It was to Burnt Oak’s quiet satisfaction that, this year, the hillside was largely untouched.
Not that the hill belonged to him or his family, of course. They’d never officially claimed property that didn’t really belong to them, and even unofficially marking their territory wasn’t really in the spirit of the season. So every year, Burnt Oak went to the hill and simply hoped that there hadn’t been foals sledding on it or starting snowball fights or whatnot since the last snowfall.
This year, he was lucky. The hill looked pristine, untouched, pure. Part of him recognized that worrying over the particulars was a little silly, given that he was going to besmirch it in his own particular way. But this wasn’t about him and had never been about him, and he hoped that the gesture was worth more than his infringement on the hilltop’s beauty.
Burnt Oak didn’t complain as he hiked up the heavy, overladen saddlebags a little closer to his shoulders and started walking up the long, slippery slope. He didn’t grimace as chill gnawed at his hooves. He slipped a little, but never tripped as the path to the top grew slick and icy. He didn’t even flinch as a breeze picked up, kicking loose snowflakes onto his face.
And then he was there, looking over fields and forest, the highest point in a sea of white. Only the slow march of some figure down below, cutting through an empty field of what had only a month or two ago been a healthy crop of rye, broke the tranquility.
It would do.
With a sigh of relief, Burnt Oak sloughed the saddlebags off. Kneeling down next to a flatter patch of hilltop, he brushed the snow aside, pushing and lifting and shoving until there was a clear patch of barren earth.
Then he opened the first saddlebag and brought out the rocks.
As he set a circle of flat stones down on the earth, Burnt Oak reflected on the mild hypocrisy of his actions. If any other pony had lugged a saddlebag full of rocks up a hill, he’d think they were either crazy weight-trainers or just plumb crazy. Heck, possibly he was crazy. But if nothing else, he was crazy with a purpose outside of himself, and that suited him just fine.
Burnt Oak shivered as he opened the second saddlebag, fully aware that any hypocritical feelings he might have had went double for ponies with saddlebags full of logs, sticks and sawdust. But fires couldn’t survive on air alone; that was why you needed kindling and fuel. And if there were two gifts that his cutie mark had blessed him with, it was lumber harvesting and firecrafting.
His hooves worked on autopilot to arrange the fuel in the stone circle just so, and he turned his head to the sky and let his mind wander. The grey sky, precluding sunlight and faintly leaking snow, filled Burnt Oak’s thoughts like static; numb to the outside world and bound to his memories with straightjacket security, Burnt Oak’s thoughts drifted from forgettable scenery to unforgettable faces.
After all, it was impossible to forget His smile.
Or His laugh.
Or the angle of His hat.
Or the colour on His cheeks when he thought about his love.
Abruptly, Burnt Oak’s hooves grasped at air. Looking down, he saw the fuel had been arranged just so, the way it had been the preceding year and the year before that and the decades of precedence prior. With a vague semblance of pride at his hoofwork, Burnt Oak stood up, stretched and scanned the horizon.
Once again, only the figure in the field remained, though it had changed tack towards his direction. A lost soul, maybe? Perhaps an errant nature explorer? Some sort of countywide official, come to fine him for violating an unknown environcentric law? Bah — if the worst he could expect was a fine, then any fee was still a small price to pay for remembrance.
Burnt Oak shivered as he pulled two last items out of his saddlebags - a hunk of flint and a simple, solid steel striker. Good, sensible fare for a sensible pony; it had served him just fine for the years before his mustache went grey, and it would serve him just fine now. Back slightly aching from age and his saddlebags, Burnt Oak leaned towards the kindling and struck.
Chfff.
Chfff.
Chfff.
A spark, right where it should have been. The spark turned into a curl of frame, and Burnt Oak sat back and watched the curl grow and spread from a small, helpless thing to a beautify, hearty blaze. Pausing only to put his flint and steel away, Burnt Oak sighed, sat down and watched the kindling burn.
It was warm, like His smile.
Warm as His laugh had been on the best of days.
But here, even while watching the flickering motes dance off of the fire, it wasn’t too hard to pull his mind back. After all, he couldn’t let his thoughts wander too far, not when there was one last thing for him to do — and without checking to see where the wandering pony had gone, without even consciously thinking about it, Burnt Oak brought his hooves up in front of him and clapped.
Thump.
Pause.
Thump.
Before, Burnt Oak had tried to bring a guitar with him; A mellow, low-strung acoustic, off-tuned and brittle, an instrument more for presentation or nostalgia’s sake than for the sake of a song. Eventually, he accepted that he could never really play it, not really, and it’d be more disrespectful than respectful to play it for their sake.
