. Now that he could get a good look at her, he could see it was a very ragged cloak, very tattered and threadbare. The pony wearing it looked like a mare, though, even under the hood.
“Was it you?” he asked.
She didn't answer. Still facing away, she pawed uncomfortably at the ground.
“Did you save my life?” Wind Shear tried again.
She still didn't answer.
Wind Shear lowered his voice. “It's alright. I just wanted to say ‘thank you’. Don't be afraid.”
“I'm not,” she whispered.
Her voice sounded lovely. “Then turn around.”
“Then you'll be afraid.”
Wind Shear snorted. “Of what? Of you?”
In answer, she turned around and flipped her hood down in one motion. “Of me,” she confirmed.
Wind Shear froze. His ears pinned and his eyes widened. He rocked backwards and stuttered, “G- g- g-!”
“Gorgony?” she supplied softly with a small, vicious smile.
For she could be nothing else. Her pupils were slitted, sharp fangs poked out from under her upper lip, little patches of green scales that looked almost like alopecia dotted her body, marring her otherwise pink coat, and her mane was composed of five writhing, brown, restless snakes.
“Y- yeah,” Wind Shear breathed. “That.”
There was a pause. They looked at each other.
“Little tip for you: Don't eat those weeds.” Then she turned and ran away, circling around his cottage and jumping over the fence, disappearing into the forest at a dead gallop.
Wind Shear could only stare at her departing form, his lips wordlessly working, unable to articulate the words on his mind. All legends had some basis in fact, sure, every writer admitted it; but this… this was insane .
Wind Shear ate wholeheartedly. The weeds from earlier had made him a bit sick, and, long story short, his stomach (and bowels) were completely empty and his house needed to be aired out.
Badly.
Happy Trails came over to refill his glass. “So, did you find them? Your knight in shining armor?”
Wind Shear chuckled. The best lie was the one with mostly truth in it. “I think so, but she ran away before we could really talk. I think she was just shy.”
Happy Trails chuckled. “Nothing wrong with a little shy pony,” she said. She looked back over her shoulder to where Green Hooves was working in the kitchen. She winked, trying to get her attention, but she was watching her muffins intently through the oven door.
Wind Shear looked down at a strange sensation of cold. “Happy?!”
“Oh!” For in her distraction, she had forgotten the glass, and water was now pooling on the table. “I'm so sorry!”
Wind Shear was a pegasus, and was certainly not opposed to a little water. But he was also not opposed to receiving free apology dessert, either.
Everypony knew that the earth ponies were the keepers of the food. One version of the Hearth’s Warming Eve play specifically mentioned that the earth ponies were put in charge of the food because they knew instinctively which plants were good to eat and which were not.
And Wind Shear was most definitely not an earth pony. He could have sworn that those mushrooms he had found looked identical to the ones in Greenie’s salad, but judging by how his world was spinning and how the sky seemed to be beneath him as he walked, they were most definitely not. He'd already thrown them up, but the damage had been done.
He wasn't even sure where he was going. He had hoped to get back to his house to sleep it off, but he probably should have gotten there by now, right?
Which way was home, anyway? Sick and delirious, he wandered on and on and on. Trees he passed looked familiar. Hadn't he passed that bush? Or was that bush the one by his cottage?
He had no idea. Surely he was close to there by now? He could not remember, but he still pressed on.
But the splotches around his vision grew darker, what he could see grew blurrier, and his legs quit responding properly, turning his stumbling into dragging and sliding. The last thing he remembered was a blurry smudge of black and pink.
Wind Shear slowly opened one eye, taking in his surroundings. His first impression was that he was safe, probably. He was wearing a blanket. Wild animals wouldn't give you a blanket, especially not if they were intending on eating you.
Wait. No, this was that black threadbare cloak the gorgony had been wearing.
Oh, dear.
He looked over, almost afraid of what he might see. Sure enough, there was a pink mare facing away from him, holding a large knife. His ears pinned, remembering how the legend said she ate ponies, and his mind jumped to himself being chopped up and cooked in a stew. Boiled!
One of the snakes noticed his movement. It looked over at him, unblinking, and flicked its tongue; and the mare suddenly looked over. “You're awake!” she said pleasantly, setting down the knife.
Wind Shear thought it wise to not antagonize the pony who had rescued him twice now. “Yeah, I- ow!”
For she had hit him upside the head with the lettuce stalk she had been cutting. “What were you thinking?” she demanded harshly.
“What?”
She whacked him again. “I know the signs of Ear of Threstral poisoning when I see them. You ate mushrooms you weren't a hundred percent sure on, and almost paid with your life.” She exhaled and dropped the lettuce back onto the stump she was using as a cutting board, much to Wind Shear’s relief, and turned back to her work. “Just be grateful they weren't a bit more pink. I'd’ve found you dead .”
“I thought I'd had them before.”
She scoffed. “And you didn't stop to think, ‘oh, these are a bit more bitter than I remember, maybe I shouldn't eat them’?” she demanded, turning to glare at him.
“I did; I just… thought I hadn't prepared them right,” Wind Shear defended himself weakly.
The gorgony shook her head. It was a strange sight; her head moved, but the snakes stayed in place, all watching him, judging him. “Just… maybe avoid eating wild mushrooms from now on.”
“Alright,” Wind Shear agreed with a shudder. At this point, he doubted he’d be able to eat anything with mushrooms again, regardless of who had made it.
She turned around and continued chopping. “Anyway, you should be good by now. I’ll get you something to eat, and then get you home.”
“Thanks, uh…” Wind Shear realized he didn't actually know her name.
She didn't offer it. “You're welcome.”
“I'm Wind Shear,” he tried.
This attempt didn't fare much better. “Charmed,” she said with just a hint of sarcasm.
But if there was any consolation, the salad she slid in front of him was tasty. Light, composed of wild plants, and served without dressing or cheese, but tasty.
He couldn’t help but notice, though, that she did not eat.
Wind Shear grunted as he bumped his hoof once again into something he couldn't see. “Ow! Is the blindfold really necessary?” he whined.
“You can’t know where I live,” she insisted.
“Why not?” Wind Shear asked.
“It has never ended well when ponies learn where I live. Hunting parties. Foals exploring late at night on dares. I once got approached for one of those pyramid schemes, and that mare would not leave.” She audibly smirked. “Her bits are still in her pockets. Won't do her much good now that she’s a statue, though.”
“So that part’s real?” Wind Shear asked, morbidly curious.
“Yes, and I'll prove it on you if you don't shut it ,” she warned.
Wind Shear decided to choose life and did so.
A few stumbles and trips later, Wind Shear was certain that he had more bruises than he had hooves. And at least one fetlock was bleeding. Still, the smell of parsnips let him know that she had indeed brought him home.
She roughly tore the blindfold off. “If you follow me back, I'll turn you into a stone scarecrow and put you in your own garden,” she threatened.
“Right,” Wind Shear said. He sat down, and noticed with mild trepidation that her tail had no hair; just the bare dock that would have done almost nothing to cover her. “I'll, just, uh, stay here, then.”
She pulled the tattered cloak over herself again, covering the pair of white, pentagonal flowers on her flank. “Wise choice.” She tightened it, and as she turned to leave, she paused. “Morning Glory,” she said, not looking back.
Wind Shear cocked his head. Wasn't that a plant? Was it a warning? A request? “Is that something I-”
“No. Th- that's my name. Morning Glory.”
“Oh. Nice to meet you.”
“Thanks.” And with that, she took off back into the forest.
Wind Shear looked at the big pile of weeds he'd pulled a few days back and pursed his lips. Having long since decided against eating them, he had decided to just toss them later, but noticed that they'd dried to a light brown in the hot sun. I bet I could burn these , he thought, already mentally making plans for s’mores.
So later that evening, he built a fire pit out of rocks, and stacked the weeds. He found a good stick and placed it atop the bag of marshmallows he'd purchased earlier. Then, he flew up, retrieved part of a cloud, compressed it until it was black and thundery, and then gently kicked it over the pit.
It had been a small lightning bolt, but the pile of weeds burst into a massive fireball. Instinctively, he flew back; and now he was blinking away black spots a good twenty feet away from a brightly burning fire. He rubbed his face, and realized with mild horror that he no longer had eyelashes. Or the majority of his eyebrows. This was a terrible idea.
But he'd started it, and so he resolved to finish it. He prepared his stick and marshmallows and held it as close to the massive flame as he could.
This left him with a marshmallow that was on fire. Surprised, he dropped it, and scowled at it burning on the ground. He had not realized they could burn. This was really not going well.
As it turns out, fires that burn hot at first burn out fast. By the time he'd put a second marshmallow on his stick, the weeds had burned to almost nothing, and so he ended up holding a stick with a cold marshmallow over tiny, rapidly-dying embers. He frowned. Not quite what he'd expected.
As he examined the marshmallow, wondering if it were even worth it, his eyes suddenly focused on something pink in the distance.
A familiar pony stood there, eyes narrowed, clearly judging him.
“Hi,” he said sheepishly. He looked down, and held one out. “Marshmallow?”
“Thought there was a forest fire,” Morning Glory said dryly. “Came to put it out.”
“No, just… just me.” He tried to smile disarmingly, but she didn't seem to be buying it. He paused as something occurred to him. “Can you stare out flames?”
She chuckled darkly, and the snakes of her mane slithered across each other. “Just animals. I've tried it on trees, but they don't seem to have eyes.”
“What about potatoes?”
She scowled. “No potatoes.”
It was Wind Shear’s turn to smirk. “You've tried, haven't you?”
“What can you do?” Morning Glory demanded.
“Huh?”
The snakes undulated, tongues flicking, apparently not pleased with the smell of smoke, as she continued. “It seems like every time I run into you, you're failing at something. Eating poisonous mushrooms, eating weeds that give ponies gas, unable to even build a simple fire-”
“Hey, now,” Wind Shear protested weakly. “Fires are harder than they look.”
Morning Glory shook her head disgustedly. “Tell you what. I'm going to go get some wood, build a fire, and roast a couple marshmallows. Your job while I'm gone is to sit there and come up with something you're not a complete loser at.”
Wind Shear rolled his eyes as she left. He went back inside, half expecting her to not come back.
But only ten minutes later, he caught sight of movement outside and came to watch. She had returned, bringing with her a few small bundles of wood. Standing near the fire pit, she knelt down and built what looked like a little pyramid of the taller sticks, put a small bundle of what looked like wood shavings inside, then built a larger pyramid on top of the first pyramid. Eschewing any lightning, she pulled a black rock out of a pouch, placed it on the ground and held it in place, and scuffed her other horseshoe against it. It spat sparks, which caught the smallest wood shavings on fire; and before long, the little fire was burning merrily. She sat down on the stump Wind Shear had been using as a chair.
He opened his mouth to protest, as it was his only chair out here, but quickly decided against it.
“Now we wait until it's burned down to embers, and then we roast the marshmallows.” She tapped her hooves together. “How did you do on your end?”
“Huh?”
“What don't you lose at?”
Wind Shear pursed his lips, thinking back to the typewriter stashed haphazardly under his bed, gathering dust. It occurred to him that that list was currently very short, and included eating and sleeping.
Actually, maybe he was a little too good at that first one. His ears drooped. How was that for a shot in the self-esteem?
She shook her head. “Well, that’s depressing. Ok, simpler question. How did you get your cutie mark?”
This one he could answer. “Telling a story in school.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Telling a story?” she repeated flatly.
“Not just any story,” Wind Shear said, slightly offended at her reaction. “It was a great story.”
Even the snakes seemed to disbelieve him.
He continued defensively. “It was a story I'd made out of the spelling words. Third grade. We were supposed to use our spelling words in sentences-”
“I did go to school,” Morning Glory cut him off, ripping open the chocolate bag.
“Uh, right,” Wind Shear said. He imagined a little filly Morning Glory, sitting in a desk in a little schoolhouse and taking a test, her snakes peering at other students’ tests over their shoulders as if trying to help her cheat. He shook his head. “Anyway, it was a story about two ponies, named Peach Pie and Whipped Cream.”
Morning Glory raised an eyebrow.
“Because we had two foals in our class named Peach Cobbler and Buttercream Frosting.”
“Ok.”
“And they each had a major crush on each other, and neither was brave enough to do anything about it. So I wrote a story with those names in it, using all the spelling words, about them going on a date. When I was done, everypony was staring, and, well, I had it.”
“Decent,” she said, poking at the fire. It had died down a bit. “What happened to them?”
Wind Shear bit his lower lip. “They broke up two weeks later,” he admitted. “On the swings. He pushed her off into the dirt. Serious business back then.”
“Ha,” she said spitefully. “That’s love for you.” Morning Glory stood and speared a marshmallow on the end of the stick and held it over the embers.
“Hey, now,” Wind Shear protested. “Love is great. I think,” he amended.
“Love makes you weak,” she said bitterly, turning the marshmallow over. “Love makes you do stupid things. Love makes things make sense that shouldn't make sense. So love can take a long walk off a short pier, and if I ever see Princess Cadence I'll spit in her face.” She pulled the marshmallow out, examined it, and deemed it done. She built a s'more quickly, and opened her mouth wide, wider than a normal pony. She placed it on her tongue, closed her mouth-
-and swallowed it whole. She didn't even try to chew it.
