Horizon

Horizon |~| Chapter 1

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Erod, taking a rest from tilling his gardens, lay upon his front stoop and dozed lightly. It was a glorious day, sun shining brightly and the sky piebald with a few wispy clouds, and while he had work that he intended to finish he was by no means about to spend all of this sunshine sweating. Feeling he'd earned a break, the stallion had stopped for a rest and soon could be heard the slightest of snores escaping his lungs.

He was a quiet stallion, his coat a hazy yellow-tan and possessing a medium length charcoal mane that lay loosely over his brow and down his neck. Easily described as an earth pony who enjoyed his honest comforts, a full belly and smoldering pipe, a midday nap on the front step or a leisurely stroll at dusk could keep him content until his ancestor’s graves held only soil. Oft the pastimes of the lazy, these were his means of enjoying his good fortune in residing away from the bustle of towns and neighbors. After all, why should he go about mucking up such fine days as these with too much noise or strain?

This is not to imply that he was inactive all of the time. Alongside his meals and rests, Erod greatly enjoyed tilling and tending land. While he was in no physical shape that allowed him to work large fields, he managed to suppress his belly enough to keep small gardens, flowerbeds and patches. It was both his race and heritage, born into and raised among a primarily earthen family, that caused him to retain such an affinity to sowing and harvesting crops, no matter how trivial.

His abode rested atop a hill alongside which a narrow dirt road, just wide enough to harbor a cart, ran from the north-east and then southward as it passed. A square cottage, large enough to accommodate himself and small enough to keep him from feeling too lonely when company was sparse, was his shelter. Softened hay under a wool cover made for his bed, lain in a shallow box tucked into the corner of the rearmost room of the home. The front room contained a fireplace of mortar and smooth river stones, a few cushions and a low table, serving as a parlor when needed. Between these two lay the kitchen and pantry, with a flight of stairs descending to the root cellar, this used for storage and a degree of food preservation.

The singular route outside passed the eastern side of the knoll, leaving the western slope to face only rolling hills, cloaked in wildflowers and scotch broom. The north face held the same, in addition to a handful of burbling streams. Turning to the south, as if exiting the cottage, one could see the path turn and proceed, winding through grasses and then entering a birch thicket a few hills over.

Awakening from his snooze, Erod found the sun to be just hours from setting. Appalled that he'd failed to finish his work and then nearly missed his evening meal, the still-drowsy pony bustled about, gathering his tools and made his way indoors. He deposited his threadbare felt cap on the hook just inside the doorway and crossed the parlor, supplies in tow. A few clangs and clatters later, Erod had deposited the tools in the cellar and had come back up the stairs, proceeding over to his pantry and kitchen.

Freeing some stubborn carrots, from behind a large melon no less, Erod closed the pantry door and nearly put his head through the low ceiling in surprise. In his parlor, previously unbeknownst to him, had been sitting a golden-tan feathered griffon. This was not, however, just any griffon. It was none other than Erod's long-time friend and companion, Wren. But Galaxia knew her unexpected presence had scared him half to death.

"Wren, you nearly put my heart through my skull," the stallion voiced breathlessly, still reeling from the fright of it. "You really oughtn't to sneak up on ponies like that. I'm afraid I'll next see you in a prison if your next victim doesn’t have as strong a ticker."

"Maybe you have just been idle for too long, old friend. You were never so prone to being caught unawares when we traveled," she challenged, grinning all the while.

"Well, it's been years, hasn't it? You can't expect me to keep adventuring right up to my death bed." Gathering up a kettle and leaves for tea, rather than that soup he'd been looking forward too, he set about preparing something for him and his unexpected guest.

After getting the pot filled and on the stove, now fired up, Erod made his way to the parlor. Embracing his friend and then sitting on a cushion adjacent, he took a moment to take in her presence. It had been years since he'd last seen this proud member of the Gilthonor clan, not since the tail end of their last adventure, and that separation was far longer than he’d have liked.

While he hadn’t seen her for a few years, she had changed little. Her feathers, white above her chest and a radiant toasted-gold below, were just as smooth and long. Where her feathers were replaced by fur of the same color, he could see again a scar she had received, running downward over her side. Her eyes were the same bright, vibrant amber as they had been and still seemed as eager to take in the world as he recalled. With her perpetually tousled crest of feathers, fanning out not unlike a palm trees leaves, her appearance was both rowdy and proud.

“It’s great to see you again, Wren! What brings you so far from the north?” he asked,

“It was quiet, and not a soul could accuse me of lying about that,” she remarked drearily “so I left.”

“Not exactly your cup of tea.” he said, chuckling at the memory of her fiery spirit. She had always been one for action and that wasn’t likely to change just because she’d tried to settle down. He doubted that she would ever truly be able too.