But he still had a voice, and he could still sing, and hopefully that would be respectful enough.
Thump.
Burnt Oak took a deep breath.
Thump.
Burnt Oak opened his mouth and closed his eyes.
Thump.
“We’re far apart in every way,
But even when the skies are grey—”
“Burnt Oak?”
Burnt Oak spluttered, opened his eyes and reflexively jerked his head towards the noise. A hindleg lashed out in surprise, coming within inches of kicking over the rocks in his makeshift fire pit and sticking his leg directly into the flame.
“Wha...Applejack?”
It was funny: There she was, head tilted in puzzlement, hat slightly askew. And sure, there was the blonde mane and blonde tail, done up for the sake of practicality and convenience, and sure her coat was the same color as the dazzling fragments of a Monarch Butterfly’s wings. But she was clearly Bright Mac’s daughter, and it was hard not to look at her and think of anything but Him.
He could practically see Him now, tipping his hat back, laughing that sun-ripened laugh he’d heard so many times before, words flowing freely off his tongue:
Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell you how things went. I know how you love a good story almost as much as a good harvest or a good race.
Take care, Burns.
“Burnt Oak?” Applejack’s words cut through his thoughts like a hatchet. “What’re you doing out here?”
“A tradition,” he said matter-of-factly.
“What kind of tradition?” Applejack peered at the flames. “Somethin’ about fire?”
“Yes and no. You can have a seat if you want.” Burnt Oak gestured to a spot of snow next to him. “I promise, it gets warm enough real quick.”
“Much obliged,” Applejack replied. One hoof reached out, dragging aside hoof full after hoof full of snow, until a shallow furrow of soil poked up from below. With a contented huff, Applejack sat down, reaching up briefly to tip her hat back.
Before he could stop himself, Burnt Oak chuckled.
“Somethin’ funny?”
“Not comic funny, no.” Burnt Oak shook his head slightly. “Coincidence funny. Your dad - he used to tip His hat back just like that.”
“Oh?” Applejack replied, voice dropping a notch in volume.
“Very partial to that sort of hat - the shape, the width of the brim and the crease in the top. But he’d never get it so that it actually fit His head - always used to get it a mite too large. I’d joke about his hats fittin’ poorly ‘cause he had a small brain sometimes, and then we’d tussel it out. We used to get banged up and covered in mud, and you wouldn’t believe how irate Granny Smith would get over that!” The corners of Burnt Oak’s mouth twitched up in a reflexive smile. “Did she ever tell you ‘bout that?”
“She, ah…” Applejack scratched behind her neck, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t reckon she did.”
“Ah.”
Silence fell, save for the crackling of the fire.
Applejack’s tail flicked uneasily. “She hasn’t talked about ‘em much, actually. Since...y’know.”
“I see.”
Silence.
“...Burnt Oak?”
“Yeah?” Burnt Oak replied, turning his head.
“You ever get to feelin’ like...shucks. I don’t know how to say it without soundin’ kinda kooky.”
“Dear, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you hear almost every sentence ever said or that could’ve ever been said under the sun. You’re welcome to try an’ throw me for a loop if you want, though.” Burnt Oak’s smile grew large enough to ruffle his moustache, and for a moment or two the moustache’s loss of integrity made him appear somehow younger.
“...Alright. I’ll try.” Applejack cleared her throat. “Y’ever feel like when you’re supposed to talk about somethin’, you’re not really supposed to talk about it?”
“Why don’t Granny Smith want you talkin’ about your folks?”
“It ain’t like that!” Applejack frowned and tipped her hat forward a little - then sighed and leaned back, forehooves digging into the dirt behind her. “It ain’t like I can’t talk about ‘em at all, jes’ more like…”
“The difference between talkin’ and talking.” Burnt Oak quirked an eyebrow.
“...Yeah. Yeah, that ain’t a bad way to put it.” Applejack fell silent and stared at the crackling fire, eyes tracking the dance of the errant sparks into the winter air. “Kinda like bringin’ them up would be an unkind thing t’do to Granny.”
“I kinda know what you mean. But in th’ opposite way.”
Applejack turned back to Burnt Oak. “Huh?”
“You feel like you could say something, but you shouldn’t, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. An’ you?”
“Feel like I should say things that I can’t.” Burnt Oak sighed.
“Is it ‘cause, y’know…” Applejack chewed her lip. “Is it what I’m thinkin’, or is it somethin’ else?”
