His Heart Too Full For Words
His Heart Too Full For Words
The walls were familiar now.
White barriers, emotionless barriers, closed him in. They stood indifferent to the razor-sharp glare directed at them. The lights were dimmed, for now, but he always regarded them the same as the walls. It didn’t matter how bright or dark the lights were. The air sickened him—a perverse conjoining of something so vital and something so insipid.
Color Bound fidgeted under the covers. The window on the far end of the room meant little; it was covered up most of the time. Even when it was clear, all it did was remind him of where he wasn't.
His mother was of a different mind, of course. “Up, up, up, Color! You’re all better, remember? No more treatments, no more hospital. We can finally get you out of here and back home for good,” she said, giving him the best smile she could muster.
Bound did not have one in return. He just scowled at the wheelchair she held in front of her. Throwing the covers off of himself, Bound took a look at his body. His legs were withered, worn down by over a year of atrophy. Running a hoof across his belly, he felt bones beneath his white coat. While no longer malnourished, the lack of muscle and fat made him look as if he was starving. Bound sat up straight to get a better look at what was left of his tail. Where before was a brilliant, bushy tangle of hair, now lay a horribly short and frazzled mess. The once-vibrant blue looked more like black. He could only guess his mane was in a similar state. Reaching up to his horn, he tapped it lightly. He hardly felt it any more. The empty space on his flanks almost mocked him.
Even with how Bound felt toward these now-familiar walls, he didn’t know if he wanted to leave them. Heck, he didn’t even know if he’d recognize home. What would he even do when he got back? Lay in bed some more? Would he be just some sick little foal, incapable of taking care of himself? All he saw were smiles nowadays, masks other ponies had put on around him in some misguided effort to make him feel better. His mom wore her mask best.
Bound swung his back legs off of the bed with a grunt. “Bring it over here,” he said, gesturing to the wheelchair.
It glowed green with his mother’s magic as she brought it over to the side of the bed. “Do you want some help, hun?”
For a moment, Bound considered declining the offer, but the hopeful look in his mom’s eyes changed his mind. “A-actually, yeah.”
The house he used to live in was the same as he remembered, and different. Though the single-story, compact structure was limited to just the essentials—kitchen, a couple of bedrooms, bathroom, living room—it didn’t feel cramped. The walls were still familiar, but a different kind of familiar from those in the hospital.
Entering his room, he noticed all surfaces were shiny and dust-free. He sighed. His mother had worked hard to keep the place clean in his absence. A small cedar bookshelf, filled with mostly textbooks, stood next to his desk in the corner. His bed was prim and neat, sheets—the same color as his tail and mane used to be—stared back at him. On spotting them, a small frown made its way onto his face.
“Do you need help with anything, Color? I’m fixing dinner. It’s Southern Salad, your favorite!” his mom called from the kitchen.
“No, mom, I’m fine. Just settling in.”
Bound made his way over to the bed. He readied his magic to pull the sheets back, but hesitated. He’d spent enough time in bed, hadn’t he? If he pulled those covers back, was he just admitting defeat? Lying around certainly wouldn’t help his legs. After a moment’s thought, he gave in, throwing the covers off. The world had taken everything away from him with that stupid disease, and it wasn’t likely to give anything back. To Fate, he was just some object of amusement.
With several grunts and no short amount of effort, Bound made it into his bed. The springs creaked under his meager weight, and he let out a heavy sigh in relaxation. His eyes went to the ceiling, and his thoughts once again focused on familiar walls. His mother must have heard him moving around, as she appeared in his bedroom doorway a moment later.
“Hey, hun, dinner is just about ready. Do you want to eat in the kitchen or should I bring it to you?”
Still gazing at the ceiling, Bound replied, “Just... just bring it here.”
She nodded. “After dinner, do you want to try to walk around some? I’ve got some supports you could use in the living room and the doctor said it would be best to get those legs working as soon as possible. I can call in a physiotherapist as well, if you'd like.”
