Mid Spring, Warm and Sunny; Whitecliff perks up the warmer it gets

Dearest Journal,

It’s been quite a while since we last had time together, hasn’t it? Well, in the time we’ve been apart, only a few things of note have happened: I’ve expanded my portfolio of watercolor paintings to include sunrises and sunsets and seals basking on the stony shore, and I’ve discovered a love for teaching, and I’ve painted my first two students painting their own paintings.

Neither of them want to learn how to make any sort of fabric good, and that’s alright- I’m just glad I got to teach them how to do something I know how to do.

Fern Woodsmoke and Carrot Float have distinctly different eyes. Fern has a very photographic eye, an eye that sees the world exactly as it is, no more, no less. She got bored of painting about the second day in; and so, Taffy took her under wing and taught her to use a camera.

Carrot is all about abstraction- she’ll lift her wings and gather up a nice cloud, and then paint up there. The best of her work came with the first really nice spring day, when the water was finally warm enough to swim in; a beautiful painting of splotches and streaks, resolving into dancing waves and laughing ponies enjoying the beach.

Tristan Vinsmoke is a Prench national, who joined the EQ Royal Militia’s Foreign Legion to get Equestrian citizenship, as he couldn’t buy it nor prove relation to a Equestrian native in good standing. We knew each other for five years before- We were friends, best friends. And then he had to leave.

The only things I could think to give him at the time were my Magazine Illustré de Science Biologique posters, the one that was rejected, not the one that was accepted- well, I gave him a copy of that one too. I gave him a lot of things, come to think of it… and he gave me everything he could, and be a part of the EQRM. I gave him… almost everything. Not my heart- I was never quite brave enough for that, but… I gave him everything else.
He gave me… everything I wanted, everything I needed. A reason to smile, every day; someone to tell my day to, someone who wanted to hear every stupid detail, and listened to everything I ever said. He gave me his company and his time; his thoughts and his feelings, everything he could say about his day without breaking the law of the Army- His wing over my back; his shoulder against mine; the smoky smile of him...

We met because he wanted to speak prench with someone, and I needed a partner to practice my prench with. Tristan was the pony who answered my advert in the paper; and for five years, he and I were best friends. He’s from the prench city of Maresille- the only place in Prance that feels like Curacao, not Prance. He speaks curacan almost better than prench, does Tristan...

Five years- that’s how long a pony needs to join the EQRM Foreign Legion to become a citizen. Tristan only had four years left, but he took another year of duty to get bonus money- so he said, at least. I think he really did it so he’d have more time with me, and money to get to somewhere in Equestria- somewhere called Canterlot Village.

He even gave me a forwarding address…

Journal, am I being a coward for not writing him? How would I even word that letter? ‘Dearest Tristan, sorry to spring this on you, but remember that Hearthwarming where we warmed each other up all night? Haha, turns out my Estrus was the week after that-’ no, that’s terrible. ‘Surprise, it’s a foal?’

‘Tristan, I need you, please-’

I wish he was here. I wish we were together. I wish, I wish- well, wishing won’t get me anywhere, but a letter might. -Should I even attempt it at all? There’s every chance he’s moved on- that he’s found someone else, someone prettier than me, someone… Someone more Harmonious. Not like me.

Not like me.

-You know what? I will write him a letter. I just need a permanent address first, so he can actually send me a reply- and possibly, I need to be an actual citizen of Equestria, to avoid deportment. At the very least, he deserves to know that I- that we, that the Little Bobbin exists, and I am caring for them.

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying looking at the surface of the ocean, of course, except that when you finally see what goes on underwater, you realize you’ve been missing the ocean party the whole time. Staying on the surface of anything is like going to the circus and staring at the outside of the tent.

I really don’t know how to explain my connection to the sea, except I think it’s because in addition to the fact that the sea changes and the light changes and ships change and what’s in the tidepools changes and the smell is different every day- I think, I think it’s because we all came from the sea. It is an interesting biological fact that all of us quadrupeds and bipeds have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood and our sweat and our tears. We’re tied to the ocean; and when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it, we are going back from whence we came.

In a very literal way, we are going home.

I- arrgh. I want fish! I want… I want… I want Moules Marinieres!

A quick head count, and possibly an explanation. Hawkeye and Taffy are Zebras, who eat meat more often than any other equine; Heron Vondergeist, Longshanks Rojomane, and Carrot Float are pegasi, and have cultural acceptance of eating fish; Fern Woodsmoke, Frank Starbuck, Mark Merryweather, and Ace Spade are earth ponies, and while there’s no stigma to eating fish, there’s no real tradition of it either; and there’s me, Meadow Surprise. Unicorns don’t eat fish, or any meat- unless they’re from Trottingham, where often the only options during the winter are fish and seaweed.

In the two years since I’ve been introduced to the world of meat-eating, I’ve eaten a rather astonishing amount of flesh. Gamebirds, pig, kine, and ostle; even some very odd things, like duck and quail.
However, I’ve not quite embraced les fruit de la mer and this constantly mocks me on my epicurean adventures. (There is one cousin of mine, and she will eat anything except honey. Just the one thing- and it’s honey! I keep bees! Why would you keep that detail to yourself for years, Maud? Fuck!)

My issue with seafood isn’t an aversion, or a dislike of the flavor; it’s a reaction to Tristan’s leaving and my falling pregnant. It’s a vaguely nonsensical thing, to freak out at the taste of fish because that’s the last meal I had with Tristan before we- before-
It’s a strong, abrupt, illogical reaction. I actually saw a hypnotist for it in Vanhoover; because I want to eat fish, indeed, if my suspicion about the tribe of the foal I’m carrying is correct, I need to eat fish. I got a professional to trick me into eating fish without becoming frightened or disgusted. Seeing a doctor- or something like it, for when you’ve an ailment is only sensible.