“It’s what you’re thinkin’.” Burnt Oak sniffed. “I got all these stories I’ve been wantin’ to tell Him, an’ I think of all the stories He coulda told me. But, y’know, kinda hard to get in touch with Him these days.”
Applejack chuckled. “Go figure, huh?”
“Yep.” Burnt Oak’s eyes traced the errant path of a spark, leaping higher than its brethren, and for a brief and glorious second it hovered over them like a firefly. Then, like all the rest, it was snuffed out forever.
“Y’know, Burnt Oak, that still don’t explain the fire.”
“The fire...it’s a silly thing, from a silly ol’ colt.”
Applejack quirked an eyebrow. “Y’know, when you’ve been around as many different sorts as I have, you hear every sort of silliness of chance of silliness under the sun. Not that I’m sayin’ you can’t try, but…”
Wide-eyed, Burnt Oak looked back at Applejack and saw an unforgettable smile attached to an unfamiliar face. Then a peal of laughter he hadn’t realized he was holding in erupted out of him, a gasping wheeze that even the gentle snowfall couldn’t muffle as it echoed down to fields and woods alike. As he struggled to suck in breaths between gouts of laughter, his hat slipped over his face, and one shaking hoof rose up to grab at the brim and force it back in place.
“Now that...hee hee hee!...That I wasn’t expectin’ in the least.” Rosy-cheeked, Burnt Oak stifled a hiccup as he sucked in a lungful of air and peered over at Applejack with watery eyes. “Your father always did that sort of thing, too — He’d take what I was sayin’ and switch it back around on me ‘til I felt like i’d been bamboozled.”
“He did, now?”
“All the time. Sometimes seemed like I could never open my mouth without Him ready and rarin’ to give me a good verbal lickin’.” Burnt Oak chuckled. “Y’know, I can’t help but think of Him when I look at you.”
“I...gosh. Um.” Applejack’s cheeks colored. “I don’t reckon I’ve ever been told that before. Not in quite that way, I mean.”
“If your folks don’t talk much about Him, I ain’t surprised. Don’t mind an ol’ soul like me.” Burnt Oak let his eyelids slide shut, just for a second or two, and it was enough to let him feel like the pony next to him was…
Told you I’d be back, Burns. Told you I’d have all sorts of crazy stories.
“You okay, Burnt Oak?”
Frowning slightly, Burnt Oak opened his eyes. “Fine enough, all things considered. Just...still thinkin’. You okay? Comfortable enough?”
Applejack nodded. “Comfortable enough. Don’t mind me.”
“If you say I don’t need to, then I reckon I won’t.” Burnt Oak turned back to the fire and let his eyelids slide shut again.
Nothing.
“So, uh…” Applejack pressed. “What’s with the fire n’all that? It can’t be the most reasonable place t’start one.”
“It ain’t reasonable, yeh. That’s kind of th’ point, though. If I’d rather, y’know...sometimes, a colt don’t want to make a deal of starting a fire an’ havin’ a bunch of folks cluster around it, or even start one an’ feel crowded in by his own home and all the responsibilities a home’s got. Sometimes, he just wants to stare into the fruit of his efforts an’ just think for a while.”
“...I can leave if you want” Applejack replied.
Burnt Oak jerked his head in Applejack’s direction. “I didn’t say that! You’re fine! It’s...other folk’s what I’m thinkin’ of, that I’d rather not have to think about.”
“You sure?”
“Sure as sugar, dear.”
“Why?”
Burnt Oak fell silent.
“...D’you know why I’m watchin’ over a fire, specifically?” Burnt Oak finally replied.
“Can’t say i do, no.” Applejack pulled herself a little closer to the fire, shivering slightly.
“It’s what I do. It’s a thing my cutie mark tells me I’m good at. Some of us folk, our cutie marks help us out with plenty. Then some of us folks get cutie marks that don’t got a lot of use, unless you’re in a prime position t’cut down trees and light fires all the time.”
“That don’t answer the question, though.” Applejack tilted her head slightly as she watched Burnt Oak.
“...You got friends, don’t you?”
“Heh. That’s kinda part of bein’ an Element of Harmony, Burnt Oak. What’re you gettin’ at?” A slight breeze kicked up, causing the fire’s flames to dance, briefly casting flickering shadows around Applejack, and for a moment the familiarities she had carried with her were lost on Burnt Oak.