Wind Shear blinked. That was unexpected. She'd looked mostly pony on that end. But both snakes and chickens swallowed their food, so he guessed it made sense. In some way.
She caught him staring. “What?” she demanded as she violently speared another marshmallow on the stick.
He shook his head. “Nothing, it's just… that's a really depressing take on things.”
She scowled and held it over the fire. “It’s a realistic take,” she said.
Wind Shear frowned. This was technically his livelihood she was insulting, retirement aside. “It's not like that, though.”
“Says the pony who's never actually been in a real relationship.”
Wind Shear blinked. Harsh, but undeniably true. “How did-?”
She threw a marshmallow at him, and it bounced off his forehead. “It's not hard to see,” she said, swallowing the marshmallow and throwing the stick into the fire. “You are a colossal idiot.” She jumped off the stump and took off.
It wasn't until right before she disappeared from view that he realized she had taken the rest of his marshmallows with her.
“For this… is Nightmare Night!” Wind Shear let out his best maniacal laugh and threw his cloak wide, letting it snap. He stepped aside as the curtain opened to reveal Nightmare Moon, the fearsome alicorn of eternal night herself!
The crowd gave their best frightened howls, and, with the traditional prologue done, foals of all ages darted forward to give their offerings of candy to the dreaded Nightmare Moon.
Of course, since she was being played by the very friendly, very shy, and not at all dreaded Green Hooves, it was slightly less scary than some other Nightmare Nights Wind Shear had attended. Still, Greenie gave her very best scowl, stomped heavily as she moved around the stage, and took her time on the inspection, even nudging some of the candies over with a hoof for a closer look before giving a nod of satisfaction.
“We live another year!” a mummy who sounded oddly like Happy Trails called, and she started the music. The gathered ponies filed onto the floor, dancing and twirling in their costumes. Wind Shear bent down and helped Green Hooves gather the candy, as it was to be given out again later.
“You did good,” he told her. She smiled and nodded in response, but her cheeks tinged pink at the compliment.
Once that was done, he stepped off the stage and walked over to one of the booths, the ones on the edge that couldn't be moved, further in the shadows. He quickly wiped his brow. That had been really fun.
Happy Trails grinned as she sidled by. Or, she might have. It was hard to tell under all those bandages on her face. “You did great up there! That was the best version of the story I've heard.”
“You flatter me,” Wind Shear responded, though he was smiling. “It was a lot of fun, glad I could do it.”
She grinned. “And I think a performance like that deserves a few desserts!” She slid a tray of cupcakes onto the table, winked, and walked away. Wind Shear grinned and peeled the paper off of one. It was nice to be part of the party while being apart of the party.
A mare dressed as a vampony, wearing a long black cloak with a hood that covered her face that had been painted white, stepped nearby. “Hey.”
Internally wincing at being recognized (and being sneaked up on), he put on his best public relations smile. “He-” He did a double-take. He thought he recognized that mare under the white makeup. “Morning Glory?” he asked.
“Shout louder, idiot,” Morning Glory hissed, sliding in on the opposite side of the table. “There might have been a pony in Appleoosa who didn’t hear you.”
“Sorry,” Wind Shear said. “Where?”
“Appleoosa,” Morning Glory repeated. “Little farming town, near Dodge Junction. Mostly apples?”
Wind Shear shook his head. “I’ve never heard of either of those places,” he admitted. “My signing tours never took me anywhere near there, I guess.”
“You didn’t miss much,” Morning Glory said darkly. She pointed down at the cupcakes. “These look good, do you mind?”
Wind Shear shook his head and nudged the plate a bit closer to her.
She picked the closest cupcake up, examined it critically, and then, after a furtive glance around to make sure nopony was watching, placed it in her mouth and swallowed it whole. She hadn't even taken the paper off.
“Do you do that with everything you eat?” Wind Shear asked curiously.
She opened her mouth to show him the inside. Tiny sharp teeth hugged her gums, a far cry from the flat herbivore teeth she should have had, glittered in the flashing lights. “Lost all my teeth,” she explained. “The ones that grew back were the snake ones, the hooked kind that hold things in place.” She grinned, showing off her fangs. “So don’t put anything in my mouth that you want back.”
Wind Shear slid the plate of cupcakes closer to her. “Why would I want anything back?” He shook his head. What a weird thing to say. He changed the subject. “Honestly, I’m surprised you came out here. In public, I mean.”
“Tonight is the one night I can go out and blend in. Nopony gives me a second look. Fangs are normal. Even snakes are normal. There's at least two mares dressed up as me here. So excuse me if I think it's nice to not have to worry about an angry mob coming after me.”
“Oh. Makes sense.” Wind Shear said thoughtfully. “Do you often have to worry about angry mobs?”
“Depends on how quickly I get discovered,” she said. She glared. “Don’t be that pony that rats me out, ok? Life would get pretty… hard for you.”
Wind Shear held up his hooves. “I won’t. Promise. Hay, you could show up at my house every day and I still wouldn’t tell anypony.”
One side of her mouth curled up. “I’ll hold you to that.” She picked up the last cupcake, shoved it in her mouth, swallowed quickly, and slid out of the booth. She paused, then looked over her shoulder. “You were ok up there, by the way.”
Wind Shear watched her go. Then he shook his head and looked back at the party. He recognized the small ancient mare approaching as the mayor, and he put on his best public relations smile again.
But it was really hard to take her seriously with the fake snakes sticking out of her mane at awkward angles. Especially since he'd just talked with the real thing.
It was a morning like any other. Birds were singing, the light from Celestia’s sun streamed through the window, and Wind Shear’s eyes flickered open. Grumbling under his breath at the audacity of the sun, he yawned and stretched.
“Ugh. Finally.”
“Gah!” Now startled and very much awake, Wind Shear flailed and fell out of the bed. He grabbed his blanket and held it in front of himself protectively. “What are you doing in my house?” he asked hoarsely.
Morning Glory shrugged. “You said I could come by.”
“Yeah, but, but when I'm awake , when I'm ready; you broke into my house, to, what, to scare me?”
Morning Glory shrugged again.
Wind Shear scowled and pushed himself up, having moved beyond fear to irritation. “Well, welcome to my house, this lovely, early morning.”
She grinned, and her fangs gleamed. Even the swaying snakes of her mane managed to look smug.
Once he was up and his brain was properly oriented, he realized how snippy that had sounded. “Sorry, just… I've never had a mare show up to my house like this. I mean, autograph hunters, sure; but it's easy enough to throw them out on their ear. But you, you're technically a guest. Do I make you breakfast?”
“I made you breakfast, because your stupid flank was still asleep and I was hungry.” She held up a plate.
Wind Shear squinted. “Is that a breakfast burrito? It's huge.”
“Yep. Freshly made, too. Most of the ingredients are from your garden.” She shook her head. “You have the weirdest planting scheme for your plants, by the way. That one row of radishes in the middle of the parsnips? Really weird. I don't like it.”
Wind Shear rolled his eyes as he took it. “That wasn't exactly intentional,” he admitted, “but thank you,” he added, his voice a bit quieter. He grinned at it. “Fancier than I normally eat.”
“Which is?”
He cracked a smile. “Toast. Cold cereal. Muffins I bought the day before.”
“Well, you seemed to enjoy watching me eat before,” she said, holding up her own, “and this seemed like a good option to show off what my body can do.” She held the plate up, tipped her head back, tipped it over, let the burrito slide into her open mouth, and slowly swallowed it. The sizeable bulge in her throat slowly descended as she let it slide down under its own weight. When it had disappeared, she licked her lips, met his eyes, and winked.
Wind Shear groaned, regretting all his words more and more with every passing second. Irritably, he speared his own with his fork and cut a chunk out. He put it in his mouth and his eyes widened. “Whoa. This is really good.”
“Thanks.”
“Seriously,” he said, quickly taking another. “This is great.” He peered inside. “Are those green onions mixed with the eggs?”
“Yep.”
He paused as something occurred to him. “C- can you not taste it? Because, uh, you have to swallow everything, and-”
She scowled, held up her plate, and, maintaining eye contact the entire time, shoved it into her mouth and swallowed it whole. It cracked in her throat—or did she crack it intentionally with freaky throat muscles?—and she showed no signs of pain or even discomfort.
He decided to not ask her any more questions about her digestive habits.
After washing his plate, Wind Shear looked out the window. “Usually I head out to the garden right about now, but-”
“Sure, we can do that.”
Wind Shear blinked. “Uh, ok. Wasn't expecting that.”
Morning Glory shrugged and got up. “I was an earth pony,” she said. “I like gardens.”
Wind Shear was tempted to ask how she'd gone from regular earth pony to dreaded gorgony, but the image of her swallowing the plate popped into his head and he changed his mind pretty quickly.
She worked fast. He looked up from his fourth plant to see that she was already halfway down the row, little weeds strewn by her path like she was a pony-shaped tornado of weed destruction.
One of the snakes flicked its tongue, and she looked over her shoulder. “You can eat those weeds, if you want to,” she said, pointing to a pile.
“I'm good,” Wind Shear said, shuddering at that memory.
“They’re the ok kind. Won't give you gas,” she added with a hint of singsong.
“I'm good.” He continued working, a bit faster now.
She met him on the next row coming back. He could hear the smirk in her voice. “Something tells me you weren't a farmer before you moved out here.”
“Not at all. I was a writer, but I'm retired now.”
“Aww. No more trying to get schoolfoals together?”
Wind Shear scowled at her. “That happened once .”
Morning Glory held up her hooves in exaggerated innocence.
Wind Shear sighed. “But yes, I wrote mostly romance,” he admitted.
“Ha.” Morning Glory pulled up another weed. “Talk about the blind leading the blind.”
“They were good stories,” he retorted. “Bestsellers, all of them.”
She crunched a weed between her teeth and spat it out. “Stupid, blinded mares will believe anything,” she said dismissively, and her snakes seemed to hiss in assent.
Wind Shear groaned. He was getting pretty sick of this. “You know what? Why don’t you read one of my books and see for yourself?”
“Pass,” she said airily.
Wind Shear saw an opportunity and jumped on it. “Ah, I see. You know, there’s no shame in not being able to read,” he said sweetly.
“I can read,” she scowled, her upper lip twitching up.
“Right. I’m sorry I don’t actually have anything in a second-grade reading level-”
His voice cut off as she quite literally tackled him to the ground. She pushed him down, hooves pressed against his shoulders, her eyes flashed and she bared her teeth; and the snakes all coiled against her head as if in preparation to strike. And for a brief moment, he feared he’d pushed her too far.
But she quickly brought herself under control. She straightened up, took a step back off of him, and licked her lips. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll read one of your stupid books. But make it a good one, because I'm only reading one.”
Wind Shear walked back inside and stopped in front of his bookshelf. She had a point. Which was his best work? Which one could she read that she'd like?
Assuming she could like anything , that is.
He scanned the books. His fourth Wandering Wheel book was probably his strongest, but there was no way she’d understand that twist about Cake Batter without having read the second one. Second Open Door book was good, too. She’d have to read the first one first, though.
Actually, that was a pretty good idea. It had been his first attempt, and he had knocked it out of the park, so to speak. The success of that book had spawned his longest series, and most of his other books, too; so lots of ponies had liked it. It was worth a shot. He went back outside. “Try this one. Book one of the Open Door series.”
She squinted at the cover critically. “Is it any good?”
“Yes,” he said snippily. “I did write it.”
“Romance?”
“Yes.”
“Love isn't an open door, though,” she said, taking it almost defiantly. “It's a shut door and a room full of disappointments.”
“What happened to you?” Wind Shear asked curiously. “It’s like you hate the whole world.”
“Yeah? Well, the whole world hates me, so…” She shrugged and took the book. She sat down on the stump and opened to page one. Her snakes seemed to patrol her space, slithering over each other around her head.
Wind Shear shook his head and kept working.
“What kind of name is Blueberry Pancake?”
“A good one,” Wind Shear retorted.
There was silence for a while. And then-
“Seriously?”
He sighed. He knew exactly what she was referring to. “If you can get past my names, it's a decent story. Promise.”
She made a noncommittal grunt and kept reading.
Wind Shear continued working. He finished the next row, and was halfway through the third when it occurred to him that Morning Glory hadn’t said much else. He dared sneak a peek at her. Her snakes were moving, but she was not; she was engrossed in reading. He shrugged and kept working.
And, as it usually did, the sun got hot, and Wind Shear got hungry. Well, less hungry than he normally was, what with the breakfast she had made; but in his defense, it had been earlier than his usual breakfast time.
Eh, it was time for a break and a snack. He was a grown stallion and didn’t need to justify it to anypony. He looked over at Morning Glory. “I usually head into town to get lunch around now, do you-?”
Barely looking away from the book, she reached down, pulled a carrot from the ground, and swallowed it whole. “I'll be fine here,” she said tersely.
