Seasonal Feathers
By Howling Wolf
Hated it.
He hated it all.
Growing up in a family known for following their cutie marks made him feel special in a way, a way one could feel when getting their own cutie mark and showing it off for the world to see and love them. For when he got his own, the feeling was not there for he knew his family's tradition of old. Always follow it. Don't go doing something else, leave no time for friends, and focus on becoming known for being in their family. Focus on goals that mean your cutie mark, and nothing else in the world.
It was a simple cutie mark.
A feather writing on paper.
Standing out on his coat, on his flank, and many told him how happy it was to get one. How it would be the best thing in the world that they knew, and how he would be feel like he belonged once he was able to follow it through and do whatever he wanted until his day of forever rest.
How could they not know?
How could they not know what family he was born in when they saw his father? Mother? Sister? Aunt? Uncle? Was it really not easy to spot what family he belonged to? What Clan born family he was growing up, one where they could not spend much time with others and always focus on doing what they were made for?
He wished they would be able to understand his family one day, make them see how they needed to things other than what their marks told them to do. The day where that all happened seemed so far away as he grew up to be a strong stallion.
A stallion who loved doing things with his friends until one day his father got him a pen and paper for his birthday, waiting for the moment where he would touch it and being writing up stories for them. For everypony around.
But the poor stallion never touched it.
Not yet.
He would walk around and see many ponies doing their own thing, his father close by his side, speaking about ideas for his first story. His eye gazed at his father's mark. A mark that spoke about giving ideas and making wonderful things. Nothing like his own. Again, his father was doing what his mark meant and told him to do. For the rest of his life.
Eyes closed as he moved around, eventually coming across tall trees with birds sitting on them, chirping along. All beautiful looking ones, why, they even looked seasonal to him. Was there seasonal birds?
For the first time, he touched the pen and paper and began writing, underneath all those trees and birds. Everything he wanted to say for years came rushing out on the paper as it began filling up with words, and more, until he had to get more and write more.
By the time he was done writing it all, there was probably more than twenty pages done. Each paper filled with words he wanted to say to so many ponies, to his own family, to his own heart, and even to the princesses who he admired for years of his life. But never got to say because he was afraid of being disowned from his own family, who loved him too much, and what would say they say if they found out about his little thoughts?
It was much more than he bared to think about.
The stallion moved to seek out his sister, who had a talent in drawing, and asked her to make him a cover for his book. When she asked what kind he wanted, he answered with one with seasonal colors and a big feather in the middle. With the title of 'Seasonal Feathers' written at the top with his name at the bottom.
It took her about a week to make.
In the end, he finally found somepony who was willing to publish his book after reading it. The pony was said to have had her heart moved by it, and she got right on it, fixing the littlest of mistakes found, making sure everything was good to go, placing the cover on it before publishing it.
He was watching from his window as he saw the first bought book, being read by an elderly pony, one who looked to have just had her birthday.
A smile went on her face as she flipped through the pages, quoting words to her young granddaughter and grandson, even older ponies would listen on when she was there. At one point, he saw more and more ponies with books and start quoting words to others.
It seemed like there was one or two sentences that were known and loved by anypony who read it.
"Someday, even if I wasn't a pony would you still love me?" Terrified of telling you the truth, I quietly weaved the last feather alone...
"Of course," I laughed. Embracing you, who had lost your wings, I said, "Even now, I'll always remember the crane of that day. Which flew so beautifully"
At the end of the day, the pen and paper was never touched. Not like how it was when the first book was written, it stayed in his office-like room, untouched as he moved to seek out more and more ideas. Never truly coming across one where it stood out like the first.
Never in his eyes would it be the same.
At the end of the year, he's watching as his book is bought more and more until he comes across an idea for a second book, but he knows he can't write it yet. As there's nothing there for him to seek out for help like he had done with the birds and the trees.
He sits down at his desk, hoping his family would see him writing like how they were doing things with their own marks, and he begins writing a second book for his first.
One where the main character doesn't know what life is anymore and wants to stop it all together, but the crane of that day, which flew so beautifully decides to return and help him with his problems. To help him seek out the beauty of all life that appears in his life time.
In other's.
In everypony.
At the end of the day, he's done twenty pages, and there's only about twenty more to go. Maybe even thirty more, who knows how long this book is going to be?
All the other books he writes are as never good as Seasonal Feathers, are not as famous. He doesn't mind, for he doesn't care what ponies think, doesn't need to always follow his mark, because he's older and no longer afraid of his family and what they will think.
Because he's going to break free one day.
Just like his main character broke free from all the hate everypony was giving him for believing how silly it was to think marks said what they were best at. What they should always focus on.
He's like a seasonal feather...