Bound closed his eyes. He could see her wearing that hopeful face again in his mind. “Maybe tomorrow, mom. I’m really tired.”
There was a short pause. “Oh, okay. If you’re not up to it, that’s fine. I’ll bring dinner soon.” With that, she walked away. Bound heard the clinking of bowls and cooking utensils shortly after.
Really, the setting hadn’t changed much from the hospital. One insignificant window, four familiar walls, glaring white light and stale air. Bound shifted to turn to the window. “Huh,” he said, realizing something odd.
The mattress was unfamiliar.
One month. What a waste of time it had been, coming home. Nothing had changed. He was still stuck in bed, his body had hardly improved. His belly had fattened a bit; the disease was no longer sapping the nutrition from him. His tail and mane had grown out a little, but they still looked pathetic. In fact, the only change Bound really noticed was his mother constantly bugging him about exercise. Bound wished his mother could understand his situation—why he didn't leave the comfort of his bed. His wheelchair was good enough. He would manage.
Every day, though, early morning, she would bring him breakfast and a question: “Do you want to try to exercise today?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” was always his reply. She’d nod and say, “I’ll ask you tomorrow, then,” and walk out.
For one month, that was their routine. But at one month and one day, Bound didn’t see his mother at the same time she usually came in. What he heard, instead, was the front door opening followed shortly by a curious trio of voices coming from the living room.
“I still don’t see why you had to drag us out here, Apple Bloom.”
“‘Cause he’s a blank flank, just like us!”
“Yeah, Scootaloo, we gotta stick together!”
“But... isn’t he, like, way older than us?”
“All th’ more reason, Scoots. Can yah imagine what it’s like for him?”
“Besides, it’s just a few years. Not way older.”
Bound’s mother spoke up. “Girls, this house carries sound very well. I imagine he can hear you.”
Silence. Before long, three heads popped into the bedroom doorway. Bound didn’t recognize any of them. It was just three fillies: one orange and purple, looking at Bound nervously; one white with a pink and purple mane, wearing a look of curiosity; and the last had a giant red ribbon in her mane. She had a far-too-large smile on her face.
“Uh, hello?” said Bound.
The one wearing a ribbon bounded into the room, followed closely by her compatriots. “Hiya, there, mister! I’m Apple Bloom, and these are my friends Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo!”
“And we’re the Cutie Mark Crusaders!” chirped Sweetie Belle.
“Who are you?” asked Scootaloo, still unsure of Bound.
“Scootaloo!” the other two hollered.
Bound was completely surprised. The last month had been one of sordid routine, not too much unlike his life at the hospital, and he had no idea how to react to three balls of energy suddenly being introduced to his morning. He decided to go with polite. “It-It’s fine. I’m Color Bound, but everyone calls me Bound.”
Scootaloo squinted at him and frowned. “So... what are you doing in bed? Apple Bloom told me you were better already.”
“Scootaloo!” they yelled yet again.
“I was sick for a long time, and I’m still recovering. It will take a while for my body to be ready to move about normally.”
“What did—” Scootaloo started, but a white hoof was quickly stuffed in her mouth before she could finish her question.
Apple Bloom stepped forward. “We heard you were sick an’ we wanted ta visit ya!” she said, still wearing that ridiculously big smile.
“So,” Bound asked, raising an eyebrow, “this has nothing to do with me being a blank flank?”
All three of the fillies’ faces fell. “You heard that, did ya?” asked Apple Bloom.
Bound nodded and cringed. He felt a little bad bursting their bubble like that.
“Well, as you can see,” Sweetie Belle said, turning her flank toward Bound, “none of us have found our cutie marks yet. We’ve been searching for them really hard.”
“And when I heard ‘bout ya from my sister, I thought we should come visit! Maybe we could help each other find our cutie marks!” said Apple Bloom emphatically, her eyes lighting up at the possibility.