“Alright,” he said slowly. He turned and walked away, briefly looking over his shoulder to see if she were to change her mind, but she didn’t move.
He smiled, satisfied. Well, maybe that had been a good choice of book, after all.
Mid-afternoon, he meandered back home. He was not surprised to see that the garden was devoid of ponies, gorgony or otherwise.
But when he made it inside, he was very surprised to see a gorgony lounging on his couch, still reading, her snakes relaxing on her head. Their tongues flicked out at him, and one lifted up to get a better taste. The briefest shudder ran up his back.
“Oh, hey,” she said, waving a hoof distractedly at him.
“Hey,” he returned. “Still reading?”
“Yeah. Mostly because I'm convinced you’re going to botch it sometime or later and I’m waiting for that moment.”
That sentence had sounded almost prepared. A little smile flitted across his face.
She looked up at the clock and did a double-take. She hissed under her breath. “I’ve got to get back home.” She looked down at her book. “Uh, you mind if I borrow this?”
“Not at all,” Wind Shear said.
She nodded, paused long enough to pull her cloak on, and then walked out the door. He waved goodbye, but she did not return the gesture.
As he went back inside to tidy up, he noticed a book on the ground, hiding under the couch. Strange. He pulled it out and grunted in surprise. It was the book he thought she had been reading. As he reached to put it away, he realized there was another hole in the row. She had been reading the second book in the series. He grinned as he slid it back in its spot.
It faded somewhat as he looked to the right. The empty space there next to book six haunted him. He shook his head. Best case scenario, she got bored in that slow part of book five and he could steer her towards another series.
It was not best case scenario. That entire week she read voraciously, even book five, and the inevitable showdown came that weekend.
Right as he was sitting down for breakfast, Morning Glory burst into his house and threw down book six onto the table with a thump. She glowered at him, and even her snakes seemed to be irritated. “You are a terrible pony for ending it like that,” she said, panting for breath. She'd clearly run the whole way here.
Wind Shear chuckled nervously. “That was the general consensus,” he admitted. “Made the Bookhorse List of top ten cliffhangers. Number nine, but still counts.”
She grunted an agreement and stomped over to the bookshelf and scanned.
Wind Shear sat. He licked his lips, steeling himself for the confrontation he knew was coming.
“Where is it?” she demanded, coming back into the kitchen. “Where is book seven?”
“It… doesn't exist,” Wind Shear admitted.
“What?”
“I haven't written it.”
“You haven’t-!” She shook her head and took a calming breath. “Alright, I'm ok. Are you almost done with it? What happens next?”
“Uh… No, and I'm not sure.”
“What?” For the first time, something more than anger or apathy crossed her face. Was it despair? “How do you not know?”
“I just don’t,” he said helplessly. “I’ve tried for years, hoping to resolve this story and tie all those plot lines together, and I draw a blank every time. I've got other series-”
Morning Glory kicked a chair over, both loudly declining his offer and shocking him into silence. Her snakes hissed angrily. “Why would you build me up just to rain on my harvest day like that?” she demanded.
“If it makes you feel any better, there’s a lot of harvest days that have been rained on?” he tried.
“It! Does! Not!” Morning Glory stomped on the ground with each word. “You made me care about things! I cared about Blueberry Pancake, even if he had a dumb name! I cared like he cared about Creme Brûlée.”
Wind Shear snorted. “Blueberry Pancake is a flawed character. He cares about Creme Brûlée, sure; but he's also worried about his relationship with Puff Pastry and thinks it could possibly go somewhere.”
“Her mother?!” Morning Glory shrieked.
“The pony who cared for him and actually helped patch him up after his ‘little fight’ with Claw Hammer? Yeah. The pony who is the best chef in that little town, remembers and makes him his favorite food ‘just because’, combined with his lack of proper mother figure in his life means he doesn't know if he loves her as a partner or a mother, and he's worried about how either one will affect Creme, especially because he’s not sure if Creme reciprocates his feelings as strongly as he feels towards her. Part of him is convinced she thinks of him as a brother. He's a mess.”
“Well, unmess him!”
“How?” Wind Shear demanded, turning the tables. He stood up, though he kept a respectful distance from her snakes. “There's no simple solution! He needs to grow, he needs to figure it out on his own, and I have no idea how to put him through that! I don't even know which mare he should end up with!”
“I was wrong, you're the mess! You've got to think of something,” she said almost desperately.
Wind Shear rolled his eyes. “Fine. He sleeps with Puff Pastry, tries to tell Creme Brûlée the next morning and ends up sleeping with her, too, and though he thinks he can hide it from the other they find out and stone him publicly before dinner.” He paused. That might have meant something else to her. “Uh, I mean…”
“I know what you mean,” she hissed. “Sweet Celestia, is every stallion I meet destined to disappoint me?”
Wind Shear pursed his lips but said nothing. He was a disappointment.
Sensing she wasn't going to get anything else done here, she huffed angrily, scowled at everything, and stomped out of his cottage and slammed the front door behind her. The whole house rattled from the force, and a picture fell off the wall and hit the ground somewhere in the front room.
Wind Shear scowled and headed over to the couch, now no longer hungry. It had hardly been the first tirade he'd sat through, and it probably wouldn't be the last. And it wasn’t like he cared about her or her opinion. She kept barging into his house, taking his stuff, eating things from his garden, raiding his fridge like she lived here.
But still, she'd seemed so devastated. She'd been swept into the world he'd created, caught up in his creation; and then he'd effectively pulled the carpet out from under her.
After a few moments of self-reflection, he heaved a sigh and reluctantly dug his typewriter out from under the couch. It still had a half empty sheet of paper loaded in it, still there from that note he'd stuck on his fence all those months ago. He pulled it onto his lap and brushed a hoof against the keys. A little smile pricked at his lips. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try.
Wind Shear took a long, steadying breath. The forest was dark and foreboding. More than once, the thought of turning back flitted through his mind. Also the nagging fact that he hadn't actually told anypony that he was coming here, because he didn't want to be followed or talked out of it. Which also meant that if anything happened to him, nopony would know about it.
But he was determined. And maybe more than a little bit prideful. So he stepped inside, crossing the threshold between civilization and chaos.
The forest wasn't quite as scary as it sounded, especially now that he wasn't blindfolded. It was dark, though. And shadowy. And there were no other ponies around. And there were all kinds of animals lurking around.
Ok, so it was a bit scary. He swallowed nervously and moved on.
He'd been hoping that it would be brighter, like the clearing Morning Glory lived in, but those were few and far between. Most of the forest was dark. And a bit cool. And a lot a bit noisy. And he knew none of these creatures here. Cloudsdale didn't have a big population of any animals but birds.
A twig snapped in the underbrush far too close for comfort. He jumped and took a small step back, fearful of what horrifying creature was there. Definitely not a bird! What was it? And more importantly, was it hungry?
A small brown rabbit hopped out of a bush. It rubbed its face with a ‘ksh ksh’ sound, and quickly hopped away. Wind Shear sighed with relief. He turned to continue-
And bumped right into another pony’s face.
“Agh!” He shrieked and jumped backwards, tripping over his own hooves and falling to the dirt.
“There a reason you're wandering around my forest?”
“Morning Glory!” He sighed, relieved, and pushed himself up. “Oh, thank goodness. I was looking for you.”
She stalked nearer, her snakes hissing threateningly. “Ponies who look for me tend to go missing,” she growled. Her eyes flashed as she circled him.
“Ah, but how many ponies come looking for you and bringing gifts?” He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a thick sheaf of paper.
She stopped, glared at it, then at him, wordlessly asking for an explanation.
“It's the first draft of book seven of the Open Door series. It, uh, still needs a subtitle, and,” he cleared his throat and added quietly, “a really good editing pass—but I wanted you to be the first to read it.”
She paused. She blinked. “Me?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“You,” he confirmed. He chuckled. “Somehow you got me writing again when nopony else could. I figured it was the least I could do.”
She bit her lower lip. Her snakes swarmed over each other, as if they, too, were confused. But eventually, she reached out and took it. She looked at it, cracked a wry smile, and then walked away.
Wind Shear watched her go. Then-
“Wait.” He turned himself in a circle. All these trees looked the same to him! “How am I getting out of here?”
A pinecone hit him on the side of the head. “You're a pegasus , genius! I'm sure you'll think of something!”
Wind Shear woke up and stretched. It had been a week since he’d been in the forest, and a week since he’d seen hide or hair of Morning Glory. Hopefully today he'd get that manuscript back. Maybe he should have made a duplicate copy first, before giving it to her. What if she'd trashed it? Burned it? It hadn’t taken her nearly as long to read the others. He doubted he'd be able to rewrite the whole thing from memory.
But he'd trusted her.
He stretched his wings. Had that been a mistake? Should he have not trusted her?
He shook that thought out of his mind. Crazy she may be, but she was a good pony under that rough exterior. He had no idea what had happened to her, or what had turned her from earth pony to gorgony, but under all that, he was convinced she was still a good pony.
And… wait, what was that smell?
He launched himself out of bed so fast his hooves got caught in the sheets and he tumbled face-first to the ground. Scrambling up, he kicked the sheet off his hoof and nearly flew into the living room.
She sat at the table. The food she'd made was on the table, still steaming in its freshness. She had a few eggs in front of her, though these were still in the shell and not in an omelette like his were.
And the manuscript sat on the table, still in pristine condition, off to the side.
“Hey,” he said, panting.
“Hi,” she returned, the slightest of scowls on her face. “Took you long enough. Almost started eating without you.”
He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and he wasn't sure if it were because the book was back or because she was. “How was it?”
“It was good,” she said. She looked up and smiled back, revealing her fangs. “It was really good.”
“Thanks,” he said, sitting at the table. She slid the plate of eggs over. “So, you liked it a lot?”
“I did.” She picked up an egg and examined it. “I felt like you tied it all together. It really does need an editor, though. For example, Creme Brûlée’s cutie mark is two cups, not three. And that's just on page two.”
He cracked a wry smile. “I always forget,” he said, taking a bite. Most cutie marks were either one big picture or three smaller pictures in a triangle shape. Two was rare, but not unheard of. He wasn't sure what had possessed him to give her just two way back in book two. Probably a way to make her stand out. Or maybe it was related to the book number in the series.
She swallowed the egg and picked up another. “And you said the door to Blueberry Pancake’s apartment was blue in book six, but chapter four here says it's green.”
“He repainted it,” Wind Shear lied.
She gave him a flat look. Even the snakes seemed to be saying ‘I'm not buying it’.
She was so expressive.
He sighed and hung his head in defeat. “I'll fix it.”
“You'd better.”
There was a pause. The only sounds were the fork on the plate and the next egg cracking in her throat.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For letting me be a part of it.”
“You're welcome.”
“What happens now?”
“Now, I finish your breakfast. Good stuff, by the way.”
Morning Glory threw a napkin at him.
He ducked and grinned. “Then, I edit it. Then, I see if my publisher still remembers me. And then… I become a published author again.” He grinned. “Should be fun.”
“Well, here's hoping for another bestseller.” She grinned. “There's got to be at least a few stupid, blinded mares willing to buy it.”
Wind Shear laughed. “We'll see, won’t we?”
Hearts and Hooves Day. The worst day of the year, closely followed by Mares’ Day. Hearth’s Warming Eve wasn’t that great, either. Come to think of it, there were many days that Morning Glory didn’t like.
But Hearts and Hooves day took the cake. Usually, she celebrated this day by staying in bed and ignoring everything, and if she were feeling really upset, stomping around and stoning any couples who strayed too far into her path. Bonus points if they had been looking for an intimate spot. Even more points if they'd (thought they'd) found one.
But this year was different. This year…
Well, it was stupid. Really stupid. He wasn't really her special somepony. It was all teasing and play. It wasn't like it could go anywhere. She was a monster, an unholy combination of animals that never should have existed. He was an author, and it sounded like he was getting back onto fertile ground. Last time she'd peeked through his window, he'd been typing feverishly on his typewriter, probably hard at work on his next big novel that would also be a grand success.
But for some reason, she found herself making the journey into town. Her tattered cloak was on and her hood was pulled tightly around her head, and her snakes weren't terribly pleased with the arrangement. She walked slowly, almost paranoid that she was going to be recognized. Shouts of ‘Gorgony!’ would be what it started with; mobs with torches and pitchforks would follow soon after…
She shook her head, prompting another disgruntled hissing from her snakes tucked under her hood. It would probably be fine.
Eventually, she arrived at the Happy Hooves Hotel. She slid through the door and peeked around the pillar. There he was! Eating breakfast at a table, his back towards her. She watched from the shadows, unwilling to go into public just yet. She hadn't been in town in forever, and she had no desire to be spotted. She'd wait.
She saw another mare come up, one with a light blue coat. She started an easy conversation with Wind Shear, and Morning Glory once again cursed her poor hearing. She had no idea what she was saying, catching only bits and pieces of their conversation. Her hackles raised slightly as he chuckled at something she'd said.
And the the blue mare gave him something, and he brightened. It was a heart-shaped cookie.