The only seafood dish Tristan ever taught me successfully is a mussel dish. It’s a gateway fish, as mussels are some of the only fish I- and most other ponies barring those with allergies or religious or moral objections- can stand to eat in anything like large amounts. The batch I cooked in Trottingham suffered from a poor state of mind while I was eating them- as I know I cooked them correctly, or I’d have never been able to leave at all…

The batch I made at Whitecliff was one of the tastiest I’ve ever cooked. There was an hundred-percent success rate with the local mussels; not a single one came home popped, or refused to open after cooking- they were unbelievably savory-sweet and respondent to July Chili’s mariniere broth.

For those who were a bit nervous of eating moules, the traditional side is frites; I made waffle-cut versions and deep fried them in a heavy cast iron pan Taffy and Hawkeye gave me as a vardo-warming gift, along with a crusty sourdough bread, and a dry honey wine I’d made at ho- in Trottingham about eight years ago. Every bite was wine, shallot, and butter-drenched; with every morsel past my lips, my quiet melancholy over not being with Tristan, not knowing if he was alive or dead or if he would ever want to speak with me again, see me again… it all faded from my mind for that evening, and with them came a promise that one day, maybe even soon, I would have some kind of closure.

Moules à la Marinière
Fresh Mussels Steamed open in Wine and Flavorings
Recipe from July Chili’s Mastering the Art of Prench Cooking

A stock pot with cover, though it works alright in other pots
2 cups light dry white wine, or 1 cup dry white vermouth
½ cups minced shallots, or green onions, or very finely minced white onions (sweet yellow onions are too sweet, and red onions overwhelm the flavor of the mussels- but if it’s all you have, please use them)
8 parsley sprigs
½ bay leaf
¼ teaspoon thyme
⅛ teaspoon pepper
6 tablespoons butter
6 quarts scrubbed, soaked mussels (by this I mean give them a few hours in fresh water to get the sand and dirt out of them- they’re filter feeders, and the sweet, delicate flavor is elevated when cleared of the seas silty flavor; that said, I’ve noticed earth ponies prefer a slightly siltier taste to their food. Keep in mind who you’re cooking for, I say)
½ cup roughly chopped parsley

Bring all but the last two ingredients to a boil in the pot. Boil for two to three minutes to evaporate most of it’s alcohol and to slightly reduce it’s volume.

Add the mussels to the kettle. Cover tightly and boil quickly over high heat. Frequently grasp the pot, clamping the cover down, and toss the mussels in the pot in an up and down herky-jerky motion so the mussels change levels and cook evenly. In about five minutes, the shells will open and the mussels are done.

With a big skimmer (Tristan called it a spider for some reason), dish the mussels into wide soup plates. Allow the cooking liquid to settle while preparing the rest of the dinner service; then ladle the clarified liquid over the mussels, sprinkle with parsley and serve immediately.

If making in the traditional Prench style, use whichever Frites recipe suits your taste- baked, bought, waffle, curly. That said, for a lighter dish, or if you’re serving somepony who isn’t familiar with la mer, hay fries are fine.

The dessert was clafouti, one of the few baked goods I didn’t know the recipe of by heart before I met Tristan. It’s his very favorite, any time of year- but really, it’s a spring dish of red fruit, egg heavy and filling. It’s made by pouring an eggy batter over fresh fruit or rhubarb; this then is baked into a sweet, vanilla-scented custard that is firm enough to serve in slices, but soft enough to eat with a spoon- or directly off the plate, I don’t mind.

Traditionally, it’s a cherry dish; but as I get further into Apple-country, the price of cherries gets from merely fair to exorbitant to not worth the bits, as the quality inevitably goes down as the price goes up. So far as I can tell, cherries only get good around Dodge Junction in the Appleoosa region, anyway.

When roasted in the oven with just a few spoonfuls of sugar, the rhubarb becomes soft and slightly caramelized while retaining it’s signature tart flavor. The pieces retain their shape during roasting and baking for a pretty presentation, and then melt like warm jam as soon as you take a bite. Rhubarb is also good for stretching a small amount of strawberries, or increasing the pectin output when strawberries aren’t available. Strawberry-rhubarb pie is a particular favorite of my cousin Pinkie- she always loved the color, of course.
I always remember wondering why ponies think her favorite food is cupcakes- or even rock candy. In some ways, those are her favorite foods- but really, her favoritest foods are what ponies who love her make for her, with their own hooves. Bonus points if it’s actually good.

One of the best things about clafouti is eating the leftovers for breakfast the next day. The custard firms up as it chills, becoming ever-so-slightly chewy. I usually save a few slices in the fridge because I only made it for myself- but this time, if I hadn’t made four with the express purpose of breakfast tomorrow, there’d be none left at all.

A short note about heating ovens:

A low oven is warm enough to nap on in the winter, or hold my hoof quite near the coals for seven to nine seconds- or until dinner, if I’ve nothing better to do, or a bit of a chill. Honestly, the only reason I pulled my hoof away from the coals at this stage was because I was bored. I entertained myself for the first few seconds by thinking about bee dances, or rolling on sandy beaches, but that loses appeal after a short little while. I gave up after fifteen seconds or so, because I’m a busy mare and I can’t afford to hold my hoof over hot coals all day. I guess if the oven is warm, it’ll cook something eventually- which is the whole point of low-slow cooking, anyway. Whatever.

A medium oven is actually, y’know, hot. This is about where young fillies and colts start getting told to not go near the oven for their own safety, though with a mit or grabber I feel it’s probably fine. I can hold my hoof to the coals for about five seconds, at which point it definitely feels hot on my frog, though I think I could hang on longer if I have someone to impress. At this point, the heat isn’t so much ‘painful’ as it is ‘annoying’. Like a little rock in your shoe, or a burr under your saddlebag- definitely ‘there’, but not a stop everything and fix this situation. My hoof does feel hot at this point, though- and heat’s what we’re using to cook with, right?