This day keeps getting stranger and stranger. Bound considered the offer a moment, but quickly shook his head. “I’m too weak to be doing any—what was it you called it? Crusading? I wouldn’t be any help.” Besides, Bound figured, it’d be a little weird for him to be hanging out with fillies two or three years younger than himself. There was plenty of teasing awaiting him when he did eventually get back to school.
The thought darkened his mood further. Returning to school hadn’t gone through his mind, yet. His mother would certainly be wanting him to go back when the next semester started. There really wasn’t much to be done about it, thought, maybe he could get his mom to homeschool him a bit longer. She’d been teaching in Ponyville for years; there was no reason why she couldn’t be an adequate teacher at home.
“You think we care about a stupid thing like that?”
Two gasps rang out in the room as Bound’s attention snapped to Scootaloo.
“Scoot—”
“No! Crusaders stick together, no matter what! You two would do everything to help me get out of bed if I was stuck there, wouldn’t you? So why should we treat him any different?”
“Scootaloo, really, I appreciate it, but I don’t think—” Bound started.
“Ugh! Is everyone dense today? You know, Rainbow Dash wouldn’t let some silly disease get the best of her. She’d be out of bed every second she could be!”
Bound looked at Scootaloo in total confusion. “Who the heck is Rainbow Dash?”
She rolled her eyes at Bound. “Only the greatest flyer in all of Equestria! The only pegasus to do not one, not two, but three Sonic Rainbooms! The Element of Loyalty and The Element of Awesome! You can’t seriously tell me you’ve never heard of her!”
Rubbing a hoof against his forehead, Bound tried to think if he’d ever heard this pegasus’ name before. “I think I do remember reading something about her in the paper, I guess the name just didn’t register.” He paused for a second, trying to remember how the subject even got to Rainbow Dash. Frustration heated his face red and he threw up his forelegs. “What does Rainbow Dash even have to do with me? Yes, I imagine she wouldn’t let ‘some silly disease’ get the better of her, but I’m not her. I can never be her!”
Scootaloo huffed in defeat. “You’re the only one saying that.”
Bound was just about ready to unleash a righteous fury upon the poor, purple-maned pegasus when his mom spoke up from the doorway. “Okay, you three, I think we should give Color some time to rest. Come along now.” She gestured for the fillies to leave the room.
Throwing her chin up, Scootaloo pranced out first. Sweetie Belle gave a soft farewell before trudging out behind her pegasus friend. The last to leave was Apple Bloom.
“Sorry we couldn’ cheer ya up. You know, you can still crusade with us if ya want. I’m sure Scoots will come around.” She was almost whimpering at him. Bound could sympathize; she probably had everything planned so well, and could have walked out of there with a new crusader. But fate had different plans.
Before speaking, Bound let out a sigh to calm down. “It’s okay, Apple Bloom. Your heart was in the right place.” He ruffled her mane a bit. “You’re okay in my book.”
A remnant of the smile she first had crept its way back on to her face. “See ya, Bound!” she said, and walked out of the room. He watched her as she left, pity written clearly all over his face.
Once she was gone, Bound fell back onto the bed, mentally both frustrated and exhausted by the encounter. Scootaloo didn’t have an ounce of tact, but wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Sweetie Belle seemed nice enough, if not a little shy. Apple Bloom was really smart for her age and had a kind heart from what he could tell, but he truly pitied her. One day she would be set up against Fate, see what the world was to thrust upon her, and it would break her down. There was, in fact, a little of Bound’s younger self in her. Of course, there are the rare few ponies that either get lucky or somehow fall outside of the shackles of fate (that ‘Rainbow Dash’ Scootaloo mentioned came to mind), but... well, was it too late for Bound?
A rustling brought him out of his thoughts. Turning his head to the noise, he saw his mom was moving his wheelchair up to the bed. “Um, what is it, mom?” he asked.