Morning Glory’s heart skipped a beat. No, no, why? How- how could he?
How could she ?!
He took a big bite and grinned up at her. He nodded at her, and was clearly enjoying it. The mare giggled and scuffed a hoof bashfully.
White rage welled up within her. This would not stand. This mare had gone too far. Inside her hood, her snakes hissed, unsure what had happened but as eager for action as she was. Their conversation ended, she walked away. Slowly, Morning Glory stalked her prey, keeping out of sight, silently following the mare back behind the counter and into the kitchen.
Wind Shear looked up. That had been an abnormally loud thunk. “Happy?” he called. “You ok?”
There was no response.
He frowned and set his half-eaten cookie down. “Happy?” he called again. His brow furrowed further when he got no answer, and he got up to check. He poked his head through the doorway and gasped.
Happy Trails lay on the ground, her face a stone cold mask of surprise. He looked up at the other pony there, panting, but with a triumphant snarl on her face. “Morning Glory?!” he gasped.
“She can't have you,” Morning Glory said, shaking her head. “She can't!”
“What did you do?”
“I took out a rival,” she said. “She should never have tried to take what wasn’t hers!”
“What are you talking about?” Wind Shear demanded. He dropped to the ground and pressed a hoof against her neck, but it was to no avail; she was completely stoned.
“She was flirting with you! I saw her!”
“She-!” Wind Shear grabbed at his mane. “You saw-! She does that to everypony! It's part of her job! It's literally her job! She’s the hostess here!”
Morning Glory hesitated for the first time. “But the cookie-”
“The special of the day! She's got another batch baking right now! And furthermore, she is in a committed relationship!”
“I didn't…” she said, quieter now.
“With another mare!”
The sound of a plate shattering made them both spin. Another mare stood there, rust-colored with a reddish mane, her hooves held over her mouth in horror. More of those heart cookies were on the floor, scattered amongst the porcelain shards.
He pointed at her. “That mare!”
The snakes writhed around her head, giving yet another dimension to the guilt and agony contorting her face. Morning Glory bowed her head. She'd done it again!
Green Hooves darted over, sobbing, desperately pushing on Happy Trails’ stiff body, as if trying to arouse her from sleep. “No, no…” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks, “please…”
And then there was a small cracking sound. Wind Shear looked around, but he couldn't place it. It repeated itself but louder, and it seemed to be coming from below.
Greenie heard it, too. Ears flicking, she looked up to see Morning Glory staring intently at Happy Trails. The stone slowly cracked and then crumbled, falling off her body under her gaze. Gray rock gave way to the light blue fur it should have been.
“I didn't know that was reversible,” Wind Shear murmured.
With a gasp for air, Happy Trails sat up, fully flesh and fur once more, painfully rubbing her head. She panted as if she'd just surfaced from under water. “Greenie?” she asked confusedly, still breathing hard. She rubbed her head. “Ow…”
Before anypony could answer, Morning Glory turned and galloped away. She burst through the door and galloped as fast as she could down the street. Ponies stared. Ponies pointed. Ponies shrieked. Ponies fainted.
But no matter how hard she ran or how loudly her snakes hissed, the same thought coursed through her mind, unable to be ignored or drowned out.
I am a monster.
With a powerful grunt, Morning Glory pushed the tree trunk off. It fell with a crash, and with that, her little shelter was no more. She'd already loaded everything she could in her saddlebags, and she'd kicked the rest of her garden to shreds and stamped her flowers into the ground. There was now no trace that any pony had lived here.
She inhaled briefly and held it. It was painful, yes; but what else could she do? She exhaled. She couldn't go back. Not after what she'd done. Wind Shear would never want to see her again, not after she'd attacked his friend; and if the past were any indication, they'd be coming after her with torches and pitchforks soon enough. From what she could tell, Happy Trails was some kind of pillar of the community, and to make things worse, she'd basically paraded herself through town like some kind of freak show. They knew the legends of the gorgony were real. Better to not leave any trail for them to follow, or even any indication she had been here.
It was a shame. She’d really liked it here. He'd made life here… well, ‘tolerable’ was probably the right word.
She found herself wanting to say goodbye to Wind Shear. She stared in the direction of his house for a good ten minutes, wondering if she should.
Then she shook her head and turned away. She'd keep the book (even if it did take up a lot of valuable space in her bags). But other than that, this chapter of her life was done.
Morning Glory wandered. She'd picked a direction the opposite way from town and started walking, with no plans on where she was going.
The forest was dark, but here she had no need for a hood. Her snakes scanned around her as she walked, moving, tongues flicking. Though not quite sentient, she could sense when one of them saw something that concerned its natural instincts.
For example, when they all tasted something vile in the air and she saw big paw prints on the ground, she knew it was time to quickly change direction.
As she continued walking, the trees grew thinner and more sparse, and the ground grew blacker and hotter. She squinted. Strange.
And then a little explosion of fire burst into existence in front of her, startling her snakes and making her take a quick step back.
A fire swamp , she realized over their frenzied hissing. A little smile crossed her face. This should be a safe spot. Nopony in their right mind would be out here.
And she could live her life alone, just like she deserved.
She shook her head and started looking for shelter. She’d need a place far from the active sites. Maybe she could build a little platform? That would work. It would keep it cooler, with airflow underneath. She could build it out of poles lashed together, just like her usual houses. And the ash would probably make decent fertilizer, especially if the big bushes around here were any indication, so she could grow her garden. She could work with this.
But it wasn’t until she heard a growl that she realized that all her snakes were hissing at something behind her. She cursed herself for getting distracted, and turned around to see what they’d seen.
It was nothing like she’d ever seen. Yellow eyes flashed through the smoke, two, four, then six! But they seemed to be connected! She lowered herself into a defensive stance, unsure what she was seeing.
They drew nearer and resolved into a being with three heads. “Well, well,” the tiger head said, her voice a low, guttural growl. “What have we here?”
“I think it’s lunch,” the snake head offered eagerly.
“Sorry, sister,” Morning Glory said, “but I think you’ll find me a bit too scaly for your liking.” She bared her fangs and dropped her cloak, showing the patches of scales that dotted her body.
The snake head hissed angrily. “What are you?” she demanded, swaying threateningly.
Her snakes hissed back, coiling, unwilling to back down from a challenge; and she drew herself up. “I am the gorgony,” she said fiercely. “I’m part pony, part cockatrice, part rattlesnake, and all dangerous. I feed on the stone corpses of my enemies and swallow whole those who oppose me.”
Her boast fell flat. “How does that work?” the goat head wondered. “Cockatrices are part chicken and part snake already. That's already a combination. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe she’s, uh, two parts snake?” the tiger suggested, clearly doing a little mental calculation. She held up her paw and counted. “Two out of four.” Her ears pricked. “That'd make her half snake. We're only a third snake.”
“Yeah, but she’s, like, all snake,” the goat head pointed out. “You’re not a snake, your butt’s a snake.”
“It’s your butt, too,” the tiger rebutted.
The snake head (or on second thought, was it the tail?) scoffed. “I would want nothing to do with that ,” she said spitefully, scowling at her. “It makes my scales crawl just looking at her.”
“Well, you're not exactly pleasing to the eye, either,” Morning Glory retorted. “Are you molting, or are your scales always that ugly and dull?”
The snake hissed angrily, coiling slightly in her wrath. “Take that back,” she hissed.
“Make me.”
The snake coiled, and in that brief moment, the goat head realized the flaw in this plan. Her eyes widened, but it was too late; she struck.
Had she been a regular snake, she may have made it; but her tail was still firmly attached to the hindquarters of their body, and though the force of her strike dragged their hips forward (and off balance), she didn’t have the range to actually hit her.
Morning Glory, however, had the range to jump, spin, and buck the snake. Her head flew back, rattled. As the rest tried to find their footing again, she threw a punch at the tiger head and her snakes, sensing combat, struck, mouths open and fangs bared. Most missed, but the one closest to her forelock landed a good bite, delivering a payload of venom. The goat head swung in retaliation, but missed; she clipped the tiger head with her horn instead.
The chimera stumbled backwards, all the heads growling and hissing in equal parts pain and frustration. Morning Glory took this chance to grab her cloak and run.
A firepot exploded right beside her, and she ran faster. Her snakes hissed, so she ran harder, assuming that the chimera had recovered and was giving chase.
There was something hot on her heels, but it wasn’t the chimera. The continuous anxious hissing made her risk looking back, and she shrieked.
Her cloak had caught on fire!
She skidded to a stop and tore it off, ripping the fabric off her body. She stomped on it desperately, but the running had done the damage. It was burned beyond any further use. Thankfully, her saddlebags had survived with just a nasty singeing.
She stomped on it again, this time out of frustration. “Well, that was a bust,” she grumbled. She turned around, now unsure of which way she was going. Scowling, she picked another direction and started walking again.
Morning Glory walked steadily forward. She'd ended up in the forest again. At least it was familiar, if a bit cool. She’d never realized just how nice the threadbare cloak felt; old though it may have been, at least had given her rear some protection. Her hairless tail did not, and she caught herself shivering at the occasional breeze. Even her snakes were spending more time huddled around her head for warmth than anything else.
Finally, after what felt like forever, she saw a clearing. Almost desperate for warmth, she headed towards it. The sun shone down and she turned her face towards it, smiling the first real smile since…
She scowled. Way to ruin the moment, me, she thought irritably.
Now warmed up, she looked around. It seemed pretty empty here, but there were noises and her snakes were perking up. Off in the distance, there was a cottage, made out of a tree. Animals seemed to be swarming around it, and she grinned. Abandoned cottage? Don't mind if I do.
She already planned out the rumors she'd spread. An abandoned cottage spread its own rumors, so she'd just have to tweak them a bit. Yes. The former owners were chased away by a mysterious curse, turning all who remained after midnight into stone.
She approached the cottage and as she did, the birds flew away. She cracked a wry smile. She watched them fly up into the top and chatter at her. She scowled. It was probably the snakes, but she did not care for birds. She'd probably stone one or two as a warning for the others.
Still glowering at the birds, she didn't notice the fence until she’d hit it. “Oof!” She glared. What had-?
Wait. Woven wire fencing? Like the kind that would go around a-
Chicken coop !
Morning Glory’s heart jumped as she saw the small red wooden building. She glanced around suspiciously, now a bit on edge. Maybe this place wasn't as abandoned as she'd previously thought.
As if drawn by the lack of noise, a yellow pegasus pony with an abnormally long pink mane curiously poked her head out of the chicken coop. She looked over right as Morning Glory looked back.
And they bumped noses.
Morning Glory screamed.
The pegasus screamed, too, though at a much higher pitch and quieter volume. She stumbled backwards and hit the chicken coop fence, and hit the ground. Her wings were clenched firmly against her body. She trembled at the sight of her.
“What are you doing here?” Morning Glory demanded.
The pegasus squeaked in response.
Her eyes narrowed. She knew she had poor hearing, but that had been a whimper at best. “Say that again, but like a normal pony.”
“I live here!” she repeated.
Morning Glory hissed under her breath. “So this isn't an abandoned cottage?”
The pegasus shook her head.
Morning Glory briefly considered stoning her and taking the cottage, but quickly decided against it. She'd feel guilty doing anything bad to a pony this shy.
But something the pegasus said made her look back down. “Wait. What was that?”
“Banded rattlesnakes,” the pegasus said again with a small gesture towards them, speaking just a bit louder than before. “Native to the desert regions south of Appleoosa.”
Morning Glory was taken aback. “Y- yes,” she said slowly. “They are.”
There was a pause. The snakes’ tongues flicked.
“I’m a pink pony with patches of dark scales on my body, sharp fangs, slitted eyes, no tail, and five snakes for a mane; and the first thing you notice is what species they are?” Morning Glory asked incredulously.
“I, uh, just really like animals,” the pegasus explained softly.
There was another pause.
“I… don’t suppose you’d want to come inside?” she offered, gesturing at the cottage. “I was just about to make tea.”
Morning Glory sipped at her tea. She brightened. “This is good,” she said.
“Thank you,” Fluttershy said. “I think the little splash of citrus really makes it pop.” She refilled her own cup and sipped happily.
Morning Glory looked around again. If she'd thought there were a lot of animals outside, there were even more inside. And her poor snakes were coiled tightly against her head, conflicted by the presence of both little rodents (as food) and the predator birds (likely looking for food).
But apparently this place was neutral ground. Even the birds of prey seemed to be ignoring her snakes, and hamsters ran underhoof with no fear. And Fluttershy seemed to know all their names. Morning Glory briefly wondered if she should have named her snakes, after all.
A timer dinged, and Fluttershy brightened. “Oh, that's the cookies. Excuse me!” And she fluttered off to the kitchen.
Heh. Her name was pretty fitting, actually. She looked around again. There was a rabbit that was glaring at her. She narrowed her eyes back. He rubbed her the wrong way. But something told her that Fluttershy would know if this one ended up stoned.
Thankfully, Fluttershy quickly returned with a tray of little tea biscuits. Morning Glory picked one up and licked it. She brightened and put it in her mouth. She faked the chewing for a bit and then swallowed it.