A high oven is very hot. This is where fillies and colts are not to use the oven, at all; and some of my less responsible acquaintances are also not allowed. As I extended my hoof to the coals, images of sizzling eggs and popping kernels of grain dance across my wincing eyes. The words ‘high’ and ‘heat’ in big, angry, cartoonish letters also entered my mind, just before I instinctively withdrew my hoof from the coals. This is, without a doubt, a hot oven- just the thing to get a good crust on a loaf of bread or quickly crack open a stonehull pumpkin. Now we’re cooking with charcoal! But seriously, two seconds on the hoof is more than enough.

If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that doubling a recipe is much simpler than modifying a knitting pattern. The original recipe for Clafouti, as learned at Tristan’s side, serves four to six, and I will write it here.

Clafouti
A Prench dessert of red fruit (cherries; strawberries; rhubarb) and egg custard

This recipe serves four to six ponies.

For the rhubarb:
2 cups (8 ½ ounces, or three long stalks) of diced rhubarb
2 tablespoons of granulated sugar
½ teaspoon of cinnamon

For the clafouti:
⅓ cup (2 ½ ounces) of granulated sugar
3 large eggs (chicken; refer to the egg conversion chart in The Joy of Cooking if chicken eggs are not available)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup (8 ounces) whole milk
½ cup (2 ½ ounces) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon lemon zest
A pinch of salt (sweet things only taste amazing when you add salt! Do not skip this step!)

Set a medium-low oven.

Combine the rhubarb with the sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl and set aside to dissolve the sugar and begin extracting rhubarb juices.

Spread the rhubarb in the bottom of an two by two hoof baking dish or a two and quarter hoof pie pan. Roast uncovered for fifteen to twenty minutes, until the rhubarb is soft and the juices are bubbling. Allow to cool until the rhubarb is just warm to the touch. (Leave it in the pan it was cooked in!)

Whisk together the eggs, sugar, and vanilla. Whisk in the milk. Whisk in the flour, lemon zest, and salt. (Always sift the flour, otherwise you get clumpies!) This batter can be prepared up to half an hour ahead of time.

Pour the batter over the roasted rhubarb and bake for half an hour to forty minutes- still in that medium-low oven, please. When it’s done, the clafouti should be puffed around the edges and a toothpick or skewer stuck in the middle should come out cleanly. It’s perfect if the middle is still jiggly, and the edges will collapse once the clafouti starts to cool.

The longer it cools, the more set the clafouti becomes. For a loose pudding-like dessert, serve while still warm from the oven. For a firmer custard, allow to cool to room temperature or serve chilled. For fancy occasions, sift a little confectioner’s sugar over the top just before serving.

Leftovers will keep if refrigerated for up to a week. Don’t freeze custard.

Dinner, and the breakfast that followed, was a wonderful affair- the friendship I felt that night was truly magical. It lead the the most clearheaded weeks of that leg of our journey together, the most lighthearted I had been in a good long while; and so what I will end my entry with, Journal, is thoughts about the sea.

It is so colorful- silver and black at dawn, green and burnished orange at noon, darkest blue in the evening, black at night. Sometimes it looks almost red, like fire or a blood orange’s fruit split open and oozing. Sometimes the sea will turn the color of bits lost in the field, uncovered by the tender frog of a foal one summer and spent in a day on trinket-treasure. Right now, Journal, the shadows of clouds are dragging across the sea-water, dark dapple patches of grey, and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere. White strings of gulls drag over velvety waves like beads.

In this time, in this moment- it is the very finest of all the things I have ever seen. Sometimes I catch myself staring at it and forget my duties- to myself, my craft, the foal inside me and the stallion who helped me make it, to the world and my companions… It seems wholly big enough to contain everything anypony could ever need to feel.

Best Love, Meadow

Mid Spring, lightly raining; On we trot to Old Vanhoo-ver-ay, hurrah- hurrah-

Dearest Journal,

Ah, a warm rain- there’s something deeply revitalizing about it, Journal. It damps down the dust of the road, and cleanses the air and the spirit of all things that may foul it. The breeze that comes after is cool and refreshing.

Heron and Hawkeye don’t actually want to spend the whole of their shared vacation time at the beach- so back to the city we all go.
Well, we’ve left the beach well behind us- and, as it’s been six weeks or so of Hawkeye’s fourteen off, and the seals were getting boisterous and preposterous and, to be honest, a bit rape-y, we decided to return to the city. -Carrot and Fern laughed it off, but I’m quite sure that nearly getting molested by amorous seals is nopony’s idea of a good time. If they start having nightmares, I’m certain, of course, that Princess Luna will advise them the way they need to be- I can only hope that they take that advice, if they need it, and that, whoever they share with takes their concerns seriously. There is no such thing as a minor trauma- if it hurt you, it hurt you, and let no one say it did not.

Coming to a decision, I decided I would not buy the runner needed for my vardo’s walk; I would make it, and lay it after a thorough cleaning. As the finishing would be a full month, as well as making all the final renovations and letting the vardo settle after it’s first trip, I would have just enough time to get it done.

Unicorn rugs, whether made in the tribal style or the city style, are all hoof-and-spell knotted. The weaver (or spellweaver) ties the material (be it wool or silk) around the warps of the foundation using one of several different knots. Each rug is made to a design; some designs are copied from intricate plates several thousand years old, repeated faithfully as their carrying surfaces wore out- others are from the weaver, inspired by their surroundings and way of life. To best show this design, a variety of colors are used to form the necessary patterns. After each row of knots is complete, a weft strand is tightly packed between the newly completed row and the one which is about to begin, keeping each knot firmly in place.