“Not by a long shot. You know, better than anyone really, how much I’d miss the open roads and traveling, Erod.” She spoke broadly now “I missed the freedom; the excitement; the adventure!” After a slight pause, she resumed her train of thought “That is, in fact, why I am here. I could never travel the roads again without inviting you along. That’d be just plain rude.”

He’d figured she was here for that, at least partially. “I appreciate the offer, but you’re not dragging me into another harrowing adventure, Wren. I put all of that aside years and years ago.” The kettle began to whistle, beckoning Erod away for a moment. The water was very much ready and he retrieved a couple of mugs from the cupboard, preparing their tea.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t miss it out there?” she called from the parlor.

“What ‘it’, Wren? The violence; the death; the blood soaked dirt?” he asked, becoming a little heated. “I don’t want to be part of that anymore.” It was a lifestyle he’d left behind and didn’t want to revisit. He remembered some of the wonders of that life, but at what price would it come, reclaiming them?

“You’re letting bad memories taint the good ones, Erod. What about the rowdy taverns and the campfires in the night and the majesty of the stars and moon overhead?” she questioned, nearly pleading. “We lived our lives then. We didn’t while them away sleepily. We spent our time earning our keep. Every moment we were alive, we’d earned. How much more can you be living than by brushing with death and coming out on top?”

He had to concede that point. He did miss the taverns and fires and night sky over the wilderness and roads. He missed the thrill of living a life in which every day was his own. He’d lived because he’d survived. With a sigh, he returned and set the tray with its two passengers, now full of steaming tea, upon the table. Sitting down, he glanced from the drinks to the table and its sturdy build. He took in the cushions, with their roughly stitched seams and worn fabric. Despite these and the other furnishings around him, he looked around the parlor and saw an empty room.

This room, so much like himself that he shivered, was full and yet so empty. The furnishings fit together, easily enough, but they were neither soft nor weak. And yet the room that contained them was quiet and content to do and see nothing. These walls would never know excitement or danger, nor ever know the thrill of an adventure.

The contents were part of the whole and yet fit it so ill. Erod returned his gaze to his old friend, she now taking her tea in sips. He’d missed her over the years and was now given the chance to go with her. He could not pass the chance up. Just once more, he could live again. Not this sham of an existence, lazily sliding through many days. He didn’t feel alive here.

“I will accompany you, Wren.”

The griffon, with her plumage now rendered a deepening red-gold by the setting sun, nodded her head and blinked solemnly. With a small grin, seeming to creak like an old, familiar floorboard, she stood from her seat. Downing the last of her tea, she replaced the cup and addressed Erod “Well, don’t let me keep you waiting. I’m sure you’ve got some supplies you’ll want to pack and gear to track down. We shouldn’t be gone for than a few months.”

Wren was safe in the knowledge that, after traveling together for so long, he could decide what he would need and be able to pack it all himself. They hadn’t packed too heavily, back in the day, and so the list of provisions and gear was bound to be relatively short.

“I’m glad you’re coming, Erod. To the south, down that little road, is Brinsaddle? How long until I can expect you to be ready and meet me there?” she asked. She had intended to find an inn and stay there, in the little town, until they set off.

“That is correct and I’ll have none it, Miss Gilthonor. You’re not going to be sleeping in a musty little inn while I can hole us both up here instead. You just wait there and I’ll have somewhere for you in no time flat.”

It was a bit longer than “no time flat”, but the light-beige stallion was finally able to scrap together a comfortable, if admittedly ugly, bed for his old friend in the front parlor. With his guest attended to, and she just readying for the night’s rest, Erod made his way down to his cellar.

It was fairly dark, but he was able to discern his objective fairly quickly without the aid of candle or lantern. Making his way over, he gripped the metal handle between his jaws and began to haul the bulky load over to the stairs. A moment later, he was backing into the parlor with his burden in tow. Wren glanced up from her make-shift bed, observing her old friend as he finished relocating the object. Covered in a layer of dust and dirt, thick with years in the cellar, hunched a stalwart wooden chest.

He released the latches and raised the weighty lid a bit. Chunks of the grime coating the vessel were dislodged from their wooden host, tumbled to floor by the long forgotten motion. Forcing the lid to open, much to the squealing protest of its rusty hinges, Erod got a good look at the contents and was stricken by the memories of his previous existence.

Nearly floored by the flood unexpected memories and emotions, Erod remained there a moment. Finally stirring, he silently closed the lid with a thunk and pushed the chest against a wall where it would be out of the way. He moved through the kitchen into his little room, seating himself on the edge of his bed. After a moment of quiet consideration, the graphite-maned head laid itself upon the pillow. Its owner slowly began to drift to sleep, haunted by memories and emotions he could deal with in the morning.