The rabbit was still glaring at her. In a show of force, she picked up a cookie, made sure Fluttershy wasn't looking, unhinged her jaw much further than she needed to, placed it in her mouth, and swallowed it whole.
The rabbit froze.
She winked. You could be next .
The rabbit quickly made himself scarce, disappearing into the couch.
Fluttershy dipped her cookie in the tea. “So, ah, if you don't mind me asking-”
Morning Glory put her teacup down. “It was an accident. Was trying to make a transformation potion, but one of the snake skins I found was a cockatrice skin. I didn't know and added it anyway, it blew up, and one painful week later…” She gestured down at herself demonstratively, and grabbed another cookie.
Fluttershy flushed and tucked her mane back. “That was, um, informative; but what I was going to ask was, what brings you here to Ponyville?”
She blinked. “Not about the snakes?”
“I was there when one of my closest friends almost got turned into a tree.” She shrugged. “Not much surprises me anymore.”
“You're going to have to tell me that story,” Morning Glory said curiously.
A devious smile flitted across Fluttershy’s lips. “I asked you first.”
“I already answered one of your questions.”
“You didn't answer the one I asked, though.”
Ooh, feisty! “Alright,” Morning Glory said, a hint of a smile on her face. “Here goes nothing.”
It was a longer story, and Fluttershy had to get back to work. So Morning Glory helped out, hauling bags of seeds, carts of hay and feed, even a group of chicks (her snakes had sized them up the whole time, and they had returned the favor). She helped shovel out pens and pick out good straw for birds nests, before she wound down cleaning out the chicken coop.
Morning Glory tossed the shovelful of dirt over the edge and leaned on it. “And so I started walking and ended up here.” She sighed.
“Sounds like a big misunderstanding,” Fluttershy said gently, pushing her own shovelful out.
Morning Glory snorted. “One hay of a misunderstanding,” she mumbled. She held up an egg she'd found. “You mind?”
“Mm-mm.” Fluttershy shook her head. “They're all unfertilized.”
Morning Glory popped it into her mouth and swallowed it, no longer feeling the need to fake anything after spilling all her secrets to this mare.
“You need to go back.”
Morning Glory blinked. “Come again?”
Fluttershy took a breath and steeled herself. “You need to go back with Wind Shear.”
“I can't go back! Did you not hear-”
Fluttershy met her eyes, and Morning Glory found herself trapped by her eyes. She'd stared down cockatrices and timberwolves and that chimera and even an angry cow once; but nothing had ever chilled her quite like Fluttershy's stare.
“I heard a mare who is still in love, and ran away due to her fear. I heard a mare who thinks she isn't worth anything, that she's nothing but a monster. But she's wrong. I see a mare who deserves to be loved, regardless of what she’s done. And I see a mare who is going to overcome her fear, go back there, and get what’s hers.”
“He’s not…” she tried, but she couldn’t get any more words out. At the very least, he was a friend, and he deserved… more than she’d left him with. “I’m not af-” she tried again, but she had no more luck with this one. She was afraid. Afraid of rejection.
Afraid she’d lose him.
Fluttershy gently shook her head. “You don't need to be afraid.”
And then she blinked and looked down, breaking any connection they'd had. Morning Glory shuddered, somehow out of breath. That had been weird.
And oddly enlightening at the same time.
Fluttershy looked expectantly at her. Morning Glory licked her lips. “So, uh, I guess I'll be heading out here pretty soon.”
Fluttershy smiled. Her whole face crinkled up in happiness. “If you’re sure! Please be careful on your trip! Anything I can get you? Cookies? Cup of tea?”
Morning Glory thought. She exhaled. “No, thanks. I'd probably better get going before I lose my nerve.” It was so strange admitting weakness. She really didn't like it. But Fluttershy was kind, and probably the least likely pony to talk about her behind her back. She was, like, the epitome of kindness.
“Well, if you need a little more, you're more than welcome to come back. But you should stay for dinner, at least. And I did promise you an answer.”
It took Morning Glory a second to remember what she was referring to. “Oh, yeah. Don’t think I forgot!”
Fluttershy giggled. “I didn’t.”
Dinner was done quickly, and Fluttershy’s story was fascinating. But misunderstanding zebra magic is what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Still, it was a relief that everypony had come out unharmed.
Fluttershy smiled comfortingly as she walked her to the edge of the forest. “Like I said, I’ll be here if you need anything.”
Morning Glory stopped short of the threshold. “Actually… Do you have a cloak or something I could borrow?” She wiggled her little tail. “It’s a little... chilly out.”
Wind Shear surveyed his garden. Everything he’d grown (or more accurately, ‘hadn’t managed to kill’) had been brought in for the winter, leaving everything looking just a little bit barren. Even the white wooden fence looked a little sad, though that may have been because he had never gotten around to fixing it from the time he'd flown back through that storm and it was still being held together with string (which was sagging and stretched and looked pretty sad itself). Or maybe it was because the rest of it looked a bit worn with age.
He felt eyes on his back, and he slowly turned around. Morning Glory stood there, just off his property, wearing a long pink smock. She didn’t say anything. He didn't say anything. They just stared at each other.
“Hey,” he finally said.
“Hi.”
There was a long pause.
“I like your outfit,” Wind Shear said, a teasing smile flitting across his face.
“Thanks,” Morning Glory said. “Borrowed it from a friend. It looks better on her, though, believe me.”
There was another pause.
“You're not yelling,” Morning Glory said softly. She cracked a half-smile. “That's comforting.”
Wind Shear snorted a laugh. “What, were you expecting a welcoming mob of torches and pitchforks or something?”
She shrugged. “Wouldn't have surprised me.”
There was yet another pause.
“Are you… mad at me?” she asked.
Wind Shear pursed his lips. “A little, but mostly because you ran off and didn't even say goodbye. Went looking for you, searched for forever, and I never even found a trace of you or your camp.”
Morning Glory exhaled through her nose. That was a pretty good sign. “And the innkeeper?”
Wind Shear barked a laugh. “Happy Trails is fine. Once she—and the rest of the town, by the way—realized you were real, she started doing a little marketing. Once her headache went away, that is. The mayor got in on it, too. So now you're the gorgony, local urban legend and unofficial town mascot. She's even selling these little novelty chocolate chip bread things shaped like your head, complete with two snakes wrapped around it. It's pretty good, actually, you should try it sometime.”
Morning Glory coughed. “I… hadn't expected that,” she admitted.
“Me neither. But she's been a good sport about it, and like any businesspony, she was not about to waste an opportunity like that.” He shrugged. “And that took some heat off me, so that was nice, too.”
Morning Glory cracked a smile, one fang poking out. “You know me, anything to help,” she said.
The was another pause.
“How's your writing?”
“Slowed down, actually,” Wind Shear admitted. “I'm missing my favorite prereader.”
Morning Glory smiled. “Your favorite, huh?” she teased.
“Only prereader,” Wind Shear amended. “I've never actually trusted anypony else to preread my stuff, not since Lacey Stepmare had a draft of her novel leaked by a pre. But it still counts.”
There was another pause.
“You know what I've figured out about writing?” Wind Shear asked. “Nopony wants to read stories about perfect ponies. They just don’t sell.”
“They don’t, eh? What does sell?”
“Ponies overcoming challenges. Ponies like success stories, especially if they have to fight for it.” He cracked a smile. “And you know what they say: truth is stranger than fiction.”
“And what about us?” Morning Glory asked softly, feeling strangely vulnerable and even more strangely alright with that. She pressed on, taking a subtle step forward. “Do you think we're supposed to be a success story?”
“I think so,” Wind Shear said, mirroring her step. “And I'm willing to find out if you are.”
Morning Glory nodded. “I am.”
He grinned. “Alright. So let's start over.” He held his hoof out. “Hi. I'm Wind Shear. I'm a writer. Originally from Cloudsdale. Retired here, un-retired when I met this amazing mare who made inspiration rain harder than a cumulonimbus, and I'm still writing. More or less,” he amended. “It tends to fluctuate between eating and writing.”
She chuckled and returned the bump. “Morning Glory. I’m a florist, born in Dodge Junction, moved to Appleoosa in second grade. Fell in love, almost got married, but he left me for somepony else the night before we were supposed to be married, so I thought it'd be a good idea to create a potion to turn her into a snake. Unfortunately for me, one of the snake skins I picked up turned out to be a cockatrice skin instead, and the whole thing blew up in my face and, long story short, I ended up like this.” She pursed her lips. “Did wonders for my self-esteem, let me tell you.”
Wind Shear cracked a sad smile. “No wonder you hate Appleoosa.”
“Still to this day I can't even stand the sight of apples,” she admitted.
“Fortunately for you, I've always been more of a pear guy.”
Morning Glory smiled a true smile, and both her fangs poked out. And she was not ashamed of that in the slightest.
Wind Shear chuckled awkwardly, and looked around. “So, uh, you want to come in, or just hang out here all night?”
“I'd like to come in.” She chuckled wryly. “I don't really have anyplace else to go, so I was hoping you'd say that.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“Then I guess you'll be wanting to stay the night, as well?”
“Just one. I can get my house rebuilt tomorrow, shouldn’t take long.”
“Alright. I can help with that.”
Morning Glory raised an eyebrow. “You know how to do lashings?”
Wind Shear hesitated. “Like a tongue lashing?”
Morning Glory chuckled and shook her head. “I can get my house rebuilt,” she emphasized.
“Right. Come on in. You can have my bed, I'll take the couch.”
“Ok. That's good, because plan B was stoning you and taking your bed anyway.”
Wind Shear choked.
“Kidding!” Morning Glory sang as she pranced past him and headed inside.
Wind Shear grinned as he turned and followed. He'd missed… that, whatever it was.
“You know, I'm glad you invited me over for breakfast, but are you sure I can't help?” Wind Shear wheedled.
“No,” Morning Glory said firmly, stirring the pot on the fire. “After your attempt at dinner last week, I'm not trusting you with anything more complicated than cold cereal. Which, need I remind you, is not good for me in this weather.” She cast a quick glance at the sky and scowled.
“I said I was sorry,” Wind Shear sulked. So he'd gotten distracted talking with her and dinner had caught fire. Who hadn't done that at least once?
One of the snake heads flicked its tongue at him. “You'd’ve been sorrier if your house had burned down,” she retorted.
Wind Shear snorted, forced to concede this point. He glanced around at Morning Glory’s house. If it could be called that, anyway. She'd lashed (turns out that also meant ‘tying’, something he’d never had to do with clouds) poles together in a sort of lean-to setup under a big evergreen tree, with thick tarps (that he'd had to acquire for her) to block the wind, and it actually worked pretty well. The tree seemed to be a natural insulator from the top, and it smelled faintly of pine.
She pulled the pot off the heat and stirred again before looking down. “No, I did appreciate you trying, though,” she added softly.
Wind Shear grinned. Those softer moments of hers were getting a bit more common as time went on. She was a kind and generous mare under her gruff exterior, and he hoped to see more of it. Hay, this invitation had been a soft moment, wrapped in a ‘you'd starve without the mares in your life’ dig; but it had culminated in letting him see where she lived, no blindfold this time. It felt like he was privy to one of her most closely-kept secrets, and he loved that feeling. “You sure you don't want to come into town with me for lunch?” he asked, referencing their earlier conversation. “You'll get food prepared by somepony who's competent and not you. And no dishes,” he added in a singsong voice.
“No,” Morning Glory said firmly, pulling out her mismatched bowls. “And you're doing these dishes. I'm not a freak show and I have no intention of becoming one.”
“I'm sure they'd love you once they got to know you,” he tried.
“Yeah, love to put me in the window as a living advertisement,” she said darkly. “Pass.” She ladled the steaming oatmeal into his bowl. “If I wanted that, I'd start my own shop and be my own mascot.”
“Alright. I'll bring you something back, then.”
“Grab me one of the me-breads, would you? I've been wanting to try one.”
Wind Shear smiled. “You got it.”
The pageant had ended, and Wind Shear ran back on stage, enjoying the sound of stomping. He wore costume armor reminiscent of pre-unification times. As he ran, he scanned the audience, but did not see the pony he looked for. He hid his frown. She may have just left early. Or she was hiding really well. Or she may not have come at all.
With a quiet stomp from Happy Trails (who was in the center of their line, playing Smart Cookie), they took the cue and bowed in unison, and then took a step back as others came on for their bow.
Smaller town life is great , he reflected. Nowhere else would he have been gotten the opportunity to play Commander Hurricane in the traditional Hearth's Warming Eve pageant.
Their curtain call completed, they all headed off stage as the curtain closed. He congratulated the young filly playing Private Pansy (she blushed and giggled; it had been her first acting gig), and he headed out the back door. There were quite a few ponies in the audience he didn’t recognize, most of them mares, and he sincerely doubted they were all there for family. But he knew he wouldn’t be bothered once he got out of sight of town hall; any visitor would be hopelessly lost in the mess of streets that was this little town, especially with all the snow that had fallen. Talk about a home field advantage!