Depending on the skill of the weaver, one rug can take between about four weeks at the fastest, to ten years at the most intricate; either way, the eventual owner will gain a unique work of art which is not only practical, but extremely durable and beautiful besides.
The tools and knots used in the weaving of Unicorn rugs are as follows:

Warp and Weft: The warp refers to the vertical strands running up and down a rug. These are vital to the structure of the rug, as the knots are tied to them. The wefts are also placed between them in order to keep the knots in place. The fringe of a rug is the tied loose ends of its warp. The weft is used in order to keep the knots in place. Before and after each row of knots the weft strand is passed through the warp and combed and beaten down, compacting the row of knots and creating a tight structure.
Cotton is used for both warp and weft in most rugs; however, some use wool, and intricate silk rugs often use silk as both foundation and pile.

Pile refers to the material or fiber used in weaving the rug. The main materials of Unicorn rugs are wool, silk, and cotton. Sometimes camel, rabbit, or goat wool is used as well, but this is getting rarer as the art of spellweaving dies out.

Wool is the most common material in weaving Unicorn rugs, mainly because it’s soft, durable, and cheap. Camel and goat wool are undesirable for colorful patterns, as they do not take dye well. The wool shaven from only the shoulders and underbelly of a lamb on it’s first cut is highly prized; this is when wool is at it’s finest, and is often used in conjunction with silk. Wool is best used for all kinds of rugs, be they wall hangings, floor coverings, or bedding.
There are two kinds of natural silk, and one synthetic. Silkworm cocoons are cheapest near mulberry plantations, which are very rare in Equestria, but are fairly common in Neighpon, Golia, and China. Spider silk is a protected thestral artisanal product, and can be very expensive in large amounts. Synthetic silk, made with amber and an adapted pegasus spell, is easiest for the Unicorn weaver to get their hooves on, but can be very finicky. Of all the natural fibers, silk is both very fine and extremely strong. However, as it’s not as thick as wool, it isn’t quite so durable; and, because of it’s fine gauge, it’s often used in the weaving of intricately detailed work. Silk is best as a wall hanging, or the topmost part of a rug-stack bed.
Cotton is generally used in the foundation of rugs. However, spellweavers use it to introduce white details, set spells, and create a contrasting color and texture. Mercerized cotton is particularly good for barriers and blessings.

The material used in making the rug- wool, silk, but never cotton- is treated and dyed prior to the knotting process. There are conflicting views about rug dyes: tradition says to only use vegetable dyes, while alchemical dyes only fade when the magic does, which is almost never.

Both dyes have their merits, and both are best at a certain look. Natural dyes provide a more natural palette; alchemic dyes are brighter, more vivid, and all around more lively than natural counterparts. However- some natural dyes are more vivid than alchemical dyes; some alchemic dyes are more color-fast than natural dyes.
And there are some colors that only come in one type- natural or alchemic, there’s only the one kind that can make a certain color.

Before the actual process of making a rug can commence, the rug must be designed by hoof by a skilled artist. City- or, now that I think about it, Tower might be more appropriate- style rugs are produced from detailed design plates or cartoons: a life-sized paint by numbers showing which color of material to use for each knot. Tribal, or Family, rugs may use this method to create standard designs- indeed, various bloodlines have specific, secret patterns used only by them. There’s even some historical evidence of familial marks, that is, heraldry, finding it’s origin in the family rugs- anyway, although Family rugs can have standard designs, many of them are created from the imagination of the weaver. For this reason, family rugs have more ‘errors’ than their tower counterparts; then again, for some ponies, ‘errors’ are really ‘features’, and among collectors, highly prized.

Most Unicorn rugs are pile-woven, the knots tied by hoof and spell to the warp strings. Two factors are important when discussing knots- knot density, and knot type.
Knot density is the main factor that determines the overall frog of a rug- the way it feels. KPSQ is the measurement of it- the number of knots per square quarter-hoof. This is done by counting the number of knots in a quarter-hoof down the warp and across the weft, then multiplying these figures together.
KPSQ doesn’t really figure into the true value of a rug in Family style; it does in Tower style. In Family style, because it relies on the weaver’s memory and is mostly done by the still nomadic tribes of the Unicorn Mountains… hm, how to say this… Family items are valuable because you made them for your loved ones, because you made it from memory, because you made the dyes with the plants you could find and what you had, because the love and care you wanted to show your family got caught in the threads and wool and is there warm and lovely forevermore. Rugs with high KPSQ take longer to make, and since the Family style came from nomadic origins, it’s more important to finish the work within a season- usually summer, or winter, depending on if the rug is a gift or for the home- than it is to make it, well, intricate or particularly dense.

Tower rugs don’t have the same history. They started as ways of shoring up the cracked walls of the very first Unicorn Towers; thus, being thick and dense was not only desirable, but required. As architecture improved, the density of a Tower rug became a feature- and they eventually moved from being wall hangings to floor coverings. Originating in the old region of Maregolia, which became simply Golia during the Unification, the Tower rug migrated south and west along the old Spidersilk Road, to Equestria. Once there, the intricate silk wall hangings became the preferred floor coverings of stallion mages hoping to attract a mare, or mares getting ready to foal. A good, thick, silk Unicorn rug was, is, and remains, one of the most comfortable beds available to a unicorn- for several reasons, actually.
Mainly, it’s the horn- when we moved away from headrests during our Tribal days, we relearned the reason why we keep our horns from touching the ground too often. It’s all to do with magic, and quite too much to put in a Journal entry this long- suffice to say, Pegasi have magic of the Sky and the Weather; Earth Ponies have magic of the Land and the Growth deep inside it; and Unicorns have magic of Sea and Void. And, of course, Communion keeps them together- we feel it as Harmony. The six innate pony magics only barely get along with each other, and that only due to the prevailing force of Communion.