“When you’re with friends, you do good things for each other, right? From what your cutie mark tells you. Granny Smith used to make cider, give away some apple pies to the more down-on-their-luck ponies when it was gettin’ cold out, that sort of thing.”
“She still tries to do that!” Applejack smiled wanly. “Tries, I mean. Her body ain’t so great at all that these days.”
“But she does what she can. We can all try to do what we can, at any rate. And this...this is all I can do.” Burnt Oak gestured at the fire. “Give this away to the winds n’ the sky n’ all that this time of year, and hope that they travel off to a place where my friends could see ‘em. It’s ridiculous, I know, but—”
“It ain’t ridiculous to miss dad, y’know.”
Burnt Oak sputtered, staring incredulously at Applejack. “What in the hay? What makes you think I’m talkin’ about—”
“The pony that made you do a nonsensical thing for personal reasons, all on your lonesome? The one you’ve brought up a couple times, that gives you a kinda strange look in your eyes when you’re lookin’ at me? I’ve seen it before, y’know. Had a friend who looked the same for a fair chunk of time after she saw her pet settled into the ground, like she weren’t seein’ everythin’ in front of her face whenever somepony brought it up.”
“...I didn’t know that.” Burnt Oak mumbled.
“I never told you,” Applejack replied matter-of-factly, before her voice softened. “None of us folks get to know everythin’ about everypony. There’s always some things left unknown.”
“Stories left unsaid.”
“Hugs left unhugged.” Applejack brought her hindlegs up to her chest, wrapping her forelegs around them in an almost intimate squeeze. “Can’t say I think about that stuff when I’ve got business goin’ on back at the farm, but that don’t mean I’ve forgotten it all.”
“None of us forget everythin’, though.” Burnt Oak sighed. “And there are always times when we can’t help but think.”
“How long’ve you been doin’ this?”
“Once a year, every year, ever since.” Burnt Oak coughed. “Can’t help having thoughts. Can’t help but try to grasp at somethin’ that’ll make me feel some sort of connection. Otherwise, what do I have? Memories? That an’ a couple of bits will get you a mug of cheap cider.”
“And you never thought to reach out to us at all?”
“T’weren’t my place nor my business to interject myself. I ain’t family. I didn’t know him like y’all do.”
“Y’know, uh…” Applejack paused mid-sentence, as if her thoughts had gotten loose and she was trying to hunt them down again. “...Y’know, I never knew him like you did, either.”
“Huh?” Burnt Oak tilted his head in an unconscious imitation of Applejack. “But you’re family.”
“Family an’ friends aren’t the same thing. That don’t make one smarter than the other by default. I didn’t get to know everythin’ about him. I only knew him as dad. Didn’t know him as a childhood friend or’ anythin’ like that.”
Burnt Oak turned back to the flames. Brief, flickering motes of light leapt from the dancing flames, and — for one brief, brilliant moment — they were free.
“Would you like to?” He finally replied.
“I can think of worse ways t’try and remember him. And what are the holidays for, if nothing else?” Applejack chuckled. And, for the first time, Burnt Oak heard a laugh that wasn’t entirely familiar — it wasn’t His laugh, not really.
But it wasn’t a completely strange laugh, either. There was still a little bit of Him in it.
And that suited Burnt Oak just fine.
“On one condition, though.” Applejack continued, pointing a hoof at Burnt Oak. “I came all the way out here to see if you had any holiday stories about dad for us. But I reckon the rest of the family won’t mind if I bring you back to tell ‘em face-to-face.”
“Why?” Burnt Oak turned back to Applejack. “I ain’t family.”
“Yeah, but I reckon you’d want to know a little bit about what it felt like knowing him as family. An’ I’d be more’n a little obliged to help you figure out how it was.”
Burnt Oak paused. Abruptly, his face broke out in grin so brilliant it almost outshone the fire itself. “Deal. But I got a condition of my own, too!”
“Depends on the condition,” Applejack replied with a smile full of warmth and a mouth full of bemusement.
“If’n you want to know more about your dad, first thing you’ve got to do is help me out with a song. There’s this tune that he an’ your mom used to love — I took my own spin on it an’ try to give it back to him every year, too. Think you can follow a tune?”
“Part of bein’ an Element of Harmony is singing all the dang time. You want me to follow the beat, too?”
“Of course I do.” Scooting over to face Applejack, Burnt Oak raised his forehooves, and watched Applejack raise hers in tandem before he clapped.
Thump.
Burnt Oak took a deep breath.
Thump.
Burnt Oak closed his eyes, opened his mouth and began.