And then a voice broke into his thoughts.
“Turning into a regular pillar of the community, aren't you?” Morning Glory said, falling in step right next to him.
Wind Shear shrugged, unable to keep the smile off his face. It had been a couple weeks since she’d come back, but he was still always happy to see her. “I try. It's my home now, after all. Better make the most of it.”
She shivered, but she did her best to hide it. “Wonder how many ponies came just to see you perform, oh mighty Commander Hurricane.”
“Hopefully not many. I'd hate to have disappointed them.”
“Well, there was at least one who came just for that.” She nudged him in the shoulder with her hoof. “And she wasn't disappointed at all.”
“That’s a relief.”
She shivered ever so briefly. “I think my second favorite part was when you threatened Private Pansy with court martial. I think your stomp actually scared her.”
“Yeah, I think so,” he admitted. “She jumped just a little bit.” He paused. “But what was your first favorite part?”
“My first favorite?” A devious smile flitted across her face. “When you flubbed the line about earth ponies and accidentally took Platinum’s line.”
Wind Shear winced. “I was hoping I salvaged that.”
“You did. Played it off well. And whoever Platinum was covered well, too. Hadn't heard that insult in a long time.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, she did. I heard she used to be on Bridleway, actually.”
“I could believe that. It just made me laugh. Anypony who doesn't know the script wouldn't have caught it.” She shivered again.
The happiness he felt at her arrival dimmed as he realized how cold she was. Being a pegasus, he was used to cooler temperatures; but the rumors that this was going to be the coldest winter in years were sounding more and more true. “You sure you're warm enough?” he asked.
“I'm fine,” she insisted.
Wind Shear shrugged, but then, in a fit of daring, he rested his wing on her withers. She tensed, but did not pull away.
“So, uh,” Wind Shear started, thrown off at her accepting the physical touch but wanting to keep the conversation going, “how do you know the script? Were you ever in a pageant?”
“No, I… Not exactly. I played Smart Cookie. Would have. I was her understudy. Never made it on stage. But I learned all the lines.” She shivered again, and leaned into him a bit more.
Wind Shear looked up ahead. He brightened. “Almost home,” he said comfortingly.
“Great. I'll make some soup.”
“I'll make soup,” Wind Shear insisted. “You're freezing.”
“And if you catch your kitchen on fire?” she challenged.
“Then at least you'll be warm again,” Wind Shear said with a straight face.
Morning Glory barked a laugh.
Thankfully, Wind Shear did not catch his kitchen on fire, and was getting better at cooking in general. He soon had a bowl of piping hot soup, and Morning Glory held it close to her body and breathed in the steam. The snake closest to where her forelock would have been emerged and neared the bowl, tongue flicking, enjoying the heat; and the others soon followed. “Thanks,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome.”
They ate their soup in silence. Wind Shear hadn’t realized how cold it was until he’d started. He looked at Morning Glory and winced. It must have been awful for her, and he debated wrapping his wing around her again. He made two false attempts before settling on a question. “Are you going to be ok?”
“Yes,” she said.
“You’re still shivering,” he observed.
“I said I’m ok,” she spat.
There was a long pause.
“What?”
“Just… remembering something from flight camp.”
“What?” she demanded.
“If a fellow flier is too cold, you warm them up, uh, with yourself.”
Morning Glory stared. “You do what, now?”
“You know, you make a little cloud cave, make a big cave and hollow it out, making the walls as compressed as possible for- for insulation, uh, take the armor off, both go inside?”
“Because I was an earth pony, no, I do not. I am fine . I am going straight home after this, and even if I wasn't, there is no way I'd let you in my bed, no matter how cold it got!”
Morning Glory scowled audibly over the sound of the wind howling outside, and crossed her forelegs over her chest and shivered again. The snow outside had escalated from a flurry into a small blizzard just during their soup, and even under the covers, it was still really cold. “Keep all your body parts to yourself, ok? Or your whole body will be stone hard in the morning. Got it?”
Wind Shear nodded from his position behind her. “Duly noted.”
She shivered one more time before falling asleep.
It had been slightly awkward the next morning. Suffice it to say that Wind Shear was very grateful the next morning that he’d somehow ended up as the little spoon.
Morning Glory mumbled a thanks when she got up and did not say much over the breakfast she made. But she did brush up against him with her hips as she went to sit down; and when she had to leave, she seemed to stare at him a bit longer than usual before flipping up her hood and walking away.
Wind Shear looked at the sky and frowned. It was really cold today, colder than last week. He shook his head and got back on his typewriter.
Or, he tried to, anyway; but the two buttons just stared blankly back at him and remained stubbornly silent. He exhaled through his teeth and looked out the window again. How was Morning Glory faring in this? Was she alright? Was she freezing?
Maybe she’d already frozen?
At that thought, he groaned and slid out of his chair. Now he had to check, or it would bother him all day.
Within minutes, he was outside, his scarf tied around his neck, flying toward where she lived. He found it again, easily enough. Her place was much closer to the edge of the forest (and by extension, his house) than her last place, which was probably no coincidence.
But when he landed, everything was gone. The tarps had been taken down, leaving the bare pole frame, and nothing else. The fire pit was there, though kicked over with dirt and snow; but when he knelt to touch the rocks around it, they were still a bit warm, as if it had recently been used. He frowned. Why would she do that? What was she doing? With a quick flap of his wings, he was airborne again. He flew over the forest, scanning rapidly for any flash of pink.
But Morning Glory was nowhere to be found. His searching circles grew wider and wider, and as it grew colder, he grew more concerned. Where was she?
Then again, she could clearly take care of herself. And it wasn’t like she’d never had a winter before. Maybe she hibernated? And it had happened too fast for her to tell him? Plausible, but unlikely.
Finally, just as he was about to give up and return home, he spotted a flash of pink down below the trees. Letting out a whoop of relief like he was a colt a quarter of his age, he dropped down and landed in front of her.
Morning Glory yelped. She dropped to a defensive position and bared her fangs, and then relaxed when she recognized him. “Don’t do that!” she scolded, tugging her hood tighter. “Gave me a heart attack-” she shivered, “and I don’t really have the energy to spare.”
“Where are you going?”
“Well, in case you couldn't tell, I'm freezing my snakes and some other important bits off here, and I know where there's a fire swamp out this way. It'll be nice and warm, and I won't have to worry about freezing off the rest of my tail.”
“Well, why?”
“Because I'm slightly cold-blooded?” she suggested, as if it were stupidly obvious.
“No, I mean… why the fire swamp?”
She rolled her eyes. “Same answer.”
“But why are you leaving?”
“Because I run the risk of dying if I don’t! How many times-?”
“But you could stay with me!” Wind Shear blurted.
There was a pause. Morning Glory stared, and even Wind Shear seemed a bit surprised at the words he'd just said.
“Are you… asking me to move in with you?” she asked.
“...maybe?”
She shook her head. “No, no. You don’t just drop something like that and go back with a ‘maybe’. You either are, or you aren’t.”
Wind Shear straightened up and decided to own it like the grown stallion he was. “Yes. Yes, I am. I want you to move in with me.”
“Why?”
Wind Shear licked his lips. He knew why, inside; but all his writing abilities and ways with words seemed to all have taken an immediate leave of absence.
Morning Glory snickered. “Ok, take yourself out of the situation. Imagine you're writing a book, ok? And there's this guy, this character, that you're writing.” She shivered again. “He's not so bright.”
“Ouch.”
“But not wrong. He wants this mare to move in with him. What would he say to her?”
“Well, he'd… theoretically speaking, you know… he'd say it outright. ‘I want you to move in with me’, like that.”
“And if she asks why? What would he say, then?”
“Because he loves her.” He met her eyes. “Because I love you, and I want you in my life. I want you in my life for the rest of my life.” It was the first time he'd said it, but it was true. Again, a very strange and awkward realization (to say nothing of the awkward construction; ‘our lives’ probably would have been better), but not unwelcome at all.
She brushed a snake away from her face. “You're kidding .”
“I am not!” Wind Shear said, somewhat offended by that.
She shook her head. “No, it's just…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down.
“Just what?” Wind Shear prompted after a moment.
Morning Glory exploded. “No one loves me! I was the one chosen last at the dances, if I was even chosen at all! Even before this,” she gestured at herself, “I was just that weird mare who read too much, was a little too into my flowers, and talked way too much about things nopony else cared about! I’m not attractive, I never have been; I'm terrible at pleasant conversation, I'm afraid of the dark, I've never been in a good relationship, and I've spent every Hearts and Hooves Day alone except for one, and most of that one was him trying to talk me into doing something I wasn't ready for!” She choked. “And he succeeded !” Her voice was desperate. “So why? Why would you want to marry me?”
Wind Shear’s mouth worked wordlessly. “I've… never seen any of that,” he finally said. “I’ve seen a real pony, a pony I've really enjoyed getting to know. You treat me like a normal pony, not like a celebrity or a source of income.”
She brushed a hoof brusquely against her eyes. “Did ponies really do that?”
Wind Shear rolled his eyes. “You have no idea. My first book was a runaway success and mares came out of the woodwork like vultures . I can't remember when my last actual date was, one that wasn't actually a thinly-veiled interview. I don’t think I ever even asked, they invited themselves. It took me a lot longer than I'm willing to admit to realize that most mares do not actually want to go to the fanciest restaurants just to talk about royalties and when the next book is coming out.” He snorted derisively. “Joke would have been on them; they dried up to almost nothing during that hiatus.”
Morning Glory cracked a smile and shivered.
“But you… you're like a thermal updraft. You're real. You're strong, the strongest mare I know. You're independent. You don’t need me; but you hang out with me because you want to, and it’s something we both like doing. And, between you and me, you look great .”
Morning Glory gave a broken chuckle. “You're a liar,” she said, but her heart wasn't in it.
“So…?” Wind Shear prompted.
“Say it.”
“Morning-”
“You have to kneel,” she interrupted. “It's the rules. What kind of cut-rate romance writer are you?”
Wind Shear shook his head. “The kind who proposes without even having a ring.”
She tsked and shook her head back. “Shameful.”
Wind Shear tilted his head. “If you don't want me to-”
“I didn't say that !”
Wind Shear chuckled and knelt into the snow. “Alright, then. Morning Glory, most glorious mare, will you marry me?”
She inhaled slowly, savoring the moment, and then exhaled. “I’d love to.” She shivered again, harder this time. “Can I borrow your scarf?”
Wind Shear smiled. “Definitely.”
Author's Note
"So, the dark, eh?"
“This is the worst idea ever ,” Morning Glory whispered.
“It is tradition to introduce one’s fiancée to his friends. And Happy Trails and Green Hooves are among my oldest friends.”
She tugged at her hood nervously. “You've known them for a year at most,” she protested, keeping her mouth as closed as she could.
“It still stands,” Wind Shear said firmly. “They've been great friends my whole time here.”
“Don't you have any great friends that I haven't stoned in a fit of jealousy?” she wheedled.
Wind Shear thought. “I think the mayor thinks we should be great friends, what with all the revenue I've helped bring in to this town; but she kinda smells like onions and it's a little bit hard to take her seriously.”
Morning Glory expelled a quick burst of air out her nose.
The Happy Hooves Hotel came into view. “Last chance to turn back,” she offered hopefully. “We could go home, we could cuddle on the couch…”
Wind Shear bumped her with his hips. “Don't worry. You’ve got this,” he said comfortingly.
But when he looked back over his shoulder, she hadn't followed. He came back. “I- if you're sure you can't, we can-”
“No, no,” Morning Glory said. “I want to do it. But I want to go first, by myself. I… I think I owe Happy Trails an apology.”
Wind Shear nodded hesitantly. “Ok,” he said, trusting her. “I’ll, uh, wait for you.”
Happy Trails bobbed her head to a tune only she heard as she passed through the kitchen. She playfully bumped hips with Green Hooves and swatted her with her tail, prompting a little yip of surprise from the larger mare. She slid onto the stool behind the front desk and got comfortable. It was going to be an excellent day!
The bell over the door jingled, and she smiled her biggest smile to the pony that had just come in. “Welcome to the Happy Hooves Hotel!” She had no suitcases, but still she knew she should ask. “Are you here for lunch or a room?”
“Neither, actually,” the mare responded, staying back by the door and in the shadows. She tugged uncomfortably at her pink hood.
“Ah. Meeting somepony here?” Happy Trails suggested. Their little restaurant had grown into quite the meeting place to chat and grab something to eat. Green Hooves was perfectly ok with that; she loved cooking. And the fact that Happy Trails had had to pick up some more of the cleaning responsibilities probably didn't hurt, either.
“I'm actually… here to apologize.”
Happy Trails paused. That was unexpected.
“To you,” she clarified.
Happy Trails squinted. She had no recollection of this mare but didn't want to offend a potential customer. “Ah, ok. Mm, for what?”
She flipped her hood down, revealing her five snakes, fangs, and slitted eyes. “For turning you into stone, for one.”
Happy Trails’ eyes widened and she flew backwards, knocking her stool over, and pressing herself against the key wall. “G- g- g-!” she stammered, pointing.