Some of the classical Elements get along with each other without Harmony- the Sky, the Land, the Sea, even the great Commotion before the Coming of the Two wasn’t enough to separate them. However, Weather, Growth, and Void were absent until the Ascendance of Harmony- ponies literally could not grasp these innate qualities until the levels of communion were high enough.

The types or styles of knots are bloodline specific, favored by one family or another and used in particular ways depending on preference. Different areas- and the two main styles- use slightly different techniques.

The Snaffle, or Asymmetrical knot is used by the Ire, Spice, Torque, Camellia, and Crock families extensively in their rugs. To form this knot, yarn is wrapped around one warp strand and then passed under the neighbouring warp strand and brought back to the surface. With this type of knot, a finer weave can be created.

The Grade, or Symmetrical knot is used by the Torque, the Surprise, and the northern Ires. It’s also very common to find in rugs from Saddle Arabia, Yakistan, the Griffon Empire, and Zebrica. To form this knot, yarn is passed over two neighboring warp strands. Each end of the yarn is then wrapped behind one warp and brought back to the surface in the middle of the two warps.

The Jog knot can be seen in the rugs of Coral-Sand, a branch clan of the Ire. This knot can be either symmetrical or asymmetrical and is usually tied over four warps, making the weaving process faster.

After the rug knotting process is complete, the pile is very long and uneven. The pattern is only vaguely visible from the front side of the rug- from the back, however, it is still fully visible. This is when the rug is checked against the design or cartoon, to ensure accuracy. Different weavers have different standards for the level of ‘mistakes’ they’ll allow to go into their rugs. I actually allow quite a few- so long as they don’t compromise the effect of the spell I’ve woven in, all the mistakes I inevitably make are really features.
Once the weaver is satisfied with their product, the pile is carefully clipped and shaved to the correct height. This shows the design to best effect, and creates the desired texture. The rug is then washed, to ensure coherency in the spell, no color runs later in life, and the removal of excessive dye and debris. Some rugs are so thick or intricate- or filthy, things happen- the process of washing is repeated several times.

Finally, the rug is blocked to ensure no shrinkage has occurred during the wash, and to align all the knots correctly. Once finished, the rug can be used for any number of things.

The tools for a Unicorn Rug are divided into Spells and Hoof Tools. Every Hoof Tool has a Spell counterpart; every Spell, a Hoof Tool. Some things are easier with a Hoof Tool; others, with a Spell.

The first spell every spellweaver has to learn (and here I’m using the definition ‘a series of actions performed correctly’, which is the original definition) is the Count Set spell; this spell keeps track of ever knot tied to the warp in a row, to be checked against what is called a Set List. This list is usually on the plate of a rug- ah, right. The main design, the fully colored and life-sized version, is for actual design work- checking colors, checking fit, layout, and so on. The work design, or plate, is a much smaller document or object, maybe one to four hooves square- and it’s purpose is to keep track of which knots to use, in which colors, in what amount… They look like knitting instructions, with a small palette of colors. They also look something like kitchen floor tiles.

The Count Set spell counts each set of knot-color against the Set List- and you don’t actually need a Count Set spell, just a magnifying glass and patience.

Anyway.

Comb - this tool/spell is used to slide and beat down the weft between rows of knots. This is necessary to secure the knots into place, before a new row can be started.

Hook - this tool/spell is used for two things- separating the warp strands while tying a knot, and then pulling the yarn through the warp strands. The spell can also be used to cut the yarn after each knot is tied.

Spindle - a spell/tool for spinning prepared fiber into thread, then yarn, then rope.

Scissors - a spell/tool used to cut many things- in this case, it’s used to cut the long or uneven pile as the rug is woven.

Plate - used as a reference when weaving, the plate show the weaver what colors to use, and the pattern. Different from the cartoon or full design, as it’s meant to be used directly by the weaver, not as a planning guide.

The Loom - a spell/tool meant for weaving. This is the spell that takes the longest to learn, or the machine that can be most intimidating for new weavers- it’s really very simple. Horizontal Loom is the simplest version of the spell, and the simplest machine. In machine form, they’re mostly used by nomads because they can be dismantled at the time of migration. In spell form, they’re used as the Mastery test for a few specific reasons- firstly, once you start a Loom spell, it can only be completed by finishing the weaving; secondly, the more complicated and large your rug is, the more magical energy you must have to complete the work. I’m a master not just because I can design, and create a beautiful rug- I’m a master because I can weave a fairly complicated series of spells into a rug meant to hang as a tapestry down a hallway.

Most unicorns- even ones with cutie marks related to magic- can’t do that.

Rugs made horizontally are generally small, either because it’s the master’s first try or because it needs to be finished within a season, which is when migration begins for the nomadic ponies. It’s also fairly difficult to weave large rugs on this kind of Loom, as it relies on a bar-system to structure it; in practice, it’s very similar to a frame. The distance between the parallel side bars defines the width of the rug to be woven on the loom, and the distance between the parallel top and bottom bars determines the length.
Weavers tend to lay on, or roll across, their rugs as they’re being woven- especially when using a horizontal loom. This is because of tradition- and also, it’s fun.

Vertical looms are meant for tower-style rugs, and their assembly is more complicated than horizontal looms. There are three kinds- fixed looms, which cannot be moved about a room or from a location; bunyan looms, which require a pony and an assistant to use properly; and the roller beam loom, which is used to make extremely long rugs.

Ah, Journal, sorry for being so pedantic- I’m practicing writing out explanations, so I can see if I’d actually be good at teaching. I think I might have a knack for it, but, well- having a Special Talent doesn’t mean you just get to slack off and not practice it. I might be good at writing out, creating, instructions- that doesn’t mean I’m actually good at teaching someone else how to follow them. You’d think one would follow the other… but, well. That’s generally not the case.