“Since you started the day out a little differently, I was hoping you’d try some exercise today! Might help you get some frustration out. You know you’ll need the energy when you get back to school.” The same hopeful smile she knew so well once again adorned her face.
“C’mon, mom, just being around those fillies wore me out. I really just need to lie down for a while, sort my thoughts. Please?”
The smile weakened, though it did not disappear. “Oh! Well, if that’s how you feel, I guess I can’t really make you exercise. Did... did you still want breakfast? I actually left it out in the living room, but I can bring it in here.”
“Yes, please.”
She just nodded, pity in her eyes. Bound was so sick of that pity. He almost screamed at her back as she walked away. I don’t want pity! Don’t do that to me! How could somepony even look at another like that? It was cruel, condescending and ignorant. When he had nothing, he could lose nothing. In this bed, he was safe. There was no reason to get up, not today. So keep your pity to yourself. Don’t look at me with those eyes, and I—
Those eyes... the same ones with which he’d looked down at Apple Bloom.
What did she have, though? Where had that smile come from? Bound cradled his head in his hands, racking his brain for the answer. All she did was visit him with a couple of friends... but that was the difference, wasn't it? Apple Bloom was acting, moving, pushing back against the world when it assaulted her with doubts. She came here to visit him not out of pity, but out of hope—and Bound had just thrown ignorance in her face.
He brought his hooves up to his face, feeling them begin to shake. Rage started to pour out of him again but he suppressed it. He was done with the self-hatred, done with his ineptitude, done with pity.
Something stronger, something brighter was burning in him now. Something he'd borrowed from that little yellow-coated filly. It asked—no, demanded—that he act. That he move.
“Mom! Help me into this wheelchair!”
Breathing became harder and heavier for Bound and he worked his way down the support rails. Sweat fell down his face and damped his coat.
“C’mon, hun, you’re almost there!”
He really wished his mom wouldn’t cheer him on like that. It made him feel like some performer on stage, like he needed the approval of a crowd. She seemed to enjoy it well enough, though, so he let his mom have her cheers. Right now, his focus was centered purely on the rails and his wheelchair at the end of it.
Just a few... more... steps...
Bound’s concentration broke for a split second and one of his hooves slipped off a support rail. With his legs completely incapable of holding his weight, Bound fell to the floor with a loud thud. He arched his back in pain as his face twisted in agony. Almost instantly, his mother was next to him, asking if he was okay, if anything was broken, and what hurt the most.
“I'm fine, I'm fine, mom. Let me do this on my own!”
She nodded and backed up, but her eyes reflected some surprise. “I suppose if that’s what you want to do, I won’t get in the way. I’ll be right here, though, just ask if you need any help.”
The only response she got was a nod and a huff. Bound rolled over onto his stomach and started using his forelegs, the only legs with any sort of strength at the moment, to crawl toward the chair. His face was now filled with a great fury. Briefly, he considered getting himself back on the support rail with magic, but he dismissed the idea. His legs would not get stronger if he used magic for everything.
In reaching for the rail, he realized his forelegs were not long enough to grasp it. He’d have to crawl into the wheelchair directly from the floor. The prospect of facing humiliation like this in front of anypony filled him with frustration, and his face flushed red. Bound reached out with a hoof and pulled the chair close. His hooves now both on the seat, he started to pull his body up. As soon as most of his weight was on the chair, however, it shot out from underneath him and rolled away. His jaw rattled as his chin slammed onto the floor.
His vision went white with rage. Rage at the stupid disease that refused to let him go. Had he not spent enough time railing against this fate? The ground shook as he slammed a hoof against it. Rubbing the tears of anger from his eyes, Bound looked at the wheelchair. Considering his position for a moment, his eyes fell and he let out a sigh of defeat. Not today. Maybe tomorrow, though.
“Mom,” he asked, “could you help me get back into my wheelchair?”