“Gorgony?” Morning Glory supplied wryly.
Happy Trails nodded mutely, her eyes as wide as saucers. Hearing this commotion, Green Hooves poked her head out, and her eyes widened as well, and the rag she held in her mouth dropped to the floor. But she bravely stood her ground.
Morning Glory scuffed a hoof. “So, uh, yeah, that was me. I’m sorry I turned you into stone in a fit of misaimed jealousy.”
Happy Trails nodded tightly, her head barely bobbing.
“‘Cause, I thought you were flirting with him, and, uh, I'm… not so good with the love stuff. And, uh… you, uh, play for the other team and I didn’t realize... I didn’t...” She pulled her hood on again, much to the chagrin of her snakes. “Yeah. I’ll just be going now.” She turned to the door and pushed it open, then looked over her shoulder. “Your, uh, breads are good, by the way. With the little snake heads and chocolate chips. I, uh, I approve. They're good.”
“Thanks,” Happy Trails breathed.
With a tight nod, she ran out the door.
Happy Trails watched her go. She took a shaky breath. That had been a thing.
But there was more 'thing' left to come. She came back in, closely followed by Wind Shear. “By the way, I’m marrying Wind Shear and we want you to come to our wedding.”
There was a brief pause. Wind Shear rested his wing on her back, waiting with bated breath for their reactions. And then-
“Eeee!” Green Hooves pranced rapidfire in place in excitement, her eyes wide with stars and a huge smile on her face. How exciting! She loved weddings!
“And we may be staying for lunch, after all.” Morning Glory bumped him with her hips. “He's hungry and can’t cook to save his life.”
Wind Shear gave her a half-playful, half-comforting nudge back, then looked up at Happy Trails. “Table for two, please!” he said cheerfully, as if this whole situation were normal.
“Yeah, I’ll…” Happy Trails slowly pulled herself off the wall. This part she could handle. “Your usual spot?”
“Yes, please!”
Morning Glory sat with her back to the wall, hidden from sight. “Nice choice,” she said, looking around at the booth.
“Yeah,” Wind Shear said, joining her. “Couple years of dodging autographs, and you get good at picking out places you can hide when you’re in public.”
“Heh. Teach me your ways.”
Wind Shear blinked. “You’re planning on going out in public more?”
Morning Glory snorted. “Not really. This is a one-time thing, and only because I don’t want to make lunch today.”
Wind Shear picked up a menu, though by now he knew exactly what he wanted here. “Love you too, Morning.”
Morning Glory picked hers up, too. A snake poked its head out from her hood, and she gently pushed it back inside. “What’s good here?”
“Pretty much everything. My favorite was the daisy sandwiches, but since Jenny left, she hasn’t been able to get good ones.”
“Feh,” Morning Glory said, tapping the bottom of her menu on the table. “I’d grow her daisies.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She exhaled wistfully and looked at the menu.
“That would require you coming into town to make your deliveries,” Wind Shear pointed out cheekily.
“Hay, no! I’d make you do it. You’d make a cute delivery colt.”
“I am a grown stallion!” Wind Shear protested, poking at his stomach.
“And you’d have to wear the outfit,” she continued. “Little cap, vest, bow tie, the whole thing.”
Wind Shear chuckled. “I don’t think that's going to happen. I doubt I could pull that off.”
“Probably not,” Morning Glory agreed. “I can’t sew, anyway. Are the fried pickles here any good?”
“I like them.”
“Never had the patience for it myself.”
“For frying?”
“For pickling.” She chuckled. “Funny, really. I can wait a whole season for flowers to bloom, but an afternoon of pickling just doesn’t appeal to me.” She inhaled.
Right as she did, Happy Trails returned with water glasses, doing her very best to not look shaky. “So!” she said just a bit too brightly, even for her, “have we decided on what to order?”
“Not yet,” Morning Glory said, hiding behind her menu.
“But we’ll start with the fried pickles for an appetizer,” Wind Shear supplied.
“Got it!” And she walked away backwards.
Wind Shear shook his head and looked back at Morning Glory. “You were going to say something.”
“Nah.”
“You were.”
“I… It’s silly, really.”
Wind Shear stared at her, waiting for her to crack.
It didn’t take long. She bit her lower lip, her fangs standing out against the pink of her lip. “Well, what I’d really like… I mean, just hypothetically, here… I’d like to start my own business.”
“Your own business?” Wind Shear prompted.
“I was a florist before…” She gestured at herself, referencing her transformation. “Sometimes, I… miss it.” She scowled at the table. She still wasn’t used to showing weakness, even to him, and it was making her uncomfortable. “And the no daisies thing you just said made me think I could do it. It’s stupid, I know-”
“Could work.”
Morning Glory narrowed an eye. “Really?”
He wiggled his eyebrow. “It’d have to be a mail-order service, though, what with you not going into town. You would have to print a catalog.”
“I will buy a store in this town on this very street just to make you eat those words,” she swore.
“You could figure out what you’re going to eat here, too,” Wind Shear countered.
Morning Glory poked another snake back under her hood and picked up the menu again.
“You don't have to.”
“What?”
He gestured like he was taking off a hood. “Keep that on.”
Morning Glory snorted. “Yeah. That'll be a great idea. I’ll just really freak everypony out permanently.” She rounded on Happy Trails. “Like you. I freak you out just by existing, huh?”
Happy Trails, who was returning with the fried pickles they'd ordered, but her lower lip and dug the tip of her hoof into the carpet. “More like you freak me out because the last time I saw you, you literally turned me to stone, which I only realized was happening to me halfway through the transformation; and I've always been really claustrophobic (and that’s part of the reason I moved to this little town), so not being able to move my hooves, and then my legs, and then my hips, and then my chest stopped moving and I wasn't able to breathe anymore and I was trapped, helpless, stuck, and couldn't move at all—couldn’t even blink—before losing consciousness really did a number on the old noggin.” She tapped the side of her head. “Nightmares for a week, sitting up in a cold sweat screaming myself hoarse and everything. Even dreamed of Princess Luna once, that was odd, never done that before.” She tapped her chin. “They did kinda slow down after that, though, so that was nice.”
Morning Glory looked down abashedly. She had a point. She'd made herself the victim when she had been the one at fault.
After the briefest of hesitations, Happy Trails nudged her gently on the shoulder. “But hey, if Wind Shear likes you, you can't be all that bad.”
Morning Glory smiled shakily. “Comforting,” she mumbled.
“So!” Happy Trails said cheerfully, as if the previous conversation hadn't happened. “Have we decided?”
“Mm… How big are your baked potatoes?”
Happy Trails held her hooves a decent distance apart.
Morning Glory looked at Wind Shear and winked. “Yeah,” she said, a playful smile on her face. “I'd like one of those.”
Wind Shear rolled his eyes.
Morning Glory stared in the mirror at herself. It had been weird enough that Fluttershy had told her that she could reserve the castle in Ponyville for their private wedding, but then to find out another of her friends was a seamstress and was more than willing to make a dress for her based solely on her measurements was so much more than she'd expected.
And then she’d actually gotten the dress and had been blown away.
Huh. And all I'd wanted to do was invite her to be my Mare of Honor, she mused, spinning to get a better view of herself. She'd never looked this pretty.
Rarity seemed to agree. “I'd say you're ready, darling,” she said, making one last tiny adjustment to her headpiece. She looked down at the low scoop, which revealed many of Morning Glory’s patches of scales, and pursed her lips. “I'll admit, it's not quite what I'd expected; but then again, had I known, I probably would have tried to fit your snakes with a little hat or some kind of decoration. Maybe a little lace sleeve for each one.”
Morning Glory barked a laugh. “I don't think they'd appreciate that. I'm just glad you took me so well.”
Rarity patted her back gently. “I've made it my policy to make sure no mare ever feels left out, regardless of how she looks.” She looked into the mirror with her and briefly pressed their cheeks together. “And darling, you look fabulous .”
Morning Glory looked back into the mirror. Honestly, she'd never thought she'd have this opportunity. She'd somewhat assumed she'd be running and hiding alone for the rest of her life, growing her flowers with just her snakes for company (and having to destroy them every few years to cover her tracks whenever she was discovered and had to go on the run again).
But now she had friends. Sure, her apology to Happy Trails and Green Hooves had been a bit awkward (as had their next few meetings), but they'd forgiven her. They were here, too, on Wind Shear’s side. Her side had Fluttershy, and she said she'd brought a few of her closest friends (which were most likely animals, knowing her. But that was just fine).
As if she'd heard her name, Fluttershy came into the room. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“I think so,” Morning Glory said.
Rarity tittered and trotted back around. “I'll be in my seat. Don't keep us waiting!”
Morning Glory stood in front of the door and took a deep breath. “Alright,” she murmured. She glanced up at the nearest snake. “You ready?”
The snake flicked its tongue at her.
“I'll take that as a yes.” With a quick glance at Fluttershy for reassurance, she nodded, and the pegasus pulled open the door.
Then Morning Glory slammed the door shut. She pressed her back against it as if to hold it closed from what was on the other side. “Fluttershy!” she hissed.
“Yes?” Fluttershy asked, confused.
Morning Glory pointed over her shoulder. “Why is there a princess in there?” she asked hoarsely.
Fluttershy scuffed a hoof. “Because you wanted a quiet ceremony, so I kept it within my… my circle of friends? A- and she's the only one of us who can actually perform a wedding, officially. Well, Pinkie might be able to,” she amended. “I think, but I'm not completely sure. There's a lot about Pinkie that-”
“You're friends with a princess ?!”
“She's a very friendly pony,” Fluttershy offered weakly.
Morning Glory shook her head. “This is a terrible idea.”
Fluttershy looked flatly at her.
“You're not going to do that freaky stare thing again, are you?”
“No. Because you already know you're going in there, because you love Wind Shear more than you're afraid.” She reached up and gently stroked the head of the nearest snake. “Isn't that right?” she cooed.
Morning Glory scowled as she readied herself again. “I hope you throw a shoe.”
But no shoes were thrown, thankfully. And it really was a nice wedding, even if Twilight was looking at her with uncomfortably intense scientific curiosity the whole time.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“N- nothing, it's just… I think this is the first time I've ever been supposed to look at a mare’s… uh, ‘you know’?”
“I literally have no hair on my tail. None. You cannot tell me you've never seen me back there before.”
“Well, yeah; but there's a difference between catching a glimpse and actually being invited to enjoy the view.”
There was a pause.
“You're making it weird,” Morning Glory said, shuffling uncomfortably. “Stop making it weird.”
“Sorry. First time, remember?”
“Lucky me,” Morning Glory mumbled.
“It's a good view?” Wind Shear tried.
“You're not supposed to just look!” Morning Glory complained. “You’re supposed to do something about it! Just… go on instinct or something!”
“Alright, alright! Let me just—sorry—get up on you and-”
“Not that one! ” she shrieked.
“Sorry! Sorry! I didn't- they're close, and-”
“Ugh. I am regretting a lot of things in my life right now.”
“Ouch,” he said, mildly offended.
Morning Glory sighed. “Just… try again. I want this, too, you know.”
“Ok, I'll… uh, ok, try- Whoa . Oh, wow .”
Morning Glory’s smugness knew no bounds. “Mm-hm. That's it. Feels good, huh?”
“Y- yeah. Really good. Uh, how are you?”
“Not bad. Kinda boring, though. Try moving.”
“Al- Oh, sweet Celestia…”
“Hey! She's not here, I am! Shout- ngh - my name!”
“Morning-! ahn -! Glory! Wow, I-”
“No! Don't stop! Don't you dare!”
Wind Shear lay on his back, his heart rate finally returning to normal. That had been amazing .
Short, yes; but amazing.
Part of him wanted to go back in time and slap himself for writing those erotic novels when he didn't know anything about romance or intimacy. He had known nothing. Literally nothing. Morning Glory had taught him so much, and his life would never be the same.
Morning Glory was currently nestled on his chest, snoring softly. He'd taught her about a wing hug. He didn't think it felt nearly as good as what she'd just showed him, but she seemed to like it; she'd fallen asleep almost instantly, wrapped in his wing. Even her snakes were asleep.
He thought, anyway. That one on the end may have stayed awake as a sentry. He thought he saw tiny flashes of pink from its tongue out of the corner of his eye.
And yet, somehow this all made sense.
You know, I have no idea how my life turned out this way. He squeezed her tighter. But I'm not disappointed.
Wind Shear opened the door, and he brightened. “Hey, friends!”
“Hi, Windy!” Happy Trails said cheerfully. “Love what you've done with the place. I like the fence.” She jerked her head towards the wooden fence, the slats high and tight enough that it could not be seen through.
“Yeah. It's for privacy. And to keep wild animals from the forest out.” He looked back towards the kitchen. “I hear there’s all kinds of monsters that live there,” he said, a bit louder than normal.
“I heard that,” Morning Glory called from inside.
Wind Shear chuckled and stepped aside. “Come on in,” he said.
