The Gravepony

by JohnnyFireFlame

Rating: everyone
Tags: Original Character, Tragedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe
Length: 1212

He has worked at the graveyard for as long as he could remember. He doesn't remember how or why, but he knows that he does it, so no pony else has to carry the burden. Even if it pains him whenever he is visited.

He has worked at the graveyard for as long as he could remember. He doesn't remember how or why, but he knows that he does it, so no pony else has to carry the burden. Even if it pains him whenever he is visited.

Published 2018-10-15 17:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-10-15 17:20:01 UTC

The Gravepony

In the nearby trees, as a raven cried, the cold winds blew from the northern mountains. It’s fangs biting deep into any creature in its path, making them shiver and take sharp breaths. Summer had indeed left, and it seemed winter was too eager to arrive. As the trees rustled, and old leaves breaking off their branches, a shovel got shoved into the cold earth. In a clearing in the middle of dark leafed trees, an old unicorn heaved it up with his mouth pulling it, and a fair amount of dirt up with it. Some would ask the old colt why he would bother use his mouth and hooves, when his horn would be more than enough for the task. He would tell them that when it came to his job, it felt more right to use his body instead of his mind.

He paused for a moment, the shovel stuck lightly into the earth as he caught his breath for a moment. He looked up in front of him, his faded purple mane, as well as the brown robes covering his body fluttered with the wind, as if it tried to rip them from his body. He stared at a stone slab that stood before him, text engraved upon it. He had seen many of these slabs, more than some ponies would their entire lives. He had seen the cycle of life turn many times, young ones growing into elders and towns being built and razed by time. He didn’t know why he somehow has lived through all these times, but he had understood that it was simply his task in the grand cycle. The wind blew once more, pulling the robes more off his body, revealing his thin starving looking limps. His cutiemark was also revealed, shown in the form of a simple pony skull, with purple flowers blooming around it. His light grey coat rustled with the wind, some of his fur leaving him to travel wherever they were taken.

After a moment, the old pony grabbed onto the shovel with both his mouth and hooves and began to dig once more. There was a town not far from this forest clearing, not many of its populace came here. He was not sure if they were afraid of the forest, the clearing, or him. Maybe a mixture of all three. He knew that they called him “The Gravepony” and they rarely spoke to him. They only knew what he did: He dug, when a pony’s cycle at ended.

After about another 10 to 15 minutes of digging the old pony final stopped and stepped back, finally allowing his grey-white magic to hold the shovel beside him. He took another breath and brushed some sweat from his brow before looking down with a strange pride in his heart. The hole was ready, now all he had to do was wait. He was expecting others to join him, one of them were to stay with him.

He stood there, waiting. His glassy eyes looked down the road leading into the clearing, his shovel at his side as he waited. The wind blew over him, biting his body again and again, but he stood still. It was the only company he had until his wait was over. It was these moments that he hated the most. Not because of the cold, or the constant calls of ravens and timber wolves, but because of the reason for why he dug that hole. Part of him wanted it to be over as fast as possible.

Finally, after a long wait, he saw shapes walking up the road from the town, a group of three earth ponies slowly trotting up towards him. One of them, a royal blue stallion of a broad build, was pulling a cart. They were all quiet, from the stallion, to the light blue mare beside him, and a younger light purple mare. All of them wore simple robes, plain brown. The cart looked used, old. One of the wheels looked like it was slightly askew.

Silence laid over them all like a deep thick blanket as the three walked up to the old colt. The faces on the three ponies were drained and tired, he could still see some lines going down the young mare’s face. He looked up at the stallion and saw right through him. The same with the adult mare. The younger one was the only one who was truly honest.

The Gravepony walked over to the cart and looked into it, a small blanket covered an even smaller form. He looked up at the stallion who nodded back to him. Without removing the blanket, he lit up his horn, and allowed his snowy white magic to encase the smaller form. Gently, he lifted it up and hovered it through the air before slowly laying it into the hole. He didn’t remove the blanket at any time, he never removed the blanket. He could hear the young mare sniffling behind him as he made sure that the little body was laying comfortable. He made a soft smile as he leaned his head down to the body and lit up his horn again as he lightly touched the body. The young mare shouted out, close to running at the old pony as small vines began to grow from the earth and purple flowers blooming from the covered form. Only the adult mare kept the younger from running, keeping her in place and sealed her in deep embrace, letting the young mare howl into the dark woods as flowers and dirt slowly filled up the hole. The grown stallion looked down at the earth, eyes closed as his lips quivered.

No words were said. None were needed.

The old pony stood as he watched the family leave. The younger one occasionally looked back at him, with a mixture of begging, blame and sorrow. A look he had seen too many times.

He was soon left there again. Alone among the slabs. He stared back at the now filled hole. The beautiful flowers would have grown deep into the earth by now, taking the passed pony back to from whence it came.

The Gravepony closed his eyes and took a deep sigh. His legs began to shake, a cold like no other had seeped into his body, into his bones. No one born from the wind. His voice slowly seeped out through his lips, stuttering and shaking. He felt his eyes slowly watering as he opened them again, looking at the slab.

The silence was interrupted as a raven landed on his shovel, on it’s leg a note was attached. His voice stopped when he saw it. His horn lit up, slowly taking the paper from the bird, and slowly opened it. He already knew what would be written onto it. And as his wet eyes gleamed over it, he pulled an old quill from his robes and wrote a few lines onto it. He then bound the paper once more to the black bird’s leg, and sent it back.

With a deep sigh he walked over to an open spot in the clearing. And raised his shovel before ramming it into the dirt. Once more.