I actually had a talk just to that effect with the girls on our way back to Vanhoover- really, a discussion of what cutie marks even mean.

I told them how I got my cutie mark- and then I told them that, because I had a special talent for writing instructions, I found it very hard to actually get a job anywhere. I didn’t have very many friends- because I got my special talent quite early on, and became very bossy- especially when it wasn’t warranted.

And I told them that my talent only became useful when I’d learned enough to understand the point of instructions- they’re meant to be helpful. Instructions exist so that, when somepony isn’t there to help you directly, you are not left without any help at all.

-Your talent is what you pursue. Your talent is not who you are. You can change your talent, if you really want to. If your talent doesn’t satisfy you, do something else!

I truly wish somepony had told me those words when I was younger.

Fern’s special talent actually has nothing to do with building- it’s to do with design. She got her cutie mark when she realized, all at once, that a bridge was going to collapse within the week- something about the way it rattled when a cart went across it, about how it felt beneath her hooves… She was evasive on the subject of what she did after her revelation, but she told us that only two ponies were killed. And then she was very quiet, and could not look at Carrot at all until Carrot reached out and hugged her.
Fern’s cutie mark is a fern frond between two crossed hammers- but I wonder if it isn’t more like a laurel? I wonder if her special talent is actually noticing the most stable and enduring parts of a design, their form, their function- and how they can fail anyway. Just because something has always been done a certain way doesn’t mean it’s the right way- or even the best way. I wonder if she might not have secondary talents, subservient to her main.

I, for example, am exceedingly good at writing instructions. It’s my main talent. My secondary talents are for following directions, testing directions, filing (so I can find the directions again), creating systems of logic (which is all a spell is, once you add the magic in)...

And as it turns out, Fern is good at more than just Best Design- she’s good at picking proper materials for a use, at finding areas where trouble will brew, at… streamlining. When I asked her if she’d ever built a boat, she said no- and then looked very contemplative, before diving for her sketchbook and scribbling furiously.

Carrot’s special talent also has nothing to do with building- and it’s not really about cooking, either. When I got a good look at her cutie mark, it wasn’t really a food- not really a carrot-juice float, like I thought. It was really an ice cream cup full of little things- nails, screws, tiny gears- in an orange fluid I know to be rust remover, all with a balled up cloth on top and a pair of tweezers standing in for a straw.

Carrot’s special talent is a bit complicated, but once she explained it, it makes perfect sense that there would be many ponies of a similar stripe to her. Basically, she makes things so that other things can be made, or fixed. She’s not necessarily the one who makes a nail or a screw, though she will if it’s of a strange size or not available anymore; she’s the one who makes the tool to make a nail or a screw. She’s the pony you need when you need a new handle on your favorite tool, a new gear for your pocket watch, a piece of artisanal glass that’s meant to be a pair… her actual job title is Machinist, and what she actually does is make and repair machinery. Machinists fix trains. They make sure lights work, and that stoves fire, and that wheels turn. They make the tools that those who make need to do their work- she serviced my sewing machine because, and I quote, it was making a weird clicking noise that sounded like trouble to her.

Apparently, it threw a gear.

As for how she got her special talent- oddly enough, it had nothing to do with making a machine at all. Her story is this: after her parents died, her sister, Saffron Sundae, and her could not be in the same room together without fighting- physically or verbally. It got so bad that Foal Protective Services (FPS) was seriously considering separating them.

As Carrot explains it, the real root of their conflict was a silly fight they’d had before their parents had to leave and do whatever it was they did- a fight so silly they’d both forgotten what was being fought about, only that they’d done it… and the last memory either filly had of their parents was of being punished, and resenting them. Carrot remembers saying ‘Love you; see you later’ as was her custom; and she remembers her older sister, Saffron, not doing so, out of foalish pettiness. Or maybe she just forgot.

And then their parents didn’t come back.

Saffron couldn’t forgive herself for it- not until Carrot fixed… and here she used a word that I’d never heard, ofrenda, but I understood the meaning quick enough. An altar, where those who’ve passed can be remembered and cared for- something like that exists in every culture, I think. Some way of remembering those who’ve gone.
Carrot rebuilt her family’s ofrenda after her sister, Saffron broke it; and she told her sister to forgive herself for being so mad at their parents. That the whole point of being a family is that even when you’re angry- even when you hate each other, you still love each other.

‘The only thing that can’t be fixed is death,’ she said. ‘Fern was not at fault for the bridge collapse; she did everything she could, including blocking the bridge with her own body- but they didn’t listen to her, even though her cutie mark was all but screaming. It’s no one’s fault except maybe the bridge builder’s and the ponies who were supposed to keep it repaired that it collapsed and killed my parents- and-’
And then she choked on her words and shook. Fern was the one to hug Carrot that time.

I think I know what happened, but I can’t be sure unless she says it aloud- and if I’m right, well… it can only do her good to say it plain, like putting a hole in your hoof to let an abscess fester out faster.

I said to both of them- ‘You have to face it. Whatever makes you run from yourself- fear of failure, agony, whatever it is- you have to face up to it. If you don’t, you’ll never know a moment’s rest again- it will keep chasing you, until you fall. And you will fall. It might be frightening; you might not want to feel the way you do, but- it’s okay to think about it. It’s okay to talk about it. Indeed, you have to; you have to face it to let it go.’

Carrot heard me- she didn’t show it then, she was too caught in her remembered terror, but my words reached her.

As it turns out, Journal, Carrot saw her parents die when the bridge collapsed; and she still can’t tell her sister about it. So far as Fern could say, when Carrot began sobbing after saying what she saw in my vardo, that was the only time Carrot had ever cried about it.

When somepony leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying- acceptable, as much as such a thing can be. Others are abrupt, unforseen, and totally unfair. But mostly? Mostly they’re just unremarkable, unintentional, clumsy- and normal.