She hopped up and rushed over to the wheelchair, bringing it to Bound’s side. “You’ve gotten really far today, Color. Don’t you want to try again? You were so close! I bet—”
“Mom. Please,” he asserted.
“Alright,” she said, her face turning solemn, “you know what’s best for your body.”
Bound was able to get back into his bed after a few minutes of struggling with the wheelchair. He could feel his sweat seep into the sheets, a perfect symbolism of the pains he could not escape from. No matter how many times his mom cleaned them, the sweat and the agony would always return, always remind him of what he had become. With the tiny spark of hope he had left, he tried to think of a way past this dilemma.
What got me out of this bed in the first place?
His thoughts went back to the day Apple Bloom and her friends visited. Something happened that day. Something opened his eyes. He needed that again, more than strong legs, more than clean sheets.
And right now, there was only one way he knew how to get it.
A cool breeze wafted across Bound’s face as he wheeled down the path to Sweet Apple Acres. It carried the scent of apples with it, filling his nose and putting him at ease. He’d certainly picked a nice time for the trip; the sky was scheduled to be clear in the evening and the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon. Though Bound typically had plenty of time alone, it was different out here. It felt almost as if the world was here, watching him, listening to his thoughts. For what reasons, he had no idea, but it was good to just enjoy the outside sometimes. If he listened hard enough, he could hear wind carry something akin to music. He stopped for a moment and opened his ears to it.
Wait a second, that is music!
Bound turned toward the source of the tune. Leaning forward and squinting, he scanned the nearby line of apple trees. He couldn’t see anything, but the sound was definitely coming from there. It sounded so sweet, so soft. When those notes hit his ears, it didn’t feel like he was stuck in a wheelchair anymore. It felt more like he was just sitting in an audience, witnessing a spectacular performance. The thing that bugged him, though, was that he had no idea what instrument it was. He had to find the source of that sound.
Though Bound was woe to stray from the trail in his wheelchair, he was determined. Getting through the fence surrounding the apple grove was somewhat difficult, but Bound soon found a break in the fence and made his was past it. Giving his horn a rest, Bound chose to use his forelegs to wheel onward. He weaved through the trees, moving slowly closer to the source of the music. It only made sense for the pony playing to be one of the Apples, but he didn’t know any of them to be musicians—just farmers. Maybe one of them was secretly talented. And that instrument! The tone it created, the emotion, it drove him mad with curiosity! There was something else, too. Something more to that music than sound. It was almost like he could see the music as well.
No more than a couple minutes into his voyage, he found the culprit: an orange-coated mare wearing a stetson. She was leaning up against an apple tree, her hat nearly completely covering her face. The instrument in her lap was unfamiliar to Bound.
“Uh, hello?” he called out, wincing. A second after speaking, he realized what he’d look like to the mare: a cripple, all alone, on her property. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t the mocking type.
The strumming stopped and the mare turned to Bound. A broad smile appeared on her face and she stood up quickly. “Howdy, welcome to Sweet Apple Acres! I’m Applejack. What can I do ya for?” She subtly moved the instrument behind her and added, “Sorry about the racket.”
Yup, definitely an Apple. Not the mocking type, either. Must be my lucky day.
“Hi. I’m Color Bound. I came here looking for Apple Bloom. And b-by the way, your playing was really good. Th-that’s sorta how I ended up here,” he stammered. Kinda cute, too.
“Aw, shucks, I can’t play worth anything on that. Now, I woulda taken ya fer one of Apple Bloom’s classmates, but yer lookin’ a mite old for that.”
“Well,” said Bound, scratching his head nervously, “she visited because she heard I didn’t have a cutie mark.”
“Ah! You musta been that new crusader she got all excited ‘bout a while back. I’ll tell ya, she was determined to convince you to join, more than I’d seen her in a while. I expected her ta’ be more let down when she first came back empty-hoofed, but she didn’t seem so bothered. I guess you bein’ here is sayin’ she done it right in the end?”