“Thanks!” Happy Trails bopped her head happily as she went through, and Green Hooves followed close behind, carrying a large baking pan on her back, their contribution to tonight's dinner.
Fluttershy waved from her seat at the table; she had arrived only a little bit earlier. In front of her was a large selection of her finest cookies and a steamed (and still steaming) carrot dish, and Happy Trails brightened even further. She waited until Green Hooves had set her pan down, then gallantly pulled her chair out, and the larger mare’s cheeks tinged pleasantly pink as she sat down.
Wind Shear returned from the kitchen. “You’ll be pleased to know that I have taken a more active role in dinner tonight,” he said pleasantly, setting the pot he held on the table. “This is oven-roasted squash with garlic and parsley*, and was completely my doing…” He paused, letting them look nervously amongst themselves before finishing, “though I was heavily supervised by Morning Glory the whole time.”
(*I referenced this recipe ; someone make it and tell me if it’s any good)
He couldn’t hide a smile as they all sighed with varying degrees of relief. This was only their third dinner together, but his abysmal cooking skills were already legendary.
Morning Glory stuck her head out to confirm that. “Yeah. Good thing, too, because he started out chopping up three heads of garlic instead of three cloves,” she called.
Green Hooves snorted a quiet laugh, the loudest sound she'd made all day. Even Fluttershy hid her smile behind her hooves.
“Well, at least you won’t have to worry about vamponies anymore, eh, Windy?” Happy Trails laughed.
“Not at all! And even if one did come around, I’d just sic Morning Glory on it.” He looked over his shoulder. “Get us a nice scarecrow in your garden!”
Morning Glory emerged, carrying her own dish. “I’d stick you out there, it’d scare more birds away,” she snarked as she set it down.
Wind Shear chuckled and took this in stride.
As they ate and talked, Wind Shear noticed Morning Glory seemed to be a bit quiet. He leaned in close. “You ok?”
“Yeah, yeah. It's just… really nice to have friends.” She lifted her bowl to her lips and lapped up some water; her lack of throat muscles not letting her get water any other way. Really, though, nopony here even looked twice anymore, and it was a great feeling, being… accepted. “Honestly, I don't think this could get much better.”
Wind Shear’s eyes snapped open. It was the middle of the night, and something wasn't right. He rolled over and reached out to touch Morning Glory, but his hoof hit nothing but air. He frowned, now fully awake, and rolled over to get a closer look.
Morning Glory was gone.
He sat up, ears pricked, but there were no noises from the bathroom.
A cold feeling settled in his stomach. She'd been feeling a bit nauseous earlier, but he'd attributed it to his earlier attempt at baked potatoes (he'd been a bit too liberal with the thyme as in seasoning and time as in how long he’d left them in the oven).
But why would she leave? And why wouldn’t she wake him up?
He lay back down, unsettled. He trusted her completely, of course, and she probably had a good reason for not; but at the same time, he knew he probably wouldn't sleep well until she came back.
Morning Glory galloped through the forest. Her snakes didn't even try to protest, they just coiled against and over each other to try and hold on.
Finally, she arrived at her destination. She scattered a few raccoons and other nocturnal creatures in her haste and pounded on Fluttershy's door.
After what felt like an eternity and a half, Fluttershy opened the door ever so slightly. “Um, h-” she started blearily. Her eyes widened as she recognized her visitor. “Mor-?”
Morning Glory’s eyes were wild, her chest heaving as she panted for breath. “Where's the zebra?” she demanded, cutting her off.
“What?”
“The zebra! The one who almost became a tree from your story! Where is she? How can I find her?”
“Zecora?” Fluttershy tried to parse her jumbled words. “She lives in the Everfree Forest, too.”
“Where? Can you take me there?”
Fluttershy rubbed her eyes and suppressed a yawn. “Y- yes, but… Does it have to be right now?”
“Yes!”
Fluttershy panted. “Alright, it's… it's here,” she said, gesturing at the treehouse.
Morning Glory darted to the door, ignoring the masks and other decorations, and knocked rapidly.
There was a dull thump, as if a pony had just fallen off a bed, some mumbled cursing, as if a pony had just realized they'd fallen out of bed, and then the door opened with a zebra standing there there, with her mane messy like she'd just been abruptly awaken from bed—and angry, like she'd been prematurely and against her will awoken from bed. “What does this mean? It's the middle of the night! / What is so important that it could not wait for light?” she demanded.
“Can you undo a potion done about fifteen years ago?”
Zecora looked strangely at her. “My ears must be failing, fifteen years ago? / What could have possessed you to delay so slow?”
“It kinda never occurred to me; but now everything’s changed! I need your help!”
Zecora glowered. “At three am you make such a scene,” she groused. “It had best be something I have never before seen.”
In response, Morning Glory pulled her hood off her head.
Zecora looked at the snakes, then back at Morning Glory. She blinked. As if uncertain, she looked at one snake head, and followed it back to the mare’s head. She looked at where they met. For the first time, she noticed that her visitor had slitted eyes and tiny fangs. Then, with a tight nod, Zecora stepped back and let them in.
Zecora listened to her story, and hissed under her breath when Morning Glory described the recipe she'd followed. “I know of the potion you did create, / but all I can do is bewail your fate. // For to undo this, we’d need to do it anew / and use hairs of yours previous to your making the brew.”
Morning Glory sank to her haunches in equal parts shock and horror. “Are you sure?” she asked hopelessly.
“As certain as I am of the sun’s rising tomorrow. / I’d have to rebrew it, and your hair I’d need to borrow. // And furthermore, where did you even find that recipe? / It’s strictly forbidden, for reasons plain to see.”
“It was scribbled in the back of this book I found in the bookstore, bottom of the barrel.” She shook her head in defeat, and brought one hoof up to touch the bottom of her barrel.
Fluttershy made the connection instantly. Her eyes widened. “Zecora, you don’t think…?”
Zecora chuckled wryly. “The changes this potion causes are quite profound / Even I can’t say how deep it goes down. // I cannot promise it will be fine / but I suppose we’ll find out in ten months’ time.”
Ten months later…
Wind Shear paced outside nervously. He would have been in there—he should have been in there—but he’d passed out once and they’d kicked him out, saying they already would have two patients and didn’t need three. Being still too afraid to go into a larger town with an actual hospital—like, say, Ponyville, where Fluttershy lived—Morning Glory had elected to stay here.
And judging by the insults she was slinging, she was somewhat regretting this decision. He picked idly at the food she’d made, probably part of a distraction technique, but he didn’t taste anything. He wished he could hear those insults a little clearer. He’d never felt so helpless.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he heard the tiniest cry. His heart jumped, and he raced to the door. After another few moments, the door opened, and Fluttershy nodded.
He darted inside. Morning Glory lay on her back, holding a small wrapped bundle tightly against her chest. “It’s a girl,” she said softly. She gently unwrapped it to reveal the face of a little foal, a little lighter than his coat, wearing a bulbous knitted hat. Aroused by the movement, she opened her eyes, and there it was. Those were his eyes. His heart tightened. A filly! His filly!
She was adorable !
She blinked at him with quiet, innocent interest. He waved a hoof at her, a growing smile of pure joy crossing his face. He was a father!
And then a tiny snake slowly poked its head out from under her hat. Its tongue flicked curiously.
Morning Glory smiled sheepishly. “Surprise.”
Green Hooves reared up on her hind legs and leaned on the poster, holding it against the wall. She looked over her shoulder at Happy Trails.
She shook her head. “Not quite even. The left side needs to come up a bit more.”
Greenie adjusted the poster accordingly. Happy Trails pursed her lips, then nodded, satisfied; and Greenie pushed in the tacks. Wind Shear’s smiling face looked back down at them.
In contrast, Wind Shear’s irritated face wandered up behind them. “Ugh,” he grumbled, casting a narrow glare at it. “So tacky. I hate pictures of me. Last time, the promo material was just my cutie mark.”
“I think it's nice,” Happy Trails said positively. “It shows that they think you're hot stuff, a good investment; that book seven is going to fly off the shelves and they've got high hopes for the future. And it was good, wasn't it?”
Green Hooves, who had received one of the advance copies, nodded eagerly. Apparently, she'd stayed up all night reading it, and had not stopped until she'd finished it. Unfortunately, she kept falling asleep at work the next morning, culminating in her passing out face-first in the blueberry pancake batter and not waking up until Happy rushed in freaking out because she smelled something burning.
Wind Shear huffed. He leaned in to Green Hooves and whispered his main complaint. “That's great and all; but look at my smile. From far away I look fine, but up close I look like I'm constipated.”
She cracked up laughing, silent as she usually was even as she had to cover her face.
“I still can't believe you wanted to hold a release party here,” Happy Trails said, changing the subject as she adjusted a smaller poster on an easel. “I mean, I'm sure they have bigger ones planned in like Canterlot, or Cloudsdale-” she gestured vaguely at his wings, “-or even Ponyville. I hear they have this giant castle there that would be a great location for a release party.”
“Yeah, probably; but this is my home now,” he said with a smile. “Honestly, this one probably won't be that big.”
“Don't tell the mayor that,” Happy Trails whispered. “She put in a big order of sugar cookies shaped like Creme Brûlée’s cutie mark, and she's planning on giving them away at the party. The dough is chilling as we speak.”
Wind Shear laughed. “Hope she won't be too disappointed.”
“Hopefully not! But everypony else is pretty excited, too, hoping for a little business boost. Old Yellow has been setting out the other books in the series in his bookstore, Quick Service was chopping up potatoes like it was going out of style this morning, and Buttered bought the last of Jenny’s daisies. Beat me to it. Sad we won't be getting any more, though.” She jerked her head towards the menu, where the daisy sandwiches were still prominently featured. “I've got enough left for about five sandwiches—four, if you want one—but I'm not looking forward to eighty-sixing it.”
Wind Shear squinted. The flower-selling hinny had been here forever. She was possibly the only one here older than the town itself. “Is she ok?”
“Oh, yeah, she's fine. She’s retiring, that's all. Sold all her stock, not getting any more. I heard she's going to go live by the seashore.”
“And I bet you're hoping to sell out of rooms, huh?”
She grinned. “I can neither confirm nor deny that,” she said.
“Well, good luck.” He rolled his neck out. “Should be fun!”
Wind Shear closed the door behind him and slumped down against it. He exhaled slowly. Wow. Just… wow. That had been some party. Probably the biggest party this town had ever seen. The hotel had been stuffed full of ponies, his wrist ached from all the signing he'd done, he'd eaten more sugar cookies than could possibly be healthy, and he was pretty sure the mayor had proposed to him.
And he was pretty sure he'd be sleeping through the entire next day to make up for it.
But sleep quickly fled from his eyes as he realized his house was not empty.
“Sounds like there was a pretty big party in town,” Morning Glory said airily, leaning back in her chair. She brushed a snake under its chin, as if this conversation were second in her mind. “You have anything to do with that?”
“Kinda,” he said, pushing himself up. “Wrote a book, a couple ponies liked it. Released it today. Sold all three hundred copies they shipped here. Probably more than that in other places. Canterlot got two thousand copies.”
“Huh.” She dropped her chair to the ground. “Some ponies will buy anything.” She picked up the copy from on the table. “This it?”
“Yeah! Yeah, that's, uh, your copy, actually.”
She looked at it. “Huh,” she said again. “How generous.”
He smiled. He'd been waiting for this. “It's really yours. It's got your name on it and everything. Look inside the front cover.”
She hadn't expected that. Her brow furrowed curiously, she opened the page. Even the snakes seemed interested.
Dedicated to Morning Glory, who helped me find the passion I'd lost.
She stared blankly at the page, shocked.
Maybe it was just being tired from the long day. Maybe it was something else. But Wind Shear came up behind her and gave her a gentle nuzzle against her cheek.
And he may have brushed his lips against her cheek, as well.
She took a step back, startled, stepping off of the chair. Her snakes swarmed around her head, as if falling all over themselves in confusion. Wind Shear hesitated. Perhaps that had been too forward?
Then she stepped forward. “That all you want?” she asked, her voice slightly breathy. “Let me… return the favor.” She drew closer, breathing a bit harder, lips puckering ever so slightly…
And then with a burst of speed, she leaned forward and bit him on the neck, not hard enough to injure but hard enough to draw blood. She stepped back, a twisted smile on her face, eagerly awaiting his reaction.
Wind Shear gently rubbed at where she'd bitten him. That… was not unpleasant. It had stung, yes; but not in a bad way. He almost wanted her to do it again. It was always awkward, learning these things about oneself. He met her eyes and smiled a nervous half-smile.
She blinked. Her snakes came near her face, tongues flicking rapidly as they tried to make sense of whatever was confusing her so badly. She had clearly been expecting a different reaction, and she shuffled uncomfortably. “Ok. So I'll just… go, then,” she said. “And, uh, take this with me.” She picked up the book, tucked it under her cloak, and awkwardly sidled out of his house.
“Good night,” Wind Shear called after her.
“Yeah, whatever,” she called back.
It may have just been a trick of the light, but… Was she shaking her hips at him?
He shook his head and shut the door. It had been a long night.