A silly fight between sisters; parents laying down the law of the house; a habitual goodbye, and a petty refusal to do it- and a disaster. A broken shelf; a broken heart… and a revelation: it’s not over unless I’ve given up. A broken thing is still a thing- a broken heart can still feel, a broken shelf can be repaired, a mistake can be forgiven.

We didn’t really do anything after Carrot’s tears that day- other than me keeping to the schedule of the trip back to Vanhoover.
Carrot ended up wedged into a warm pile of her best friend, Fern, her teaching-Master, Frank Starbuck, Taffy, Heron, and Hawkeye- on my bed. Ace and Mark took over doing the other necessary things- making lunch, telling me to stop for lunch and have a rest, making dinner… Mark actually baked a carrot-cake for Carrot, and it actually got a laugh out of her, which relieved all of us. When she started to apologize to us for throwing all her problems on us, I gave her what-for.

‘An abscess in your feelings is just as painful and dangerous as an abscess in your hoof. Opening up, letting the nasty part out, and getting the care you need afterwards- those are the steps you need to take, for the sake of your health. Don’t apologize for being injured, Carrot; and you’re not the one who gets to decide if your friends care about you when you are, or even how much. Now shush, and eat your cake; you’ve had a long day, and I’d rather you go to bed than stay up when you’re tired,’ I said, staring at her.
Carrot blinked watery eyes at me, and then nodded. She ate her cake, and washed her face at the water jack- and I heard her pause on the porch, before clattering back down the steps.

‘Miss Meadow?’ She said.

‘Yes, Carrot?’ I said.

‘I think you’re going to be a really good mom.’ She said.

And then she pressed a hug into me, from her neck to mine- quite too fast for me to hug back- and was gone in a flurry of flailing hooves and embarrassment.

I’ve been blushing about it for days, Journal.

Ah, there’s Vanhoover on the horizon- time to stop writing while I walk, and pick it up; I’ll write more later, once we’re all settled again.

Best Love, Meadow

Mid Spring, Raining and Foggy; Vanhoover really is the spitting image of Trottingham

Dearest Journal,

We’re back in Vanhoover, dearest! I’ve just finished moving all my things into my vardo, unpacking, organizing, and putting away- I’ve unrolled my bed carpets, hung dish towels and curtains, put my shoes and my hoofpicks and my horn swivel away in the cupboard- I’ve sold my old cart, and sold quite a lot of honey, and told the bees that I’m headed off to Canterlot for some paperwork- would they please look after the vardo while I’m away?

The bees, after a bit of internal debate, agreed- provided I did not intend to live in Vanhoover.

As I do not, we came to an agreement.

Heron and Hawkeye are getting in all the dates they can’t when Hawkeye is working- neither Taffy nor I see much of them, although they’ve been kind enough to let us continue to use their house. Shanks went on a different sort of holiday, one where he and his… stallion friend, is the term I think, Beck, go on tours of various breweries and distilleries. Apparently, Shanks is something of an alcohol connoisseur. Mark signed on with the Whitebeard Mercenary Company as an accountant; and he made some sort of deal with Ace, some kind of stallion’s agreement.

Frank Starbuck reconnected with his colt-hood sweetheart, Robin Go-Lightly on our way back; and after encouragement from both Fern and Carrot, he extended his holiday to take advantage of Robin’s presence. She’s a traveling historian- along with her work-partner, Lovelace, and her apprentices, collectively called ‘Cat’, one filly whom Fern knows very well, as they are sisters, and ‘Mice’, a collection of ponies of all tribes and ages- she’s been scouring the world for interesting historical artifacts.

When Robin and Starbuck met back up, we gained new travelling companions, and… I got a new friend, I think. More on that later.

Oh, yes- and while all of this was happening, I took a day trip down to the Pie Rock Farm, Journal. I can’t remember if I wrote about the reason I needed to go visit my Pie cousins, but basically- I need proof that I’ve got family in Equestria. It’s a grim and dreary place, not somewhere I really liked being. It takes a very specific kind of pony to enjoy a rock farm, and I’m not one of them- not quite.
My Pie cousins who still live on the farm, however, are. Uncle Iggy and Aunt Quartz were very kind; my cousins? Well. They’ve got their quirks… honestly, Maud was the nicest of them. Remember her, the one who doesn’t like honey?

I did get advice for my crystal terrarium, which had been doing not at all as well as I had hoped- Uncle Iggy repotted it for me, and taught me as much as he could about how to actually keep it fed. Gemstone shards are more like candy or treats- a crystal succulent prefers lava rocks, shale, and an assortment of granite pebbles. Of course, a crystal terrarium is really meant to be cared for by an earth-pony, not a unicorn- then again, I’m going to Ponyville, where my cousin Pinkie Pie lives, so… I’m sure I’ll have help.

Why Ponyville- other than my cousin Pinkie, I mean?

Well.

Equestria is giving away more than a thousand historic castles, farmhouses, and monasteries for free in an effort to breathe new life into its disused public buildings.

Under a new scheme from the Office of State Property, these ancient buildings and domiciles are up for grabs to entrepreneurs who promise to transform them into tourist destinations- and not flashy ones, either. The ancient properties are found along seven historic routes running the length and breadth of the country of Equestria, with some being found in the Crystal Empire, and others in far off Appleoosa (neither of which are technically Equestria proper). It’s hoped that the initiative will create new interests for the hundreds of travelers, hikers, pilgrims, and tourists who use the routes each year.

The only requirement is for an applicant to submit a proposal outlining how they intend to transform their preferred building into a tourist attraction. Specific preference is being given to those under middle age.