“Eh, I dunno if I want to be going crusading any time soon, but h-her and her friends’ visit really helped out. Wanted to say thank you.” Bound’s lower lip began to quiver and he bit down on it. He couldn’t believe he was falling apart in front of this cute mare. First it was just stammering, but now he was shaking and perspirating, too! It was all he could do to hope she didn’t notice.
“Aw, that’s real sweet of ya. Right now, I’m afraid Apple Bloom’s out with the Crusaders at Rarity’s place. Don’t imagine she’ll be back ‘till tomorrow. I could pass along your thanks, if ya like.”
“Heh, thanks for the offer, but I’d really like to tell her in-pony.” Bound’s gaze shot around, searching for anything to look at besides Applejack’s face. It was quite impossible for him to hold eye contact any longer. What he found was the instrument she’d been playing. “Say, that instrument sounded really interesting. What is it?”
Confusion showed on Applejack’s face for just a moment before it lit up and she reached down to pick up the object in question. “This thing? It’s a banjo.”
“Wow, a banjo? That’s cool. I’ve never heard one before. Where did you get it?”
Applejack took another look at the banjo, this time fondly. “Belonged to my pa. He’d take it out a few nights a week and jus’ strum it in front of the fireplace for a while. Dunno if he knew any real songs, but it was relaxin’ ta listen to all the same. Passed it on to me and mah brother, but he don’t play it at all, so I keep it tuned up and play it every now and then.”
Bound’s eyes were fixed on the banjo the entire time she talked, almost in a trance. When she finished, he broke out of it and looked at her for a moment before his shyness caused him to quickly look away again. “Tell me, Applejack, d-does it feel as good to play it as it does to hear it?”
She smirked at him and said, “Why don’t you find out?”
His jaw dropped and eyes widened as Bound beheld Applejack holding the banjo out to him. “Y-you’re serious? I can play it?”
“Sure as sugar, hun. Just show it some care.”
After wheeling himself closer, Bound slowly reached out with both forelegs and grasped the banjo (blushing when his hoof touched Applejack’s). It felt light yet significant in his hooves. For a moment, he had no idea what to do with it. Posture was completely lost on him and he merely held it out awkwardly.
Applejack smiled and guided the banjo into the proper posture in his lap (Bound’s cheeks were now clearly on fire with bashfulness). “Now you put one hoof up here, on the neck—” she moved one of his hooves to the correct position, “—and one down here to strum it. Though, I s’pose as a unicorn you got more options. That’s jus’ how I play it.”
The sudden realization made Bound jump a little. “Oh! Unicorn.” Of course! He could have just picked it up with his magic!
Timidly, he moved his left hoof up and down the neck. It felt too weird; he was never able to keep the banjo steady and hold the strings down at the same time. Eventually, he decided to hold the back of the neck with his hoof and pluck the strings with his magic. Picking a couple strings to hold, he said, “So, I just...” and gently strummed with his right hoof.
It was perfect. There was no other word to describe it. Sure, the tone came out unrefined, and Bound wasn’t really holding down any chord in particular, but his ears heard nothing other than perfection. What all exactly came out of that banjo, he couldn’t say. Another listener might hear only sound, but Bound experienced something else... and that something told him to play more.
He looked at Applejack, his eyes asking permission to strum it again. After a nod from her, he looked back to the banjo, adjusted his magic a bit, and once again ran his hoof across the strings. The flawed yet immaculate sound reverberated through the air one more time. A ridiculous grin appeared on Bound’s face and for just that speck in time, he was able to forget about fate and play.
Once he was finished, he laid the banjo flat across his lap and looked at Applejack. He had to give her something in return for this, but he had nothing to offer except words. I hope that’s good enough.
“Can I be honest with you, Applejack?”
Her smile widened. “Of course, sugarcube. I’m all about honesty.”