About five hundred years ago, there was a monastery-school of unicorn spellweavers near what is now Ponyville, the village surrounding Princess Twilight’s castle. It had massive grounds, and edged right up to the Everfree Forest- indeed, one of the reasons the Everfree doesn’t run right up to the Bucephalus Brook is the presence of the old unicorn spellweaver’s Web-wall, an ancient construction of crystals, plants, and stacked stones.

I think, I think- I think I’m going to start a school, Journal. A school for anyone- anyone who wants to learn to spellweave. I’ve had a business plan for one for a good long time, updated and changed as I learned what was and wasn’t realistic… and I think…
Well, I’ll have to see if it’s even possible, first. But… so far as I can see, there’s no reason any-body- pony, donkey, camel, minotaur, griffin, sphynx, yak, diamond dog- anyone can learn to weave. Can’t use a spell? Use a tool.

I’ve actually traveled all over the world, Journal- mostly to learn about different kinds of weaving, and different traditions of spellweaving. I can make an example of just about anything you could care to think of- from Unicorn Blessing Rugs to Minoan armor-cloth to Adamant Faithful Story-pelts. I want to share that knowledge, if I can.

But first, I need to go to Canterlot and get the deed for the ancient property. Can’t do anything at all without that.

When I told my friends my plan, everyone was startled, but then- the fillies, they seemed very enthusiastic, asking me all sorts of questions- what kinds of classes, could anyone join, what about fees, is it a boarding school- I laughed, and answered as best I could.
My friends got more startled as I outlined more and more of my business plan to the joyful girls- I have a list of classes my students would need to learn, and a list of people and agencies I’d need to contact to get a proper number of teachers for them; of course anyone could join- equine or not, weaving goes across the world as a form of art; fees and boarding would depend on the property I’d get, and how decrepit it actually was, as a bare field is very different from, say, a crumbling tower or a broken castle.

What if it doesn’t work out, Journal? Well- Honey’s very popular in central equestria- I could probably get by as an artisanal honey-producer, and that is a secondary option. There are some dyes and processes that require beeswax; so, the bees were always going to be a part of my school.

And yes, I do have a logo- it’s a fat ball of yarn with a honey wand and a needle stuck into it.

Ace is arranging our transport to Canterlot by train; Taffy has decided to go along with me, as she needs to do something in Canterlot anyway; and Hawkeye is fine with my beehives taking up space in his postcard of a backyard. Lovelace has also invited herself along.
I feel I should make note- Mark Merryweather is a Seapony, and Lovelace is a Changeling.

Mark is the color of cow’s milk, a sort of off-yellow color with patches of orange and black scales- he looks rather like a calico cat my Auntie Zipper used to have, or a koi-fish my Golian pen-friend wrote me about, but that’s not quite right either… he’s got a curious mixture of icthyan and equine features, which together create a whole that is not unpleasing- but is also not to my taste. He’s handsome, I suppose, as far as stallions go- strong front legs, muscular tail, his mane gleams like burnished clay… but it’s not him I want. His prosthesis, a sort of harness for his tail end which cups under his hips- and yes, Journal, Seaponies have hip bones, even if they don’t have back legs- is a sort of leg arrangement. It’s got his cutie mark, a sunflower, stamped on each metal flank, and he wears a pair of special shoes on his front hooves to keep his back hooves moving. As I understand it, there’s a complicated arrangement of spells and, yes, implants, that register how his body is shifting and translates various movements into movements of his prosthetic legs.
He told me, when I asked, that about the only thing he wishes were better on his prosthesis was the sock- because, apparently, he has to wear a special tail sock so that the metal and straps keeping him upright and able to move about on land don’t chafe his scales. I made him a better sock, a spellwoven sock- the spell in the sock, being actually in the fabric and not so ‘leaky’, won’t interfere with the spells on his prosthesis.

He likes it.

Oh, and as for his cutie mark, it’s an anchor with a ribbon tied around it. Something to do with the sea and a memory, I’d say.

Lovelace, as I said, is a changeling- instead of pegasus features, which always put me in mind of a pony who’s coat is always ready for a random weather change, add the features of a moth. She’s dusty, for one thing- always covered in a thin, fine coating of iridescent scales that, when the breeze hits just right, flake off like dust. If she rubs up on something the wrong way, she’ll leave a sparkly streak of dust behind. She has the most luminous eyes I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting- glimmering pools of black, like looking into a purple midnight sky. She’s also, for lack of better descriptors, fuzzy- like one of my bees.

Fuzzy legs, fuzzy chest and withers, curly hair, long thin feelers that, as I understand, are another set of eyes and ears at the same time… Well, she was hesitant to go to Canterlot, as the high mountain city of the Unicorns is a cold place, in more ways than one.

I made her a very fluffy coat- well, a vest, it doesn’t have sleeves. Lovelace laughed to see it, but hasn’t taken it off once on this train ride.
She’s a very sweet mare, with perhaps the loveliest singing voice I’ve ever had the luck to hear. Her job is a historian- but, interestingly enough, the changeling method of keeping history is oral, not written. She sings histories- and her songs are… well, Changelings lived lives of danger and turmoil for a long, long time, and the songs reflect that.

She sang a folksong for us on the ride up to Canterlot; it was beautiful, if a bit bizarre. And frightening.

Look into my eyes and it’s easy to see- one and one makes two, two and one makes three- it was destiny!
Once every honey doesn’t need a song when the sun doth shine and the moon doth glow and the grass doth grow-!

I didn’t understand everything she sang… but then again, I don’t think I really needed to.

Oh, yes, we’re on the train right now. Canterlot station- we’re here! Sorry, Journal- I’ll get back to you soon, we’re about to pull into the station and disembark.

Best Love, Meadow

Author's Note

I don't think Tribute has any curses oh wait there's one but it's not a main lyric. Still, you were warned, and if you've got a problem with curses... maybe just look up the lyrics? You don't have to listen to it.