Offering a weak smile that quickly faded away, Bound’s eyes fell to the banjo in his lap. “I didn’t just come here to thank Apple Bloom. I came looking for something. I’m not sure what it is—maybe it’s inspiration, maybe motivation or passion. Something to get me past this ordeal. Whatever it is, Apple Bloom gave it to me when she visited, and I was hoping she’d help me find it again. Silly, right? That a colt like me, nigh-short of becoming an adult, can’t find his way out of a bind on his own.”
Applejack set a hoof on his shoulder. “Now, I don’t think that at all. You’ve been dealt a rough life, and there ain’t nopony who could come out of it unscathed, much less on their own. Depending on others ain’t a weakness, it’s a strength. It shows you know your shortcomings and how to get past ‘em. Ya think a pony like Apple Bloom got past her problems on her own? ‘Course not. That’s why she’s got a big sis and the Crusaders.”
“I... I guess that makes sense.” Bound turn to look Applejack directly in the eyes. He could feel his own starting to fill with tears. “But what am I missing? What if Apple Bloom can’t help? What if nopony can?”
“Bound, I reckon that don’t matter. You’ve already beaten whatever it is that’s got you down.” She paused for a moment as Bound rubbed his eyes. “Ya know how I can tell? You're out here. You’re searching for it. Only a matter of time before you find it.”
“T-thanks, Applejack.” He gently tapped her hoof on his shoulder. "I've got one last question: how did you hear about me? I've never met you before, and she said she heard about me from you."
Applejack just smiled a him and answered, "Now, who do you suppose picks her up from school?"
All Bound could do in reply was raise an eyebrow at her. He shook his head in dismissal; Applejack just seemed like she was in the mood to play games. “I should go before I take up any more of your time. Thank you so much for letting me play your banjo.” Gripping it with his magic, he held the banjo out to her.
It was now her turn to raise an eyebrow and look at him in confusion. “My banjo? I can’t recall ever ownin’ one. This here is your banjo.”
The insinuation was not lost on Bound. “No. No no no. I am not taking your father’s banjo. Thank you, but no.” He pushed the banjo further toward Applejack.
“I do remember pa playin’ a banjo,” she said, putting a hoof to her chin in thought, “but we lost that old thing a long time ago. This here can’t be his.”
Bound just gaped at her, almost losing his magic grip on the banjo. “But, why? I could just get one somewhere else. You don’t have to give this up for me!”
The smirk reappeared on her face. “Pa would get mighty angry if he knew I kept his old banjo from somepony that needed it a lot more than me. Now you take care of it, alright? I’d hate to have to mess up somepony I jus’ met.” Giving a wink and a tip of her hat, Applejack started walking back toward the barn. “Been a pleasure!” she called over her shoulder.
“Thank you! I won’t forget this! Thank you so much!” Bound yelled back at her, tears finally starting to stream down his face.
“What you thankin’ me for? I ain’t done nothin’, jus’ listened to you play your banjo a little.” With that, she was gone.
Bound waited a short while, letting his tears dry up before turning to the banjo. It felt so right in its place on his lap. All he could do was stare at it, his heart too full for words. His hooves were shaking as he repositioned the banjo. His horn pulsed with anticipation. Clenching his teeth, he closed his eyes and began to play.
The music was nothing less than the first time he heard it. Bound could not only hear, but feel the echoes resound throughout the orchard. The trees heard it, the ground felt it, the air carried it. He had no idea what it was, but he needed it, just like everything else around him. Guided only by emotion, he continued to strum the banjo, adjusting his magic with each swipe. His technique rushed at times, slowed at others, and the music ebbed and flowed in return. He played in notes, in colors, in feelings, in tales. So caught up, he was, that he failed to notice the flash come from his flank. Even had he noticed, Bound would not have cared: he was playing to the world, and the world sang back.
He played for No One, and No One listened.
